#bimmer boys

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Hear Me Out, Keep Me Guessing

Steddie || wc: 2.5k || rating: T || tags: alternate first meeting, pre-S4, Eddie is a rollercoaster of emotions, Steve is over it, fluff and flirting || ao3

Inspired by my own post

☆☆☆

“Okay, Munson. What’s your fucking problem?”

Eddie hops on top of the wooden picnic bench to gain a slight height advantage over whoever’s decided to fuck up his day, when he spots none other than Steve Harrington headed towards him through the trees, fighting his way through brush and bramble.

“Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Crawling through the dirt just to visit his former court jester.” Eddie smirks, hears Harrington mutter something under his breath that sounds a lot like jesus christ before he finally makes his way over.

Harrington’s looking up at him, squinting into the sunlight, and Eddie’s slightly repelled by his sudden desire to run a hand through King Steve’s hair. It shines in the sunlight, matching the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

Eddie takes a step to the left, casting him back into shadow again where he’s just his normal, asshole self and not the angelic image Eddie conjured from his horny, queer little brain.

He can’t remember if it’s his turn to talk or Harrington’s, but it seems the King’s lost the plot as well. Completely zoned out, he’s just standing there staring up at Eddie, mouth dropped open and eyes wide in a way Eddie will certainly not be thinking about later tonight. Absolutely not.

Eddie coughs. Loud and obnoxious enough to break whatever trance they’ve found themselves in. Harrington awkwardly chuckles, running a hand through his hair. An image of Steve leaning against lockers, towering over a girl with heat in his eyes and a hand in his hair floods Eddie’s brain before he can shake it out like an Etch A Sketch. What the fuck is even happening to him?

“Yeah, Munson. Like, what the hell is your problem?” It lacks punch and drama the second time around, but it gets them back on track. Harrington props his hands on his hips, his lip juts out into a tiny pout, and Eddie wonders if he thinks standing like a disappointed mom is effective in getting what he wants, or if being adorable just comes naturally to the former King.

“You’ll have to be more specific, my liege.” He watches as Harrington brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and he makes a mental note to develop a better, more refined taste in men.

“The kids, man. Why aren’t you friends with the kids?”

“Kids? What the hell– what kids?” He hops down from the table. If this is going to be a legitimate conversation and not a shake down, he figures it’ll be easier on even footing. Harrington takes the seat opposite him, his shoe accidentally knocking Eddie’s ankle.

Steve doesn’t move his foot. Neither does Eddie.

“My kids, man. They said they tried talking to you all week and you wouldn’t even hear them out!”

Eddie watches his fingers tap absently on the table top. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s shocking that Eddie is just now realizing that Steve’s actually anxious. Normally Eddie considers himself better at reading people, when he’s not distracted with puffy, pink lips and a confusing line of conversation.

He looks down, rewinding the past week. He’d made it through his first week of his third senior year without anyone getting in his face. Maybe he’s old enough now that even asshole seniors like Jason Carver have decided to leave him alone. Thankfully it seems the offer also extends to Gareth, Kenny, and Jeff, who’ve only reported minor name calling and a light shove.

That’s where he spots them, stops the tape midway through lunch on Wednesday when a group of three freshmen approached the table. He’d spotted the curly-haired kid earlier in the week, bravely decked out in a Weird Al shirt and a hat from some science camp. The kid was enough of a freak to earn free admission to Hellfire, but the other two required a bit more thought.

Eddie clocked Little Wheeler through the station wagon window Monday morning when he’d cut Nancy off in the parking lot. The kid seemed alright, but with a priss like Nancy as a sister, it was a tough call. The other kid seemed a bit too sporty, and a little too interested in basketball tryouts.

When the three amigos started talking DnD, the guys invited them with open arms. It was a relatively peaceful lunch. Exciting even, at the prospect of adding new members to their campaign. They’d mentioned trying to convince a few of their friends to play. A girl named Max Mayfield, who turns out lives a few trailers down from Eddie.

But when the curly-haired kid mentioned Steve Harrington, the Hellfire boys clammed up tighter than nun’s ass. His named dripped from their mouths like it was covered in gold, the hero-worship rotting them from the inside and Eddie wouldn’t stand for it. No true freaks would stand to be friends with an asshole bully like King Steve.

Of course the freshies tried to argue, saying he’d changed. It didn’t matter to the Hellfire boys. Clearly the freshmen were corrupted, and they couldn’t be trusted. So he’d sent them on their way, and the three of them posted up in the corner of the lunchroom every day since. Far away from jocks and freaks alike.

Now, Eddie looks across the table and sees false bravado slathered over the anxiety etched into the former King’s face. He doesn’t know how three freshmen freaks found themselves under the wing of Steve Harrington, but it seems the feeling is mutual. Steve cares about these kids.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I remember them. What’s it to you, Harrington? Aren’t they a little too old for a babysitter.” The joke falls flat when Steve sighs, heavy and exhausted, like somehow a rich boy from the Loch carries the entire world on his shoulders.

But he plays it off, trying to meet Eddie’s quip halfway. “Babysitters get paid, dude. I do it from the goodness of my heart or some shit.” Steve leans back, scrubs his hands over his face like he can erase whatever’s behind his eyes.

Eddie stares at him, hoping to catch a glimpse. The only consolation is Steve puts his other foot on the opposite side of Eddie’s, his ankle now fully cradled between Steve’s.

“They’re nerds, man.” Harrington states it like it’s a fact and not an insult he’s hurled at Eddie a hundred times over the years. “They’re freaks, you know– like you.”

Moment officially broken, Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the table wondering why he ever entertained talking with Harrington in the first place. As he grabs his lunchbox off the forest floor, he hears shuffling behind him.

“Wait,” Harrington shouts. “Just, fuck man, can you just let me finish?”

“Finish what, exactly?” Eddie snaps, whirling around to crowd into his space. He wears big and scary like how the King wears his crown and how assassins wield their blades. With enough power and confidence to scare off any enemy. “Finish listening to you shit on the little guy? Listen to you harp on the freaks of the world, or how you corrupted your little pions?”

“What?” Steve asks, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched. Eddie’s not surprised his jock-rattled brain couldn’t find that word in its very limited dictionary, but what does surprise him is that Steve doesn’t back down. They’re practically nose to nose, so close Eddie can spot a small freckle on his lash-line, and Steve’s standing here like he doesn't have a care in the world while Eddie screams in his face.

It’s quiet again. He can hear the rustle of tall grass and birds overhead. He can feel Steve’s breath on his lips and Eddie can’t remember what they were talking about. Again.

Steve grabs his shoulders, and in his daze, Eddie lets himself be maneuvered back to sitting at the picnic table, while Steve stands in front of him.

“Are you always big and loud and obnoxious? Can you just cut the shit for like, five minutes so we can have a normal fucking conversation. Jesus christ, you’re practically perfect for them.” The last part is quieter, seems more like an unfiltered afterthought.

“Ok,” Eddie says. If Steve’s willing to take the crown off long enough to talk with Eddie, then maybe he can shed his own metaphorical battle vest. “Say what you have to say, then.”

Steve clears his throat, shuffles slightly as he gains his footing. He looks at Eddie with a determined set to his shoulders.

“Henderson, Sinclair, and even Wheeler– they’re my kids. I’ve spent the last nine months watching out for those little shits because all they’re good at is getting into the worst kinds of trouble.” Eddie tracks him as Steve paces the forest floor, rambling and raking a hand through his hair like it helps him think. “But I remembered you didn’t graduate, right? And you run that Dungeons and Dragons club–”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stops, turns to face him, and shoots him the bitchiest glare Eddie’s ever seen, but before he can say anything, Eddie pushes on. “You, Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, leader of meatheads and bimbos alike, know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

Steve sighs, hands back on his hips as he rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, Munson. Don’t worry it’s all against my will, okay? I’m not coming to steal your freaks and weirdos so I can lead them too.” He smirks, and it pulls a laugh out of Eddie, shocked that Steve’s willing to joke around with Eddie at all, let alone when it’s at his own expense.

“Now, quit interrupting me, you’re as bad as Henderson.”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips closed, only to open his mouth to swallow the imaginary key. Butterflies explode in his chest at the sound of Steve laughter, and Eddie wonders if bashing his head into a tree would be a decent excuse to explain the red flush erupting on his face.

“Anyways,” Steve chuckles. “They’re smart as shit but don’t know when to give something up just to get out of a fight. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten their asses handed to them already, and everyday I pick them up all I'm thinking about is which one of them I’m gonna have to stitch up. Sure, some of the guys in the grade below were alright, like Andy. But guys like Hargrove, like Carver.” Eddie can practically see the dark cloud form over Steve’s brow.

He remembers as well as anyone the fallout of Harrington v Hargrove, Fall 1985. There’d been endless rumors about what happened, each one more ridiculous than the last. Now he’s left wondering if it’s not really about Nancy, or drugs, or Billy fucking Steve’s mom, but about these kids. The timing checks out, nine months on babysitting duties lines up pretty well with when Steve showed up to school beaten and broken.

Maybe Steve isn’t all he seems to be.

“Guys like Carver won’t mess with you. They’re too scared you’re using DnD to worship the devil and get kids into sodomy and drugs and shit like that. I told them that you’d be cool. That you’re big and loud, that you play DnD like them. You're smart and you read the same nerdy books. I told them they’d be safe with you, man.” Steve rubs his face again, until his hands fall to the sides and he tilts his head up towards the sky. “I just need to know someone’s looking out for them. Please, Eddie, just–”

“Okay.”

Steve’s attention snaps back to him, relief written plain as day in the wide set of his smile. “You’re serious?”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Steve smile so unguarded, and never aimed his way. The sheer brightness of it fills him with warmth he wants to wrap himself up in.

All on top of the fact Eddie's never gotten this many compliments from anyone before, let alone from a guy as gorgeous as Steve Harrington. His ears are practically on fire.

“Yeah, Harrington. I’ll share custody of your little nuggets.” Before he knows what’s coming, Steve sweeps him up into a hug, lifts him fully off the ground and can feel the tinkling of his laughter on the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, Munson. Damn, you have no idea how freaked out I’ve–”

“What about the other stuff?” Eddie can’t stop himself from asking. He has to know, deep in his bones, that Steve is thinking this through. That Steve won’t change his mind in a few days or months and decide it’s time for Eddie Munson to eat dirt.

He lets Eddie go, but holds his shoulders at arms length to look him in the eye. Any lingering mirth has been replaced with intent curiosity. “What stuff, Munson?”

He can tell by Steve’s tone they’re both talking about the same thing. Rumors that’ve haunted Eddie since eighth grade after Davey Richardson beat him up under the bleachers. It didn’t matter that Davey kissed him first, all that mattered was he was popular and Eddie was weird.

He’d grown numb to the slurs over the years, but how could he forget hearing the reason why Byers beat the shit out of King Steve. The only surprise from that fight was it sounded like he never even tried to fight back.

“Harrington, if I don’t get to act loud and obnoxious, then you don’t get to play dumb.” The intensity of Steve’s stare reminds him of the few conversations he’d had with Chief Hopper before he’d died. The man could tear Eddie down to the bones with one glare, and he’s sure it’s the only reason the Chief brought him back to the trailer instead of a jail cell.

“Eddie,” Steve says, tone firm, “I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t care about the shit people say, especially self-righteous assholes like Carver. The only thing I give a shit about is you watching over the little gremlins and not selling them drugs, so I can breathe easier when I don't have eyes on them.”

Steve shakes him lightly, like it’ll sift this world-changing view into his brain, then pats his shoulder as he passes by him.

“Wait,” Eddie shouts, always a glutton for punishment. He spins around to catch Steve walking backwards away from him, hands in his pockets, effortlessly cool. The sun’s catching his hair again and there’s a smirk on his lips. “You really don’t care?”

Steve laughs, taking a step back. He chews on his bottom lip, and he smiles when he catches Eddie looking. Because he knows. Steve knows now, before Jeff or Wayne or anyone else.

“Eddie, whoever you decide to love or fuck– or not– is none of my business.” He turns to leave, and as Eddie relaxes he hears Steve call out, “unless you want it to be.”

Steve’s light laughter follows him out of the woods, and Eddie plops himself down in the same spot on the same wooden bench in the exact same forest as he always does every Friday after school. Except a twenty minute conversation with Steve Harrington leaves Eddie feeling like his world's been turned upside down.

Maybe ‘86 will be his year, after all.

[rodriwill1031]

M5

[wheneverfeasible]

Continuation “fix it” of this ficlet where Steve changed himself to try to earn Eddie’s love.

Steve missed his polos.

He missed his light wash jeans, his music, watching his favorite movies, he even missed his stupid plaid walls.

Eddie had laughed at them the first time he’d been in Steve’s room, back before they’d even started dating. Technically they were still there, they were just covered up with posters of bands Steve only knew about because his boyfriend liked them. Eddie had teasingly gifted him a Black Sabbath one back when they had just been friends to give his room more “personality” instead of his mostly undecorated room, which…okay, fair, because Steve had admittedly not done much of it himself just because he couldn’t be bothered.

(And he did, actually, kind of like the poster because it was their own little inside joke. It made him smile when he saw it, even to this day, even if he thought he could still taste the damned demobat sometimes.)

It wasn’t like he really knew much of who he was to begin with. He still had the bowling pin he and Tommy had stolen from the bowling lane their sophomore year (Steve’s idea, though only to impress his friend), and the picture of the car he had bought on a whim because Tommy had said he wanted a car just like it. Any other knickknack had either been gifted or purchased for a similar intent.

Now, that car picture was collecting dust in his closet, replaced by the Black Sabbath poster that Eddie had pinned to the wall slightly askew for ‘aesthetics,’ though it being slightly off-center and at an angle made Steve a little itchy. Soon, however, other posters soon followed, some given to him by Eddie and some he purchased himself after learning what bands Eddie liked, with a large Dio one taking up space by his bed.

Flyers of Corroded Coffin shows or other band merch dotted around the room as well, which he didn’t really mind because he liked supporting his boyfriend, though the clutter and disorganization slightly bothered him. Eddie had grinned at the sight however and called him a ‘real boy now’ for looking like the room of a young man and not a ‘30-something corporate stooge,’ so that would have to be fine too.

But he still missed his room looking like his room, instead of a replica of Eddie’s. It made Eddie feel more comfortable however, so he tried not to think about how it wasn’t his aesthetic at all, because he could learn to like it. He could change for the better. He could be what Eddie wanted. He could be good enough.

Which was why he was confused, staring at the garment box on the kitchen table where he’d been circling car ads in the classifieds, trying to find something cooler than his bimmer. Eddie had come over with a wide grin, sliding a box he recognized from one of the department stores he used to shop at before dating Eddie.

Eddie had proffered it with a flourish, grinning expectantly, practically vibrating with anticipation as Steve had carefully lifted the lid and moved the tissue paper aside to reveal the piece of clothing inside. A polo shirt in a soft, buttery sort of yellow with thick vertical white stripes running vertical over it.

Steve looked up at Eddie with a furrowed brow. “I…you got me a polo?” he questioned, confused and also concerned, knowing the department store was definitely outside of Eddie’s usual price range.

“Yeah!” Eddie confirmed happily, moving to sit in the chair next to Steve, looking down at the soft material Steve had yet to pull from the box. “The check from the gig came through, and I remember you looking at this shirt a couple weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to be buy it ever since.”

Steve blinked at that. He hadn’t known Eddie had caught him admiring the shirt in the window while he and Eddie had been walking around downtown. He felt a flair of panic at the thought, annoyed at himself for slipping up, for reminding Eddie that he was a stupid preppy rich kid. Eddie didn’t look upset though, or at least…he hadn’t. Now his eyes were darting over Steve’s expression with growing worry, chewing on his lower lip.

“Is that…is that all right? Was it a different one you wanted? I-I still have the receipt, we can return it and get the one you wanted,” Eddie rushed to say.

“No,” Steve quickly said, his fingers of one hand tightening slightly on the box while his other reached out of their own accord to slightly touch the shirt within. “I…Eddie,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say, what this meant. Why would Eddie buy him something like this? “You shouldn’t waste your hard earned money on…something like this.” Shouldn’t waste your money on me, he wanted to say. “It’s your first paying gig.”

Eddie shook his head quickly, an almost embarrassed smile curling his lips with a slight blush. “I wanted to, Stevie. You always buy me things, I wanted to return the favor. You’ve been so supportive of me and I wanted to…I don’t know. Thank you.” He glanced down at the polo with a soft expression, though he did frown a little too afterwards. “I haven’t seen you wear your polos in a really long time,” he murmured quietly.

Steve tensed at Eddie’s words. Of course he hadn’t. Polos weren’t cool. Polos weren’t good enough for Eddie. It was why he was so confused at this gift. He didn’t understand why Eddie would buy him something that wasn’t metal. That wasn’t suitable for his boyfriend.

“I know that you’re experimenting with your style and all, and I won’t deny you’re hot as fuck in these,” Eddie grinned, moving to pinch the loose sleeve of Steve’s tee between his fingers. It was from some band he didn’t actually know before he’d bought the shirt, something called Leatherwolf, though he had bought their tape as well so that he could pretend to be a fan and know some of their songs. “But you look hot in your polos too. I miss them.”

Steve sat up straighter at that, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. Eddie…liked his polos? “Aren’t the polos…kind of lame?” he asked carefully.

Eddie snorted, smiling as he leaned in to press a kiss to Steve’s neck, causing a startled smile to erupt over Steve’s own lips as he squirmed at the slight tickle of Eddie’s lips and hair. “There’s nothing lame about you, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, voice roughened with his tease. He pulled back though, a touch of his worry on his expression again. “Do you like it?”

Of course Steve liked it. He loved it. It was exactly the one he had been looking at before, even though he’d tried to hide it, which meant that Eddie really had noticed it and really had been waiting to buy it for him. With his first paycheck from Corroded Coffin’s first real paying gig.

There had been the fear that Eddie’s involvement with the band would limit their options, that no one would want to listen to a band that had a member who was suspected of grisly murders. Eddie had been prepared to step down, to let the others move on without him, had offered it even though Jeff and the others had vehemently opposed the idea. They’d said that Corroded Coffin wouldn’t exist without Eddie and if he wasn’t part of it then they didn’t want to do it anymore.

In a surprise twist that probably shouldn’t have been all that surprising, Eddie’s infamy had actually helped the band. The news of his believed guilt and then later innocence and injury from the actual killer that he had tried to stop had spread even beyond Hawkins, drawing a crowd for their nights performing at The Hideout who began to see more patrons than ever before.

Then they’d been invited to participate in a Battle of the Bands, which they hadn’t won but they’d placed second, and the random shows they’d throw themselves at the quarry or wherever else saw larger crowds than usual, even the one they threw to celebrate Gareth graduating, and they’d even been asked to play at the fair, though it was a free gig.

Then, most recently, someone had approached them after one of their shows and asked to hire them for an event in Indianapolis. A paying event in Indianapolis. With it was the promise of possible future paying gigs as their fanbase grew and spread. There was even talk of a possible scout being at the gig.

Dustin had joked that maybe ‘86 hadn’t been his year, but ‘88 could be, though Eddie had just grinned and denied it, saying that ‘86 had been his year after all. He hadn’t said why, but he gave Steve a secretive smile and reached out to tangle their fingers together.

Steve felt a flare of warmth beneath his skin as he stared down at the polo again, hesitating before giving a brief nod. Eddie’s previously nervous smile bloomed into a joyous one, and he leaned in quickly to plant a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek. Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent his own smile from growing on his lips.

“Thank you, baby,” Steve murmured, sliding a hand over Eddie’s neck to draw him in for a slow kiss. He didn’t know what it meant still, Eddie buying him a polo of all things, but it made him more determined than ever to be good enough for his boyfriend.

When they pulled back, Eddie soft with happiness, Steve made the decision. He needed to go all in if he was to keep Eddie happy. He drew in a deep breath and moved to take Eddie’s hand, his finger lightly tracing one of the scars there.

“I was thinking of growing out my hair. Maybe even dying it. Or maybe shaving i—”

“Don’t you dare!” Eddie interrupted, expression and tone absolutely scandalized as he squeezed Steve’s hand. Steve jumped slightly at the sudden explosion, blinking wide eyes at Eddie, causing the other to flush slightly in embarrassment. “I mean. You can, obviously, if you really want to, it’s your hair after all, but…” Eddie let out a small whine of protest as his gaze moved up to take in Steve’s hair.

Steve self-consciously reached up with his free hand to pass his fingers through his hair, which wasn’t quite as voluminous as he used to style it, but was still the last real testament of his former style. His former personality. The bullshit one.

“I mean,” Steve hedged, glancing away with a small roll of a shoulder in an aborted shrug. “It’s not exactly metal is it?” He looked back at Eddie with a slightly strained smile, rolling his eyes as though in commiseration. “I don’t want to embarrass you by making people think you have a prep for a boyfriend,” he laughed.

Eddie’s expression changed immediately as he stilled almost unnaturally, falling into a blank neutrality, even his eyes shuttering as he slowly pulled his hand from Steve’s grip. The response caused Steve to start panicking, worrying he’d messed up in some way, that he reminded Eddie of all the ways that he was lacking.

Steve opened his mouth to start apologizing, ready to apologize for anything, but Eddie held up his hand palm out to stop him, causing Steve’s mouth to shut with a soft click of teeth.

Eddie’s gaze dropped from Steve as his brows slowly began to furrow, a calculating expression settling over him as his eyes fell to the soft yellow polo still in the box. His lips twisted into a frown. After several excruciating moments, his eyes moved towards Steve’s shirt, an even more pinched look settling over his expression.

“Who are you wearing?” Eddie asked, his voice low and slow.

Steve glanced down at his shirt, the panic in him spiking, before realizing that this was a test. He had to prove to Eddie that he could like metal too (he didn’t, not really, though he could appreciate some of it) and wouldn’t be an embarrassment. He could do this.

“Leatherwolf,” he answered, thankful that he had done his job well enough to answer this pop quiz. He straightened his spine and pulled up the information he memorized with a slightly relieved smile. He could do this. “They’re from California. They were founded in, um, 1981.”

“What’s your favorite song of theirs?” Eddie asked, and there was something slightly off in his tone, but Steve couldn’t place it, not when he was frantically trying to recall the titles of the songs he’d made himself remember.

“Um. Cry Out?” he hesitantly asked more than answered, which caused Eddie’s lips to press into a thin line. He felt his breath catch at the obvious displeasure on Eddie’s face, wondering if he’d answered wrong. Was that a bad song? “O-or no, um, not that one. Uh. I like…um. I like…Magic Eye?” Fuck no, that wasn’t right. “Magical Eyes, I mean,” he corrected himself hastily.

Eddie’s eyes slowly dragged over Steve, his lips compressing again into a thin line as he drew in his own deep breath through flared nostrils. “Fuck,” he muttered, obviously not meant for Steve but it caused Steve to panic anyways as Eddie looked away, his brow furrowing in thought as his gaze settled on the newspaper on the table and the circled ads there.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, though he wasn’t certain what he had done wrong this time. Maybe Eddie didn’t like that band?

“Steve…” Eddie heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over his face before he looked over at Steve again. “I had thought you were just…trying things out. Experimenting. Lord knows your folks never let you be your own person,” he muttered before waving a hand as though to swat that thought away. “I didn’t realize you were actually trying to change.”

Why did Eddie sound so appalled by that? Wasn’t that a good thing? He was willing to fundamentally change who he was just for Eddie, to become someone deserving of Eddie, who fit in Eddie’s life. Didn’t Eddie want Steve in his life?

“Why are you upset about me changing?” Steve huffed, his worry turning into annoyance in his tone. “I thought that was a good thing. Not being the douchebag I used to be.” He scowled, crossing his arms with a roll of his eyes to cover his unease.

Eddie just looked at him in that way that made it seem like he was seeing inside Steve, which normally Steve liked because no one ever actually saw him, but now it just made him uncomfortable. Like he had done something wrong. He was just trying to be a good boyfriend, however. Besides, it’s not like he had come up with the plan on his own.

Everyone always talked about how different he and Eddie were. Always pointed out how preppy he was, made fun of Eddie for falling for a jock, had even asked at the start when they first came out publicly to their friends who was blackmailing whom into the relationship. Steve knew he had to change. They were too fundamentally different. It was the only way to keep Eddie.

Except Eddie didn’t look like he was going to be kept. He had started slowly shaking his head, pulling back, his eyes skittering over Steve again but in a way that said he wasn’t liking what he was saying. Steve’s panic spiked again.

“Eddie. This is good. I’m willing to change for you, that’s how much I love you,” Steve breathed, reaching out to grab Eddie’s hand with desperation. “I listen to your music now, and I play Dungeons and Dragons, and I don’t even talk about basketball around you anymore. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Don’t you see? Isn’t that all that matters?”

Eddie’s lips turned down into a sharp frown. A shuddering breath left him before he all but yanked his hand from Steve’s, his dark eyes turning even darker as he pulled away from Steve and said those damning words:

“But I’m not happy, Steve.”

Steve felt all the air leave his lungs, felt all the blood first rush to his head and then drain out of him, felt his mouth and tongue and throat shrivel into dryness as his eyes widened in horror. Eddie was shaking his head, stumbling out of his chair and back, an unreadable expression on his face as he distanced himself from Steve and this revelation.

“This wasn’t what I wanted, Steve. This doesn’t make me happy.” Eddie’s took another step back when Steve stumbled from his own chair, putting the table between them. “I…I need to go. I need to think.”

Steve knew with certainty that if he let Eddie leave now, that this thing between them would never be the same. His heart clenched in his chest painfully, and he felt his eyes sting with encroaching tears. “Eddie, please…” he begged, his words cracking.

Eddie only shook his head, sending his hair arcing around him, before straightening his spine. “This isn’t you. I don’t want this to be you. I love you Steve, but this version of you? The one that I created—” This time it was Eddie’s voice that cracked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie backed away. “No. No, this isn’t what I wanted. I’m sorry, Steve, but I need to go. I need to think. I can’t be here right now. I’m sorry.”

And with that, Eddie spun on his heels and all but ran towards the door, escaping from Steve’s incompetence, his unworthiness, his undesirability while Steve could only stand there in frozen horror, the tears he couldn’t hold back any longer slowly dripping down his cheeks.

Because he knew. He knew this would happen. He knew that no matter what he did, he would never be good enough. He knew that Eddie would leave him one day. Knew that he would never be able to keep the one he loved.

Knew that he, like his love, would always be complete and utter bullshit.

-

Part 3

-

tag list: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[formosusiniquis]

This one goes out to that old guy I saw at walmart yesterday loading up his pioneer woman cookware onto his motorcycle while enter sandman played

steddie | G | WC: 1154

---

“Hey baby, can you?”

“No.”

Steve's sweet tone sours immediately returning to the much more familiar gently bitchy tone Eddie knows and loves. “You don't even know what I was gonna ask.”

“Twenty-five years of marriage, lawful and not, Sunshine. I know when you're about to ask me for some shit we don't need.”

“Why would I be calling you if we didn't need it?”

“Because if you needed it you would have told me about it when I said, ‘Stevie, sweetie, light of my life, sun to my dawn,’” he looks around trying to figure out where the hell they moved the oranges and why the produce section is never in the same configuration anytime he comes here. He makes eye contact with a kid wearing an artificially faded printing of his own tour merch looking at him with a starry eyed look of recognition not of the celebrity but of family.

“Did you forget where you were going with that old man?”

He decides he might as well put on a show, both halves of this conversation already know he's going to do what he's told. “‘Stevie, my one truth north, my muse, my reason to continue living, my dearest husband, I'm going to Walmart,’ I told you not but thirty minutes ago and asked if you needed me to get you anything and you said no.”

“Oh, you aren't going to monologue for your adoring public all the sweet names I called you?” Steve is amused, he can tell, he's always been able to tell. He's accepting this as his penance for not giving Eddie an actual grocery list when he left.

“Well dear heart I am in public, but if you think we can find another grocery store to go to after getting banned from this one. I guess there is the Kroger on the other side of town.” The kid laughs, tries to hide it behind their hand, but if Eddie has had anything in this life it's experience with teens eavesdropping on conversations they shouldn't be.

“Oh you're really hamming it up, huh, Teddy. Can I tell you what you're getting me yet or do you still have a couple minutes in your set?”

He's given up on oranges, moves on to the onion he actually came here for, the lone ingredient for dinner that he'd forgotten from his clicklist. If they want to actually have the roast tonight it needs to start soon. “What is it that you remembered we needed, oh song of my heart.”

“I already sent you the link so you get exactly what I want.”

It's just ominous enough of a non-answer that he pulls his phone out of his pocket, juggling it and the five things he'd already grabbed that weren't on his one item list. He doesn't have the time to regret not grabbing the cart he was sure he hadn't needed when he sees what he's been sent.

“I'm on my bike! Where am I going to put that?”

“I'm sorry, am I hearing you correctly? Was I right when I said, ‘Teddy bear, my stars, my bard-’”

“You aren't on speaker.”

“My beloved damsel in distress, maybe the motorcycle isn't the most efficient of midlife crisis vehicles. Aren't you going to want something with more trunk space, why don't you get a Caddy or a Bimmer for old times sake. And what did you say?”

“I don't recall.”

“Probably for the best wouldn't want you banned from Walmart, what would the tabloids say?”

“Nothing that would match your wit, Sweetheart. Does it have to be this one?”

“Yes, the plaid matches the kitchen remodel, so be a good boy and strap it to your bike. And remember we've still got one kid to put through school if she decides to go, don't bring home any strays with you. Do you need to do your encore now, baby?”

“I accept your quest, my dashing prince. I shall return home with my bounty posthaste.” Encore complete, audience still enraptured, Eddie dips into the sincere. It's been nearly thirty years together and he's not once ended a call without saying, “I love you.”

“Love you too, my knight in denim battle vest. I'll see you when you get home.”

The call ends with the usual dull toned beep beep, the playlist the call interrupted starts to filter back into his earbud. He realizes he's going to have to walk right past the kid to get to the side of the store with Steve's Instant Pot.

“Hear they're about to have a reunion tour,” he says gesturing down at the reprint of their Came Back Wrong Tour shirt. The faux-fading has left a crack through his own face at the bottom making him unrecognizable, not that he looks the same now as he did at 25. “Those old bands just don't know how to retire.”

“I think it's smart that they're playing up the recent tik tok fame.” The kid says, “No one's even seen their lead singer since the 90s and after their first national tour he'd started wearing that mask.”

It hurts a little bit the way the kid says 90s like it's some bygone era lost to time. Tries to appreciate instead how good the mask idea had been, he'd really been an innovator. “That was a pretty sweet gimmick, you think he'll bring it back? It's kind of Orville Peck's thing now isn't it.”

The kid slumps, managing the impressive feat of looking desolate while standing over the tomatoes. “Probably, not that I'll see it. I couldn't manage to get a ticket.”

That is something he can fix, “Here,” he manages to grab ahold of his wallet, “as luck would have it, I've got a couple spares.”

The kid looks torn between fear and elation, it's likely at least the second strangest thing to ever happen to them in a Walmart. “Oh I can't-”

“No strings, I got it through work for my sister-in-law to go with my husband. She asked why none of the good bands ever have reunion tours so… not going obviously. And my husband insists he's too old to be that close to the stage. You'd be doing me a favor really.”

“If you're sure,” they say, the hesitance more a mannered necessity than real.

“Sure as shooting. Seriously, here give me your name so my husband knows who to make the thank you note out to.”

“Aspen, thank you really!”

Twenty minutes later when he’s got a kitchen appliance bungied to the back of his bike he’ll appreciate that something good came out of this. Three weeks later when he’s standing at the front of a sold out arena he’ll mostly appreciate another chance to be dramatic, “This next one is for Aspen who didn’t laugh when an old man tried to flirt with his husband in the produce aisle. Gareth, count me in.”

[ladykailitha]

Random steddie thought of the day:

Eddie is shocked to find out that when Steve turned eighteen whenever his parents weren't in town, he'd go to the nearest big city and make out with guys. He wouldn't call it sex, though he did get off a lot, but nothing went into any holes so he doesn't think it counts. He's always super careful, he knows there is a pandemic going on.

But he doesn't go as Steve, he goes as (insert middle name here, I went with Linus) an alter ego of his. The rich preppy clothes are gone, the expensive hair products and anything thing that might scream STEVE HARRINGTON is gone. He slicks back his hair and wears a baseball cap.

All his clothes are thrifted, even down to the watch and shoes. He borrows Robin's parents' car so no one recognizes the Bimmer.

He wears cropped tops and booty shorts, he does everything he can to become someone else.

So when Robin tells Eddie this, she tells him that Steve doesn't date these guys, he's never wanted to allow them into his life and the fact that he's is seriously considering it with Eddie is a HUGE deal.

Only Eddie is a little hung up on a guy he met in Indy. So beautiful and funny. He doesn't remember the guy's name or if he ever got it. But he fell in love with this guy just a little bit.

So to cover up for the fact that he's an idiot, he tells Robin there is no way that Steve could become someone else. He's just too Steve.

So one night when the older teens have had a little too much to drink, a little too much weed, Robin convinces Steve to become Linus to prove to Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie that Steve isn't the dumb jock everyone says he is.

So Steve drunkenly stumbles away to go get ready and the other teens get a little more stoned, so Eddie might be a little excused when he freaks out when Steve steps out as his dream guy.

Everyone else is laughing and cheering Steve on, but Eddie is instantly sober. And he has very mixed feelings about this. Because on the one hand, he knows who his dream guy is and the real person is every bit as wonderful as he remember, if not more so. But at the same time he feels disappointed Steve didn't remember him, didn't remember the night they shared together. And that hurts.

Steve notices that Eddie isn't laughing and tugs at the hem of his crop top nervously. And that shatters something in Eddie. That this beautiful boy just wants to be loved and fucking hell, he can do that. He walks up to Steve and runs his fingers through his hair to fluff it back out again so that it's Steve again.

Steve gasps at the motion and his eyes meet Eddie's. "Baby?"

This time it's Eddie's turn to gasp. "You do remember?" Baby is what Eddie would go by when he was just looking for a hook up. When men would ask his name, he'd tell them they could just call him their baby.

Steve chewed his bottom lip. "A little. I won't lie and say that a lot of that time didn't just blended together. But I remember how safe I felt with you."

"God damn it, Stevie," Eddie cursed, "you are my high school crush, the man of my dreams, and my rescuer and protector, what chance did I have against all that? I love you."

Steve leans forward and they start kissing. It's a while before they come up for air, but when they do they find that the other three had gone home because they didn't want to witness what will most likely come next.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 18

part 1 | part 17 | ao3

“I’m sorry I’m sorry don’t hate me I’m sorry, did it work? Don’t hate me. Did it work?”

“Dustin,” Steve barks. Dustin looks up, eyes bright; he's hugging Steve so hard it’s like he’s trying to fuse his face to Steve’s rib cage through his shirt. Steve scruffs him on the top of the head, rubbing his knuckles over his dumb baseball cap in a way he hopes is reassuring, and wheezes, “Can’t breathe, bud.” 

The kid takes a hesitant step back, fists still balled in the fabric of Steve’s shirt like he might run away. Mike’s cowering behind him, hunched in on himself and nervously eyeing up the nail bat.

“So you’re... not mad?” Dustin asks.

“Oh, I’m fucking pissed,” Steve smiles sarcastically. “Hope you used that Butterscotch wisely, dude, because it’s the only one you’re getting for the rest of the year. Also, you can kiss your full candy bar trick-or-treating plans goodbye.”

“What? No!” Mike starts to whine, but immediately shuts his mouth when Steve glares at him. Then Eddie swoops in behind them, clapping a hand on both kids’ shoulders and nearly startling Mike out of his skin.

“And, uh, for obvious reasons,” he says in an acidic sing-song, “you’re both banned from Hellfire for the next month.”

“WHAT?” 

Oh, this guy’s good.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” Mike pleads. “We’re just about to get to the manor’s secret passage!” 

“Yes, and what a shame that your paladin triggered a hidden trap and got stuck in a faulty portal for the next four sessions.” 

“Oh, my god! This is— this is—!” 

“Payback?” Eddie sneers.

Dustin’s eyes are darting rapid fire between the two of them, and he elbows Mike in the ribs and hisses, “Dude, shut up before he kills us both for good!” 

“Oh, my god,” Mike says again, face twisting through all five stages of grief. 

“Oh, also,” Steve adds for his own amusement as he heads toward the stairs, “you two can clean all this camping shit up.” 

—

“You play a good game of Punish the Pipsqueaks,” Steve grins, walking side by side with Eddie. "That D&D ban? Ouch. Keep that up and the moms will start recruiting you for babysitting duty."

“Oh, boy!” Eddie smirks. “My dream finally realized.”

They get back to their cars, and Steve shivers a little, the cold finally getting to him now that he doesn’t have the fight or flight to keep him warm. He unlocks the bimmer and slides into the front seat; cranks up the heat, his hands impatiently hovering in front of the vents. 

Eddie catches the car door. “You’re really not going to punish them more?" he asks, leaning in, head cocked to the side. "I mean, no trick-or-treating sucks and all, but. Seems a little lenient, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Steve agrees with a short laugh, “but see, the thing is, those two dumbasses are assuming that revenge is a dish best served cold, when actually?" He points at the house. "It’s a dish best served by Claudia Henderson.”

Eddie’s brows lift in question.

“I’m gonna call her tomorrow morning and say I caught them smoking at the bus stop.” 

“Jesus!" Eddie laughs. "That’s diabolical.” 

“And then I’m gonna suggest they do community service at the retirement home on Halloween instead of trick-or-treating, because Dustin’s weirdly afraid of old people.” 

Eddie's laugh turns to a cackle, all his teeth on display, and the car bounces on its wheels as he leans his weight against the door. “Oh, man," he exhales, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Remind me not to get on your bad side.” 

“Pretty sure we’ve only ever been on each other’s bad sides.” Steve’s joking, but Eddie’s smile slips a little, and Steve wants to take it back. Pluck the words from the fog of chilled breath hanging between them; tell him that they're not anymore, that they don't have to be again.

But then Eddie catches the bass line coming from Steve’s speakers and the grin comes back full force. 

“Hold the fuck on," he beams, nodding his head to the beat and hum-mumbling the melody as the words come back to him.

Following the footsteps of a red dawn dance, we are entranced. 

“Spellbound,” he sings, shaking his head in delighted disbelief. “I’m sorry, does Steve Harrington have a Siouxsie tape in his car?”

Steve’s face goes red. Fucking Robin. “If you’re about to talk shit about the music, I— I mean, I’m just the chauffeur, man, I don’t—”

“Relax. It’s not that, I just…” He raps his knuckles against the roof. Gives Steve a once over; smiles softly at whatever he sees.

“What?” Steve asks. Kinda likes how he has to crane his neck to look up at him.

“Nothing," Eddie murmurs, low and deep. "You’re just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Steve shivers again.

It seems to snap Eddie out of... whatever that was. “My bad, man,” he says, his voice back to normal volume. He apologizes for letting in the cold air and slips Steve’s jacket off, handing it back to him and shutting the door with a soft click, then he throws out a parting salute and skips off to his van.

Steve just sits there for a moment, feeling syrupy and dumb. Like there's whiskey in his chest, a full flask of it sloshing around behind his ribs.

His jacket smells like Eddie. Siouxsie croons in his good ear.

Spellbound, spellbound, oh-oh-oh.  

"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he cuts the music off. He drives home in silence, the song still ringing in his ears.

—

part 19

first half of tag list below the cut comment if you want me to add you to the next one

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[wormdebut]

JANUARY MICROFIC (2) — SAFE

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: hole | WORD COUNT: 404 | Rated: T | CW: Sad Boy Steve, Hurt/Comfort

——

It’s like a fucking hole in his chest, a weight that he can’t ever carry.

He’ll never be enough. He’ll never be smart enough for college, worthy enough for a scholarship, romantic enough for Nancy, good enough for his dad.

‘You’re going nowhere, Steven. You’ll amount to nothing.’

It was playing on a loop in his head.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Sure, he helped save the damn world a few times, but you can’t put that on a college transcript.

Steve's eyes flick to the door. Someone’s knocking—he should probably get that. He should, but he won’t. Robin is out of town and Dustin can come back later.

He pulls the blanket over his head, turns into the couch—needs to turn off the noise.

The knocking stops, but to Steve’s dismay he hears the lock on the door clinking open.

He knew giving Dustin a key was a stupid fucking idea.

“Dustin. Go. Away.” Steve huffs from his blanket cocoon.

“Not Dustin.”

Eddie.

Steve flops over to face him, the top of his head barely popping out from under his blanket nest. “What are you doing here, Munson?”

Steve watches as Eddie clutches at his jacket, directly over his heart. “Reverting back to last names, Harrington? You wound me.”

If Steve cracks a smile, that’s between him and the blanket he’s hiding under. He rolls his eyes before pulling the damn thing away from his face.

“What are you even doing here, Eddie?”

He watches as Eddie’s gaze flicks to his shoes and then back up to meet Steve’s. “Dustin said your parents came back yesterday—I checked for another car before I stopped by and only saw the bimmer. I just—“ Eddie’s eyes flick up to the ceiling, as he runs a hand through his hair, “—thought you could use a friend.”

Well that’s—that’s not what Steve was expecting. He can’t hide the soft smile that creeps across his face this time.

“Sure.”

They end up watching…something. Steve’s not entirely sure what it is. He’s too busy listening to Eddie go on and on about dungeons and dragons.

His ramblings only calm when Steve plops his head down on Eddie’s shoulder. He pauses, before wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I’m sorry things are heavy right now.” Eddie says.

Steve hums. The hole in his chest shrinks just a little.

“It’s alright. I think things might be looking up.”

——

[thestobingirlie]

Steve wearing carabiners on his pants bc he’s seen Robin do it and he thinks it looks cool - and they’re so useful (even in non-Upside Down situations)! He will rave about their usefulness to any and everyone!

Has some choice pride buttons which are mostly pretty general and could apply to anyqueer, but there’s one he wore as a joke to cheer up Robin once that says something like “encourage lesbianism”.

When the bimmer dies in the early 90s he gets himself (and Robin) a Subaru.

accidental dyke steve is everything to me fr

boy’s surrounded by lesbians, he’s like catnip to them. of course he starts to look like one! they make up nearly all of his style icons lmao

[blixabargelds]

first position is over your mouth

world's silliest buck x bucky drabble in the universe me and @swifty-fox kicked about in which gale is a ballet dancer and bucky is a soccer player. oh and they were both girls <3

“You never told me why your name’s written the boy way,” Bucky says, muffled somewhat.

“Huh?” Gale opens her eyes, her tight calf muscles spasming under the pressure of the position Bucky has her in.

“I said,” Bucky backs off from her cunt, speaking somewhere near her pelvis now. “Your name. There’s no ‘i’. You got a reason?”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Gale groans. 

Her left foot is cramping. She hadn’t finished her stretches properly; leapt into Bucky’s hideous Bimmer straight from rehearsal. Refused to let her drive- Gale’s got a big show in two weeks, and she’s not taking any chances on Bucky’s euphoric post-game swerving. Had swung her dance bag in the backseat, alongside empty bottles of Gatorade and Luna Bar wrappers, said shift it, and slid into the left side as always. Thing about Bucky, though, is that she makes Gale go half as reckless when she knows her mouth is what’s waiting at the end of the drive. Gale’s left foot is cramping, two weeks before a show, because she could barely get her pointe shoes off fast enough to bear down on the accelerator. Bucky is making her damn stupid. 

Bucky licks a long stripe back up, dipping her tongue straight into Gale and dragging right along to her aching clit. Gale bites her palm against a moan.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Bucky says, lips flush to her sensitive skin and vibrating all through her.

“Dad wanted a boy,” Gale says- gasps. “Didn’t wanna- Christ- didn’t bother changin’ the spelling.”

Bucky’s running a long finger up and down the inside of Gale’s thigh, now, coming to tease at the join of her legs before sliding back down. She hums against Gale’s cunt, and Gale drops her head down against the shower tiles. 

“You’re so tense, baby.”

“’Cos you’re bein’ a menace,” Gale grits out.

“I told you,” Bucky says, mouthing at her bony hip. “You gotta warm down proper. Me and the girls would be stiff as all hell if we walked off the pitch fast as you get out that studio.”

“You’re meant to be my warm down,” Gale says. Every inch of her body hurts. She gets her fingers in Bucky’s dark curls, and as she moves her face back to where she wants her she goes like butter. “Or so you said.”

“Mm,” Bucky hums. She moves her hand finally, one finger tracing the folds of Gale’s cunt delicately before pressing in. Gale bites back a moan. “All mouth, aren’t I, doll?”

Gale doesn’t bother to reply. Bucky pulls her finger out slowly, then presses back in deep. Gale’s so open and ready for her that it’s torturously gentle. She wants her to stretch her out, fuck her on her fingers hard and fast, but Bucky’s kind of evil after a good game. She pulls out all the way, circles the same wet finger over her swollen bud, pinching just slightly. Her free hand roams up Gale’s abs, her exposed ribs, reaching up toward her flat chest and rolling her right nipple between her fingers with practiced efficiency. Gale whines, hips jerking forward toward Bucky’s open mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky says. She pushes back into Gale’s cunt, two fingers this time. Gale’s embarrassingly wet, dripping down Bucky’s hand and into the hot stream of the shower. “I’ll get you to relax. My swan princess.”

“That’s not-” Gale gasps as Bucky scissors her fingers wide. “That’s- you know that’s not-”

“Jesus,” Bucky laughs. “I know, baby, I listen.”

“You yap,” Gale says.

As if to prove a point, she yanks Bucky’s head forward, sets her lips to her once and for all. Bucky laughs again, then moans as she licks into her. She draws her hand back, presses in with three fingers. Gale moans loudly as Bucky’s tongue flattens against her clit, then swirls around it like she’s plotting a formation. She licks at her like that until Gale’s dizzy. Bucky’s fingers drag in and out of her, her thumb teasing a path between her fingers and tongue. Gale’s stomach is tensing already, her whole body quivering as her tired legs attempt to hold her up. Bucky must feel this in the way Gale’s shaking above her, because before she knows it, Bucky's lifting one of Gale’s legs over her shoulder, crowding her back against the shower wall, Gale’s entire weight pinned between the tiles and Bucky’s face as she doubles down on her. Gale’s soaking her chin, now. She thanks God they’re doing this here.

“God, Bucky, I’m close.”

Bucky hums against her clit. Gale feels it building too fast, hitting with almost no warning, and as Bucky delves her fingers deeper, tongue pressing up against her, she pitches forward and shakes apart. Gale gasps, quiet with it at first, as her release crests over her in a warm wave. Bucky works her through it, strong fingers crooking inside her, and then she keeps going. Keeps going. 

“Bucky, fuck-” Gale says. She moans, then, loud and unbidden. “I’m good, I’m- fuck-”

Bucky keeps her fingers inside her. Moves her mouth from her clit to the soaking entrance of her cunt, sets her lips around her and pushes her tongue up inside her as well. Her thumb keeps working over her sensitive clit as she licks deep into her. It’s too much. Gale’s legs are jelly, dance-worn muscles failing to keep her steady, and she grabs onto the shower curtain to save from falling as Bucky keeps lapping at her hungrily. Gale feels another shock of pleasure hit her, starting in the base of her spine and threatening to fry all her senses to nothingness.

“Bucky-”

Bucky slips her tongue out for just a second. “I got you, doll. Relax.”

Gale opens her mouth to protest, but Bucky’s already licking back inside. She scissors her fingers again, slides her tongue up between them, hooks them inside Gale, and Gale’s vision blurs out. She comes again, lightning firing through all her synapses, and she feels herself gush down Bucky’s face, flooding the hollows in her collarbones, dripping down her breasts and flowing loud as the shower they’re in.

Bucky pulls off her with a smug grin, licking Gale’s release from the insides of her thighs. Gale’s about to fall over. She’s going to break a leg. She’s going to break a leg, two weeks before show, and then the whole production is going to fall apart. Her understudy is fine, a sweet girl, but she doesn't know her partner as well as Gale does, and-

“God, don’t you ever stop thinking?”

Gale blinks. Bucky’s got her hands on her waist- is lowering her slowly to the shower floor to sit with her. “What?”

“Y’thinking,” Bucky says. Gale’s still half in space, trying to catch her breath and gather her warring thoughts. “You’re still thinking.”

Gale starts to say something, but Bucky kisses her deep instead. Presses the taste of her back into her own mouth, cupping her jaw and rubbing the muscle of her thigh until something inside Gale uncoils a little. Bucky runs her hand back up to her cunt, touching her where she’s oversensitive in little circles. Gale shudders. Whimpers.

“Bet I can get you to relax more,” Bucky says, with a sly smile.

“Don’t count on it,” Gale says.

Half of it is lost to a quiet moan as Bucky slips two fingers back in.

[robthegoodfellow]

3DPC4EVA

@harringrovezine submission! Billy and Steve take a backseat while their cars get busy. Crack taken seriously. Brace for puns.

Summary: When the Camaro rumbles into the Hawkins High parking lot, she catches the attention of a certain luxury vehicle.

Harringrove, Camaro/Beamer (or Bimmer/Beemer whatever you prefer)

Rated G | ~2.2k (slightly expanded version) | Alternating Car POV

thank you @adelacreations and the rest of the zine team for all your hard work!

~🛞~

A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.

He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.

Exultation.

They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple. 

The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn. 

PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.

~🛞~

3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.

But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.

Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh. 

3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.

Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences—early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?

Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.

Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.

Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.

~🛞~

The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.

Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.

Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.

That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.

The plate read 3Ds46T2.

Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?

PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?

She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.

Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued. 

At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.

Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.

~🛞~

A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.

It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.

Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.

3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—

—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.

An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator. 

If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.

Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.

3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—

Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.

—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed. 

Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?

Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…

Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.

PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.

Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.

The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.

Billy was.

“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.

It would see PC that night.

Perhaps all night.

~🛞~

Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.

He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.

They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.

She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.

A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—

She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.

Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.

“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”

She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.

“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”

An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.

But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?

Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—

Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast. 

Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.

A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”

The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?” 

Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.

“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”

Bratty snort. “Or what.”

“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”

Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”

PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.

“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.

3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.

~🛞~

At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.

3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.

It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.

“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”

“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.

“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.

He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door. 

A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.

No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.

No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.

Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air. 

Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it. 

What was it humans liked to say? 

My way or the highway.

~🛞~

Read on Ao3

[steddiewithachance]

Will You Still Need Me?

Summary: Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - or Read on AO3

May 12, 1992: Today.

Hold yourself together, hold yourself together, hold yourself together.

It's an old familiar chant. Steve was practically raised on the mantra. He repeats it in his head as he leaves the exam room and passes through the doctor’s office lobby full of older folks reading outdated magazines. He chants it as he takes off running through the parking lot and throws himself into the driver's seat of his bimmer.

He holds himself together until he can't anymore. He bursts into tears in the safety of his car. It's explosive when Steve finally cries, he lets everything build up for far too long which tends to result in a snotty, messy display.

It's not fair, the news he was given. He'll never outrun his violent teenage years. It's getting harder and harder to find value in himself with the extensive list of health issues he's accumulating.

The voice in his head – the one that sounds like all the people who've ever hated Steve – is chastising him. 

Your life's not over, you're being pathetic. 

But he just wants to feel sorry for himself in peace.

What Steve needs is to talk to someone. But he can't even hear Robin when they talk on the phone anymore, which pulls another desperate sob out of him. He just wants his best friend. 

He's dreading telling his professional-musician-boyfriend the news, there’s no way that’s gonna go well. Part of Steve’s appeal to Eddie is that Steve has always gone to all of his shows. Even before they started dating, he’d show up to their Hideout gigs and compliment Eddie on little moments of each performance that he enjoyed. Steve’s pretty sure it’s what won Eddie over in the end.

So what’s gonna happen when the very foundation of their relationship is pulled out from under them? Will Eddie go looking for someone else to listen to music alongside? Lord knows there are plenty of men who would die to be in Steve’s shoes.

Unsure of where else to go for reassurance, he decides that when he stops crying maybe he'll drive to Jeff's. 

____________________________________

When Steve tried to remember the first time he noticed things getting bad, he pictured a concert. It was a warm summer night, a few years back. 

August 1990: Two years ago.

The final chord of the concert rang out across the stadium and vibrated through Steve. The drummer smashed a conclusion to the encore, sweat falling from his hairline. It was loud, so loud. Steve was flinching and wincing all night.

He and Eddie were pushed up snugly against the barricade in front of the stage; warm bodies caging them in. Really, Eddie was at the point in his music career where he needed to have security with him in a crowd like this, but he thought donning sunglasses and wearing his hair twisted up into a bun cut it as a "sufficient disguise." Steve was only slightly annoyed to admit that it was, in fact, sufficient because no fans had approached them. Eddie sacrificed his comfort for the evening to wear a long-sleeved shirt that covered all of his demobat scars. They were one of the defining features of his on-stage persona. Those and his tattoos, probably.

And despite the fact that Eddie definitely could have pulled backstage access for them to watch the concert more comfortably, he always insisted on watching it like an audience member. "The experience is completely different," Eddie had argued, and yeah, Steve wasn’t disputing that.

The crowd roared as the band bid everyone a good night, and the stage lights went out conclusively. Sweaty bodies started pushing their way out of the stadium, away from Steve. He finally felt like he could breathe again, but boy were his ears ringing. He blinked at the crowd moving towards the exits when he felt clammy fingers wrap around his bicep and squeeze excitedly.

He looked over, and Eddie was beaming, practically bouncing with the adrenaline of seeing one of his favorite bands live. He looked like the zealous, music-obsessed kid that Steve fell in love with a handful of years ago and not the well-adjusted musician who had met or performed with nearly all of his role models by then. He had been so excited for the show, and by the looks of it, it was everything Eddie hoped it would be and more. Eddie pulled him towards the exit, keeping his head down so they could get home quickly.

"My ears are ringing really bad," Steve complained.

"Mine too," Eddie giggled and pumped his fist. He was celebrating as if ringing ears were an accomplishment. "That speaker setup was on another level." Steve nodded; his ears would be fine... probably.

"You had a good time?" Steve just wanted to hear about how much Eddie loved it because then the headache he’d probably get later wouldn't hurt so bad.

"Amazing time! Best concert yet, I think. So glad you were there with me." Eddie pushed down his sunglasses and blinked at Steve with big, shiny eyes. The headache would be worth it.

When they got home, Eddie ushered them both into the bathroom, pushed the shower knob on, and started stripping. He threw his clothes messily onto the counter. Steve followed, much less enthusiastically.

Eddie’s a big, fiery ball of energy; his social battery gets charged when he’s pushed around in big crowds and surrounded by loud music. Steve is the opposite; he’s always drained down to nothing by the end of a concert because he worries about Eddie's safety the whole time. He makes an effort to wear a smile, though, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about whether or not Steve is having a good time.

Eddie pulled him into the satisfyingly warm water and immediately wrapped his tattooed arms around Steve’s waist. Steve fell back against the cold tiled wall, which made him hiss and arch away from it. Eddie leaned down to press heated kisses down his jaw and neck. When he got to the meat of Steve's shoulder, Eddie bit down softly.

His hands slowly migrated from the dimples of Steve's back down to his ass. With a cheek in either palm, Eddie squeezed greedily and pulled their bodies together. He moaned into Steve's shoulder. Steve didn’t hear the moan; he only felt it, vibrating against him. His ears were still ringing.

"Eddie?" Steve asked softly. Eddie hummed in acknowledgment. "I don't think I want to have sex tonight. Can we take a normal shower, maybe? Please?"

Eddie pulled back with a startled expression. His hands retreated to rest on the wall on either side of Steve.

"Oh fuck, Steve. I'm sorry." Eddie searched Steve's eyes. "I should have asked; I'm sorry."

Steve felt guilty about making Eddie feel guilty, but honestly, he was worried about himself. He’s got health-related anxiety now, after years of living with his worrywart best friend, Robin, and consistently uncovering new side effects of upside-down related injuries. So the fact that his ears were ringing more intensely than they ever had before, made him nervous.

"It's okay," Steve assured him, but he felt small and kind of fragile. Steve just wanted to go to sleep.

"Want me to get out and give you some space?" Eddie asked with his hand already pushing back the curtain, ready to step out.

Steve shook his head and reached for the shampoo bottle. He grabbed Eddie's wrist and squeezed a dollop into his palm. Eddie always used more shampoo than him, had much more hair after all. Steve did the same to his own palm and started massaging it in. He could feel Eddie watching his back, probably with sad puppy dog eyes.

Steve made his shower a short one instead of going through his whole five-step process. He just shampooed his hair and stepped out, leaving Eddie alone under the hot spray of water.

He dressed himself in oversized baggy sweats, which made him feel like he was in control of himself again, for some reason. He cozied up on his side of the bed and nuzzled his face into his pillow for comfort.

It wasn't long until Steve felt the bed sink next to him. He turned his head to face Eddie and squinted against the lamplight coming from the bedside table. His man was still wrapped up in a towel, hair dripping onto his own pillow. Eddie brought a hand up to gently pet Steve's arm with the back of his index finger in a little windshield-wiping motion.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry for pushing and not asking. I feel bad."

Steve shook his head. "You're fine, don't even worry 'bout it. I just have a lot on my mind. Wasn't feeling it."

"Did you not like the concert?" Eddie sounds crestfallen as he reaches down to wrap the towel more snugly around himself.

"Always have so much fun with you, baby. I'm just tired is all. 'Kay?" Steve knew that the concert would be ruined in Eddie's mind if he found out Steve didn't really like it. So Steve always kept those thoughts locked away deep in the caverns of his mind. He would do just about anything to make Eddie happy anyway.

Eddie nodded and stood up to put on a pair of boxers.

"Alright," he responded, and Steve resolutely ignored the panic of how little of Eddie's voice he could hear. He tried to assure himself it would be better in the morning.

The ringing in his ears was gone when he woke up, which calmed him enough to ignore his hearing-related issues for a while. He's good at ignoring his problems.

_____________________________________

April 1991 - A year ago.

Steve was studying, believe it or not. 

When the band first moved out to California, Steve took up a job waiting tables at a chain restaurant that he never wanted to think about again. It was well and truly traumatic. 

Tired of being yelled at for minimum wage pay, Steve finally sat down and listened to Eddie list off some career options he reckoned his boyfriend might enjoy. Steve hated when people told him what he should do with his life. Eddie wasn't telling or demanding, Steve had to remind himself, he was just suggesting.

Steve was still deciding what he wanted to do. Eddie assured him there was no rush, but he feels useless if he’s not making strides toward some sort of focused career. He was speeding his way towards an undergraduate degree at a state school on Eddie's dime and flirting with the idea of becoming a physical therapist. He didn't know if he could handle that much education, though.

That afternoon, Steve had been thumbing through a stack of notecards for an anatomy exam he had the next morning. It was a Nancy Wheeler-approved study method. 

He paused when the phone rang. Steve rushed into the kitchen and answered with his signature, "Munson Residence, this is Steve." It made him smile every time. He liked to pretend that he was a Munson too.

He heard a garbled voice on the other end, but he was pretty sure it was Eddie calling from JFK airport. 

"I'm so sorry, I can't hear you. Could you talk a tad louder, please?" Steve asked politely just in case it was someone calling Eddie on business.

 "Hi baby," he could subtly make out. 

"Hi Teddy, what's up with you?" Steve responded, curling the phone cord around his finger. 

"I have bad news; my flight got delayed, so we'll actually be in at one... not eleven. And I know you have class in the morning-" 

"I'll be there, it's no problem," Steve confirmed. 

"Are you sure? We can-" Eddie cut off, and Steve pushed his ear impossibly closer to the phone. "Oops, Grant says I'm talking too loud..." and Eddie got quieter. Steve couldn't hear what he said next, but he guessed it was something about finding another way to get home. 

"I'll be there. Okay? Don't worry about me. I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you." 

"Okay, love you. See you soon." Eddie chirped back.

Steve mounted the phone onto the receiver and trudged back over to the couch. He wondered if it would be a better use of his time to continue studying for his test tomorrow or nap so that he wouldn't be completely exhausted in the morning. High school Steve would have chosen to sleep, so he decided to study.

Steve pulled the van up and parked it right in front of the American Airlines door a little before 1 am. He waited and waited and motherfucking waited. He should have brought his flashcards, dammit. He did, however, buy one of those bouquets of black-dyed roses that Eddie loves. It was set carefully on the passenger seat next to him, waiting for Eddie.

Steve had to drive a few loops around the airport because it wasn't until around 1:45 am that the band exploded out through the airport doors with luggage in tow. Steve got out to help them pack it all into the back. There were a few teenage boys standing near the street, staring at the band with wide eyes. 

Please, Steve begged the universe, do not approach or ask for something silly like an autograph.

"Hi, Sweetness," Eddie crooned. He gave Steve a friendly-looking, publicly acceptable hug to tide them both over until they got home. "Missed you so much." Eddie stepped back and threw his suitcase into the trunk, slamming the back door shut as the other guys squeezed into their seats. 

Eddie lit up when he opened the passenger-side door and saw the bouquet. He grabbed his roses and held them up to his face to hide his smile. Gareth and Grant teased him in the backseat. Jeff stared on wistfully.

"Baggage claim take a while?" Steve asked while pulling away from the curb.

 "No, not really. We kinda sped out of there," Eddie confirmed. How can that be right? They were forty minutes late. 

"You said you were gonna get in at 1," Steve argued. 

"1:30, I said 1:30," Eddie responded as he turned back to confirm it with his friends. "I said 1:30, right?" Steve looked in the rearview mirror to see Grant's curly hair bob up and down with an over-the-top nod. 

Oh, well, fuck. 

"Must have misheard, my bad," Steve dismissed as he made his way through airport traffic. He felt Eddie's eyes on him. He was being watched with a concerned expression. He shrugged it off.

_____________________________________

May 9, 1992 - three days ago

Thank God it was Saturday, Steve thought contentedly, wiggling in the warmth of the bed. He threaded his fingers through Eddie's, which were splayed across his stomach possessively, even while asleep. Steve luxuriated in the simplicity of having no pressing or immediate responsibilities. He was surprised when Eddie squeezed his tummy. He turned over to see Eddie wide awake and watching him.

"Oh hi, didn't know you were awake yet," Steve rolled onto Eddie's chest and pressed gentle kisses to the tattoos inked across Eddie’s collarbone and shoulder. Eddie grabbed Steve's chin and lifted his face so that they were both looking at each other. He looked upset.

"I've been talking to you." Uh oh. This might be the tipping point. Eds might finally bring up the thing they'd both been blissfully ignoring. "I'm worried about you, Sweetness. About your hearing."

Yep. Steve sighed and flopped backward onto the sheets. He wished he could sink into them. There went his relaxing morning. Eddie chased him. He sat up and leaned over, placing a warm palm on Steve's cheek and tugging on Steve's earlobe.

"Maybe we should make a doctor's appointment." Which Eddie should have known was absolutely going to be met with one of Steve's dramatic eye-rolls.

"It's gonna cost a million dollars for them to tell me I have a little hearing loss. I'm not gonna do that." Steve didn’t have health insurance, much to everyone's chagrin.

"There could be things to prevent it from getting worse," Eddie suggested softly because he knew Steve was tender about perceived weaknesses. And then Steve realized that his hearing issues had probably become inconvenient to everyone around him, but they'd been too nice to say anything until now.

If Eddie didn't want to drag this out, then fine. Steve could suck it up and go see a doctor.

"Okay," Steve agreed, and Eddie gave him a relieved smile and a kiss on the forehead.

"Thought that would take a lot more convincing. Let's get you in sometime this week, that sound good?" Eddie asked and scooted down the bed to pad off to the bathroom.

It did not sound good. The whole reason he had been pushing off the diagnosis he knew was coming was because it would probably send Eddie running. He was trying to savor his limited time left in this bed.

[sadhours]

infected boys 2

billy hargrove x steve harrington

cw: 18+ minors dni, first person pov, internalized homophobia, smut, tommy hagan/billy hargrove, oral sex

summary: billy makes a move, steve doesnt feel the same way

read on ao3

“Show at The Hideout,” I tell him, fucking with my zippo.

He’s sitting on my bed, back against the wall and ankles hanging over the edge of my mattress. Looks sad.

“Can I tag along?” Steve does his best impression of a puppy dog. Big eyes. Pouted lips. I narrow my eyes at him from over my shoulder.

“It’s not really your scene,” I inform him, reaching for my bottle of Aquanet to spray some finishing touches on my bangs. “It’s a metal show.”

Steve groans, I can see him kick his feet like a toddler in the mirrors reflection. Makes me smile, turning to him completely as he knocks the back of his head against my wall, “I’m bored. Please.”

I put my hand on my belt as I keep smiling at him. Steve wants to spend time with me and that realization is pretty exciting. He looks at me with furrowed brows, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I laugh, loud and my chest rumbles with it, “‘Cause you’re eighteen and throwing a fit like a petulant little brat.”

“I don’t even know what that word means,” Steve rolls his eyes and kicks his feet again for good measure, “Just let me come with. There’s nothing else going on tonight.”

I scoff, “It describes you perfectly. You got a fake ID to even get in?”

Steve’s face flushes, “I’m kind of too known around here to have one. But I’ve gone there before. They serve me.”

I turn back to the mirror, picking up my cologne and splashing a bit on my fingers before dabbing it on my neck and chest, “Hard to imagine you at a place like that.”

He shrugs, stands up from the bed and wanders behind me. Snatches the cologne out of my hands and brings the bottle to his nose, “This stuff smells as cheap as it is.”

I scowl as I tug it out of his hand, “Not helping your case here, asshole. Besides, I get compliments on it. You gotta rely on your daddy’s bank account to get chicks?”

I know it’s not true, ‘cause Harrington’s as pretty as they come. And to chicks, it’s all about the hair and Steve has the best head of it in this shit town. His bimmer helps too, I’m sure.

“No, but it helps,” he rests his chin on my shoulder as he looks at my reflection in the mirror. My face reddens from it and I know Harrington can see it. Makes my whole body tense and I get the urge to push him off but I don’t, because I can feel his breath fanning against my neck as he says, “C’mon. Lemme come. I’ll buy your drinks.”

I chew on my lower lip, stare him down in the mirror because this feels like a come on but Steve’s straight. There’s no way that’s what this is. If it was, he’d grab my waist and he’s not so… what the hell is he doing? Finally, I gather some fucking self control and shrug his chin off of me.

“Fine, Harrington,” I groan and wind my elbow back to knock him in the chest, “You’re such a whiny little shit.”

He grunts from the impact, steps a couple of feet back and rubs his chest. Then he’s smiling and I kinda wanna hit him again.

“Can’t wear that shit, though,” I say as I reach for my pack of smokes, pinching a cigarette out and perching it between my lips. “You look like an ad for the fucking Gap.”

“That’s where I got this shirt,” Steve admits, looking a bit ashamed as he peers down at his striped polo.

Shaking my head, I light my smoke and then walk back to my closet. Scan for options for the guy. For some reason, I really can’t imagine him in a button up. So I settle for a worn black shirt. One I usually work out in, tug it off the hanger and toss it at him. Next, is pants, I’d rather be dead than be caught with a guy in khakis. Black Levi’s I never wear, mostly ‘cause they got a gnarly hole in the ass but that fits for tonight and for Steve. So I toss them at him too before I look down at his feet. Nikes.

“What size shoe are you?” I ask him.

Steve looks like he can’t remember. I confirm it as he sits on the edge of my bed and takes his shoe off, folds back the tongue and looks at the label. Does his mom do all his shopping? How does this man not know his shoe size?

“Uh, 9 and a half,” he says.

“Huh, me too,” I say, suspiciously as I grab my Chucks and hand them over. “Alright, wear that and you can come with.”

“Is this really necessary?” Steve asks with a raised brow.

I blink at him, completely serious as I say, “I’m not walking around with you wearing an outfit your mom picked out. It’s a metal show, Steve. You can’t wear khakis and a polo. I’d have to kick your ass. Keep up my cred.”

Steve makes a face as he takes off his other shoe and then moves to unbutton his khakis and yeah, okay, I’m watching. “What cred do you even have? The fuck does that mean?”

I lean back against my dresser, eyes still on him as he stands and peels his polo off midst wiggling out of his pants. I look at his chest hair. Part of me jealous I can’t grow that much and the other part of me turned on by the tuft of hair. I cross my arms, “I got plenty of cred. People respect me.”

His eyes roll dramatically as he steps into my jeans. His thighs don’t fill them out like mine do but as he turns to pick up the black t-shirt, I notice his ass does. God, it’s gonna make the tear in the jeans bigger. The shirts baggier on him. I’m built thicker than him. Steve doesn’t work out like I do. He goes on runs but doesn’t lift any weights. He sits back on the bed to put on my converse.

He stands and his hair is coiffed too perfectly. And I do something I shouldn’t, because it makes me feel hot with arousal but I snake my fingers into the thick hair and shake it around, messing it up. I like the way his hair feels. I wanna pull it. So I do, to be a dick but Steve hums and when I pull back we just look at each other, blinking and silent.

“We should go,” I mumble out.

“Uh,” he clears his throat and nods, “yeah.”

We take separate cars to his house, just ‘cause I wanna drive and Dad’ll bitch about Harrington leaving the BMW there. So he parks in his driveway and runs over to my car, slides in the front seat and looks at me with a wide smile. Like a fucking golden retriever waiting for a treat. Steve’s excited I let him tag along. It’s pretty cute but I reach over and shove his face.

“Stop looking so happy or I’ll kick you to the curb,” I grumble, “At least try to fit in.”

“What? Metalheads don’t smile?” Steve quips back with a sarcastic frown.

I grab a cigarette and perch it on my lip, light it with my zippo and mumble around the filter, “Nope.”

When we get there, they ask for my ID but let Steve in with no problem. Makes me scowl at him as they fasten the paper wristband on him and then we immediately head to the bar. Take a pair of shots and clink our beer bottles together. I drag him into the crowd as the first band is coming out. The singer screeches into the mic, loud and shrill and it hits me right in the chest. This kind of shit makes me feel something. The guitars wail alive, followed by bass and drums. Has me bouncing on my feet and rocking my head back and forth. Distracts me from the preppy boy who begged to follow me tonight.

The crowd sways violently with the music, pushing Steve and I with it and I grip tightly onto my beer, try to gulp some of it down but Steve gets knocked into me and I spill it down my chest. But I don’t care. I’m buzzing and jumping along. Head banging with the best of ‘em.

Then Steve’s hand is clenching my shirt and his lips are against my ear as he yells into it, “It’s really loud.”

I look at him like he’s stupid because really, the hell did he expect? “No shit, Sherlock!” I yell back and watch as Steve’s face scrunches up in a wince as he gets knocked into again.

And this is fucking stupid, because I feel bad. This isn’t his thing and as much as I’m enjoying myself, I can tell Steve isn’t and I want him too. So I grab onto his shirt and pull him out of the crowd and out of the bar. Into the parking lot where people are just hanging out by their cars. We toss our now empty beer bottles and walk to my car.

“Sorry— that’s like, insane in there,” Steve mumbles and looks ashamed, or guilty?

“Told ya, pretty boy,” I lean against my car and spark up another smoke, “Not your scene.”

“Yeah… that’s for sure,” he sighs and leans next to me, “I should’ve brought my car.”

“Nah,” I shake my head and pass him my smoke, he takes it and his fingers are shaking as he brings it to his lips. “We can go find some other trouble to get into. Nice and quiet for you, pussy.” I grin with the insult, so he knows I’m joking.

“The quarry is always quiet,” he mumbles out, crossing his arms and I nod slowly, taking the cigarette from him and rounding the trunk of my car.

“Let’s go, then,” I tell him.

And we spend the rest of the night at the quarry, until the sun comes up. Just shooting the shit and laughing at nothing. Steve lets me crash at his place.

—

Tommy’s basement is musty as hell. Don’t think his mother’s been down here since he turned 15 ‘cause he leaves his porn stash out along with a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of lotion. Funny, Dad doesn’t want a fag for a son but he’d still whoop my ass if I ever left out of my skin mags. I mean, it don’t take much for him to whoop my ass but the irony ain’t lost on me.

Steve’s busy which is the only reason I’m even at Tommy’s. He’s leaving for college soon. It’s a wonder how he got in somewhere but Steve didn’t. I didn’t even try. Dad’ll only let me attend the community college or a trade school. If I can’t leave Hawkin’s then there’s no point in going to school. At least Steve’ll be stuck here too.

“You been brown nosing Harrington a lot,” Tommy says as he watches me roll a spliff. I’m bound to get a headache, the weeds dry and I spent ten minutes picking out stems from it.

“You sound jealous,” is all I reply with. Tommy’s got a real hard on for King Steve. And he’s absolutely shit at hiding it. Brings him up in like ninety percent of conversations.

Tommy scoffs, crossing his freckle covered arms over his chest as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Knocks off his bottle of lotion but doesn’t move to pick it back up. “Yeah, right. Guys’ fucking lame, now. What the hell do you guys even do?”

I pout as I glance at Tommy, make my eyes as wide and sorrowful as I can muster, “Sad you’re not invited? That it?”

“No. Steve doesn’t even party now,” Tommy huffs, “I’m sure he’s fucking boring.”

“Can you go like one day without talking about Harrington?” I bite back, “Swear to god, you’re like obsessed with him.”

“You bring him up a lot too,” Tommy mumbles and then we both sit there silently like a couple of idiots. But it’s like Tommy gets it or something because he sighs and says, “oh” all dejectedly.

So now we’re two pathetic fucks in love with a straight boy who has no fucking clue. And we both know it.

“What do you guys do?” Tommy asks, quieter than before.

I frown, licking up the side of the rolling paper before sealing the joint and bringing it to my lips, “Nothing.”

I light it, close my eyes as I inhale and tilt my head back when I exhale. The weed tastes old but it’s Indiana. Never as good as the shit back home.

“Nothing?”

“We get stoned, we get drunk, we play basketball,” I list off, “Sometimes we watch movies. He doesn’t like scary ones. We’ve watched Terminator like a hundred times.”

“Steve and I used to do that,” Tommy sounds sad so I hand him the spliff. He takes it and can’t make eye contact with me.

“He’s fun,” I say.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighs.

We silently smoke the spliff, sip on our beers in between. Harrington’s heavy on both our minds. I feel all gooey inside thinking about the fucker and from the screwed up expression on Tommy’s face, I know he’s bitter. Butthurt and jealous. Bogarts the joint like a fucking asshole and I keep having to remind him to share. Even if it’s his weed. I rolled it. Tommy can’t roll for shit, told me Harrington would do it for them. I get it and I almost feel bad for the fucker. Steve’s dreamy. He’s good company. He’s all I can think about— he’s all Tommy can think about and that might be more pathetic than me. ‘Cause these fucks have known each other their whole lives. And when Steve talks about Tommy, it’s like he feels sorry for him. But Tommy’s nothing but wound up anger when it comes to Harrington. Anger that Steve didn’t like him back like that.

“You seen Harrington’s spank bank?” I ask, curious if they did what he and I did.

Tommy smiles fondly, sinks further into the couch as his cheeks swell and ruddy, “Yeah. Helluva collection. I was with him when he got his first Playboy. Snatched it from his dad.”

“It’s so organized,” I reply softly, thinking about how my stash is pathetic compared to the both of them. Because I’d rather look at dudes and Tommy is fine with cranking it to women.

Tommy laughs, “He bookmarks his favorite pages. It’s kind of creepy.”

I chew on my lip, wishing Harrington was. Wish he was a fucking faggot, degenerate like I am. Like Tommy is.

“Speaking of,” Tommy sits up, squeezes his knees with his hands and asks, “Wanna put on a tape?”

I look at him, breathe slowly. How do I tell him this shit? Do I even have to? I just wanna jerk off to Harrington these days. I’m not gonna get hard from a straight porno.

“Nah, Tommy,” I shake my head and ignore how rejected he looks. The weeds giving me a headache. I just wanna go home suddenly. But dad’s there and I can’t be stoned in front of him. So I gotta wait until the high wears off.

—

Steve’s parents are away for a weekend. He asks me to spend the night. Says he rented some movies from the video store. But when I actually get to his house, he’s got a record on. Some pop music. He’s got a bunch of juice, fruit, alcohol and cups on the counter. Sways his hips with the music as he cuts up a lime. I’m sure he’s gotten an early start with the booze. Face flushed like it gets when Steve’s drinking. His hair falls down in front of his face and he shakes his head to push it away. The suns lightened his hair, these lighter strands highlighting the thick chestnut locks and fuck, I love it. He’s pretty. Smiles at me as he shakes his hips, I get an eyeful of Harrington’s ass as I round the counter. It’s shockingly fat compared to the rest of him. I rest my elbows on the counter as I look over at the mess he’s making.

“You trying to be a bartender, Harrington?” I tease, looking up at him as his cheeks swell with a smile.

“Something like that,” he slurs, only slightly though. His eyes look so green from the sun shining in the kitchen window. It’s gross. It’s disgusting how fucking cute he looks. Wearing a plain white t-shirt and his retired Hawkins High gym shorts. I wonder if he’s been in the pool today. The red in his face might be a sunburn and not the tequila.

“Wanna try one?” he offers, sliding by me to retrieve ice cubes from the freezer. I get a whiff of him as he passes by and my eyes almost roll back. Steve’s fucking rank but in the sexiest way. What the hell was he doing before I got here? How did he work up so much of a sweat?

“Sure. What have you been doing, Steve?” I ask, chuckling softly, “You smell like a dirty gym bag.”

A dirty gym bag I’d risk getting Athlete’s foot on my dick rutting against.

“I went on a run!” Steve explains, eyes wide and happy as he starts dropping ice cubes in a coup glass. “It was nice, really got a great runners high.”

“Had to take a shot of tequila to come down?”

Steve’s eyes narrow at me, “Billy, if you’re just gonna judge my lifestyle choices, you can go back home.”

“I’m teasing you, pretty boy. Gimme a shot,” I make grabby hands at him, “Lemme get on your level.”

Steve pours me a shot, but pours himself one too. We cheers before we take them. Mama Harrington buys good tequila. Doesn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth, barely burns down the throat. Steve finishes mixing my cocktail and I hum as I sip it.

“Might have a career ahead of ya, Harrington,” I tell him honestly. “It’s good.”

“I just made it up,” he babbles off an explanation of how he’s made the drink and I’m full of this overwhelming feeling. I wanna kiss Harrington. I wanna pin him against the counter and kiss him stupid. Wanna shove my nose in his armpits and feel him all over. God I’m so disgusting. This is bad. This is so bad.

“Shut up, I don’t care,” I seethe, looking at his lips. They’re so pink and pretty.

“Oh… okay,” Steve visibly deflates.

I fucked up. He was excited about this and I ruined it because I’m fucking gay for him. And mad that I am. I down the cocktail and set it down, “Got any beer?”

“Yeah, in the fridge,” Steve waves his hand and starts to clean up his mess. Brings the dishes to the sink and doesn’t look at me.

I walk over to the record player and turn it off, I know Steve doesn’t own anything good so I’d rather not listen to music. Then I go and pour two more shots, “C’mere. One more shot and we can watch that movie.”

Steve obeys me, still looks all deflated when he stands before me and holds up the shot glass. We down them and stand there, just looking at each other. He looks like a puppy dog. He’s pretty. He’s handsome. Hate how much I like the fucker. But he’s just staring at me. And this ain’t some pissing contest. We’re friends now. So I’m stupid because I think Steve wants to kiss me too.

I lean in, grab hold of Harrington’s waist and crash my lips into his. And fuck. Fuck. Oh shit. I’m kissing Steve. I’m fucking kissing Steve. His lips are soft and… and they’re not kissing back. But he’s not pulling away so I keep kissing him. Try to slip him some tongue and that’s when he pushes me back.

“Oh, Billy…” his eyes are all shiny, “I’m… I’m not gay.”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and the idiot keeps babbling on.

“But I’m okay with it! Robin’s gay and she’s my best friend! I’m okay with it, really!”

I don’t say anything. Open my eyes and look at him briefly, before I head for the door. Ignoring the way I can feel the tequila. All I can feel is the rejection and the fact I just outed myself to Steve. I slam the door behind me, not looking back before getting into the Camaro and driving off.

—

I don’t see him for a week. Not until I’m dropping Max off at the arcade. And he’s out front with his gaggle of kids. Smiling and laughing with them. He even waves to me when I pull up but I pretend I can’t see him. I tell Max I’ll be back in a couple hours.

Spend most of my time with Tommy and the fucker can tell something’s up.

“Something happen between you and Harrington?”

“Yeah, he’s a fucking loser,” I mumble, playing with my zippo and pouting. Harrington is a loser. A cute, handsome fucking loser.

Tommy claps his hand on my shoulder, “Glad you see it, now.”

I see it the same way he does. We don’t mention how we were both rejected by the guy. Not a single conversation about how we’re in love. How Steve is pretty and grand and still the fucking King. How a guy like that can never really lose the title. I’m fucking sad about it. Lay awake at night, kicking myself for kissing Harrington. For thinking he was fucking flirting this whole time. I call him. Every fucking night and when his sleepy voice picks up, I slam the phone back on the receiver.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Such a pussy.”

Tommy sucks his teeth, shakes his head and tells me, “You should’ve met him before Nancy. She really changed him. Carol worshiped Steve. Ya know how hard it is to get Carol to worship you?”

“What? He eat her out?” I ask, rolling my eyes and Tommy’s body stiffens. Oh. Steve did, Steve absolutely ate Carol out. Heather wasn’t fucking around. He got the whole vagina owning graduating class.

“Maybe.”

“Heather wasn’t lying,” I scoff and laugh. “Fuck that guy. Weak for some mediocre pussy. Nancy isn’t even that hot.”

“She’s not hot at all!” Tommy raises his voice, jealousy taking over him. It’s kind of cute. I bite my lip. If I can’t have Steve, maybe a fun time with Tommy’ll do.

I knock my ankle into his, “Hey, let’s put on a tape. I’m bored.”

Tommy moves fast, scrambles to slam a VHS tape in the VCR. It’s in the middle, stopped whenever Tommy came. A couple, in a backyard. On a blanket on grass and the guys eating out the woman. I think of Steve. Assume Tommy did too.

I scoot over, thigh flush against Tommy’s once he sits back down. I put my hand on his knee, smooth it up his thigh and turn to look at him. Tommy’s cute. I like his freckles and his lips. So I lean in and kiss the corner of them. He’s quick, moving his head to capture my lips in his. Tommy lets me know he’s desperate with his mouth and I haven’t really kissed a guy since I was home and I.. I hate that I prefer it.

I kiss him deeper, slip him some tongue and squeeze his thigh. The fucker moans into my mouth, sucks on my tongue and turns his body so we’re facing each other. I reel back so Tommy can lay against the armrest and I crowd in between his thighs, cup his jaw as I keep kissing him. Grind down against him and he’s grabbing handfuls of my ass. I’m getting hard, trying not to imagine it’s Steve under me.

He writhes against me, it’s heady. Makes me feel powerful. Wonder if I’m the first guy Tommy’s fooled around with. Can’t imagine him and Steve doing this because it turns me on like nothing else. I pull back and ask him, “You and Steve kiss?”

“Once,” he whispers, pulling me down on him closer. Rolls his hips up.

“You watch him eat Carol out?” I ask.

“Uh huh,” he nods, smoothes his hand up my back and pulls me back down for another kiss. “Jerked off while I watched,” he mumbles into my mouth.

My hips jerk forward on their own volition. I bite Tommy’s lip and pull his hair, eyes on his when I ask, “You ever suck dick?”

“N-no,” he stutters out.

“Want to?”

“Please.”

I pull back and sit against the cushions, “C’mon then.”

Tommy sinks to the ground between my legs, fingers fumbling with my buttons but he manages to get my pants off. Bats his eyelashes up at me, like he’s seen Carol do, I think.

I knit my fingers in his hair and roll my hips up, “Suck my cock, Tommy.”

He groans, it’s low and guttural and I help him get my underwear down. My cock springs out, excited and leaking at the promise of another man’s lips around it. He grabs it, hard. Squeezes the base of it and I moan, letting myself relax. Tommy won’t tell anyone. He can’t admit he did this.

Tommy’s lips are pretty and pink as they wrap around the head of my cock. I’m met with the warm wetness of his tongue. Rubbing against my head. It’s ten fold better than a woman. Tommy’s cute and I forget about Steve for a while. It's easy to be into this. I grab another handful of Tommy’s hair and coax him further along my cock. Groaning when I do and he returns it, voice vibrating along my cock and I feel it in my sack. Can’t help but jerk up at his face, pushing further down his throat.

His hands grab my thighs, lets my hand guide him up and down. Keeps blinking up at him. I don’t last long. Shooting down his throat and he gags with it, spitting my spunk over my cock as he pulls off of it.

“Stand up,” I tell him and he listens. “Get your dick out.”

Tommy’s all dumb, struggling to get his jeans and underwear down to his thighs and I sit up straight as he gets his cock out. I wrap my fingers around the base, hold him steady and get my lips on him. Suck at the head, keep squeezing the base, not allowing myself to imagine Steve because then I’m really gonna suck his cock. And Tommy’s a lot smaller than Steve. But his freckles go all the way down to his cock and I dig it. Think that’s cute. I give him the best fucking head he’s had. Swallow his cum and then feel disgusting after. But the high’s worn off and I have to pick Max up.

Steve’s still there when I get there. I hold his eye contact this time. Flip him off when he waves.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Steve anymore?” Max asks once we’re a block from the arcade.

I snort, light up a smoke and exhale it right in the little brats face, “None of your fucking business, shitbird.”

“He asked how you were doing,” she mumbles, body almost completely facing the passenger door. And she says it so quietly I barely heard her.

And alright, that’s a strange feeling in my stomach. I just laugh though and for some reason, I tell her, “Dude’s such a fucking faggot.”

But maybe I’m talking about myself.

Max doesn’t say anything else.

—

There’s Steve. A woman on his arm. Why he took her to this diner is laughable. I’m in a booth with Carol and Tommy. We make eye contact as him and the blonde sit down. Steve’s facing me and I can see the back of his date’s head. Her perms cheap and the bleach has fried he hair. Steve wears a striped shirt. His eyes don’t move past me or his date. Won’t look at Tommy or Carol but we all meet him with shit eating grins. Ready to fuck with him.

“Harrington bringing his date here instead of Enzo’s?” Carol cackles, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Fucking pathetic,” Tommy agrees.

I frown and pick up a handle of fries, “Harrington knows a cheap whore when he sees one. Picky with daddy’s mastercard.”

Carol and Tommy giggle and I stretch arms over the back of the booth, eyes locked on the pretty ones that belong to Harrington. Chewing rudely on the fries as I formulate my next move. I’m gonna fuck up his date. I just have to figure out how.

I feel the bitter sting of jealousy as I stare at the mess of permed hair taking Steve’s attention. Can’t help but think he’s into blonde curls and how mine are natural and not from a bottle. His body language is anxious. Eyes keep darting from the slut to me. I lick my lips before smirking, showing him my teeth. I wanna walk up, slink into the booth beside Harrington and kiss him filthy. Grab his junk and make out with him in front of this bitch. Hate her because she has something Steve wants. And I’ve been staring at my dick in the mirror, pissed it’s not what Steve’s into.

I light a cigarette, suck on it harshly, hollow my cheeks out. Wonder what he’s been saying about me to his posse of preteens. The jealous and anger bubbles up so much I find my feet stalking over to the couple. I do sit beside Steve and get a good look at this bitches face. It’s pretty. I haven’t fucked her and I wonder if I could steal her out from under Steve right now.

“Hiya, doll,” I wink at her before stretching my arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Nice date?”

She looks stoked, eyes like stars on Steve and I grip his shoulder, pulling him closer as I turn my head to face him, “Why wouldn’t it be? He has it all. Great hair, pretty face and the richest parents in this shithole.”

“I’m having fun,” she giggles out, eyes locked on Steve fucking Harrington. And why wouldn’t they be. His skins clear, bright and so soft. I wanna lick his face as I look at him too.

“I bet you are,” I smirk, move my hand to the back of Steve’s head and card my fingers in his hair, “Maybe he can bring you home and show you his freak porn collection.”

“What?” The girls face falls.

“Oh, yeah. Big ‘ol tub of it. Organized very precisely,” I tell her, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. I tug on his hair. He looks pissed. “He uses sticky notes as his bookmarks. Man jerks off like the IRS is gonna come audit his spank bank. Huh, Stevie Boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles.

“He’s being humble. Must’ve spent a fortune on the collection,” I say as I use my grip on his hair to shake his head. I move my hands to the table and lift myself up, “You kids have fun, now!”

I walk back towards Tommy and Carol and sink back down in the booth, watching as Steve’s date rushes away from their table and the lanky boy follows,

“What did you do?!” Carol squeals, cheeks fluffy and swollen from joy.

“Told her about his killer porn collection,” I say, reaching for my glass of coke with a satisfied smile.

[marrowfrog00]

You Stir My Natural Emotions

A/N: Hi, this is a post I made a while back on my Ao3 and since I'm dragging ass on writing anything new...I thought I'd rest on my barely-there, crusty, dusty ass laurels until inspiration strikes or I put my back into actualizing my idea-rs.

CW: MDNI, Smut (characters are 18+), Mentions of Trauma, Broken Bones, Misunderstandings, Idiots in Love, Quarreling, Canon Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Descriptions of female anatomy, Oral (f receiving), P in V, Protected Sex, Adaptive Sex, Mentions of deceased grandmother, Not formatted b/c fuck that r.n., lmk if I missed anything

wc: 13.9k

Steve’s polo was pasted to his back with the sweat of high Midwestern summer. He glanced back at his Bimmer, parked behind Nancy’s station wagon, more than a little uneasy at the prospect of leaving it on the narrow shoulder of the county road. 

His destination, an unauthorized swimming hole with a somewhat rickety, decommissioned dock, didn’t have a proper parking space. Not like the well kept county-owned lakeside park on the other side of the water. That spot had designated parking but would no doubt be littered with desperate, unadventurous families trying to beat the heat. 

People unlike his friends, who frequented the busted but perfectly functional East shore of the lake. 

He bushwhacked through noxious weeds and nettles, feet seeking out the half-worn path that would take him to the meeting spot. He reached the little bluff, where he had to cut little switchbacks to make it down the hill without breaking his ankle. When he reached the last tree stand he heard the rowdy voices of his friends carry across the shallows of the lake. 

And just in time, too - the polyester and mesh of his swim trunks were chafing him under his Jordache jeans. 

He could see the backs of Robin’s and Eddie’s heads in low seat beach chairs. They were clandestinely passing a flask between them while Nancy and Jon sat on a blanket beside them, Nancy rubbing sunblock on her boyfriend’s shoulders, pausing to push her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. 

She noticed Steve’s approach, head shooting up with a bright smile. “Hey! You made it!”

Eddie, Robin and Jon’s heads shot up in reaction, each of them shooting him a half-enthused greeting.

“What took you so long, dingus?” Robin crowed, clearly half-tipsy.

Steve scoffed, pulling his polo over his head and tossing it by the cooler. 

“Well, someone called out today and I had to stay on an extra hour and a half at the store waiting for coverage,” he sniped back with no heat. Robin blew a raspberry at him.

“Strip down, Big Boy, you’re wasting daylight,” Eddie shot lazily. He stretched out on his beach chair, limbs quaking at full extension like those of a freshly-awakened cat. His chest was on full display, the white cast of badly-applied sunblock streaked across his tummy.

Steve rolled his eyes - there was nothing if not daylight to waste, the sun smiling at them all meanly from high in the sky.

 He shuffled his jeans down his legs before kicking them in Eddie’s face, who expertly dodged the attack with a guffaw.

Over on the dock, Max and El lay shoulder-to-shoulder on their stomachs, giggling over a glossy magazine while Mike and Lucas hollered off the edge, filling their super soakers from the dock’s edge. Will was buried in a sketch pad, toes dipped in the water.

Steve’s hands were planted on his hips as he did a quick headcount. A force of habit these days. He narrowed his eyes in search of the missing two. 

“Where are Dustin and Teenie?” he asked, noting suspicion in his own voice. The very two people he always had eyes on (if he could help it) were missing from this idyllic tableau. Nancy craned her neck to look toward the lake. 

“They’re in the water,” she said as if it were obvious. “They’ve been in there forever.” 

Steve felt his stomach clench uneasily but tried to school his expression into something nonplussed as he started toward the dock. 

“Why is she in the water?” he muttered to no one in particular, noting the worried pitch in his own voice. 

He saw the four heads of his nearly-adult friends turn toward him in unison as he walked past them. 

Robin chimed in then, through a hiccup “Psh, she’s fine Steven. We reinforced her.”

 Steve ignored her.

Max and El glanced up at him, muttering uninterested twin-greetings to him as he stepped gingerly between them. Will let him scooch past.

“Hey!” came your voice. “Do not shoot water in each other's mouths, this water is stagnant,” you barked. “That’s guaranteed dysentery.” 

“Sorry,” Lucas and Mike responded in unison.

Finally, yours and Dustin’s forms bobbing in the water came into view. Dustin was sputtering and rubbing his face with the hand not holding his own super soaker, clearly having been on the receiving end of Lucas and Mike’s attack. 

You were a few feet away from him, straddling a neon orange pool noodle. 

You were wearing that infernal bikini…the spring green one with ditsy white flowers and an underwire that smooshed your bust into a juicy-looking sculpture shaped by the hands of an unfair, horny god.

 Your hair was damp around your face. Even behind your red cat eye sunglasses, you appeared unimpressed until you caught sight of Steve and beamed at him. 

“Stevie!” you squealed. 

He didn’t waste another moment taking in the sight of you before he shoved off the dock and waded the short distance over to you and Dustin. 

“Hey, Steve!” he heard Dustin greet sweetly. Steve ignored it, leveling his gaze at you. 

“Teenie, what the hell are you doing in the lake?”

Your pretty smile fell at his words. You hesitated a moment before you fixed your face into a sardonic expression. 

“You’re looking at it, Stevie.”

“Your arm, Teenie! Your cast!” 

Steve didn’t notice how every head had turned toward the two of you at his little outburst. At that, you pulled your left arm out of the water, where it had been obscured. It looked like Swamp Thing, dark and soggy, water running off of it in rivulets. Steve saw that it was covered in a black rubbish bag, secured with silver duct tape (plus a derelict shoe lace) at your elbow. 

“It’s sorted, Stevie.” Steve heard conciliation in your voice. “The plaster’s bone dry underneath, ya happy?” 

No, he wasn’t happy.

Frankly, Steve didn’t care who had rigged the dry bag around the cast securing your fractured ulna. If he had, his money would have been on the braintrust that was Eddie and Robin, but who knew with this ragtag group? It wasn't as though the lot of them hadn’t crafted a bevy of improvised weapons and structures and clothing in the past.

Steve’s blood was boiling. He shouldn’t have had to tell you to stay out of the water, you should have just known.

 Yeah, lake day had been your idea, but he’d had a very different design for this day in his head when you’d proposed it.

 He thought the kids would splash around in the shallows while you and him (plus the other four sort-of grown ups) lounged at the water’s edge. 

The two of you would lather each other in sunblock (you with your good arm) and share a beer or two, and he would stare discreetly and shamelessly at your half-naked, prone body behind the safety of his Ray-Bans while some sappy love song played over the boombox and he pretended you were his and he wasn’t tap dancing around his feelings that he'd only sort of started realizing were feelings and-

“Steve,” you uttered sharply, snapping him out of his daydream.

Right. He had been busy giving you the business about reckless swimming. 

“You’re a terrible swimmer on a good day,” he scolded. “You really think you can hold your own with one arm?” he reasoned, gesturing at your form.

You pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and glared at him, unimpressed. 

Dustin chose then to speak up, mildly. Steve almost forgot he was there. 

“We’re touching the bottom, Steve. We’re being safe, we’re touching the bottom,” he tried with a chord of desperation.

Steve looked between the two of you. A nasty little smirk on your face threatened to emerge. 

“Yeah, we’re touching the bottom.” You demonstrated your point by bouncing up and down on your toes a few times. Steve had to ignore how your boobs bounced with the motion. “And I have this, for buoyancy,” you added, smacking the end of your pool noodle into the water and sending a spray of water into Steve’s face.

Dustin cackled suddenly at Steve’s sputtering. Lucas, Mike, El and Max joined the hysterics shortly thereafter. Will hid a snicker behind his sketch pad.

 It should have broken the tension. It should have been the hard reset on the fun that Steve had almost ruined with his poop-pantsery.

“What about Dustin?” Steve tried then. He was feeling outnumbered here. And a little stupid, frankly. But righteous. Like, how the hell was he supposed to feel when he leaves the lot of you alone for one afternoon and the two (arguably) most vulnerable people are just hanging out with no one to stop you drowning?

Dustin’s blue eyes grew big and confused at the mention of his name. You looked at the young curly-haired boy reflexively.

“What about ‘im?” you shot back.

“He doesn’t have collar bones!” Steve barked, gesturing at the boy. 

Dustin looked a little hurt by the observation, true though it may be. Steve winced a little at his own insensitivity and immediately wished he could walk it back. “Sorry, bud,” he offered. 

Dustin seemed immediately appeased at his correction and shrugged as if to say “no problem.”

You weren’t ready to let it go, however. A mean guffaw escaped from the back of your throat before you replied “Dustin is fine. He’s a very capable swimmer,” you spat. Unlike me, Steve heard you mutter snarkily under your breath.

 You flicked Dustin’s nose lightly and winked at him, and he preened under your attention. All the kids did. You had that way about you, is all. 

Sensing the tension on the water, Eddie, Rob, Nance and Jon were stood up on the shore, looking on with mild concern. 

Steve noticed you noticing them and then you shook your head and declared “Know what? I packed sandwiches and nobody has touched them, so…andiamo.” 

With that, you abandoned your pool noodle and lifted yourself out of the water and onto the dock by your good arm. 

I would have helped her, Steve thought to himself bitterly, watching you drop hard on your knees before getting to your feet. 

He sated his need to help by pushing Dustin onto the dock by his butt, much to Dustin’s annoyance.

A bit later, everyone was seated on the shore, the last of the sandwiches having been polished off. 

The tension had waned for everyone else and the ambient murmur of jovial conversation had returned. 

Eddie was seated at Steve’s side, yammering in his ear about a road trip he wanted to take with you all sometime next Spring.

 But Steve’s gaze was trained on you, across the circle, engaged in quiet conversation with Nancy and Robin. 

You had pulled your shorts on, leaving them unbuttoned over your bikini bottoms. Your oxford shirt with the sleeves cut off was unbuttoned, billowing open down to your navel. The trash bag had been removed from your arm carefully with the help of the tiny scissors on Dustin’s swiss army knife. 

You smiled wryly at some joke that Robin had made. Your face was free of makeup, eyes a little tired, but sanguine. 

“Ya listening to me, Stevie boy?” Eddie asked, cutting through Steve’s haze. 

“Sorry dude,” Steve shot back mindlessly, willing himself to pry his gaze away.

Eddie merely sniggered at his friend’s lack of manners. “That was quite a spectacle the two of you put on earlier.”

Steve scowled at him, knowing damn well what he was talking about, but choosing to feign ignorance.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

Eddie was unbothered by Steve’s pretend-game, continuing, “Like, you two guys pitch each other a lot of shit and it's usually good natured, but lately it's been…” Eddie sucked on his teeth as he pondered the right adjective. “Sticky.”

“Ed, man, shut up.”

“Nah,” Eddie said on a deep inhale. “Figure your shit out, Harrington. It’s embarrassing.” Eddie sunk back down into his chair. 

“Teenie Ween’s always been a sweetheart as long as I've known her but lately, you've been bringing out the worst in each other and it's exhausting.”

Steve’s face scrunched up in confusion, pondering Eddie’s cryptic words.

 “I’m sorry,” Steve said absently, though he didn’t know what he was sorry for.

 Eddie just smiled back at him from behind a pair of aviators.

Soon, the sun started to dip and everyone was a little sun drunk and over the day. Belongings were packed and the troupe of you made it up the bluff and through the thicket of overgrown weeds, back to the road. 

(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

It was the transportation arrangement that really clinched the awkwardness of the outing. 

Nancy had hauled everyone to the beach earlier that day, sans you. You had been dropped off by a boy called Allen Miles and the mention of his name grated on Steve’s very spine.

Before you and Steve could devolve into another bitching match, Nancy pursed her lips and made a sound declaration that Steve would drive you, Dustin and Robin home.

 Nevermind that her station wagon would still be stuffed to the gills clown-style. And you wouldn’t even have the buffer of El at the ready since she was staying at Max’s house. You fought her on it, too.

“Does dad know you’re staying over with Max?” you asked her, almost pleading with her to give you a reason to pull elder sibling rank on you.

“Yes,” she hissed back at you haughtily. You deflated, knowing that you would be dropped off last. 

Maybe you could pretend to fall asleep during the ride so you didn’t have to deal with Steve alone. 

Looks were exchanged and car doors were slammed before you all set off into the twilight. Robin, who typically called shotty, practically shoved you into the front seat of Steve’s car. You didn’t want to make a scene in light of the day’s events, so you went without quarrel. 

Dustin and Robin droned on in the backseat about…something. You couldn’t have recounted even a smidgen of their conversation with a gun to your head. 

You were focused on Steve next to you, seething. You could feel it coming off of him. 

Your jaw clenched as Robin fixed you and Steve with an exasperated look that you could see in the side view mirror before leaving you with a cheeky adios! 

Dustin took up the mantle of filling the silence but soon enough, you were parked in front of the Henderson residence. 

The boy parried a moment before seemingly deciding he couldn't say or do anything to pop yours and Steve's acidic little bubble. The pair of you watched his mom greet him at the door before pulling away.

The thing was, today hadn’t happened in a vacuum. You and Steve had always gotten along pretty famously as far as your friends and built family were concerned. Certainly enough to make it through a world of unconscionable shit alongside the rest of them. 

But when reality as you all knew it was falling to pieces, nobody had the presence of mind to tune into the frequency that the two of you were on. They didn’t notice the intricacies of the geological formation of your relationship. 

You had materialized - yes! materialized - out of nowhere back in the fall of ‘83. You’d been sucked into the Upside Down from another time and place entirely. The unwitting and unlikely victim of a quantum hiccup twenty years in the future near your home on Nellis Airforce Base in North Las Vegas. 

Your slime-covered, barely animate fifteen-year-old body was discovered and carried out of the Upside Down by Hop. He, in a hazmat suit, you in your ripped, bloodied Catholic school uniform while Joyce stumbled alongside him with Will in her clutches. 

For weeks, you’d been near-catatonic, held in the custody of Dr. Owens while a cadre of shady G-men (plus Hop and Joyce) had tried to piece together your journey.

 You barely registered that you had leapt back in time and ended up somewhere you didn’t know a soul, half a decade before you were even born. 

For you were traumatized and plagued with guilt over the death of another teenage girl. A girl that had desperately wanted to get back to where you found yourself by accident. 

You'd tried pulling Barb off that sticky wall, even though part of you knew she was already dead. Soon, you surrendered to your exhaustion and found yourself glued to the same wall, a grotty vine prodding at your lips, trying to make a home in your esophagus right as Hop and Joyce happened upon you.

Eventually, your body healed and you came out of your stupor. You went to live with Hop. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, and besides which way, the best conclusion that the scientists from the DoE could come up with was that if you were going to go back “home”, it would be the way you came. So you had to stay close by.

 They paid a stipend to keep you fed and kept - you were an investment, afterall. Moreover, you were a liability and a paradox, and this was the best arrangement Owens could come up with. 

Hop got used to having you around, never trying to force the matter of you returning home. In the weeks when you’d lost track of El, you would sometimes stand timidly in front of the towering man until he promised you that you would find her. 

Neither of you could stand the guilt of her being out there on her own. Eventually El showed up and he decided that you would all carry on as though you had both been there the whole time. 

Nobody wanted you to go back home. How would you get there? How would you survive a second time?

You started school in January of ‘84, sticking close to the walls. 

Nancy and Jon felt responsible for you and kept you close. By default, that meant Steve, too. But Steve was suspicious of you. 

You were freaky to him and despite what he’d seen in the Byers house, he couldn’t really comprehend your being there. 

Sometimes, when you were all hanging out, a brand new song would come on the radio - like the DJ would make a big production of stressing the just released single - and then you’d absentmindedly mouth all the words perfectly. 

Other times, you’d say non-sequitur things that would turn out to be quotes from movies that hadn’t been released when you’d uttered them. 

The most unnerving was when Nancy’s father was hemming and hawing at the breakfast table one morning you were all over at the Wheeler house. 

He was pouring over a newspaper article about some sick murderer on the loose, reciting the most sordid details while Karen Wheeler stood at the stove flipping pancakes, scolding her husband for discussing it in front of the kids. 

Suddenly, you paused with your glass of orange juice poised at your lips and muttered the name Alton Coleman with a vacant look in your eyes. Days later, Alton Coleman was apprehended. 

Karen and Ted Wheeler had missed it, luckily. But when Nancy had pressed you on the issue, wondering if you were tapped into some latent psychic ability that you and her could use to fight crime, you'd disappointed the girl by informing her that one of the last things you'd seen on TV before you “leapt” was a documentary about Alton Coleman. And it had only stuck with you because you'd gone over your actions in your last days at Nellis with Owens until you were blue in the face.

Then there was the style stuff. You seemed totally confused about what you referred to as “big, crispy hair,” not to mention your general aversion to spandex and high-waisted jeans. 

You wore your hair with minimal volume, kept your clothes and makeup neutral, toned down, boring. 

Nancy thought it was because you’d been to Catholic school and you were “demure” as she put it.

But Steve had quickly clocked that you thought everything around you was cheesy and dated but you didn’t want to stand out or accidentally make a statement by dressing from your own time. So you dressed like a bland schoolmistress and let Jonathan make you mixtapes because a constant rotation of Top 40 artists eventually set your teeth on edge. 

You stopped telling Steve who the one-hit-wonders were because he was really rooting for Dexy’s Midnight Runners and he got all salty when you told him. 

Nobody tried to meet you where you were at culturally, because all of you were a little worried that if you divulged secrets from the future, it would create some kind of extra rip in the universe. So you kept your trap shut except to say that you didn’t really like your time either and that, really, the ‘80s weren’t so bad in some ways. 

Plus, you practically drooled at the sight of Eddie Van Halen and Mickey Rourke whenever you got the opportunity. They were so hot, you'd lament in a pained wail at the TV, as if you weren't living in the very time in which they were dropping your panties. 

Steve rolled his eyes every time you did this. Little Miss Catholic School swooning over rock stars and greasers. How original. Your crush on Spock from Star Trek…Well that broke up the cliché a little.

Steve slowly started to feel more at ease around you, distracting himself with his romance with Nancy. 

And you started to branch out, making friends outside of the people that knew too much for their own good.

You started wearing acid-washed denim over bolder colors, teasing your hair a bit, adopting high-waisted jeans (which made your ass look delectable, Steve grudgingly noticed - as did Allen Miles, apparently). 

You were still on the shy, mild side, but you weren't such a wallflower. People knew you by face and name now. 

Steve thought being from the future made you naturally more magnetic or something. Like you were always two moves ahead of everyone. That made him kind of nervous, though, so he still watched you in his periphery.

He told himself it was to make sure you didn’t slip up and involve anyone else in your freakish situation. He’d watch you in the cafeteria, the courtyard, laughing with your small circle of casual pals, looking for any indication that you were spilling your guts and making yourself look like a headcase in the process. 

Best case scenario, you’d wind up in an asylum or something. Worst case, you’d end up in a gulag with electrodes inserted in every square inch of visible flesh. Months of his low-key recon suddenly became moot the night of the Halloween party in ‘84. 

Steve had just had his heart crushed by Nancy in a spectacular fashion, when he pulled over on his way home.

He was trying to stave off waves of fresh pain in his chest, sat at the wheel of his car, gulping air, willing the sting of rejection to sink to the depths of his loafers. Toto’s Africa provided the soundtrack to his misery.

He startled at a gentle rapping at his window. He looked up to see you, haloed in the streetlight, wearing a copper lamé dress with a high split in the leg and a dip at the shoulder. Your eyes were smoked out, making your confused glare even more intense. 

Possessed Dana Barrett, you’d explained, offering him a bite of your candy apple. He refused it, so you chucked it out the window into a storm drain, licking your sticky fingers. 

You'd taken Nancy's little brother and his friends trick-or-treating and they'd cajoled you into being Possessed Dana Barrett to round out the Ghostbusters cast. You wanted to be Slimer but you didn't know how to pull it off on such short notice, and Joyce Byers had loaned you this gown from the days of disco, and why was he so long in the face, anyway?

Steve was just desperate enough to ask you to hang out at his, which turned into a request for you to stay over at his. He'd never had his heart broken by someone he’d chosen, and part of him wanted to hide. 

But he knew going home to his empty house and the silence would taunt him. You went along with it easily. You almost didn't even seem confused as to why he was asking you. 

You washed your face and used a spare toothbrush he had. The sleeves of the pajama top he'd long since outgrown still reached past your fingertips. He'd stared at you as you rolled them up your forearms, one leg crossed over the other, hanging off the edge of his bed.

It felt strange but comforting and he allowed himself to wonder if he'd ever get to see a lover or even his wife do those same dainty motions in a bigger bed. In a shared bed, one day. He wondered if he'd remember the sight of you, right now.

You and him were laying in his bed, top and tail - platonic 69’ing, you'd joked, immediately clearing your throat when Steve didn't laugh -, when you broke the silence telling him, “Talk to her. In a couple days. She was drunk, Steve, she didn't know what she was saying.” 

He had to remind himself that you were talking about him and Nance.

“She was hurtfully clear about it,” he retorted. A beat passed before you offered an anecdote about your first time getting drunk at a Christmas party on base. 

You'd snuck a bunch of drinks with some other Air Force brats throughout the night before loudly declaring to a room full of military families that you were going to invent the hoverboard from Back to the Future. 

Steve didn't know what Back to the Future was and you quickly corrected course, telling him to get some sleep. 

That was the night the two of you became something like friends. 

The next day he woke up with the red painted toe nails of one of your feet lodged in the crook of his arm. He didn’t hate it. 

Mere days later, after you'd blocked Lucas Sinclair’s body with your own and gotten Billy Hargrove’s backhand for your trouble, after he'd watched you clutch the Mother Mary medallion around your neck and recite whispered, rushed prayers to a god you scarcely believed in in the back of an abandoned school bus before fighting otherworldly monsters alongside him, and going back into that hell mouth because you'd been down there before and couldn't let the rest go in without knowing what they were up against…

Steve felt ready to let Nancy go. 

He still cared for her, he still didn't like how it ended, but his world felt bigger and less stifling now. And he didn't need to hold onto the last dregs of something that would stay just that…dregs. There were possibilities all around him. He didn't want to cling to someone that didn't want him back.

Yours and Steve's friendship was quietly strengthened over two more reality-rocking apocalypses. One of those included his initiation to the Back to the Future franchise. “Ooooh,” he'd loudly declared in the theater, finally understanding your reference while off his face on Russian truth serum. You’d looked over at him with bleary eyes, shooting him finger guns, grateful for the vindication.

In between, and after the mall fire, there were lots of jokes, cookouts, Midwest adventures and plenty of heretofore platonic 69ing in his bed. Top and tail sleepovers followed by rote, cozy breakfasts at the county’s diners. 

You would mewl a miserable sleep song on those mornings until he reminded you of the very existence of French toast.

 Sometimes it was just the two of you, sometimes your friends joined. But it was almost agonizing in its closeness and familiarity. And it grew out of the impossible.

A shrink could have told Steve that the bitching between the two of you that occasionally oozed to the surface like liquid rock was a trauma response. The shrink would have gone on to explain that Steve was projecting his fears onto you because you were an easy target. You'd experienced it together and he had access to you. And Steve would need to find another shrink because he'd know they were only half-right. 

Yes, you'd become fixtures in each other's lives and had shared experiences out of the ordinary. But the same could be said of Robin or Dustin or Eddie, etc. and yes, he mother-henned them all, but when it came to you, he couldn't be talked out of it. Because as important as Robin or Dustin or Eddie, etc. were to him, it was your ass that he couldn't seem to crawl out of, and it annoyed you as much as anyone else.

You'd been very sweet and mellow about it up to this point, but things were getting confusing between you two. Hence the pool noodle incident and passive aggressive defiance.

You started buttoning your shirt up just for something to do with your good hand and after a prolonged and uncomfortable silence, Steve spoke. “Allen Miles,” he said simply.

You stopped at the top button of your blouse. “Allen Miles,” you parroted back.

You saw the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “Allen…Miles,” he tried again, testing the name on his tongue.

You picked at your cast, tracing the well-wishes in Robin's loopy chicken scratch with your thumb. “Is a person that exists,” you said flaty, as if to staunch whatever shit was about to come out of his mouth next.

“Allen Miles is a douche-dick,” he sing-songed quietly enough that you could have pretended not to hear.

Unbelievable. You sniffed at the insult. “What'd Allen Miles ever do to you?”

“Why'd he give you a ride today?” he asked, dodging the question. “You could have piled in with everyone else.” Ugh. He sounded like Hop.

The simplicity and faux-calmness of the statement took you aback. Was he for real right now? “He works at the rec center on Saturday mornings and I had physio-therapy there today. He offered,” you countered, trying not to sound as defensive as you felt - though the words came out in a rapid stream almost as if they’d been rehearsed (they weren’t). You bit the inside of your cheek. An argument was a-brewin.’

Steve turned off the narrow highway onto the skinny, heavily-wooded trail to the cabin. He was seething and neither of you knew why. “So he waited for you to get done with PT?” 

“No,” you shot back, not fully understanding the anger under his line of questioning. “His shift ended a half hour after I was done. I waited for him.”

A scoff. “He made you wait for him?” He posed the question as if it was the most distasteful thing he could imagine.

“He didn’t make me do anything! He didn't have to drive me in the first place!”

“Well then why didn’t you come to the store! If you were waiting for a ride, you could have waited for me!”

“That would have taken hours! What is your problem?”

“Just-” Steve took a deep breath, flicking his gaze to you briefly as the Bimmer trundled down the beaten path to the cabin. “I just wonder about Miles, ya know? He’s a little sleazy around you, what if he just wants to get in your pants? What if he’d-”

Steve was the Larry Bird of cutting himself off, apparently.

“What if he’d made a move?” you offered.

“Exactly,” Steve said, pointing at you.

“What if he had?” you questioned honestly.

The cabin came into view, mercifully, only a moment later. Your head was swimming. Steve had been acting so short with you the last few weeks. It had ramped up when you’d broken the arm.

It was a stupid accident, really. Max had begged you to take a run on the skateboard, something you’d never done. She’d egged you on and you’d done it and you’d gone flying over a stop skid in the church parking lot. 

She had to run into the church and have the secretary call you an ambulance. In hindsight, you were lucky you hadn’t broken your face open. You knew when to take a W, so you didn’t dwell on the possibilities too much.

Steve had heard you were in the hospital and had a conniption. Granted, he hadn’t stayed on the phone with Max long enough to hear It’s just her arm, she’s fine. 

You’d been hopped up on morphine and called him a fruit loop for getting his panties in such a twist. 

And ever since then, you two had been walking a razor’s edge. Where it had once been easy to diffuse your little tiffs, you seemed to be perpetually living under one another’s skin. 

Steve threw the car in park and whipped over to face you. “What do you mean what if he had?” You did not appreciate the falsetto that his voice had taken on to impersonate you. 

“I mean what I said, Steve! What is your deal?”

“He could be a total dirt bag, Teenie!”

You sighed to yourself and pinched the bridge of your nose. You were suddenly so tired. “He didn’t make a pass at me, Steve. He was very sweet and cordial and I got there in one piece and I really need you to back off right now, please.”

This was it. This was your limit. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. You huffed quietly to yourself before telling Steve “I need you to not talk to me for a while, okay?” And at that, you grabbed your bag from between your feet and got out of the car.

You heard Steve government-name you before you closed the door and skulked toward the cabin. The tears came fast and you were grateful that Steve didn’t follow you. Instead he gripped his steering wheel and internally scolded himself for everything that had just transpired. 

Steve knew he wasn’t always the brightest, but how? How did he always end up shooting himself in the foot? He chanced a look at the cabin and lingered for a moment after he saw the light in the mudroom off the side that served as your sleeping quarters had turned on. 

He gave more than a passing thought to going in after you, but he wasn’t going to fuck it further by pushing you when you’d explicitly asked for space. Plus, he was chastised, but he was still fussy, and he didn’t fully trust himself to not keep digging this hole deeper. 

After a moment, he gathered himself and left the property, turning up the radio and letting Talk to Me by Stevie Nicks rub the salt in as he made his way back to his empty house. 

Inside the cabin, you watched Steve’s headlights disappear as you wrestled your Detroit Red Wings jersey over your cast. It was the only sleep shirt that you could get over your cast at the moment. 

Your tears had subsided, slurped back up into your tear ducts for the sheer fact that you didn’t want to waste anymore tears on Steve Harrington. 

He probably didn’t know it, the beautiful dolt, but over the years that you’d known him, he’d kept pushing on the same bruise, and it had gotten even more difficult for you to cope. 

He'd gone for the throat harping on Allen Miles, whom you were not interested in like that. Steve's over-the-top paternalistic revulsion at the thought of you getting some hurt your feelings and made you feel like he'd only ever see you as a fragile little sister figure that he needed to coddle. Like your having sex was some kind of aberration. 

Having him treat you that way with the way you felt about him twisted your heart.

You were tired of having a big and important part of you ignored. A part that you’d never talked with anyone, especially Steve, in great detail. The sexual part. The (gag) sensual part. You were eighteen going on forty-eight, already whinging internally about how you were a woman™ dammit and you had needs™. 

You weren’t seasoned, by any means. You’d had a handful of secret fumbles with secret partners and you’d made discoveries about yourself. 

A of all- and this one you’d suspected since puberty hit - you got turned on easily. Like sloppy, soppy, pushing down on your vulva like you were hiding a boner turned on. And for no reason.

Sometimes it happened when you saw Eddie Van Halen on MTV or Mickey Rourke in Rumble Fish or LeVar Burton on the cover of TV Guide. 

Sometimes it happened when you had to go to a stupid school spirit assembly and had to look at boys in their stupid, short basketball shorts and/or girls in their cheerleading regalia. 

Sometimes it happened when you watched Eddie’s band practice in Gareth’s garage and saw the young Munson trash around all sweaty, handling his guitar expertly.

Once, it had happened when you saw Robin throw a balled up Dixie Cup into a bin at a considerable distance and she’d celebrated excessively and it was cute. 

You knew you didn't want to fuck Eddie or Robin -it would be weird beyond weird. It's just that you could appreciate them.

The same way you appreciated the nasty smacking noises Nancy and Jon made when they were making out in what they thought was a private moment and you knew they were gonna bang later. 

Your friends did sexy things, and sometimes it turned you on.

Mostly, though, it happened with Steve. At least once a day (usually more), he did something that accidentally got you going. A hand on his hip, and hand through his hair, a smirk, a wink, a smile, a whisper in your ear, a casual touch on the small of your back. 

This was to say nothing of how he made you feel emotionally. How unguarded and at peace you felt when he was around. How physical closeness felt as natural as breathing, and you were not hugged enough as a child, so that was saying something. 

Sometimes you'd give each other long lingering hugs and it made you wish you could fuse your flesh to his. You wanted to be his Kuato, always melded to his tummy. And you knew it was weird but so what? Nobody needed to know.

B of all - you liked being touched. And snogged. And railed. And held tight. Which you discovered on your own and in secret, no thanks to Steve. Because Steve usually had a squeeze waiting in the wings somewhere. 

And even when he didn’t, he was preoccupied either with healing from his first great heartbreak or pondering how to rebound from said great heartbreak. Despite your raging hormones, you knew you wanted nothing to do with either of those. So you outsourced your sexual energy.

As soon as you'd gotten over your hangups about the cheesy, neon, teased to high-hell vomit pile that was the 1980s in America, and you'd leaned into it just a little bit, you started getting noticed. And you discovered, thanks to Francis and David and Chelsea (separately), that you did not just enjoy sex in theory, but also in practice. 

The kicker, though, was that while you physically enjoyed the sex that you’d had, you realized when you were coming down from the high that something might be missing. You could have an orgasm that you felt in your very boots, but you wouldn’t ever ask the person that had just rocked your world to drive you to the airport or buy you French toast, much less trust them with your heart. 

Your stupid, stupid heart. It beat for a boy that seemed to think you had the sex life of a castrato.

You flopped down on your bed and stared at your ceiling. You felt kind of bad brushing Steve off like that, even demanding that he not talk to you. 

You hadn't chanced a look back at his face when you'd left his car, but you knew you would have seen that hardened, confused look that he got when he was hurt. That look that always crushed you and made you want to kiss his face and whisper sweet words until he broke out into that cocky grin of his.

You rolled over and closed your eyes, wishing he was next to you, that you could feel his weight and body heat, that you were holding him by the crook of his elbow and pressing your face into his bicep. That you could somehow transmit your thoughts without speaking them out loud and that he would at least be gentler with you and not infer that you were sexless anymore. Even if he didn’t want you like that.

You settled into that lukewarm fantasy, of the memory of him, and let yourself drift to sleep.

(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Steve was sitting on his floor leaned against his bed, holding one of his most prized worldly possessions. It was a candid Polaroid of the two of you.

It was taken at the fair last year. It was a little overexposed with the lights from the rides surrounding you, but the figures of you two were clear as day.

In the photo, Steve was holding your wrist to his chest with a crooked grin, mouth poised near your ear. It looked like he'd just whispered something to you. Your head was crooked to the side and down, like you were trying to worm away from his grasp, your eyes closed with the intensity of your laugh. Your face was glowing with the fair lights and there was a streak of white on your cheek. You both looked sublimely happy.

Steve smiled at the memory. You'd made a game of forcing bits of funnel cake into his mouth when he wasn't paying attention when finally, he'd caught you before your next “attack” and smeared powdered sugar from the pastry onto your cheek as revenge.

His first thought when Jonathan had presented him with the memento at the end of that night was that he was looking at you like a boy in love and he wondered how many times he'd been caught looking at you like that, without photographic evidence.

The bitter memory of you telling him I need you to not talk to me for a while roared back into his consciousness and slapped him in the face. You'd sounded hurt, on top of being pissed. 

Did you really want to date Allen Miles? You said he hadn't made a pass at you. Did it hurt your feelings because he didn't make a pass at you and Steve had just dug the knife in more? He'd throttle Miles if he'd hurt your feelings. Fuck that guy.

Or were you worried about Steve's opinion of your choice in boyfriends? Was Allen your type? What was your type? He knew Eddie Van Halen and Mickey Rourke and LeVar Burton were your type but that weird trinity did not clarify things for him.

Steve tried to recall what, besides his shortness with you, could have triggered you to react the way that you did. By now, he knew that whatever it was, it was his fault. He would love to pawn the blame off on you but you were usually blameless, especially to him. You were sweet and gentle and always seemed to anticipate and prioritize other people’s needs at your own peril. 

He'd given you space like you asked but it had been a couple days now. He was starting to feel like he was jonesing. 

He was hoping you would have come to visit him at the video store by now, jumping on his back and hugging him like a koala, whispering in his ear that all was forgiven and things could go back to normal, like how they were before you'd broken your arm.

But when Steve thought about things going back the way they were, it made his brain itch. He felt like something was totally different and the two of you couldn't go back if you wanted to. Moreover, he didn't know if he did want to. He wanted…

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. He slid the Polaroid of you two back into his bedside drawer and hastily picked up the receiver. Please be her, please be her, please be her. 

“Hello?”

“Steve?” 

Nance. “Nance?” Fuck it all. Steve bit back his disappointment. “What's up?”

“Is Teenie over at yours? I tried to call her but El said she's not home but she's not working today, either. I know Robin was scheduled at the store today. I thought she might be with you.”

Steve's jaw clenched involuntarily. Were you with Allen Miles? 

“Um,” Steve said with a little choke. “No, no. She's not here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything's good. It's just that I was emptying the cooler and I found that Mother Mary medallion she always wears? It must have slipped off her neck. It was her grandmother's and I thought she might be bugging out thinking it was lost forever and-”

“I'll come get it,” Steve interrupted. He was already pulling his sneakers on. “You gonna be home for a minute?”

“Oh.” A pause. “It's no big deal, Steve, I'm running Mike to the cabin tomorrow, I can just drop it off then.”

Steve was pacing now, thinking he might be losing his line back to you. You did love that necklace even though you'd abandoned the Church forever ago. Your grandmother was the only person from back “home” that you were sentimental about - and she'd died not long before you'd ended up here. 

That necklace was the only tangible piece of your former life that you really cared about. Maybe you'd be more inclined to listen or even share oxygen with him if he brought it back to you.

“Uh, it's cool. She actually left her uh,” Steve began, looking around the room then down at his feet, “uh, her shoes, yeah. She left them in my car when I dropped her off the other night.” Lie.

He heard Nancy laugh, a little disbelievingly. “She left her shoes in your car.” It came out as a statement.

“Psh, yeah. They were all sandy from the beach and she hates the feeling of leftover sand in between her toes.” Half lie. You had told him that, once. “Anyway, I'll be by in like ten.” 

“Ste-”

Steve dropped the receiver back in the cradle and made a mad dash for Nancy’s. Nancy was waiting for him on the front step when he arrived. When she dropped the necklace in his waiting palm, he held it gingerly and stared at it like a holy relic.

Nancy cleared her throat. Steve met her eyes and he could see something like suspicion dancing behind them, along with a little smirk. “You better go find Teenie. Poor girl’s walking around without shoes, afterall.”

Nancy was always too smart for her own good - or anyone else’s for that matter. He thanked her as if she’d given him the world and went on his merry way. 

(⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

Steve decided to make a pitstop back at his house instead of going right over to yours. He’d been planning on going to the cabin and waiting for you if you hadn’t gotten home yet. 

But after he left Nancy’s, he thought that this might not be the move. You were really mad at him and he wanted to show you that he could listen and respect your wishes.

He spent a good twenty minutes pacing around his living room trying to come up with a gameplan on how to return your necklace without ruffling your feathers further. 

Maybe he should buy you an obnoxiously large teddy bear? 

No, if you hated it, he would be stuck with an over-large, cutesy reminder of his failure. 

Or maybe he could hire one of those dorky barbershop quartets to show up at work and sing you a song about how he knew he was a dipshit, but you meant so much to him, please take him back?

 No, no. You would die of embarrassment and probably haunt him for the rest of his days. 

He was still holding your necklace, gripping his hair by the roots when he heard the doorbell. 

Maybe it was Dustin or Eddie. Maybe he could bounce some ideas off them, he thought as he jogged toward the door. 

He opened it and felt the air leave his lungs when he saw you standing there. You were staring up at him, eyes wide, swaying your shoulders a little bit the way you did when you were nervous. 

You were wearing his favorite dress of yours. This beige thing with tie straps and red flowers on it. The first time he’d seen you wear it, you’d been all dolled up in a way that was almost salacious. Now you wore your hair down with barely a stitch of makeup on and Steve thought you looked…

“Hi,” you said shyly. 

“Hi,” he said back, his voice sounding small in his ears. He cleared his throat, hoping that if he found his voice again, he wouldn’t sound so broken. “Come in?”

You didn’t hesitate, thankfully. You walked past him, minding your cast and stopped in the foyer before you turned to him. You shrugged one shoulder bashfully. 

“Nancy said you had my necklace.” Your face scrunched up in confusion. “Also, something about shoes?”

Steve pushed the door shut and walked over to you. 

“Uh, yeah, I might have lied to her and said you left your shoes in my car so I’d have an excuse to take custody of your necklace.” 

The confusion on your face deepened. 

Steve held your necklace out to you and you let him drop it into your good hand.

You both stood there for an awkward moment. “I missed you,” you said.

Steve felt his heart soar and opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off. 

“Will you help me?” you asked, holding up the necklace and then your cast to make your point. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, rushing to your back. You handed him the necklace and bunched your hair up in a fist, holding it out of the way. 

Steve took a moment to appreciate the back of your neck, the downy hairs at your hairline, the little birthmark at the junction of your shoulder. He looped the necklace around you and clasped it, checking that the spring in the clasp was still sound.

“All set,” he said. 

You spun around to meet him and he saw you touch the pendant at your decolletage with a little smile. “Thank you.”

“I missed you too,” Steve rushed out, hands shoved in his back pockets.

The look you gave him back was soft and dazed and he felt his heart kick in his chest. You cocked your head at him. “Why were you so upset about Allen, Stevie?”

Steve didn’t detect even a hint of anger in your question. You just kept staring at him softly. Steve walked over to the couch and perched himself against the backrest. His thumbs rubbed dual patterns on the suede upholstery while he thought up a response. The best he could come up with was “Do you like him? Allen, I mean? Like…romantic-wise?”

He glanced up at you bashfully, dreading the answer he was sure would come.

Your eyes narrowed, but not meanly. You walked over to him and planted your hip against the couch next to him. 

“No,” you said, simply.

Steve released a relieved exhale from deep in his chest. You weren’t done, though. “But Stevie, why…I mean why did you get so mad at the thought of Allen and I together?”

Steve felt his eyes bug out but tried to school his expression into something less obvious. He shrugged when he finally met your eyes again. “Teenie, I just.” He wet his bottom lip. You wore the same soft, contemplative expression but he thought he could see your breathing kick up as you waited for him to finish. 

Steve was right. You were trying to stop yourself from hyperventilating. You hadn’t come over here to confront Steve, not really. You really just wanted to see him again and figure out what he was playing at, purloining your necklace from Nancy in an obvious attempt to get back in your good graces. It would have been a cute gesture if you weren’t so worried about what was coming next. 

But two days of feeling like your brain was leaking for its singular fixation on your Stevie and how much you missed him had finally gotten the best of you. You came round the moment you could. You knew it was time to face the music, come what may. 

“I just want…whoever you hang out with or end up being with…I just want them to treat you with respect. And I want you to have fun and feel safe and…”

God, he was beautiful. Didn’t he know? How could he not know?

Steve seemed to be at a loss for words now, so you offered some.

 “I could have those things with you,” you breathed out almost dreamily.

Steve's eyes went wide again and you felt like your heart was going to break because that look could have meant…so many things. Not all of them good.

You backed away from his side slowly, ready to make a break for it, but Steve caught you gently by the upper arms and stood at his full height. He stared at you like you were a brand new lifeform.

“Teenie?” he said in a too-tiny voice.

You were looking right into the void, free-falling into the hinterworld of your own heart.

“Stevie, do you think of me like a little sister?”

Steve's eyebrows shot up with something like horror before he cleared his throat and shook away some thought known only to him. 

“Ew, no, Teen.”

You bit your lip and stamped your foot just a little bit, feeling a little unmoored. You worried suddenly that you wouldn't get the answers you wanted. 

Steve had loosened his grip on you just a smidge. He was absently stroking your arms with his thumbs.

“One of the kids then. Dustin or Max or-”

“No,” he answered immediately, shaking his head decisively. “No.” 

And you knew. You knew he meant it.

You backed away, feeling singed by his sincerity. You paced the length of the runner behind the couch and slid a nail along your cast making little zipzipzip noises to fill the quiet. You turned to him after a moment.

“So what's happening with us. Why are we being so weird with each other?” 

Steve put his hands on his hips. “You broke your ass, Teenie,” he said sternly. “It could have been your head!”

“It wasn't though, it wasn't my head!” Your voice had a desperate edge. “Way crazier stuff has happened to me, to both of us! All our friends…”

He looked at you like you were speaking a different language. He shut his eyes tight like he was willing the memories away. He gathered himself quickly.

“Right, and if things had gone differently, we don't know what could have happened!”

Both of you were breathing hard, tears stinging your eyeballs. It's like you had awoken a sleeping beast by merely mentioning its existence.

Steve gestured into the air and stared into the distance as he continued. He was so fuckin’ pretty, you thought then. Even when he had big fuckin’ feelings that his pretty fuckin’ self couldn't contain in his pretty fuckin' meat prison.

“Every time something happens to you, it's like I can't stop thinking about it.” Steve's tented his fingers at his temples to demonstrate his point, eyes wide and unblinking like there was a movie playing behind his eyes that he couldn't look away from.

You started taking slow, tiny steps toward him, like he was a wounded rabbit and you didn't want to frighten him off. You wanted to hold him. 

“I spin out and I can't stop thinking about you dying.” 

Two more tiny, furtive steps toward him.

“Or being born.”

“Oh, Stevie-” Wait. “Wait, being born? What?”

Steve had pulled at his hair and it was messy in that perfect way. 

“Your birthday, Teenie.” He said it both frantically and like you were dumb for not following. “It's 1986, your birthday is less than two years away and we don't know.” He practically whimpered your name, willing you to understand.

It hit you then. You'd forgotten yourself for a minute, how absurd your life was. The very thing that was whispered among your friends and found family - spoken in a hushed manner for fear of speaking it into reality (or causing you an existential crisis.) You always heard them, though. 

You had almost…almost found it funny how nobody seemed to think that the thought didn't cross your mind at three in the morning most nights.

The question of what would happen when the day of your birth - the one on your original, undoctored birth certificate that you'd left in a banker box back on Nellis AFB - finally rolled around. The day you would find out to what extent you were an actual paradox. If having been evicted from your mother's womb on that day would cause you to be slurped back into the Upside Down…Or if you would blink out of existence.

But the question hadn't woken you up since Spring Break. Because the positive to having a psionic demon vampire picking apart your psyche is that sometimes you got good intel.

You felt so warm all of a sudden, watching Steve watch you with his eyes wide and desperate and his scrumptious lips pushed into a sad pout, looking so young. You'd never been so touched in all your life.

You strode over to him and pulled his collar to encourage him down, closer to your height.

His arms looped around your middle. It was automatic. The half-crazed look on his face dropped away, replaced by an expression that told you he was taken aback but that he didn't hate this.

“I love you,” you declared, firm and resolute, yet quaky with emotion. You hoped he knew that this wasn't like the other times you said it. And that you could table the birthday discussion until after…

You squeezed his face and pushed your mouth into his as you looped your broken arm around his neck.

Steve gathered your hair away from your face and returned the kiss without a moment’s hesitation.

His mouth was warm and soft and a little tacky from how he'd been licking his lips nervously moments before. Your lip balm provided just the right amount of slide for your lips to tangle together perfectly.

Steve stumbled with you in his arms against the nearest wall. You took great care not to accidentally dicknail him in the side of the head with your cast as he hoisted you up, cradling your thighs in his hands.

Through his panting, he managed, “Do you mean it?”

Both of you knew what he meant. Did you mean I love you? Did you mean the kiss? The answer to both was a resounding fucking yes.

“Yes, Stevie. I want this. I want you so bad-”

Steve dive-bombed your mouth with his own, caressing your tongue with his. You opened your mouth wider to let him riff on it. 

You shuddered when you felt his crotch press into yours. The feeling of his hardening cock pressed into the space that was rapidly becoming drenched with your horniness and love for this boy combined with the slipperiness of your tongues moving together was beyond your wildest dreams.

Steve couldn't believe this was happening. He couldn't believe that the only thing standing between you two and your mutual desire to jam yourselves together like you were trying to fuse into a superbeing was that you thought he didn't think you were sexy or mature or whatever the fuck. 

If his blood supply wasn't rushing to his crotchal region right now, he might have done some psychological forensics to figure out how you'd arrived at that conclusion.

And fuck him if you didn't know what you were doing. This clearly wasn't your first heavy make out. Normally, that thought would make him jealous as all hell. But he could feel it. The rightness of this and he knew it didn't matter.

He pulled back from your mouth and let himself stare at you shamelessly. Your mouth was kiss-bitten and -oh - you already had this sexy, flushed glow painted from your cleavage to your cheeks. 

You wore a beautifully profane expression, half-helpless and half-threatening as in I'm going to eat you if you don't eat me first. Your irises looked almost feline.

He stole one more kiss from you before he hoisted you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He expected you to protest but you just grunted slightly at the impact and braced yourself as much as you could for what turned out to be a short commute to Steve's room. You were too turned on to question his method.

Steve deposited you on the bed and you scrambled up to your knees to pull him forcefully into another kiss where he stood. You started nipping and biting sucking at his earlobes, his jaw, his neck, his chest.

Steve felt almost overwhelmed. This the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. You two were feral for each other and probably would have looked completely insane if you’d had an audience. Unlike his previous encounters, nothing about this felt stilted or transactional or lopsided.

In spite of how erotic it was, though, it also felt tender. Like this thread between you had been pulling taut for god knew how long before it had almost snapped. And as soon as you'd stopped resisting it, it pulled you into one another. He needed to be sure that you felt the same, though. He wouldn't risk another communication breakdown.

He pulled your face away from his neck by your hair and you looked startled but not displeased. Your lips curled into a dozy smile at the show of force. Steve was all business, though.

“How far do you want this to go?” You both chose to ignore the way his voice gave a little.

You swallowed as you stroked his chest. “Um, well, I really want you to make love to me but, like…I'll take whatever you give me.”

Steve closed his eyes in quiet supplication to whatever force was allowing this.

He smiled at you with his tongue poking at the back of his teeth. You returned it with a goofy giggle. God, you two were idiots.

“Game on then, baby,” Steve said.

Steve insisted on going down on you. You didn't strictly need it. You were so turned on that you could already feel that ache inside where you'd opened up to receive him.

You were almost worried that you might end up accidentally waterboarding him with your cunt for how wet you were already, but you needn’t have worried.

After he'd fluffed the pillows behind your shoulders and pulled your soaked panties off of you, he didn't waste a minute exploring down there with little kisses and bites to your thighs before he finally dove in and got to work. 

Within minutes he had you shivering and moaning, letting nonsense fuck language spill from your lips as you scratched his scalp in little circles. 

Steve was painfully hard in his shorts but he would have stayed down here for millenia if you'd let him.

Soon, you were gripping his wrist and writhing. Your legs were bent and rigid like a Barbie doll's but quaking with the intensity of your orgasm.

You let a sharp cry escape from your chest. It was high-pitched and wild and unguarded and it was the most beautiful sound Steve had ever heard.

He looked up at you. Your head was resting at an angle like it was too heavy for you to hold up. He let himself enjoy the sight. 

With your eyes still closed, as though you were in a deep trance, you started groping with your good hand, uncoordinated at your shoulders until you found the tie straps on your dress and undid them.

Without communicating it out loud, Steve pinched the fabric of your dress's bodice while you lifted up on your elbows so he could pull it down.

God, you were beautiful. Not just your tits. Yes, your tits were insane, but it was just you. Every inch of you, every plane on your body and, outside of your physical form, your gravity and orbit. He would never escape them and he didn't want to.

Steve crawled up your body, leaving smooches up your tummy and along your breasts and neck until he got to your mouth. You pulled him into you, kissing him stupid.

“Off,” you said bossily, breaking the kiss. Tugging at his collar. “These, too,” you insisted, pinching the cuff of his jeans between your toes.

Steve chuckled and pulled the shirt over his head. He got to work on his belt, kissing the tip of your nose.

“You want it like this?” he asked, indicating the missionary position you were in.

He got his belt free and shimmied his jeans away and down the bed, not wanting to leave you.

You bit your lip, eyes cast down lustfully, and Steve noticed you were checking out the tent in his boxers. 

He snickered. “My eyes are up here.”

You giggled at him, flicking his nose.

You two settled into a cozy silence and just stared at each other. You cleared your throat. “My favorite is being on top, usually,” you began. “But it might be hard with this.” You lifted your casted arm.

Steve deliberated for a moment. You could have told him you liked it upside down on a hammock and he would have found a way to make it so. But the thought of you riding him was making his dick weep. He would make that so, no problem.

“Teenie-on-top it is.” He gave your naked thigh a couple of light slaps. “Up,” he instructed.

You pushed up onto your knees as he leaned over to his nightstand, extracting a loose condom packet. He stood up and pulled his boxers down. 

When he looked at you, you were sitting on your haunches, knees splayed wide. Your arms were limp at your sides, hair a fucked out mess. You stared at his cock with what looked to him like reverence, mouth agape. 

“Oh, Marone,” you whispered to yourself with a gulp, fisting your hair at the scalp.

Steve snorted. You were so cute it made his chest hurt. He explained his plan as he ripped the condom foil open and rolled it over his cock.

“I'm going to hold you up so you don't put weight on the arm. I've got you, just trust me, ‘kay?”

He didn't know if you'd been paying attention to what he said. You sprung up on your knees and collapsed into him and gave him a searing kiss on the mouth. “‘Kay.”

Steve slid into bed and guided you by your hips to straddle him. You held your casted arm off to the side, balancing like you were getting into a rowboat as you braced your good hand on his forearm.

“Good?” he asked.

You hummed as you began moving yourself over his cock. Steve's breath hitched, but he kept his grip on your hips firm as you acquainted your bits with his. 

Your slickness and his spit had cooled a little but soon he could feel a pool of warmth. He was at your entrance. Your skirt was ruched around your waist, the straps of it hanging limply. His favorite dress.

You locked eyes with him as you reached between you and guided him inside. You sheathed him in inside you completely, pretty much immediately. No adjustment period needed. Your body had waited long enough. 

Both of you had done so much waiting.

You rocked your pelvis against him, getting used to the sensations. It felt like coming home, it felt so right.

Steve’s cock was like a pleasure-seeking missile. It found enclaves in your body that you'd never have discovered on your own. 

Your cunt hugged him, letting you and him both know how rich the landscape of your body was. You could feel everything and everything felt so good. 

Steve was still holding onto your hips but he was squeezing his eyes shut and writhing and moaning. You really fucking knew what you were doing. Or maybe this was just a long time coming. Maybe it was destined.

The sounds of his moans were like a cool drink of water on the hottest day of the year. You wanted the sound bottled. You wanted to bathe in it.

You braced your good hand on his chest and gripped his elbow with the other as you changed up the angle and pace. He was caressing your g-spot now and when you moaned loudly at the sensation, he gripped you tighter, encouraging you to devour that feeling. Your clit found his mons and pretty soon, playtime was over.

You were both panting and moaning and before you knew it, you were right there. Your pussy was fluttering. Steve's stomach was taut, his upper body having gone rigid. His face was red and the veins in his forehead were prominent with his exertion. He was trying to delay his own orgasm until you were ready.

You folded over then, collapsing forward and cradling his head between your upper arms. Electric bubbles of happiness fizzed in every part of your cunt, sending effervescent kisses up your spine and down to your toes. You thought your broken arm might have healed, even.

“FuckStevieBaby,” you whined, pressing your forehead into the dip of his shoulder.

Steve was a goner. He moaned your name pathetically as he pistoned his hips up into you, helped by the wetness of your cum. Heat lightning overtook his body as he felt himself spill inside the condom and he saw sparkles.

Your skin was pasted to his with sweat.

You shakily made yourself up to a seated position and looked down at him like you were getting to see the Northern Lights for the first time. 

He returned the gaze. Except to him, you were the Northern Lights and the Milky Way and a lofty angel with wings of purple fire. Jesus, when did he get so poetic?

He sat up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing you and pulling you into a hug. It wasn't unlike the ones you'd shared before, nudity notwithstanding. 

It was a hug that said hi, I'm here, I've got you, always. 

You let your heart rates ramp down before he lifted you off his softening member, but keeping you in his lap. He drew circles on your sweaty back.

“I love you,” he said into your collarbone.

Your heart did a little dance in your naked chest.

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

Steve pulled you both down and situated it so you were both laying on your sides, facing the other. He clasped your hand in his.

“No, I mean I love you.” It was emphatic despite the sleepiness in his voice. “I'm in love with you and I want to keep you. I want us to do this. I want people to know we belong to each other.” 

If anyone else on planet earth had said those words to you after you'd just fucked, it would have sounded like cro magnon-freshly-emptied-balls possessiveness.

But not with him. It's like you could see tomorrow in his beautiful brown eyes. You two were finally, blessedly on the same page.

“I've belonged to you since…” you rolled your eyes upward like you were thinking, when really you actually knew… “Halloween ‘84.”

Steve smiled at your confirmation. But also in bemusement.

“The night me and Nancy-”

“It was when I was on your bed,” you interrupted. “Right here in this spot. I was rolling up the sleeves of that stripey old man PJ shirt you loaned me.”

“I remember,” he whispered, swallowing the emotions bubbling up.

“I saw you looking at me and for just a second, I let myself think…”

You had let yourself think, this feels so easy. I'm about to spend the night in a boy's bed for the first time and it feels so easy. What if he wasn't heartbroken? What if he didn't think you were a freak? What if you'd done this a before in a thousand and one lifetimes? That's how easy it felt.

“I never stopped being yours, Stevie.”

He scooched closer, ran his index finger down the bridge of your nose, kissing you one more time.

“I hope you never do.”

“I never will.”

Steve got a faraway look in his eye as he looked past your shoulder. 

He didn't want to burst this bubble, but if he felt this way now, what would it be like less than two years from now. Less than two years away.

You clocked it immediately, you little mind-reader. 

You couldn't let him stew in his fear anymore. You hadn't meant to drop the subject before, but you had the pressing matter of showing him how much you loved him to attend to.

“I'm not going back, you know.” 

His eyes shot to you, suddenly way more alert.

“How-”

“Creel.”

Steve propped himself up on his elbow and studied you. You never brought this up. In fact, if any of your family's little misadventures ever came up in conversation, even briefly, you would excuse yourself from the room. Everyone learned to keep that talk to a minimum around you.

Besides that, Steve didn't like talking about when you'd been Vecna’d. It had been in the same manner as Nancy had been. Not meant to destroy you but to show you things. When the group had asked you what you saw, you simply told them “me.”

At the time, you had made the executive decision that what you had been shown wasn't valuable to any fact-finding that would help you defeat your foe. And when you were pressed for more, when Dustin had accused you of a party infraction by withholding, you'd leveled him with a deadly glare and stated “Not this, Dustin. Not now.” You had been so uncharacteristically severe that everyone silently agreed to leave it.

You turned over on your back and stared at the ceiling. 

“Before Spring Break, I was having a really hard time.”

Steve remembered. The recesses of his memory held images of you looking off into the distance, refrains of sorry, what? whenever you got caught out. 

You'd buried yourself in schoolwork, picking up extra shifts at the bowling alley, packing your calendar with babysitting gigs. Like you were trying to erase every moment of idle time, pulling away from everyone.

Steve had worried but when he talked about it with Robin, she'd dismissed it as paranoia. Think about it, Steve, what's she's been through. It catches up. 

He figured Robin might know something he didn't, hurtful though it was. He'd dropped it.

“You were dating around and Nancy was missing Jon. El was gone, Hop was gone. Max was totally checked out. And I started wondering, like..”

Your eyes were wet, now, voice a little choked. Steve brushed your cheek and that seemed to give you the resolve to keep going.

“I started to worry that I would never find someone that could really know me. That I couldn't ever really move on and grow up because the people that did know me were all…” 

You gestured vaguely into the air.

“I felt so out of place all of a sudden. And for the first time since I got here I just wanted to go back. I wanted to go back to where I made sense. Even though I didn't like my life before…”

Steve's heart broke at the thought that you'd felt so abandoned. He could kick himself for being so flip about it back then.

Your story took you over then. It was so cemented in your mind, it might have been inscribed on tablets.

You'd blinked. One minute you were at the mouth of the gate. The next minute you were in some sort of cathedral. But it was in ruins. The exposed sky was red. The air was stale..lightning flashed a deeper crimson across the sky.

There were pews made of shaley stone. What would have once served as a wall was crumbled around the arrangement.

He stood at the pulpit, a stone monument, cracked with angry looking clefts glowing with smoldering fire. He clutched each side of it, staring you down.  

He breathed your name in a dulcet huff. 

“You don't belong. You belong nowhere. You're a reprobate. Abominable. An orphan in time.”

He was hideous. And massive. You hadn't seen him until now. You'd only heard conjecture on what his visage might look like.

He was slimy and twisted and hairless. The sinews of his skin were a swampy gray, eyes ringed with red. For his florid yet cruel indictment of you, he was foul. You could taste him just by looking at him.

You were paralyzed with revulsion and fear. You were worried that you might actually pee your pants.

“You have nowhere to return to. You absconded from your problems, as you've always done. But I have nothing but good news for you.” 

You glanced around, not daring to move your head. You only saw more waste, more nothingness, more anger and despair scratched into the landscape that surrounded you. You wanted to go home.

Suddenly you knew where home was. It had never been so clear. It was with the people that had held and kept you since you'd been sucked through a leak in space-time.

“You can make a home here. You can join my menagerie. You'll never suf-”

“Don't listen to him, Ladybug,” came a sharp, familiar voice behind you, coated in the accent of her mother country.

You spun to meet her eyes...Your grandmother was sitting on one of the rock pews. She looked as elegant and warm as ever. She was wearing the satin wrap dress she wore to Easter mass the last year she was alive.

You stumbled over to her. She stood and opened her arms as you fell into her.

Suddenly you forgot that you were in a red-tinged hell scape with a slimy vampire at your back. Wherever this was, wherever she was, was a sort of paradise.

You held her tight. You could smell her familiar shalimar perfume over the fetid ozone stink of this place. The wings of her upper arms were soft in the crooks of your elbows. She shushed your crying and stroked your hair.

It was her. You knew, beyond what it was to know, that it was her.

You heard Creel growl behind you, startling you out of your grandmother's arms. She held fast to you and tilted your chin to look at her. You heard the air around you twist like warped steel, Creel’s voice laced through it, muddled and distorted to something imperceptible.

“He is a liar. He will lie to deceive you.” Her accent made it sound like “day-seef.” 

You missed her. You missed the way she talked. You missed how severe she was when she wanted to make a point.

She'd found you. Outside of time and space and a living vessel, she'd found you in this hopeless place.

Her eyes burned into yours. “Your father is fine. He knows you are fine. He doesn't know how he knows, but I've seen to it.”

You could hear that desperate argumentative groaning trying to pierce through. Your head was hurting. You had pressure in your ears.

“Your place is with your friends. Never stop thinking of them and you will never lose.”

The world around you started to crumble and fall away. You saw those big spires of rock around you crash into the ground.

You gripped her hands that held your face. “I love you,” you sobbed.

She smiled at you as everything caved in. You closed your eyes and felt her kiss your forehead. 

When you opened them again, you saw Steve. He was cradling you and hyperventilating. He seemed to register that you were back. Relief washed over his face and his breathing returned to normal.

“Did I pee my pants?” 

Steve had the courtesy to glance down to your upper-thigh region.

“If you did, it must not have been a lot.”

You broke into a sob and let him hug you while your friends rallied to get you away from the gate.

From then on out, you heeded your grandmother’s advice. You never stopped thinking of your friends and you didn't fail…You got Hop and El back. 

You had your friends.

You had Steve.

You had shut your eyes while telling Steve the story but you opened them now. You turned your head to face him.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” you told him through tears. “I didn't know how.”

Steve didn't know what to say. He stared at you with gentle eyes. He didn't want you to cry anymore. 

He kissed you lightly and stroked your side. “It's okay. I get it.”

He did get it. He understood all at once why you couldn't tell them back then. You didn't want to make it about you. 

Max was still in danger. The world was still in danger. You'd been gifted a secret weapon that you had to wield and you didn't want anyone to hear what you'd seen and tell you that you'd been bamboozled by Creel and blunt your weapon with doubt. 

You'd known in your heart that it was real. Steve knew now because you knew. 

You were tired then. Well and truly sleepy. Steve accepted you into his arms.

You two fell into silence, breathing in tandem, stroking each other.

You felt Steve's chin wag on the top of your head when he asked “What do you think will happen on your 20th birthday?”

You smiled into his chest. You loved that Steve-flavored curiosity whenever it showed itself.

“I dunno, Stevie. Maybe nothing. But if anything does, you'll be there to find out with me, right?”

He scratched lines up your back as he answered.

“Can’t wait.”

(⁠/⁠^⁠-⁠^⁠(⁠^⁠ ⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠/

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 10

Just two more chapters to go and then this little story is done. I'm glad I wrote it. It was very cathartic for me. I hope it brought some comfort to you too.

Here we find out who Steve has been grieving this whole time and that Eddie mourned them too.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

****

Steve was quiet and contemplative on the trip back. And Eddie let him be. That was quite the roller coaster of emotion he had gone through and he knew Steve needed time to sort out all of his thoughts and feelings.

As they neared Ashland, Eddie asked, “Are you okay? It got pretty heavy back there.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmured.

“I wasn’t asking for forgiveness,” Eddie admonished gently. “I was asking if you were okay.”

Steve sighed. “I guess I just had so many things bottled up that it all came out in a rush.”

“So talk to me,” Eddie said softly. “I know you think you can’t talk to anyone else because they’re all younger than you. But I’m not. So spill.”

Steve let out a long shuddering breath as if he had been holding it in for years.

“It’s just there have only ever been two adults involved in the whole Upside Down shit,” Steve murmured. “Well, there have been others, but either they haven’t been trustworthy or they’ve died. And I’m not going to lie and say I’m not bitter about Mrs Byers taking her family out to California and leaving me as the remaining adult.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie said softly. He hadn’t even thought about that. “That wasn’t right. I get she was trying to get Will and El as far away from Hawkins as she could, but considering the frequency of the U.D. coming back, it does seem selfish when looked at from your point of view.”

“El wasn’t the only one grieving Hopper’s death,” Steve spat out. “Why were only her feelings taken into consideration? Why was his funeral ‘a private family’ affair instead of one benefiting a hero where the whole town could attend? Why was El the first one that got to see him? Why did it take days before anyone else was informed?”

Eddie saw a shoulder and pulled off onto it, the Bimmer crunching the gravel as it slowed to a stop.

“It must have been so hard on you,” Eddie murmured. “You mentioned back at the diner that he always looked out for you and then suddenly he was gone and no one thought to ask you if you needed time to grieve, right?”

Steve nodded. “I just felt so stupid after it was announced that he was alive, you know? Like how dare I mourn someone who hadn’t even died. But I thought that once everything settled down we would get a chance to talk, but nope. He went off to California with the Byers. They’re supposed all be back before school starts, but who knows if that’s even true.”

“Steve it isn’t stupid you grieved,” Eddie murmured. “But I bet if you told him what you’ve been feeling, he’d pretty upset that he hurt you like that.”

Tears started streaming down Steve’s face. “I just want to be loved as much I love them, is that really too much to ask for?”

Eddie unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled him in for a hug. “Of course it’s not. And I don’t doubt if you stopped to really think about it you can name at least a half a dozen people who love you as much as you love them.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle. “I could probably fill up all ten of my fingers, if I was honest to myself.”

Eddie wiped away his tears. “There you have it, big boy. But it’s okay to cry and if you feel like you need to fall apart, call me. I’ll come over with beer, weed, and bad horror films to mock until you laugh.”

Steve wiped his nose on his arm. “You promise?”

Eddie leaned back far enough to hold up his pinkie. “I pinkie promise.”

Steve hooked his finger around Eddie’s and shook on it.

“You ready to face the road again?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded. After a moment or two of silence, he spoke up. “You remember when ‘fake’ cried for Keith?” He used his fingers around the word fake to put it into air quotes.

Eddie, who was about to pull into traffic again, cut the engine. “Holy shit. It was Hopper, wasn’t it? That’s who you were remembering.”

Steve nodded. “It’s easy to cry when thinking about him, you know?”

“Because it’s new and even though he’s not dead, you never got your resolution?”

Steve nodded again. “I just feel so selfish about the whole thing, you know. He wasn’t my dad. I wasn’t related to him in anyway. But I thought I meant something to him, you know?”

Eddie turned the car back on and eased into traffic. “I’m sure you meant a lot to him, but there could be extenuating circumstances that prevented him from expressing that. Like I said before, I bet if you told him how you felt he’d be gutted.”

Steve just shrugged.

Eddie glanced over at him and then back at the road. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll tell Dustin about the time you flirted with his mom to get the brownie recipe.”

Steve’s went wide. “That was not flirting! I was just buttering her up a bit. That’s not the same thing.”

“Oh I know that,” Eddie said with a grin. “But would Dustin know the difference?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “You drive a hard bargain, Lord Eddie.”

Eddie giggled. “You know, sometimes I forget you like ‘Star Wars’, you just aren’t great with their titles.”

“The third one is my favorite, after all.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “So back when I was just little metalhead, dealing for the first time one of my best customers was the Chief.”

Steve blinked. “Oh wait, I think I did hear something about that. I’m surprised he wasn’t fired.”

Eddie shrugged. “He wasn’t up for re-election. Sheriffs are elected. And small town like Hawkins, change is difficult. Hop would have to straight up murder babies in town hall and smear their blood over the church walls to get people to not vote for him.”

Steve snorted. “I doubt even then. It would take him being soft on homosexuals before they ousted him.”

Eddie laughed. “You’ve got me there.”

Steve smiled at him.

“So,” Eddie continued, “the reason I bring it up is that despite what people think, I’ve never been arrested for dealing and Rick hadn’t either until Hop ‘died’.”

Steve straightened up in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Hop always said it was better to steer Rick away from certain places because he could,” Eddie said, “then it was to arrest him and have an all out war with the new supplier.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “That’s why Rick didn’t get arrested until Powell took over because he didn’t have the same philosophy that Hop did.”

“Right in one,” he said. “And it did get bad with people trying to fill the void he left behind. Uncle Wayne convinced to stop selling once I was out until Rick was released because I couldn’t trust the new suppliers not to cut their shit with something dangerous.”

“Holy shit, yeah,” Steve agreed. “So why are you telling me this?”

“Because Hop looked out for me, too,” Eddie said. “Especially when my old man rolled into town. He would make sure he got to the carnage first and made sure I never got a record.”

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “That makes since I always wondered why the police or Jason never brought up your arrest record. It’s because Hop made sure you never got one.”

“So this is me saying,” Eddie finished, “I get it. I get mourning him. Because in my own way I mourned him, too. Because between Hop and Uncle Wayne they made sure I could get out of Hawkins when the time came.”

“This is exactly why I pushed for a public funeral,” Steve grumbled, sinking back into his seat and crossing his arms. “I don’t know who had the final say on that, but it makes me mad that just because they didn’t have a body people in town wouldn’t want to come see anyway. It blows.”

“Here’s that,” Eddie agreed.

Too soon they were pulling up the Nelsons’ and the sun was starting to set.

By silent agreement they both got out of the car and sat on Steve’s hood to watch the sunset in a beautiful array of blues and purples until the sky darkened and the stars came out.

“Thank you for today,” Steve murmured. “For all of it. Getting me out here, taking me to my grandmother’s grave, sitting with me when I talked to Uncle Percy. Helping me with my grief even though yours is far more fresh and painful than mine.”

“Grief is grief, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “You don’t get to decide when it heals over. You were there for me when my dad showed up, so I was more than happy to return the favor with your family.”

“Thanks, man,” Steve said.

“So...” Eddie said. “You want to tell me why you and your uncle weren’t keen to let your other uncle see you?”

Steve snorted. “He’s the one that was the most against my mom getting any kind of inheritance. He didn’t think she should have gotten anything because she was a girl child. He kept saying that she got her money in the form of the lavish wedding she had when she married my dad.”

He ran his fingers through his hair.

“He’s sued her at least three times that I know of. If he had seen me he would have started screaming about how my mom didn’t deserve that money and that I was just as complicit in its ‘theft’ as she was.”

“But he got the house or whatever it was, right?” Eddie asked.

He nodded. “Yeah and the two acres of land it sits on. If he were to sell it would go for at least a few million, easy.”

“I’ll bet,” Eddie said, whistling long and low. “Which means Percy got the business?”

“Which another thing that upset Uncle Jasper,” Steve said. “But Uncle Percy is the oldest and had the best business sense, but he can’t let it go that he thinks his siblings got the better deal.”

“I heard this quote once about how some people are content in life, but that others just can’t be. That they will always seek more. Nothing will ever be enough.”

“Uncle Jasper is definitely one of those.”

Penny poked her head out the front door. “Come on in, boys, it’s really getting late.”

Eddie and Steve stood up and walked back into the house, feeling lighter then they had since before March.

****

Pt 11|Pt 12

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster @r0binscript @awkotaco24 @ilikeititspretty

[artaxlivs]

Even Flowers Have Their Dangers

“Henderson! Why, pray tell, is your douchebag babysitter getting out of his douchemobile and coming this way?” 

Fucking Harrington, man. Eddie felt conflicted every time the kids even said his name. His heartbeat always went a little haywire and he wasn’t sure if it was because his flight response always activated around the guy or because Harrington was so fucking hot it was unreal. Considering that Eddie had a type and that type was “dangerous and pretty,” it was probably both.

“Is he?” Dustin looks over his shoulder, grinning his goofy grin. “Hey Steve!” The kid’s hand lifts in a wave as Steve makes his way toward them.

“Henderson. Go get in the car with the other gremlins, I want to have a word with your dragon master.” Steve smiles fondly, nudging the kid toward his waiting car. Guy just screams preppy. Collar popped, jeans so damn tight that Eddie's getting a sympathy wedgie. No boxer line on his thigh which means that Harrington is a brief guy. Not that Eddie is thinking about his underwear, it’s just an observation.

“Dungeon Master, Steve. I swear you’re getting it wrong on purpose.” Dustin sighs, rolling his eyes but starts toward the car.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve calls back over his shoulder before turning to Eddie who hopes he wasn’t caught staring. His heartbeat does something funny before he gets a handle on himself and leans into his usual false bravado.

Swinging away from the auditorium door, Eddie throws his arms out in a full extension, lowering himself into a bow, “To what do I owe this illustrious visit, your royal highness?”

Harrington looks uncomfortable now, the ease that he’d approached with, gone, his shoulders hunched up, face looking pained as he tucks his hands into his pockets - well, he tries to - there’s not a lot of extra room in those 501s. “Cut it out. I just wanted to tell you not to leave the kids here alone if you guys get out early. Nothing that you have to do is important enough to leave them in the dark without protection.” His voice is clipped, jaw set, and Eddie realizes that he’s annoyed, maybe even angry.

What the fuck is that about? He’s all chummy when Henderson is watching but now that the kid’s gone, he’s slid back into asshole mode? Eddie knew it. He knew the kids couldn’t possibly be getting the real Steve Harrington if they actually thought he was a good guy. Wonder why he was putting on an act though - was he trying to get Nancy Wheeler back through her brother?

“Maybe I didn’t hear you right?” Eddie says with a hard edge, all flamboyance dropped. “You’re telling me? Not asking me?”

Fuck that. Who the fuck is this prep to tell him that he needs to watch over a bunch of high school kids? They’re like fourteen and fifteen. Eddie was selling drugs at fourteen, some kids have jobs, they walk home, not all of us were born with a silver spoon and a Bimmer - where the fuck does Harrington think they live that its too dangerous for three teenage boys to not stand outside for five minutes?

“Yeah.” He snaps, “I’m telling you. Don’t leave them outside without an adult.”

“Fuck you, Harrington. I’m not their babysitter. They were fine. If you’re that worried, you should be here earlier. I had shit to do.” He didn’t. Not really. He’d just had a shit day, shit week really, and wanted to go home to smoke a joint. He should have waited. He knew he should have but Harrington calling him out on it just pisses him off.

“Seriously, Munson?” Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “I knew you’d be a dick. You know their best friend is Will Byers, right?” Fuck. Eddie did not know that. Just that Mike’s best friend Will lived in California. Not that it was the Byers kid who went missing years ago. Damn. Eddie feels even worse now but fuck if he’s telling Harrington that. Steve’s voice softens though, “Just, please. If you know it’s gonna be an early night, let the kids know so they can radio me to be here earlier. I’m asking, okay?”

“Radio you? Like - you guys have walkie talkies or something?” Were they for real? What is this Cloak and Dagger?

Across the parking lot, Steve’s horn blares and they both look up to see Mike leaning over the driver seat to press on it.

“Keep your fucking shirt on!” Steve yells then grumbles under his breath, “Fucking Wheeler.”

Eddie should just agree and be done with it, he’s not gonna leave them alone after learning about Byers anyway but damn if Harrington and his pompous attitude don’t get under his skin. Instead, he says flippantly, “How ‘bout the King worries about his own court and leaves me the fuck out of it, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait around to see Steve’s reaction, just skips over to his van and climbs in. He’s got her started and is pulling out of the parking lot before he glances back at Harrington. It looks like Steve is already lecturing the kids about something. Eddie just shakes his head and drives off, leaving them to it.

As he’s pulling up to the trailer an hour later with a little more cash and a little less weed, Eddie almost expects to find a fancy rich boy car waiting for him. He doesn’t. He’s going to pretend that he’s disappointed about that because he wanted to argue with Harrington, not for any other reason. 

What he does find though, is a big motherfucking dog. It’s just sitting next to the trailer steps and Eddie’s seen Cujo so fuck if he’s getting out of the safety of this metal box. Hell no. He can wait.

After five minutes of waiting, they’re still in a stand off and Eddie’s thinking about starting his van and just leaving to sleep some place else. What? He’s a coward and that dog in Cujo put him off petting dogs for weeks afterward. No way is he getting out, alone, in the fucking dark to that behemoth of a dog. No one would even come if he screamed. This is a trailer park, ignoring screams is part of the lease agreement.

Just as he puts his keys back into the ignition, the dog tilts his head to the side, tongue lolling out for a few breaths before it gets up and trots over to Eddie’s driver side door. This close, it’s not quite as big as he thought but it’s still the biggest dog he’s ever seen. Some kind of Husky mix or something. He doesn’t know shit about dogs but it looks like a really fluffy sled dog. Poofy tail and everything. It tilts it’s head again and Eddie rolls his window down slowly.

It’s ears perk up and it looks happy. Which is maybe a thing dogs do? He wouldn’t know, honestly. He’s never had a dog. 

Eddie slides one hand out, curled into a fist because he doesn’t want to lose a finger to Cujo here. He needs those fingers for various reasons. Like guitar playing, dice rolling and other non sexual things.

The dog leans in, sniffs the hand, bumps it with his cold wet nose and then nuzzles it so Eddie’s knuckles graze into the soft gray fur on his forehead. Eddie’s barely breathing, his heart is racing and his legs are all clenched like he would run if he wasn’t sitting in his car. Extending his trembling fingers, he scratches the top of the dog’s head. The dog swear-to-god sighs. 

“Hey there, big boy. Whatcha doing?” Eddie whispers softly, opening his door to step out. The dog shuffles back just enough for Eddie to slide out from behind the door. His fur is soft and silky between Eddie’s fingers. “Oh look at you, so pretty. You know you are, too, don’t you?” The dog seems to preen with the praise so Eddie lays it on thicker, “Yeah you do. What are you doing out here? No collar but you must belong to someone, you’re too pretty to be running wild in Hawkins.”

After a few more runs through the fur on his back, Eddie reaches back into the van, rolls the window back up and grabs his bag. He can’t stay out here all night so he heads toward the front door. The dog follows. “Uncle Wayne’s gonna kill me.” Eddie sighs, knowing he’s a sucker and he’s 100% going to let this dog into the trailer.

Keep Reading on AO3

[hogwartsandhawkins]

Prove Me Wrong

Chapter 6: What The Hell Is Jess Logan Doing

Prove Me Wrong Masterlist

Summary: After Billy stays a little too late studying, Jess makes an unfortunate realization.

Warnings: Swearing, Eating/food, reader/jess being hella stressed with school. As always, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 2.8k

Author's Note: I know I said maybe 9 chapters when starting this series. That was a lie. This is definitely gonna be longer than 9 chapters. Enjoy the long ride.

Their visit to Big Al’s was essentially the same as the last, with them ordering the same meals, Billy sure to order Jess a double patty again just to steal one once it was delivered, sitting at the same booth coincidentally, and even having the same waitress, whom Billy seemed less interested in making blush this time around. The only real difference this time was the way they were seated, as Billy decided to sit on the same side of the booth as Jess rather than across from her. 

“So you’re telling me, pretty boy never let you touch his car?” Billy was now dipping his fries in Jess’s strawberry shake, even after her protests about Billy’s unwanted saliva in her perfectly good milkshake. 

“No, it’s not him, it’s his parents. Don’t want me putting a dent in his bimmer, which I don’t blame them. He tried letting me drive one night after a party once, but I chickened out last minute.”

“So what’s the deal with you being scared of driving?” Billy was now out of fries, and instead, grabbed a spare piece of bacon that fell off his burger and dipped that in her shake instead, something Jess either didn’t notice or pretended not to. 

“I’m not scared of driving.” 

“Yeah you are,” Billy contested dryly, popping the last piece of ice cream-coated bacon into his mouth before wiping his hands together. Jess turned her body to the right to face him placing her right thigh on the booth bench, her foot bouncing underneath their shared table. 

“No, I’m not.” Instead of contradicting her again, he took his straw in between his lips and sipped until he heard the loud, disruptive sound of air passing through it. 

“Whatever.” He then decided to steal her spare fries, dipping them in the ketchup she squirted on her own plate. Again, he was right, which was something that began to annoy Jess, the way his smug smile would come into play when he voiced certain things he’s noticed about her, the way he seemed to think he knew her better than she did, and the most irritating, he knew he was right. Every. Single. Time. About cheer. About her wanting him to take her to school. About both her lack of experience and fear of driving. What became even more irritating was the longer she thought about it, the more she realized she knew nothing about him. She knew none of his fears, or dislikes, besides his strange and immediate hatred for Steve. 

What Billy would never admit to her, or even himself, was that he had spent the last two months getting to know her without her realizing. With having 4th period and after-school practice to watch her cheer, and 6th and 7th period to watch her study, he spent a decent amount of time figuring her out. Not to mention the random run-ins in the halls or at parties. 

He remembered the incident she mentioned earlier, the one where Steve offered to let her drive from a party. It was Halloween. He had no idea what she came dressed as, all he knew is that she looked great wearing it. He remembered walking up to Harrington after beating his record and becoming the new “Keg King”, a name he thought was ridiculous but wore like a badge of honor anyways, and he remembered looking over at her first, standing next to Wheeler, making him almost too nervous to stare Harrington down in the first place. And then he remembered Harrington and her leaving the party, him obviously pissed at something, which Billy later came to find out was from some fight with his girl. Steve seemed to be a bit out of it, rubbing his chin constantly. Jess had run after him as he stormed out of the party. Billy couldn’t help but watch as Steve tried to change his expression from seriously agitated to indifferent but failed as tears welled in his eyes, threatening to fall if Jess dared to ask what happened. Instead, Steve quickly looked away and chuckled a bit. “You wanna drive, Jess?”

Don’t get him wrong, he watched everyone for the first month or so, trying to figure out who knew who, who was worth spending time with, who wasn’t, but over these last two months of getting to know her, he knew that she was insanely kind, incredibly smart, and didn’t look at him like a piece of meat. But over these last few days, he also knew that she talked shit about him to Steve behind his back, which he didn’t blame her for, as he regrettably did the same with Tommy and Carol. He knew that they may never be friends and that Jess would keep her promise he overheard to Steve, that he would be old news by the time their project was over, which made him second-guess his reasoning behind asking Mr. Crowley to pair the two up in the first place, something he would also never admit to Jess. 

Billy and Jess walked up to the register together, and after she denied a to-go shake this time around, they were ready to pay. 

“That’ll be $9.50” 

Billy already had a ten ready, with another $2 he planned on handing over for a tip when he noticed Jess take out her own wallet. “What’re you doing?” 

“I actually brought money this time. Good thing we went back to my place before we got here.” Billy couldn’t remember when she did that, most likely due to the fact that he was hyper-focused on her father, but it didn’t matter to Billy how she got it, she wasn’t going to use it. He ignored her and handed over the $12, telling them to keep the change. 

“Let’s go, Logan.” 

Jess followed closely behind him and attempted to hand him a $5 bill. Instead of taking it, he merely looked at her, annoyed, and spat “Knock it off Jess,” opening her door in the process. 

“What?” She climbed in, and instead of answering right away, he just shut the door after he ensured she was in all the way. He then entered the car himself and shut his own door. Jess still had the $5 in her hand and tried one more time to hand it to him, saying he didn’t need to pay for her all the time. 

“So did you get that out of your mother’s purse, or did daddy give it to you before you left?” 

“…purse… But I get an allowance, you know…” 

“Cute,” was all Billy had to say about that. He again ignored the bill lingering between her middle and index finger, and instead, stretched his right arm across the back of Jess’s seat, looked behind, and swiftly reversed out of their parking spot, heading back in the direction of Cherry Lane. 

She now felt awkward about holding the $5 bill but was too stubborn to put it back, so she began to open his glove compartment when he snapped, “Jess, so help me god if you put that bill in my glove box.” He had his Ray-Bans on, which shouldn’t have been needed as the sun was set to the point where it wasn’t a problem, but she felt the corner of his eyes on her. She flipped the compartment back closed and defeatedly dropped the $5 in her bag. 

When they reached the Logan’s driveway, the time was approaching 7:45, causing Billy to look at his watch, wondering whether Jess was wanting him to leave, or stay. So, he just sat behind the wheel, with the car still on. Jess noticed this as well, and thought it was him who didn’t want to come inside, “We can just start tomorrow if you want?” 

Billy nodded his head in agreeance, well, more like acceptance, as he was mildly disappointed, and looked back at her. “See you tomorrow Logan.” She nodded with the same dispirited acceptance, and slowly gathered her things, or rather, thing, being her small bag. As she opened the door, she hung her right leg out, fully intending to leave, but stopped herself before she did and turned back to Billy, who had yet to look away from her. 

“Uhm,” What the hell are you doing? “Unless… I do still need help in pre-calc… but I mean if it’s too late we can just do that tomorrow, if you want…“ What the hell are you doing? She began to mentally beat herself up for one, how dumb and possibly desperate she just sounded and two, actually wanting Hargrove to stay? 

“Thought you didn’t want my help, huh?” There it was again, that smug look. 

“I never said that.” Just let him leave! But Billy was already turning off the ignition, unbuckling himself in the process. He then reached behind his seat and grabbed his backpack, which was mostly empty, besides Jess’s old 7th-grade book, some of her handwritten notes, and his own notebook. Once he retrieved it, he opened his door and quickly left, as if he was anticipating Jess changing her mind. Jess continued to sit in the passenger seat, appalled by the way she practically begged him to stay. 

“You coming or what?” She supposed she had to, considering it was her house, so she finally lifted herself from his seat, locked her his door, as she was always ordered to do, and walked toward her front door with Billy for the second time today. 

The door was unlocked, as she had left it previously. While entering, she saw her mom and dad, sitting on the couch together, eating whatever her mother made for that night. Hearing the door open Mrs. Logan looked over her shoulder, “Oh hi hun, and Billy! It’s nice to see you again dear.” She quickly placed her unfinished dinner on the coffee table and hurried over to them. “You kids hungry? I just got done cooking.” 

“Oh don’t worry about it Mom, we just got back from Big Al’s.”

“That’s right, I remember Stan saying something about that. Well, food is here if you change your minds.” And with that, she excitedly hurried back to the couch, where Stan was barely paying attention to what seemed to be a game show. 

Jess grabbed her school bag that was sitting on the last step before hurrying up the stairs behind Billy. As she entered the room, she began to pull out her math notebook before discarding the rest of the bag at the edge of her bed. She searched her nightstand drawer for a pencil, eventually settling on a blue pen she found, and began opening to where she last copied from Billy’s notes. Without waiting for her to ask, Billy also opened his own notebook to where he thought she stopped and lightly tossed it to her side of the bed, sitting down on the other as he did so. 

“Okay, so explain the long way to find a derivative again,” but as she kept peering down at both of their notes, she already grew frustrated with her hair falling in front of her face, making her constantly have to tuck the strands behind her ears. As he began to try and explain, she cut him off, “Ugh, hold on.” Billy watched as she reached for her nightstand again, where she retrieved a baby blue banana clip, opened it, and effortlessly gathered her hair behind her head as she carefully secured the clip. “Okay, go ahead.” 

He must’ve not heard her, as he was still staring at her, carefully watching her scan both of their notes, side by side, making sure she’d written down the jumbled numbers and letters correctly. He watched as the shorter layers began to slowly become free of the clip, falling to the front of her face again, without obscuring her view too much. He watched as she continuously capped and uncapped her cheap pen, something she did a lot of in their shared 6th period, but never in their 7th, and he watched as her eyes quickly left the pages of their shared notes and found his own, wondering why he had yet to say anything. 

“Don’t tell me you lied about being good at this stuff.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “You ready?” 

And so, he began to explain how to find the solution long hand, something Jess found useless to know anyway. “I don’t get it,” Jess exclaimed hours later, “I shouldn’t be docked points because I just use the shorter way. What’s the point of there being a shorter way if I can’t even use it?” 

“Dunno, I just do it.” 

“Obviously, the derivative of X squared is two X, done. Why do I need this stupid formula?” She became visibly agitated, considering she still couldn’t remember the formula, and when she did remember it, she seemed to keep distributing the values incorrectly. 

Billy seemed to find her frustration humorous, remembering that just a few days ago, they were sitting in the same place, with Billy being the one who was frustrated over their schoolwork. “It’s not funny!” Seeing Billy smiling at her confusion made her even more worried, “We have a test over the long-handed version Friday, and if I don’t get at least a ‘B’ then I’ll lose my ‘A’ in the class and my GPA is fucked.” 

“Jess.” 

“What?!” 

“Take a break.”  

“But I have to get this b-“ 

“It’s Monday. Knowing you, you’ll get it by Wednesday.” And with that, he grabbed his own notebook and tossed it toward his bag, which was laying by her bedroom door. That’s when he began to yawn. Wondering why he began to feel exhausted, he looked up at Jess’s wall clock, which read 11:25 “Ah, shit.” He looked at his own wristwatch, which was two minutes ahead of her own and got up from her bed, which was beginning to feel scary comfortable. He didn’t understand how he lost track of time, but he did, and now he was going to have to quietly pull his car into his own driveway, and sneak through his bedroom window, with the hopes that his father didn’t wake up from the noise. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize-“ she stopped before finishing her sentence, “Well, thanks for… everything,” is what Jess was able to come up with. She began to look down at her notes again, until Billy came to her side of the bed, grabbed her notebook, and threw it in the direction of her own bag. 

“Get some sleep.” He then proceeded to leave her room, but not before turning off her ceiling light, leaving only her dim, bedside lamp to illuminate her room. 

Billy made his way downstairs, trying as hard as he could to keep his heavy boots from making too much noise. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he was met by Mr. Logan, who was washing the dishes from that night. Mrs. Logan was nowhere in sight and had probably gone to bed by now, considering the time. 

Based on Stan’s surprised expression, Billy came to the conclusion that Jess’s parents already thought him long gone. Before Billy could apologize for staying so late, he heard a gentle “purr” and looked down to see a cat he’s never seen before. He bent down to pet him, only for him to jump slightly and run off into the darkness of the unlit living room. 

“That High School of yours really has you workin’ I see.” Mr. Logan was now drying a large skillet, hanging it from their silver pot hanger above the middle island when he was finished. 

“Sorry for being here so late, Mr. Logan.”  

“Don’t worry about it kid, get home safe.” The sentiment threw Billy off slightly, but he nodded to Mr. Logan, giving him a small wave as he opened the door, carefully closing it as he exited. It was much colder than it was when they first arrived back at Jess’s house, Billy being able to see his breath as he exhaled harshly. He looked back up at Jess’s bedroom window, which faced the front of the house, unable to see her ducking out of his view as she saw him turn back toward her. As she sat by her window, steering clear of Billy’s line of sight, she continued to scold herself for the events of today, hell, this past weekend. This is so stupid. You are so stupid. She sat against her ‘L’ shaped wall, lightly banging the crown of her head against it. But even though she knew better, even though she tried not to be, she was well aware: she was just like every other girl at Hawkins High. And just like every other girl at Hawkins High, she was well aware: she was infatuated with Billy Hargrove.