#mailman steve harrington | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovemesomeeddiemunson · 3 months

Text

The Proposal - Part 1

Summary: When Steve Harrington is threatened with deportation, he blackmails his long suffering assistant, Eddie Munson, into marrying him. Steddie! The Proposal Au, Modern Au, Part 1 of 7. 4291 Words

Series Warnings: Blackmail. Food mentions. Mentions of unhealthy relationship with food. Cursing. Self harm (by means of tattooing.) Homophobia. Death of a parent. Abandonment by parents. Shitty parents. Homophobic parents. Parents with entitlement. Classism. Eventual sexual situations (no actual smut!) Brief allusion to a panic attack. Minor spoilers for Flight of Icarus.

Authors Note: Hi there! I'm Dom, occasional dabbler in fanfiction. I started writing this story on June 29th, 2024. Roughly 30k in total parts later, and I'm unleashing her piece by piece 😂 This has been a true labor of love, and I hope someone out there enjoys reading it even a fraction of as much as I enjoyed writing it. Steddie forever.

Eddie Munson wakes up on a Monday morning immediately concerned by the amount of sunlight coming into his bedroom.

Scrambling to sit up, his bleary eyes fell on the blinking red numbers of the alarm clock that had definitely reset at some point in the night, and was now mocking him with what was no doubt a wildly inaccurate time.

Filled with dread, he snatches up his wrist watch that's sat in front of it, peering into the little face before he screams, “Fuck!” Launching himself from his bed a moment later, cursing his luck.

He is so late.

He’s got a mere nineteen minutes before he’s supposed to be in the office with his nightmare boss’s morning coffee and protein box, or all hell will break loose.

And with as many soul-crushing years as he’s poured into this job, he’s determined not to lose it over breakfast.

Desperate to save his own ass, he gets ready in record time, rushing out of the door with his work clothes in disarray as he speeds down the busy city street.

He’s cutting it way too close - but he’s hopeful he can make it - right up until he’s forced to skid to a stop as he breaches the front door of the Starbucks.

A long line looms in front of him, the morning rush in full swing by this point of the morning, and his face falls at the sight.

However, before his devastation can fully settle in, he hears the call of “Eddie!” A hand behind the counter shooting up as a voice shouts out. “Your usual!”

Tammy, a barista who’s been serving (and flirting with) him every day for as long as he can remember, smiles brightly as he jumps the line, handing him off two coffee cups in a carrier, along with a bag containing his boss’s breakfast order.

“Oh shit! You literally saved my life! Thank you so much Tammy!” Eddie drops a fifty on the counter from his emergency cash as he goes. The barista titters behind one of her hands at him, pushing a lock of tousled hair behind her ear as he bolts for the office.

He makes it to his building a few minutes later, just barely catching the elevator. Once it shuts behind him, Eddie promptly folds in half, chest heaving, practically wheezing to catch his breath.

Cursing himself for not being in better shape, he dismisses his coworker’s alarmed looks and manages to compose himself by the time he reaches his floor. Rushing out as his coworker Sam shouts “You’re cutting it close!” at him.

“I know! I know!” Eddie’s replying, in such a hurry to get to his desk that he doesn’t account for the slow reflexes of the mailroom employee who’s come up to make his morning delivery.

The two promptly crash into each other, one of the cups of coffee a casualty of their collision.

“Fuck!” Eddie exclaims. The hot liquid is now clinging to his button-down, and he can vaguely see the shape of the death of his career aspirations in the stain starting to form.

“Sorry!” The mailman sheepishly says, looking uselessly for something to clean it with before Eddie waves him off, muttering about how he was equally to blame.

Even so. Lamenting his no good, terrible, very bad, morning, he rushes to his coworkers cubicle, saying in lieu of greeting to him, “I need the shirt off your back, literally.”

Patrick, it seems, could not care any less, looking disdainfully at Eddie’s ruined button down. “You’re kidding, right?”

Eddie doesn’t have time for this. He resorts to bribery. “Red Hot Chili Peppers. This Friday. Two tickets and company VIP passes for your shirt. You have five seconds to decide.” Glances at the clock and starts to count down. “Five, four-“

“Deal.” Patrick mutters before popping the buttons of his shirt, and shrugging it off. Eddie does the same, giving him the stained shirt and donning the clean one as he starts to hear small pinging sounds throughout the office, notifications going from desktop to desktop.

Just as Eddie is buttoning the last of the buttons, pulling his long hair from where it had gotten stuck in one of them from his haste, he dives into his chair, reading the chat that pops up from @Samantha.Stone that reads, HBIC incoming!

The rest of the office reacts to her message accordingly. High heels are slipped on in place of comfortable flats, pocket mirrors are pulled out to make sure eyeliner is just so and that there’s no incriminating spinach in between teeth. Casual magazines are shoved away and spreadsheets pulled up - rosaries are clutched tight and prayed with. Like it’ll help.

At Sam’s warning, Eddie takes his place outside of the glass doors to his boss’s office. Righting himself, he straightens out his clothing and fixes his hair, holding out the coffee cup that was supposed to be his in one hand and the plastic breakfast box in the other.

Lo and behold, moments later, just as Sam had forewarned, the demon himself appears.

Steve fucking Harrington.

With his perfect untouchable hair and pristine suit, his discerning hazel eyes are locked in on his phone, not even noticing the fake smile Eddie puts on as he approaches, his walk brisk and evenly measured as Eddie chirps. “Morning boss! You have a half an hour until your conference call.”

Steve doesn’t even look up from his phone as he nods in disinterest, leaving Eddie with the task of handing him the hot coffee and breakfast all while taking his bag from him, without dropping anything.

“Yes I know.” He replies dryly.

“Staff meeting at 9.” Eddie continues, as he walks into the office behind him, Steve settling into his large leather chair.

“Did you call… um…” Steve groans, spinning said chair to face the desk, “Uh, what’s her name? The one with the ugly hands?” He snaps his fingers repeatedly as if that will speed the answer along.

“Yes.” Eddie offers. Knowing who he means, nodding as he passes him a stack of papers.

Steve goes into it immediately, flipping post-its and thumbing through pages. Eddie continues, “Yes, I did call her. I told her your thoughts about her client's new album and the deadline for getting the finalizations to the sound engineers.”

Steve hands some of the papers back to him, straightening the remainders as Eddie goes on about the tasks on the agenda for today. “Also, your immigration lawyer called. He said it’s imperative that you-” Eddie’s words come to a stop when Steve raises his hand.

“Cancel the call, push the meeting to tomorrow, and keep the lawyer on the sheets.” Steve pauses in his work, a bit of smugness to his tone as he adds. “Oh, and get a hold of PR, have them start drafting a press release. The little songbird my colleagues so generously called ‘unattainable’ is now performing at the Grammys.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in awe. No matter how much of a terror his boss was, he was impressive in his own right, “Wow. Nicely done.” He compliments.

Steve scoffs, turning in his chair to his computer screen, all confidence and bitchiness as he replies. “If I want your praise, I will ask for it.”

Eddie takes the words as a dismissal. Steve wasn’t going to ever actually ask him for praise. Eddie’s praise didn’t mean shit to someone like Steve.

So he goes, and as he does so, Steve moves to drink his coffee, pausing when he notices something unusual on his cup.

He clears his throat to catch his subordinate’s attention and Eddie stops walking, pausing in the doorway.

“Who is— who is Tammy Thompson? And why does she want me to call her?” Steve’s eyebrows are raised as he turns the coffee cup to show the side where it says, Call me! Above a phone number, signed enthusiastically by said Tammy Thompson, with a sharpie heart.

Eddie pales at the sight. Floundering as he timidly explains. “Well… that was originally my cup.”

Steve looks down at the cup with scorn, voice dull. “And I’m drinking your coffee why?”

Eddie is grappling. “Because your coffee spilled.”

Steve takes a sip, and after doing so, his tone becomes accusatory. “So, you drink lavender oat milk lattes?” He asks.

“I do.” Eddie nods.

Steve smirks at him then, “Is that a coincidence?”

“Incredibly, it is.” The phone rings, and Eddie feels a small semblance of security that he can keep his job a little while longer as he crosses the room to answer it, “I mean, I wouldn’t possibly drink the same coffee you drink just in case yours spilled. That would be pathetic.” Eddie chuckles, voice laced with sarcasm as he picks up the phone.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington’s office.” Eddie greets.

“Hey, Munson. It’s Hargrove.” Eddie hears as he spares a glance at Steve - who's already found something else to scrutinize if his back being to him with his fingers clicking away at the keyboard is any indication.

“Hey, Mr. Hargrove.” Eddie responds, his words causing Steve to turn around abruptly, with a wicked smile that immediately unsettles him.

“Just confirming Steve and I are still on for our 8:10, this morning. He emailed me about it last night.”

Eddie looks at Steve with a confused expression, answering reflexively although he had no prior knowledge of this meeting. “Actually, we’re headed to your office right now.” He puts the phone down when Billy’s line goes dead.

“Why are we headed to Hargrove’s office?” He questions Steve, who gives him a dry look in response that Eddie interprets as ‘What’s it to you? You do as I say.’

A fair point if he’s being honest. And, rather than wait for an answer that won’t come, Eddie rushes ahead of Steve, beating him out of the door with a second to spare as he gets to his keyboard, working quickly to send a message office wide.

@Edward_Munson: *is typing…*

Dings sound as his message goes out.

HE’S ON THE MOVE!

The notification spreads, alerting the whole floor as they all scramble to pretend to be working just as Steve comes strutting out of his office.

Eddie follows him at a quick pace, trying to ignore his brain playing the imperial march after them as he takes advantage of this rare moment where Steve has nothing in front of him to ask, “Have you listened to my demo yet?”

“Uh, I listened to the first few songs.” Steve responds, surprised, before the cool expression comes back, “I wasn’t that impressed.”

Eddie sighs, disappointment stinging as he bites his lip, “Can I say something?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

Eddie persists, “I know my music, okay? There’s an album here. A good one - the kind of album you used to produce.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Uh, wrong. Also, don’t ever imply that I don’t still produce good albums, and, for what it’s worth, I do think you order the same coffee as me, just in case you spill. Which is, in fact, pathetic.”

“Or impressive.” Eddie counters weakly.

“It’d be impressive if you didn’t spill it in the first place.” As they approach the office they're aiming for, he reminds Eddie, “Now remember, you’re just a prop in here.”

“Won’t say a word.” Eddie mutters, and follows Steve inside as he waltzes right up to their coworkers desk, the other man barely looking up to acknowledge him.

Ouch. Eddie knows Steve won’t take that lightly…and his stomach becomes unsettled by the display of testosterone he knows he’s about to witness.

They get right to it.

“Our fearless leader, and his right hand man.” William “Billy” Hargrove jeers, still without pausing whatever it is he’s doing on his laptop. “So nice of you to visit my office.”

“Ah.” The side of Steve’s mouth quirks up in a smile, eyeing his office furniture. “Nice desk. Is it new?”

“It is. Handcrafted. No one does artisanship like the Italians.” Billy replies without looking up.

His statement, in their present company, could have easily been misconstrued as flattery - but Eddie knows better. Billy Hargrove doesn’t care enough to appeal to Steve, and so if he’s saying it, he must truly believe it.

Not that it would have worked anyways. Steve takes in his answer as he laments with a small sigh, mumbling “So true.” Like the fact of it is tragic, before he leads right into his next thought, with no hesitation or sympathy, declaring, “Billy, I am letting you go.”

Hargrove looks up from his computer then - eyes wide with disbelief, and even Eddie - who thought he knew Steve well - is looking at Steve with barely contained shock.

“Excuse me?” Billy repeats, glancing at Eddie who expertly avoids his eyes as he closes the door in order to stop anyone from listening in on their conversation.

Billy looks back at their boss as Steve goes on. “I asked you over a dozen times to get the performer I wanted for the Grammys, and you didn’t do it. You didn’t even try, did you?”

“T-They’re unattainable-“ the other man stammers.

“And yet just this morning, I attained them.” Steve replied. Clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“But…” Billy starts.

Steve smiles sarcastically, nodding, “I know. I know. Celebrities can be a little scary. For you. That’s okay.” He placates.

Moving across the office as he makes the other man an offer. “Now, I will give you two months to find another job, and then you can tell everyone that you resigned, okay?”

Satisfied with his own generosity, Steve turns toward Eddie, motioning for him to open the door. They both walk out of the office hastily.

Once they’re out of ear shot, his boss’ eyes shift to Eddie, walking at his side. “What's his 20?” Steve whispers at him, making Eddie look back for him.

Behind them, Billy’s pacing in his office like a caged animal, pulling at his hair. “He’s moving. He has crazy eyes.” Eddie whispers back as he tries to match Steve’s steps.

Steve frowns deeply, still whispering. “Don’t do it, Billy. Don’t do it.”

But it happens. Moments later, Billy charges out of the office screaming. “You son of a bitch!” The exclamation followed by collective gasping from onlookers.

Steve and Eddie stop walking, both of them turning to Billy even as the pitying look settles across Steve’s face.

“You can’t fire me!” Billy yells. “You don’t think I can see what you’re doing here? Setting me up so you can get rid of me and make yourself look like a hero to the board!” Billy points, “Because you are threatened by me!”

Steve's face changes then - pity turning to amusement as he breaks out in a playful smile in answer to Billy continuing on his rant, “You are a monster.”

“Billy, stop.” Steve says, that smile being redirected as he looks reassuringly to the other employees that have started to watch the commotion. Ever the picture of ease, even as Billy hurls insults at him.

Billy goes on. “Just because you have no semblance of a life outside of this office, you think that you can treat all of us like your own personal slaves.” Billy moves closer. “You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because you know what you’ll have on your deathbed?”

He’s near enough to them now that Eddie can see split flying, the assistant flinching as he snarls “Nothing and no one.”

But while Eddie winces at his words, Steve just lets out a sympathetic noise, moving closer until the two men are toe to toe, his answering voice honey sweet.

“Listen carefully, Billy. I didn’t fire you because I feel threatened. No.” Billy glances around the office in arrogant disbelief, as if aid will be found there.

Steve continues. “I fired you because you’re lazy, entitled, incompetent, and you spend more time cheating on your wife than you do in your office.” Billy’s eyes widen as Steve goes on. “And if you say another word, Eddie here is going to have you thrown out on your ass, okay?”

Billy opens his mouth to object, but Steve continues, “Another word. Another word and you’re out of here with an armed escort. Eddie will film it with his camera phone, and put it online. Is that what you want?”

Billy gives the two of them murderous glares, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Didn’t think so.” When he’s satisfied, Steve finally turns his back on them, walking down the hall.

Eddie is glued to him like his shadow as Steve instructs him flatly, “Have the interns take his desk and move it to my office.”

“Will do.” Eddie replies.

“Also, I need you around this weekend to help review his clients.” He adds, Eddie stumbling to a stop.

“This weekend?” He repeats in surprise.

“You have a problem with that?” Steve glares.

Eddie stutters, “No. I - Just - it’s my uncle’s 65th birthday so I was gonna go home and-'' Steve waves a hand dismissively, clearly having been rhetorical in his asking as he heads into his office, not even listening to what Eddie’s saying as he stutters through promising to cancel and be available to Steve.

Then Eddie deflates.

He hasn’t made it home for a birthday since Wayne’s 60th - back before he started this godforsaken job. And now he has to tell him that he’ll be missing another.

He knows Wayne will understand. He always does. But it doesn’t change the fact that Eddie works for the devil.

The old man tells him as much on a call around lunch, suggesting, as he always does, that he quit if it’s making him miserable.

Eddie launches into his usual defense, until he sees Steve approaching, and then he’s changing his tone, using his customer service voice dismissively - feigning aiding a client - before quickly getting off the call.

“That your family?” Steve asks bitterly. No misapprehension on his end. Not even for a moment.

Eddie puts the phone on the receiver. Doesn’t lie. “Yes.”

“They tell you to quit?” He presses.

“Every single day.” Eddie replies, and then without missing a beat, picks up the phone as it rings. “Mr. Harrington’s office.” He greets, eyes still on Steve. His loyal devotee.

A woman’s voice on the other end of the phone overshadows Steve’s gloom as she tells him. “Hello, this is the office of Mr. Holloway. He’d like to speak to Mr. Harrington in his office as soon as possible, please.”

“Oh. Okay. All right.” The two hang up.

“Holloway wants to see you upstairs immediately.” He tells Steve.

Steve groans in reply, “Fine. Come and get me in ten minutes with an excuse. We’ve got a lot to do.”

Steve repeats it as he walks away, like Eddie is an idiot, despite him not failing him once in years. “Ten minutes.”

“Okay.” Eddie answers, trying not to look at Steve’s ass as he heads to the elevators. And failing spectacularly, as he always does.

While he’s gone, Eddie stares at the clock as it ticks to the next minute. After five, he heads upstairs. He whispers a quick hello to Nicole, Mr. Holloway’s secretary, before hesitating outside of the office to the company president, waiting to interrupt down to the minute.

Once it has been ten minutes exactly, he knocks, the voices inside halting before Mr. Holloway, is yelling for him to come in.

He pokes his head inside, still holding the door open, only to find the both men in pause, Steve turning his head at him, as Mr. Holloway sees who it is, his expression mildly perturbed.

“We’re in a meeting.” He says in a clipped tone, but Eddie is infinitely more afraid of displeasing Steve than someone who at least must have a shred of human understanding in him.

He musters his most charming smile, “Sorry to interrupt.” Rattling off his excuse, he notes how Steve’s whole body seems to unload some of its usual tension, his whole demeanor changing.

Steve’s looking at him with relief, and Eddie is put off by it, by the way Steve catches his eye as he mouths “Come here,” when Eddie is done speaking, his head jerking forward for Eddie to come in.

Eddie obeys immediately, coming over from where he was standing at the door, walking slowly to Steve’s side as he watches Tom watch the two of them.

Steve turns back to Mr. Holloway, “Tom I understand… I understand the predicament that we are in.”

“And—” Steve spares him another look. “And…there’s…well, I mean…There’s something that you should know.” Steve clears his throat, building to this information as he looks at Eddie.

Then Steve declares, “We’re getting married.”

Eddie blinks at him. “Who’s getting married?” He whispers, his incredulous question said loud enough for only him to hear. Steve smiles at him, the dazzling version he reserves for clients. But not Eddie. Never Eddie.

“You and I, sweetheart. We’re getting married.” He nearly whispers back. Like it wasn’t news to them both.

Steve nods as if he has further settled into this idea, looking back to their boss as he repeats. “We’re getting married. Eddie and I.”

Then Steve gives him a familiar look - one that has always meant ‘Do this or I’ll fire you.’

Eddie suddenly finds that he can’t nod fast enough. “Yes! Yes!”

He looks back at Mr. Holloway as well as he confirms, “We are getting married.” The words feel clunky in his mouth.

And maybe it’s a joke, a misunderstanding, a test of loyalty that surely he’s going to pass?

Only the company president hesitates at his confirmation, addressing Steve as he asks in slight amusement but wholehearted confusion. “Isn’t he… your secretary?”

“Executive assistant.” Eddie butts in to clarify, like it makes any difference at all.

Steve laughs heartily, going for the kill. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time one of us fell for our secretaries. Would it, Tom?”

Tom gives him a wry sort of ‘you-got-me-there’ smile when he mentions it - Steve bringing to recall a similar event transpiring with his (third?) wife.

“So, yeah…The truth is, you know, Eddie and I. We’re…we are uh, just two people who weren’t meant to fall in love, but we did. All those late nights at the office, the music…” Steve squeezes Eddie’s arm then and continues, “I tried to fight it, and well, you can’t fight a love like this.”

Tom actually looks satisfied and Steve clears his throat. “So… Are we good - with this? Are you happy? Because we are happy.” Steve gestures to the two of them, “So happy.”

Tom smiles, voice soft. “Steve. It’s terrific.” He raises his hand, displaying his own wedding ring. “Just make it legal. Mmm?”

“Of course! We uh, we need to get ourselves to the immigration office, huh? Straighten this whole mess out.” Steve chuckles, bidding him goodbye before the two head back to their own floor, Eddie’s thoughts a whirlwind.

Eddie tries to follow Steve’s fast footsteps. They’re not even on their floor yet, and the news has already spread.

Computers ding with notifications, sounding off behind them as they go, the entire office looking at the two of them, unable to hold their whispers until they pass. Patrick snickers at him, making lewd gestures as he passes, his shirt stained with coffee.

Eddie wordlessly follows Steve into his office, closing the door behind him, and watches as his boss exhales a sigh, sitting on his desk and looking at Eddie expectantly - like they were here for a planned meeting and not like he didn’t just announce their engagement.

Eddie takes a deep breath. Reminds himself of why he works here. With this sociopath. Then he tells said sociopath, “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“This is for you too.” Steve replies, as though it’s all so simple.

“Do explain.” Eddie deadpans.

“I was going to be deported, and they were going to give Billy my job.” Steve says, like it makes all the senses in the world.

“So, naturally, I would have to marry you.” Eddie gapes, tone as sarcastic as possible.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve is being sarcastic now too, “Were you saving yourself for someone special?”

Eddie is mildly offended at what Steve is implying. “I’d like to think so. Plus, you know, it’s illegal.”

Steve chuckles, “They’re looking for terrorists, not for music producers.”

“Steve.” Eddie grits out, hoping his voice is coming out firm.

“Yes?” Steve answers nonchalantly, like they’re just having another conversation about his job performance.

“I’m not going to marry you.” Eddie insists.

“Sure you are.” Steve snaps back, “Because if you don’t marry me, your dreams of touching people’s lives with your lyrical prowess are dead.”

Eddie’s jaw actually drops. Steve bulldozes ahead and breaks it down for him. “Billy is going to fire you the second I’m gone. Guaranteed. Which leaves you unemployed and connectionless in the music industry, begging producers to listen to some no-name’s track. That means that all the time that we spent together - all the lattes, all the canceled dates, all the midnight Excedrin runs, were all for nothing, and you can kiss being any kind of a musician goodbye.”

He continues, as though all hope is not lost. “But don’t worry, after the required allotment of time, we’ll get a quickie divorce, and you’ll be done with me. But until then, like it or not, you are mine. Okay?”

He’s his.

The phone rings from Eddie’s desk. Steve gestures pointedly out the door, “Phone’s ringing.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself other than exit the office and pick it up.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington’s office.” He says robotically.

Series Masterlist

Next Part: Part 2

70 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 4 months

Text

Announcing My Steddie Big Bang <33

It's finally time to announce my @steddiebang2024 project, "Return To Sender"!

I'll be working with the incredible @maikaartwork, which I am so stoked for! And I cannot wait to share this with y'all! (To view the information in the image above better, you'll have to click on it.)

If you guys like middle-aged Steddie after the world doesn't end, then you'll like this piece (maybe, possibly). And if you also like second chance romance, Steve Harrington as a mailman, and Eddie Munson realizing he's become somebody he's not—then you'll also like this piece! Oh, and if you like Steve being a father in any capacity.

Again, I'm very excited to share this with you guys later this year, but for now I leave you with this. <3

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie bang 24 #(accidentally put the wrong tag earlier whoops)

40 notes · View notes

pizzaqueen · 2 years

Text

This was meant to be a few sentences… It is now more than that haha

1.1k of fluff and silliness

Eddie gets drunker than he usually gets one night, when he’s home alone. He’s feeling sorry for himself, which is also unusual for him, but he’d hung out with Steve earlier and Steve had looked even prettier than normal. Fuck. He is so so pretty.

Eddie’s never felt like this before. It’s driving him crazy. He can’t stand being some kind of lovestruck idiot, even if Steve is beautiful and funny and brave and kind and being around him feels like heavy metal and D&D all in one.

Jesus Christ. This is ridiculous. He just needs to get it out of his system somehow.

And, in his drunk mind, the best way to do this is write Steve a letter. Lay it all out. Each and every feeling, no matter how embarrassing. No holds barred.

He finds a pad of paper and a pen and writes furiously. When he’s done, he shoves it in an envelope, writes Steve’s address on it and—

Shit. No stamps. It’s fine. He’ll have to mail it in the morning. And then he collapses on the couch and passes out, the letter clutched in his hand.

Eddie wakes up with a blanket draped over him, a pounding headache, and the feeling he’s done something spectacularly stupid. He manages to get himself off the couch, takes the aspirin left on the coffee table with the glass of water by them, and makes himself some coffee.

As the caffeine kicks in, last night comes back to him. Pining over Steve. Writing the letter—

The letter! Shit. He’s so glad they didn’t have stamps. He’s going to tear that stupid thing up and never think about it again. Except… It’s not by the paper and pen he’d used to write it.

Eddie searches everywhere for the letter, starting to wonder if maybe it was a beer-fueled nightmare after all, when he spots a note on the coffee table. It’s by the empty glass and he doesn’t know how he missed it earlier, but, as he reads it, his heart sinks. It’s from Wayne. And he’s gone to the post office.

Eddie dresses quickly, hangover forgotten, and races to the post office. He tells them he sent a letter by mistake, can he get it back but, no dice. They won’t give him the letter back no matter how much he pleads. (He actually gets down on his knees but they only kick him out.)

He considers breaking into the post office—he’s pretty sure Gareth would help—but dealing to people looking for a good time is one thing. Breaking into a government building is another. And, okay, Eddie would totally do it because these are extreme circumstances—and it’s his damn letter anyway—but he doesn’t want to let Wayne down.

So, he’ll just have to intercept it after it’s been delivered but before Steve gets it. Shouldn’t be too hard so long as Steve is at work or somewhere else (like on a date, which Eddie doesn’t want to think about) and his mom’s not there. And Steve’s dad is guaranteed to be at work.

He stakes out the Harrington house and, after the mailman delivers the day’s mail, he scurries over and is about to open the mailbox, take back his letter, when a car pulls up.

“Eddie?”

Eddie looks over to see Steve’s mom getting out of the car, one hand on her hip, looking at him oddly. “Mrs. Harrington. How are you on this fine day?”

“Fine, thanks.” Her eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh…” Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “I was just passing and… Need me to bring your mail in?”

“I can manage it, thanks.” She raises a brow, shakes her head. “But you can help me with the groceries.”

“Yes! I would love to help you with the groceries.”

She shakes her head again and goes around to open the trunk. Together, they haul the groceries in, Eddie keeping one eye on the mail the whole time. There’s a moment, in the kitchen, when Mrs. Harrington is putting eggs in the fridge that Eddie tries to slip the letter out of the pile but Mrs. Harrington turns back around too soon.

“Steven will be home soon,” she says, “if you want to stay for dinner.”

“Uh, can’t… I have to…” He looks at the letters. This is never going to work. Fuck. “I have to go now Bye.” And he turns tail and runs.

New plan: he’s going to move to Canada, change his name to Freddie Bunson, maybe cut his hair… No, too dramatic. Canada and the name change is enough.

In the end, he doesn’t go to Canada, but he does hide. It’s just… He really didn’t hold anything back in the letter and now Steve will know exactly how he feels and Eddie is pretty sure Steve won’t hold it against him but, even if it somehow doesn’t ruin their friendship, nothing’s ever going to be the same again.

But the thing about small towns is you can’t hide forever. That and Steve knows where he lives. It’s the next night and Eddie’s waiting for Gareth when there’s a knock at the door, so he opens it without thinking (not that smart of him, but Gareth’s bringing pizza and Eddie’s hungry.)

But it’s not Gareth with pizza. It’s Steve. And he’s holding the letter.

Eddie slams the door shut.

There’s another knock and Steve calls out, “Hey, man, open up.”

Shit shit shit. Eddie runs a hand over his face and opens the door. He leans on the frame, aiming for nonchalant. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I got your letter.”

“Letter?”

Steve holds the letter up.

“Oh, that letter.”

“I thought we should talk about it.”

And Eddie breaks: “Look, man, I was drunk and I just… I shouldn’t have written it, okay? Can we pretend that I didn’t?”

“Uh, yeah, if you want, but…”

“But what?”

“I kind of liked it.”

Eddie blinks. “You… What?”

“I liked it. A lot, actually. I wanted to write one back, which is why I didn’t come as soon as I read it but I’m not good at writing shit down.” Steve shrugs. “So, I thought I could tell you, instead.”

“Tell me?”

“Yeah.” Steve swallows. “Can I come in?”

Eddie nods numbly, standing aside to let Steve in, heart beating hard.

And Eddie’s right. The letter does change everything. But it’s a good change. A really good change. He’s so damn glad Wayne mailed the letter.

(Steve keeps the letter tucked away safely and, years later, when he and Eddie move in together, he gets it framed and it hangs in their living room, and happily tells anyone who asks the whole story, including the parts he didn’t know at the time, but Eddie filled him in on later. It’s a little embarrassing, sure, but Eddie doesn’t care. Because Steve is always so happy when he tells it and it’s the best time Eddie’s made a fool of himself.)

#steddie #Steve x eddie #Steddie fic #normally I’d post something this long on AO3 but this is kinda not!fic and I don’t like posting that there lol #pizzaqueenfic

594 notes · View notes

harringtown · 2 years

Text

the stars that light the road

a/n: the writers block has been Real these last few weeks and im basically in the middle of 3 fics so I just said screw it and set them aside for the moment and started something completely new to try and trick writing brain and it definitely worked cuz I word vomited like 3 thousand words <3

requested by anonymous

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: the reader comes to take care of Steve after star court (aka the guy who takes care of everyone is actually taken care of for once, plus some love confessions ofc)

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cursing, blood/injury mention

Steve’s house always felt empty to him as a kid, even during what he ironically refers to as the golden years. Aka, the years before his parents realized how little they cared for each other and for him, when they were home every day—and every night.

When the world almost ended the first time, Steve was grateful for his hollow halls. If his parents weren’t around, they couldn’t get hurt, and they couldn’t ask any questions. He felt that way the second time, too.

This time, though, round three, coming back to a big, dark, empty house only makes his wounds ache fiercer. Every step and breath as he heads through the halls, flipping on every single light in every single room, echoes louder than Steve thinks it should.

Maybe he should have gotten checked out by the EMT’s.

Once he’s lit the house up bright enough to be seen from the moon, he just sits down on the bottom step of his staircase. He suddenly doesn’t care about the ratty, blood-stained uniform he’s wearing. Or the fact that he reopened the cut above his eyebrow and blood is actively trickling down one side of his face and falling in tiny droplets onto the stair.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He should track down his first aid kit. He should do a lot of things. Instead of doing a single one, he just sits.

Getting up would mean dealing with everything that’s happened and doing it alone, again, like always. And he’s tired. Every time he closes his eyes he sees that Russian doctor’s face, and he swears the electrical hum of the base followed him home.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when the knock echoes on the door a few feet in front of him. He jumps to his feet, immediately pissing off his injuries, and blinks the haze out of his eyes as he unlocks the door.

He doesn’t even stop to consider who might be on his porch, mostly because it can’t be anyone but a random neighbor or a mailman who is running ridiculously late on his route.

It isn’t a mailman or a neighbor, though.

It’s you. Your hair still damp from a shower, wearing sweats and an old Hawkins High hoodie, with ugly bruises cresting across any bare skin. Standing on Steve’s front porch a few hours after he left you in the parking lot of what used to be Starcourt Mall, and is now a pile of smoke and ash.

And he has no goddamn clue why.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, craning his head to peer around you. He isn’t sure what he expects to see—a monster running behind you—but it isn’t a calm, empty street. It isn’t a peaceful, quiet night. “Did something happen?”

You frown, brows twitching. “What? No, nothing happened.” You clear your throat. “I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay. Y’know. After everything today. I figured I’d check up on you.”

An unfamiliar sensation blooms in Steve’s chest. It starts out warm, but burns hotter and hotter as it crawls up the back of his throat and cinches it shut. He swallows forcefully, and he can still taste the metal twinge of blood.

“You figured you’d… check up on me?” The words have a meaning, but Steve can’t quite attach it.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. You press your lips together and rock back and forth on your heels. “You almost died, like, multiple times today.”

He remembers. His throat is still raw from begging.

“Huh. Must have slipped my mind,” he says, forcing one side of his mouth to lift, though he knows the half-smile falls flat.

“Yeah, well, you got hit pretty hard in the head. A bunch. I’m not surprised.” Your lips pull in a tiny smile as you speak, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. There’s something rigid to your expression and stance, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say you’re worried.

But he doesn’t know what’s left to worry about. The Mind Flayer is a pile of melted goo, and Billy is dead, and for now, the Upside Down is dealt with. All that’s left to do is pick up the pieces, but none of those pieces are here.

“So, can I come in?”

Steve says yes, because he doesn’t have a reason to say no. He never has when it comes to you. He steps back and out of the way, letting you slip past him and into the house.

And he swears, somehow, the cold house gets a little warmer with you inside it.

“You still haven’t treated that?” you ask, gesturing to the bloody mess of his face. “Steve—”

“I was getting to it,” he says. He locks the door behind you, using the second he’s turned away to compose himself. He’s still not sure why you’re here—you told him, but he doesn’t get it. Like, of all the people you could check up on, how did you end up here?

“Getting to it? Jesus—” You flutter about him like a frightened hen, hands ghosting up and down his arms, across his chest, over the dried blood and the slashed fabric. “You’ve got to get out of these clothes. Take a shower. God forbid something gets infected—”

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says, lightly swatting your hands away.

“It’s absolutely a big deal,” you say. “In the last twelve hours, you’ve been held captive, interrogated, drugged, and also, part of a pretty bloody battle. It’s a big deal.”

“You were there, too,” Steve says lamely. As if he needs a reminder. The only thing that hurt more than being hit was watching it happen to you and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it.

“Uh-uh. Don’t even try that.” You shake your head. “You don’t think I know your game?”

“Game?” Steve asks.

“In the base. Anytime those guards so much as looked at Robin or me, you started running your mouth, pissing them off enough to draw the fire so it didn’t burn us. You’re the reason all I have to show for the day are a few bruises and scrapes.”

Steve’s lips part, but he can’t find any words to say. He’s just shocked you caught on. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

“I—” Steve starts.

You cock a brow, and Steve gives in, shrugging his shoulders.

“Better me than you or Robin,” he says. “I’ve been through worse.”

Except, he’s not so sure that’s true anymore. He’s told himself those words so many times, after each horrible, nightmare-inducing thing, but the truth is, each time is worse than the last.

That pattern doesn’t exactly bode well for him.

Your lips pull into a thin line. Steve can’t read your expression, but it makes something deep in his chest ache.

“I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth,” you say.

“That’s not ominous, or anything,” he says, trying at casualness like it’ll erase his blood and bruises.

“I’m serious,” you say.

Steve exhales sharply and says, “Shoot.”

A line forms between your brows.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

And he has no clue what to say.

The Steve who opened the door to you tonight is in no way the Steve from high school, who was confident and smooth and knew exactly what to say, but he’s still partly that guy. And if the situation was reversed—if it was him at your door, you with the injuries—he’d have this in the bag.

But no one has ever shown up at Steve Harrington’s door simply to make sure he’s okay.

Maybe that’s the reason he tells you the truth.

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

Something inside him breaks as he says the words. Like he’s been held together by a clump of string for years, and the last one finally frays and snaps.

A sob climbs up his throat, and he tries to swallow it back down, but before he can, you’ve crossed the foyer and wrapped your arms around him. You bury your face in his chest and your fingers curl tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you’re warm and soft and even if you still smell a little bit like ash, Steve doesn’t care.

He stops fighting it. Lets all the horrible feelings, all the fear and loss and grief and regret, out of the cage he’s kept them locked in. He doesn’t even care how he must look, shaking in your arms, tears streaming silently down his cheeks and into your hair.

But you don’t seem to care, either, just holding him tight and whispering, “I’ve got you,” over and over. And he believes you. Just for a minute, in the dim front room, he believes you.

Eventually, Steve forces himself to extricate his limbs from yours, and he has to pretend the sudden loss of touch doesn’t sting. He’s already crossed all the lines he set so he wouldn’t ruin one of the few friendships he has.

“Look, it was cool of you to come over, but you really don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. Or, I will be. I always am, you know—” Steve waves at nothing, both his hands raised.

“Stop.”

Your fingers close around his wrists, stilling them in their wild gesturing. Steve freezes, too, eyes snapping to yours.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your first aid kit?” you ask.

Steve sighs. “Bathroom.”

“Lead the way.”

You don’t leave after Steve’s many wounds have been disinfected and messily bandaged. And you’re still there when he gets out of the shower you order him into; he comes back into his bedroom to find you digging blankets and spare pillows out of the back of Steve’s closet.

It’s a clear message: you’re not going anywhere. Steve is so damn grateful he doesn’t have to ask for the company, he could kiss you.

Add it to the long, long list of reasons Steve Harrington wants to kiss you.

He stands in the bathroom doorway a moment, just watching you for a half a shorter longer than is not-creepy, before clearing his throat. You turn and a smile lifts your lips. Still, there are deep bags under your eyes, and your movements as you make a bed on the floor are slow, like you’re sore.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Steve says, leaning a hip into the doorway and folding his arms over his chest.

“What, are you volunteering?”

“Me? Not a chance,” he says. “If you remember, I was held captive, interrogated, and drugged today.”

You roll your eyes at his

“So, you’re kicking me out, then?”

“No,” Steve says, and loses all his confidence. He clears his throat. “I mean, my bed isn’t exactly small, and we’re both mature adults, so I figured we could handle—” He gestures wordlessly, hoping he doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

To his relief, you just nod a few times, suddenly refusing to meet his eye.

It’s quiet as the two of you flutter about before sliding in on opposite sides of the bed. It’s awkward, but not as awkward as Steve expects.

It’s more awkward because it feels normal. It feels like getting into bed with you is an action he was always meant for, and he doesn’t mean sex.

He means, a little house and a white picket fence and his glasses on the bedside table. A stack of your books on the other and your shoes on the floor at the end of the bed and a little dog or cat that you and Steve named something goofy.

A beautiful little life, and it starts here, with him climbing silently onto a creaky mattress with you tonight to do nothing other than sleep.

Maybe he got hit harder in the head than he realized.

You and Steve lay flat on your backs, hands at your sides, only a few inches between you despite Steve’s earlier boasting about the bed’s size. If he moved, or you did, you’d be touching.

“I really thought you were going to die down there,” you say after a few minutes of quiet. Steve wasn’t sure you were still awake. “I thought they were going to kill you. Robin and I didn’t know what they were doing to you, but every few minutes, we heard your screams, and I swear—” You stop. Pause. “It scared the hell out of me.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Before he can figure something out, you go on, “If something happened to you, if I actually lost you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

And now Steve really has no clue what to say.

“You’d be okay,” he says. “And you don’t have to worry about me. You really don’t.”

“Yeah, I do,” you say. “Because if I don’t, who will?”

Steve stiffens. “I don’t need anybody’s pity—”

“It’s not pity, you idiot,” you say, angry and Steve isn’t sure why, isn’t sure what he said to piss you off. “I mean, three years now, I’ve watched you put everybody else first. You throw yourself in front of every single bullet from every single gun. And then, at the end of the fight, nobody… thanks you for it. I mean, you’re the only person who never really had a stake in this fight, but you stayed, because it was the right thing to do. Seeing people take that for granted, over and over, it kills me.”

Steve is quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean, the only one without a stake?” he asks. He rolls onto his side to face you, and though you dart a glance his way, your gaze drifts back to the ceiling.

“I mean, this all started with Will Byers, right? So, it makes sense that Mike and Dustin and Lucas were part of the fight. And then there’s El, which is self explanatory. Nancy and Jonathan were in it for their brothers. Joyce for her kid, and Hopper for Joyce. But you, Steve Harrington, you let Dustin into your car, and you drove onto the battlefield, and you never left. Haven’t you ever wondered why that is?”

“Because I’m an idiot, or I have a death wish, or both?”

“Funny,” you say. “You’re a good man, Steve. I really wish you could see it. I wish everyone could see it.”

“Me too,” he says quietly, so quietly he’s not sure he can hear.

You inhale. “You make me so mad sometimes, you know.”

“Not really a shock,” Steve says. “It’s kind of my thing.”

“No, that’s not—I don’t mean that. I mean, yeah, sometimes, but—” You turn your head and meet his eyes. This time, you don’t look away. “But you’re one of the smartest, toughest, bravest people I’ve ever met in my life, and I love the hell out of you for it, and it pisses me off because you still just see yourself as this asshole who deserves all the crap that comes at him. And you don’t.”

Affection swells in his chest, and it’s so big he can barely breathe, but it’s the best feeling in the world. He doesn’t even decide to kiss you. One second, he’s on his own pillow. The next, he lifts a hand to your cheek and lifts his head, leans in, presses his lips to yours.

And you kiss him back. You roll toward him, into his arms, and your hands are in his hair and your breaths are hot and uneven against his lips, and hell, all the alcohol and drugs in the world have nothing on you. Steve thinks he could do this forever.

It’s only when his brain starts to turn itself back on a few minutes later that he breaks away, forehead dipped against yours, and says, softly, “I love the hell out of you, too.”

You tilt your chin up, mouth finding his again, and you’re both smiling, limbs entangled and sheets twisted around you.

“And I kind of like when you take care of me,” he whispers.

“Good,” you say. “Because you should get used to it.”

“That sounds like a promise.”

“It is,” you say, “and I intend on keeping it.”

And though Steve hasn’t seen much but broken promises, he believes you. He kisses you again, and he can taste the truth on your lips.

taglist (join here!): @milkiane @spideyboipete @robiin-buckley @robinbuckleyssgf @la-fille-en-aiguilles @sunlitide @cityofidek

#brooke writes fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x gn!reader #Steve Harrington au #Steve Harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #x reader

970 notes · View notes

steddiebang · 1 year

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

Author: @steddieasitgoes l Artist: @doomcheese l Artist: @strawberrysh0rk Posting on Sunday, November 5

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” “It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pay off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it.” “Right, ‘cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates me house.” “I don’t hate your house!” Steve objects. “That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers…” the man trails off, gesturing at Steve. “Steve.” “So you are the mailman that has all the Housewives of this hear street’s panties in a twist.” Or: The year is 1991 and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie, who has just moved into the neighborhood. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced t making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other. But the more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Steve is about to cut his losses, set the bin of undelivered mail on Mr. Darkness's doorstep with a quick note of apology, and head back to Posty when there's a loud commotion from inside. It's hard to hear beyond the thick wood door, but Steve can faintly make out the sounds of someone cursing. Heavy footsteps race towards the door, voice becoming clearer as they get closer and closer.

"I already told you people. I've found something better than God. It's called marijuana, and it makes me a better man than any of your stupid books and pamphlets will!"

The door swings halfway open in a hurry. It's so fast Steve doesn't have time to make himself look even halfway professional, the overflowing bin of mail teetering in his hands. He manages to save it from falling on his feet, but he can't say the same about his jaw, which feels like it's just been disconnected from the rest of his head.

Truthfully, he hasn't given much thought to what Mr. Darkness might look like.

Sure, he's listened to the Birchwood Court Housewives sing their praises. And Robin's lamented about her own theories. That a guy who paints an entire Victorian house black-hole levels of black and is never around in the day must be a vampire type. Long coats and dark boots, maybe even a corset or cape or two. She even joked about him having those cheesy faux vampire teeth they sell around Halloween one night.

But other than their theories, Steve hasn't theorized for himself. Hasn't given Mr. Darkness's appearance any real thought, too consumed with getting his petty revenge instead.

That might have been Steve's biggest mistake yet.

Because the man in front of him isn't decked out in dark capes and soft linens, nor is he red carpet-ready with a swoon-worthy smile.

No.

The man in front of him is an utter disaster that makes Steve's heart race.

Wild curls radiate from his head in every direction, wispy bangs falling in his sleep-heavy eyes. One hand grips the frame of the door, large, gaudy rings adorning his slender fingers. The other forms a fist that he uses to massage the sleep from his eyes.

His lean but muscular legs are on full display, given his lack of pants. Light brown hair covers the expanse of his calves and thighs, blending with the rich colors of tattoos that ebb and flow with the contours of his muscles before disappearing under the most absurd apron Steve has ever laid his eyes on.

Garfield the cat is splayed out across his chest, eating a bowl of pasta. A word bubble above him noting that he's "an eater, not a cooker."

It's so cartoonish and out of place on his ink-covered body. Black lines weave up and down his arms, too. Drops of red and white accenting the purposely erratic lines. Steve can't help but stare at the work of art on this man's body. It's a glorified eye spy of sorts. Meaningful shapes and words hidden within the lines and floral designs. Steve thinks he makes out a music note in the mix, maybe even a heart with a W doodled inside.

Mr. Darkness clears his throat, pulling Steve from his ogling. He feels his cheeks burn under the intense gaze brought upon him. A pit forms in his stomach as he takes in Mr. Darkness's face again. He's sporting an equal look of utter confusion. Lips barely parted, owlish eyes beating into Steve's.

"Well," he clears his throat again before pulling at the hem of his tacky apron. "You're not the Bible thumpers."

"I am not."

It's hard not to squirm under the man's intense gaze as his eyes trail up and down Steve's body. Taking him in bit by bit — Steve can't help the rush of blood that pools below his belt. It's not his fault this man is simultaneously sizing him up and taking him apart.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my terrible mailman," the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. "To what do I owe the displeasure."

"It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office," Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pays off. "M'just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it."

"Right, 'cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates my house."

"I don't hate your house!" Steve objects.

"That's two lies in under a minute. I don't think your boss will be too happy to learn that you're lying to your customers…" the man trails off, gesturing at Steve.

It takes a moment for Steve to realize this is his way of asking for his name. Steve considered giving him a fake one just in case Mr. Darkness himself is serious about reporting his wrongdoings. But it would only take his boss a matter of seconds to figure out who he was really talking about, so Steve decides to tell the truth.

"Steve."

"So you are the mailman that has all the housewives of this here street's panties in a twist."

It doesn't seem possible, but Steve feels his face heat up even more. He's never been a big blusher, not even in high school when he was pumped full of alcohol and had girls dangling off both his arms. But he doesn't need a mirror to know he's been rendered into a blushing mess in under five minutes by Mr. Darkness. God, it's probably so obvious against the harsh backdrop of his house and the navy blue polo of his work uniform.

"Look," Steve trails off, eyes glancing down towards the mail bin in his hands. He tries to catch sight of Mr. Darkness's real name, but all the letters on top are still addressed to an E. Munson. And he's not about to call this guy Mr. Munson. That's reserved for his superiors and this guy is anything but.

"Eddie," Eddie supplies, the corner of his mouth twitching up momentarily.

Steve nods. "Right, Eddie, I don't hate your house, and I'm really sorry about the…" Steve trails off again. His nose turns up as he's hit with an overwhelming waft of something burning. A smell he's accustomed to smelling, thanks to Robin's need to cook despite the kitchen's hatred for her. "Is something burning?"

"My bacon!"

Read more on November 5!

#steddiebang23 #steddiebang23 upcoming projects

40 notes · View notes

lovebillyhargrove · 1 year

Text

Billy's camaro fic: Six kinds of silence

***

How do you tell someone their parent is dead?

You probably just say the words.

What happens after you say those words?

Someone becomes an orphan.

***

It has somehow slipped Steve's mind that Billy probably does not know about his father's sudden death last August.

Why didn't Steve tell him earlier? It didn't come up anywhere in the conversation. He didn't think about it. He assumed that since Billy didn't bring his family up, then maybe he .. knew. Or .. maybe ..

Steve really has nothing. He just didn't think about it.

Turns out, Billy doesn't know.

No mailman in the Upside Down Kingdom.

So Steve has to be the one to break the news.

"Billy."

He's looking at Hargrove.

"What?"

"Billy. I have to tell you something. About your dad."

"Yeah .. what?"

"His name is Neil Hargrove, right?"

He's just double checking, maybe there's a crazy chance Billy's dad's name is John or .. fucking Wayne Hargrove, but that's ridiculous, he knows, Billy's father is dead, he's read it in the newspapers and he's heard it from Max, he knows about Max's step dad.

Billy is looking at Steve like he's an idiot.

"No, it's Arnold fucking Schwarzenegger."

Not even funny, dumbass.

"Billy."

"For fuck's sake, stop saying my name, Harrington, and just tell me what's going on!"

"There was a car accident."

"A car accident."

"Your father is dead, Billy. He died in a car accident."

The silence that surrounds them is the kind of silence that you can actually feel. It's tangible. You feel it with your fingertips, slide them on that thin ice crust and then break it.

"When?"

Billy's voice is hollow.

"In August. I believe, it was in August. It was in the Hawkins Daily. And Max .. Max told me about it."

"Max."

Billy's saying the name like it's alien to him, like he has no idea who Max is.

:readmore:

"What kind of car accident?"

"I don't .. I don't know the details. We can ask Max."

No that's probably a bad idea

"Or we can find that newspaper, find the article."

There's no emotion on Billy's face, not even a trace of .. anything.

"I remember there was something strange about it. Like .. the car wasn't identified and nobody knew who did it, the police never found the driver."

"I need the article, Steve. Please?"

"Of course, yeah .. I can go to the library, I can .. try to find it there?"

They can't really show up at the police station asking questions, so library is their best shot at finding out what happened.

"Please?"

"I can only bring it to you in the evening."

"I can't wait until the evening, Steve. Let's go now, right now."

"I uh .. I have to .."

"Yes. Work. I'll go by myself."

"But Billy .."

"It's okay. I can handle the library, Steve."

"I just don't think you should be alone right now .. "

"It's fine. I'm fine."

Billy's face is still void of any sign of emotion.

"Where are the keys?"

"Wait, Hargrove. Billy, wait, I'll drive you there. I'll make a call, tell them I'm gonna be a bit late."

Billy's nodding and walking out of the kitchen, to change, Steve's thinking.

He dials Robin's number.

"Hey, Rob. Yeah, it's me. Look uhm .. I'm gonna be late. Can you cover for me?"

"Sure. You're in luck today, Steve. Keith isn't gonna be in the shop. He has some .."

"Awesome! I'll owe you one, Rob. You're the best! Just don't tell Keith."

Keith is the worst.

Steve's hanging up

"Billy!"

"Billy? are you ready to go?"

Steve heads upstairs and changes into jeans and a different shirt.

"Billy, are you here?"

He's opening the guest room door, but Hargrove isn't in there.

Steve is dashing downstairs and sees that both key sets - from the beamer and from the camaro - are on the table near the door.

Billy's old sneakers (no, Steve's old sneakers which he gave Billy to wear when they went to see Owens) aren't near the door mat. One of Steve's jackets is missing too.

Hargrove must've walked outside already.

Steve grabs the beamer keys and dresses hurriedly.

He catches up with Billy when he's already half a block away. He's wearing sweatpants, so he didn't even change his clothes, just put on the jacket and the shoes.

Billy doesn't have any clothes. Steve gave him some stuff of his own, and Hargrove hadn't even left the house except for the meeting with Dr. Owens a week ago.

Steve stops the beamer and Billy gets in, on autopilot.

They drive to the library in silence.

It's a different kind of silence, not the thin breakable one, but the anxious kind. Steve keeps wanting to say something but he doesn't know what.

They find the newspaper quickly. There it is, the article

"Mysterious death of a Hawkins resident."

There was an unidentified car involved. The body was set on fire after having been run over. Strange circumstances. No witnesses to be found. An inconsolable widow left to provide for a teenage daughter. It was a dead end investigation. The police didn't have any suspects. The case was closed.

Something doesn't sit right with Steve. The words keep turning in his mind like two giant stone discs slowly grating against each other.

Car. Fire.

These two words would've been written in the article about Steve's death as well if the camaro hadn't forgiven him that day.

Oh fuck

Ohh fuuuck

"Billy .."

"You told me my car almost roasted you once, Harrington?"

"Billy I don't think .. "

"Give me the keys."

"What? I'll drive."

"GIVE ME THE KEYS, STEVE."

There's steel in Billy's voice and Steve hands him over the keys.

Billy snatches them from his hand, grabs Steve's arm, drags him out of the library, and gets behind the wheel himself. Steve almost makes it into the passenger's seat when

The tires screech

"Billy you don't think .. "

"I don't think, Steve. I know."

Billy drives back like a maniac, breaking every speed limit and doesn't even turn the ignition off, just gets out of the car and dashes to the garage where the camaro is standing.

"You shouldn't have done it!! You fucking piece of shit!!!"

Hargrove's kicking its tires, and he's banging on the hood, looking into the windshield as if trying to see a face there. He only sees his own reflection. He's hitting it with his fists aiming to break the glass

"You fucking .. you shouldn't have .. "

wildly looking around as though trying to find something to smash its lights and windows with

"You didn't have the right to do it, who gave you the fucking right !??!! Who gave you the fucking right, it wasn't your place to do it, you fucking .. psycho!!!"

Steve is grabbing Billy's shoulder

"Hey! Hey!! Hargrove's, stop !!! Stop. You need to calm down, hey .."

"Don't .. don't do it now, Harrington! She didn't have the right! You don't know!"

Billy's voice is hoarse and it's breaking.

Broken.

"Okay, okay! It's a car, Billy, what do you want to do with it?? Kill it? It's .. your car. You .. "

Steve feels he's missing something huge here

"Why did she do it, Billy?"

He's looking into Billy's mad eyes with his large pools of compassion

He wants to understand, he wants to help.

"Why did she do it?"

Billy is suddenly slumping in Harringtons' grip and sliding a palm over his face

"Let me go."

"Where are you gonna go?"

Billy's heading into the house and Steve's trailing after him

"To the cemetery. To see my father. I need to find the grave."

"Let me drive you. Hargrove?"

Billy's swinging the door open and going to the kitchen.

He takes a bottle of vodka from the cabinet and his Marlboro reds.

"Hey I said I can drive you!"

"I'll fucking walk!"

"We can take the beamer, we don't have to take your .. "

"No Steve, just .. I appreciate everything you're doing for me, man I really do, but I need to be alone right now, it's just .. you didn't know my dad. It was fucked up. I want to be alone there."

"Alright, just uh .. let me just take you there, it's a long walk. I'll leave you there, I promise. I can pick you up later."

"I can walk, Steve. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I know where the cemetery is, I have a fucking gravestone there with my fucking name on it. I bet he's buried right next to me."

And so Billy's leaving, and Steve is going back to the garage.

The camaro looks .. it looks like it knows it has done something horrible but would still do it anyway if given another chance. Like it stands by its point, and it is not sorry.

It also looks hurt.

Steve is sliding his hand on the hood and opening the driver's door. Gets in the seat but leaves the feet on the garage floor. Slides his hands into the hair and lets out a sigh.

Looks at the dashboard, touches the steering wheel.

"What have you done ? Why?"

The camaro is silent, and it's the kind of silence that has some sick and twisted mystery wrapped around it. Maybe, if the car could talk, it would tell Steve everything he wants to know.

But cars don't talk. Not even this one.

So it's silent, and the silence is oppressive.

***

Steve never goes to work that day. He calls the video store and tells Robin Keith can actually fire him all he wants but he's just not coming in. Robin promises to cover for him for the rest of the day cause Keith's not there anyway, but on one condition - Steve will finally have to tell her what's going on in his life. Steve tries his best not to promise anything, so eventually they do agree on a very reluctant "Yeah, Rob, maybe I will."

The house is so quiet without Billy. It's the kind of silence Steve doesn't enjoy anymore. He wants to feel the other boy's presence. Wants to know that if he goes down to the living room he will find Billy splayed on the couch reading a book. Or doing stuff in the kitchen. Or something like that. Steve doesn't want to float in the silence of being alone anymore.

He waits.

***

Steve's already in bed when he hears the front door open. He hears the tap being opened and the clatter of the glass set on the table. He hears the downstairs bathroom door close and the sound of the water running.

He hears Billy's quiet steps on the stairs.

Steve's getting up and going out of his room.

"Hey."

Billy's drunk. He's swaying, but just a little.

"Are you okay?" Steve's asking softly. "Go to bed, man, it's almost midnight. Sleep it off."

Billy's leaning on the wall and closing his eyes.

"My mom left when I was eight. She and dad fought a lot. I was a kid, I didn't understand much. I just knew that they were always fighting. She left him. She left me, too."

"My dad uh .. he .. You want to know why my car did what she did, Steve? The truth is that my dad, he .. he wasn't the best dad, okay? I can't .. I don't want to talk about it, really, it's .. it's fucked up."

"He is still .. was .. my father and he's in me, in my fucking .. bones. It seems like I did so many things just to say fuck you to his face, and I .. he punished me for that. Every goddamn time, no matter how big or small it was. But also .. I've seen kids who ended up in foster care, Steve. I've seen them getting kicked from one foster family to another, I've seen them running away and being homeless, starving, dying of an overdose, prostituting, you name it. It's not like here, in this quiet town. Sure it has the .. monsters and stuff, but where I'm from .. there are monsters and horrors too, and I'm not even sure which ones are worse. I've just seen so many kids just .. thrown away, like trash. But I uh .. I've always had a home. The home that went up in flames, and I hated it, but it was there."

"I hated him, Steve, so much, I .. still do, but she .. she had no right to do it. It was my father, I could deal with him myself, I wanted to! .. I wanted to show him that I could .. stand up to him, that I made it, I didn't break, he didn't break me, fuck, this is so fucked up why do they fuck us up so bad, fucking why ??"

Billy's voice falters, he has already started sniffling a while ago, and now there are crystal clear tears coming down his face. Like tiny diamonds.

Steve gets closer to him.

Closer.

Neither of them says a word.

This kind of silence is amazing. It's heartbreaking but at the same time it's telling you that something beautiful is about to happen. It's sparkling. It promises fireworks.

He raises his right hand and touches Billy's cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

Billy looks up and

Steve swears the lights .. they flicker. There's a power surge, sweltering heat washing over him, but he doesn't care about the lights, he just wants to look into Billy's startling blue depth, he wants to ..

He's looking and Hargrove's looking back, they are searching each other's faces

God, Billy is so beautiful

and then Steve gets even closer to the other boy and

It's only a light brush of lips

Gentle, fleeting,

So, so tender.

Euphoria is shooting up his spine

And Steve wants more but Billy

Billy's pulling away.

Oh.

"Steve, I .."

"I'm .. "

"No it's not .."

"But .. "

"It's just .. Now it's not a good time."

"What do you mean it's not a good time? You .. you don't like me?" Steve's voice is so soft, so fragile, he's scared Hargrove will just laugh in his face now, make fun of him.

"Steve. It's not that. I just .. this shit is fucking me up so bad. I just, I can't take certain things fast now. Especially if I know these things .. are good."

Billy takes Steve's hand into his own.

"Let's go to bed. I'm so fucking tired."

They go to Steve's room and slide under the sheets, only to sleep next to each other, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies.

***

When Steve wakes up in the morning he's alone in the bedroom.

He goes downstairs. It's quiet, and that's the kind of silence when something is wrong.

There's a white sheet of paper on the kitchen table.

Steve's heart is sinking.

"Steve,

I don't want to say thank you - again - because it's lame. What you did for me, can't be measured by a thank you.

I like you, pretty boy. Much more than just like you.

Take care."

Steve wants to run to the guest room, see if maybe Billy is there, but he knows there's no point in that. Billy's gone, he can feel it.

Steve puts the paper back on the table, starts the coffee and goes to the bathroom.

His heart has sunk and is somewhere at the bottom.

Steve turns on the shower and lets the streams of warm water fall on his face. He remembers the radiating heat of Billy's body when they were laying in bed together, the oh-my-god!!!!- ohmygodohmygod feeling, the first kiss exhilaration, even if it was just a brush of lips on lips.

So if you like me, and much more that just like me, where the fuck are you, Hargrove?

Where??

Cause it feels like I don't just like you. It feels like I'm

In love with you.

***

Next chapter

***

Oh, and I know that we love it when Neil gets killed. But I don't think Billy would join the cheering crowd. It's his dad. It's complicated.

#billy's camaro fic #billy's camaro #harringrove #billy x steve

69 notes · View notes

steddie-fanfic-recs · 6 months

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

by steddieasitgoes

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Chrissy Cunningham & Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Tommy Hagan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Mailman Steve Harrington, Tattoo Artist Eddie Munson, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Questionable use of lunchtime breaks, Sexual Tension, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Chrissy Cunningham Friendship, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Mild Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Set in 1991 - but there's no homophobia Words: 61,091 Chapters: 15/15

Summary

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” “It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pays off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for the inconvenience.” “Right, ‘cause the post office “lost” it. Not my mailman who hates my house.” “I don’t hate your house,” Steve objects. “That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers." Or: The year is 1991, and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced into making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off, and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other. The more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail, which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie. Project #036 of Steddie Big Bang 2023

#steddie #steddie fic rec #multi-chaptered #part of a series #50-100k #au no upside down #tattoo artist eddie #getting together #slow burn #fluff #slice of life

9 notes · View notes

madaboutmunson · 2 years

Text

The Drive-In Part 8

Part 1 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Links to all Parts | AO3 Link

Taglist: @2btheanswertothequestion @cr0w-culture @panicatthediaz @rhyswritesreadsandcries @weirdspaceowl

Pulling up into the driveway, Steve notices Eddie looking a little nervous and reassures him, "My parents" Steve gestures vaguely at the windows and the other car parked up, "They're away on business for the week."

Eddie nods back in acknowledgement but doesn't seem any calmer. Maybe this was just his general energy. He did seem a little chaotic.

Steve locks up the car and heads to the front doors, Eddie following him up the driveway.

"What, one front door not good enough for you, Harrington?" Eddie leans against the wall as Steve finds the right key.

"Oh, these? This is to ensure every Ego size is welcome here. You might juuuust be able to squeeze in, Munson." Steve remarks as he opens the door, looks up at Eddie and waves him inside.

Steve expects a snippy retort, but it doesn't come. Instead, Eddie merely looks at him with an impish smile on his face. Then pushes off the wall with his shoulder and takes some big sweeping strides through the doorway and into the hallway.

Steve follows him in and shuts the door behind them.

Eddie is standing in the hall, turning around, taking everything in, then stops when he returns to Steve. His eyes shoot to the floor, and he moves to take off his sneakers.

"You haven't gotta do that here, man. You know that," Steve laughs a little. He's had so many parties here during middle school and high school. The rules were always the same. The study and master bedroom were off-limits; smoking anything but cigarettes was outside only. That was about it.

Eddie pauses and puts his shoe back on, looking a little confused.

Steve can't help but smile at this sort of stalemate they've come to in the hall, "Everything is where it usually is, dude. Beers are in the fridge."

Eddie takes a breath and gestures at his surroundings, saying, "Ah, well, I haven't actually been here before, Harrington." he almost looks a little embarrassed when he says it and gives Steve a weak smile.

Steve huffs out a tiny laugh while he removes his jacket before finally placing his hands on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief, "What, you didn't come to a single one of my parties? Ever?!"

Eddies eyes search the ceiling and then the ground as he twiddles his rings around on his hand, "Well, um, I have been at your house a few times to make drops at those parties, but I was never inside your house at those parties…" Then he claps his hands together and gives a vast toothy grin before spaying out his hands at his sides, "Guess the mailman must have lost my invite."

Steve's brain reminds him how much of an asshole he was before he got mixed up in all this upside-down crap. Before the kids. Before Nancy. Before Robin. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone has been on this journey of change with him. Seen the progress he had made. Well, in one department, anyway.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you weren't missing much." Steve tries to add kindly. Not that it would make up for everything, but Steve hoped it would make up for something, especially after the night Eddie had experienced.

Steve moves past Eddie in the hallway to take point on the tour. "So that's upstairs, not important right now" Steve moved through to the end of the hall and into another room, "This one leads out to the pool, and outside area, for your special smokes. Then just down there is the kitchen and, on the left, the bathroom. Further back, there is the den."

"Well, now that's all out of the way. Did I hear you correctly when you said you had a fridge full of beer, Harrington?" Eddie rubs his hands together excitedly.

Steve nods but adds, "You don't wanna maybe get some food or watch a movie or something?"

In asking that question, Steve realizes how long it's been since he's hung out with a guy his age. He is still catering to the kids or Nance and Robin.

Robin wasn't a priss by any stretch of the imagination, they'd had many a drunken sleepover, but she'd bring a movie or have some existential crisis to talk over.

Eddie shrugs, "Sure, a movie could be good to pass the time, but um…I usually save the snacks for later when I need 'em, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Well, like, make yourself at home. I'll grab us some beers and snacks and bring them through." Steve says happily, assuming his usual get-together role.

Eddie looks at him like Steve just told him the sky is falling.

"Harrington, I am capable of getting my own beer," Eddie says, looking a little weirded out, shaking his head and swishing past Steve towards the kitchen.

Steve stands there for maybe a second too long before following, processing what is happening. He doesn't have to run around after this one. He could take care of himself.

He can hear Eddie ahead of him making some very excited noises, "Shit, Harrington. Who did you bribe to get the good stuff?"

"No, one. My Mom knows the family that owns the store. She's pretty well respected around here" Steve tries to shrug off moments like these. Like he's trying to shake off the privileges he has, that others don't, desperately. He braces himself for the usual you're so lucky speech.

Eddie snorts out a laugh, "Fucking, ey, dude!" and grabs two cans, tossing one to Steve. Steve instinctively catches it out of the air, momentarily causing an impressed expression to form on Eddie's face.

It is stupid, maybe, but as Steve looks down at the top of the can, tapping it a few times, he feels a little pride swell up in his chest. He stands a little taller and doesn't slouch so much. It felt good to impress someone. Not to be told he sucked. Maybe, due to the minimal height difference, he probably didn't need to slouch around Eddie anyway?

As he goes to pull the ring tab on his beer, he hears a string of tuts, "Harrington. It's first beer. What are you doing?"

Steve looks up and can see Eddie brandishing a Swiss Army knife in one hand and holding his beer in the other, his big brown eyes scanning Steve like he was an alien being.

Eddie suddenly puts down both items and hops up to sit on the kitchen counter, "Look, I'm gonna ask, and id like to preface it with the fact I'm not being an asshole about it. It's just a genuine question. Is most of your free time, like, dates and babysitting?"

Steve turns his beer in his hands. He feels awkward. He doesn't want to advertise he hangs out with kids younger than him. He loved those kids, but to Eddie, that might seem weird. Even the fact his best friend was Robin, a girl, might raise some questions that Steve didn't particularly want to answer. He wasn't embarrassed about Robin. It just might be tough to explain to a guy why he hung out with a girl so much and wasn't dating her.

"Hey man, I wasn't trying to poke fun at you. If it weren't for my band, I probably wouldn't have time for partying either these days. I only asked because you're kinda…um…mother henning a bit" Eddie tucks in his lips for a second before adding, "It's not a bad thing, just…I dunno…take a night off, yeah?"

Take a night off. He knows Eddie hadn't meant to hit Steve with anything profound, but damn if that hadn't just slotted together a bunch of puzzle pieces in Steve's brain. Steve hadn't taken a night off, not for years now. Ever vigilant. Working. Studying. Dating. Getting caught up in some world-ending scenario. Worrying.

Steve even begins to wonder if he should be drinking this beer. What if someone calls with a code red, or needed picking up, or…

"Hey, you still with me, Harrington?" Eddie is now right in front of Steve, waving his hand to get his attention. Steve didn't even notice him get down from the counter, and Eddie was a noise factory when he walked, with all those bits and pieces attached to him.

Steve shakes his head and laughs, "Yeah, I'm good. I was thinking maybe I shouldn't be drinking. What if you need to go to the hospital or work needs me tomorrow?"

Eddies hands clasp around Steve's upper arms, and he looks him directly in the eyes with a smile, "Harrington, relax. I'm good. I've done more damage to myself, getting a little too excited on a set of swings at the park before, and if work calls you, that's a problem for Tomorrow-Steve to sort out because Current-Steve," Eddie gently pokes him in the chest, "is in desperate need of some fucking fun."

Steve thinks it must be because Eddie seems to have this impossible knack for reading him or because he feels seen for the first time in a long time, but it's the same sensation from the car, that nervousness. Steve wishes he had a better word for it. It felt like it should be familiar.

Eddie tilts his head, "Good?"

Steve clears his throat, nodding, "Yeah, good."

Eddie pats Steve's arm and returns to retrieve the knife and beer before turning back to Steve, "So Corroded Coffin rules state that the first beer must always be shotgunned. Then any mood killing is punishable by beer shotgun." Eddie makes a hole in his can, flicks the blade back in, and tosses it to Steve, "Think you can handle that big guy?"

Steve plucks the knife from the air, flicks out the blade, makes a hole in the can, looks back over at Eddie, shotguns his beer, and crushes the can in his hand, "Yeah, I think I can handle that" then finally, and he's not entirely sure why….he shoots a wink at Eddie.

#eddie munson #eddiemunson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steveharrington #steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #Steddie #steve harrington fanfic #steddie fanfic #madaboutmunson #madaboutmunsondrivein #the drive-in

76 notes · View notes

steddieasitgoes · 10 months

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) | written by steddieasitgoes | ao3 link

Written for @steddiebang ; project #036

Artist: @strawberrysh0rk | Art

Artist: @doomcheese | Art | Art 2

Beta Reader: @valosomdraws

Beta Reader: @ContrivedInk on Discord

Or: The year is 1991, and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced into making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off, and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other. The more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail, which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.

Read the rest on ao3

61K+ Words | Mature

#steddie #steddie big bang #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #mailman steve harrington #tattoo artist eddie munson #dani writes

30 notes · View notes

steddieunderdogfics · 2 months

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) by steddieasitgoes

@steddieasitgoes

Rating: Mature

61,091 words, 15/15 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Mailman Steve Harrington, Tattoo Artist Eddie Munson, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Questionable use of lunchtime breaks, Sexual Tension, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Chrissy Cunningham Friendship, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Mild Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Set in 1991 - but there's no homophobia

Summary:

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @steddieasitgoes. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

#writer's spotlight #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #no upside down au #slow burn #enemies to lovers

37 notes · View notes

steddierecs · 10 months

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) by steddieasitgoes

Word count: 48,384 (incomplete) / 11/15 Rating: M

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Chrissy Cunningham & Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Tommy Hagan

Summary:

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

“It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pays off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Right, ‘cause the post office “lost” it. Not my mailman who hates my house.”

“I don’t hate your house,” Steve objects.

“That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers."

Or:

The year is 1991, and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced into making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off, and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other.

The more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail, which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.

Project #036 of Steddie Big Bang 2023

#steddie #ongoing #multi chapter #steve #eddie #chrissy #robin #tommy #no upside down #getting together #slow burn #fluff #angst #enemies to lovers #steddieasitgoes

5 notes · View notes

disdaidal · 3 years

Text

My Writing

AO3

◆ Harringrove ◆

Count Harrington Halloween | Mature | 3,032 words

My Pain Brought You To Me Fluff/First Time | Explicit | 3,760 words | 1/2 (gifted for @aestheticchaoss)

I Want To See (All of You) Scars/Angst | Mature | 2,453 words

It's Always Been You Drinking/H/C | Teen and Up | 3,351 words

Under The Surface H&C/Domestic Violence | Teen and Up | 5101 words

Cocktails And Cuddles Drinking/Fluff | Teen and Up | 1760 words

Laundry Day Doing Laundry/Enemies to Friends | General | 1791 words

There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart) Homelessness/Guardian Angels | Explicit | 5313 words | 1/?

◆ Mungrove ◆

Be Mine (Stay With Me) FWB/Mutual Pining | Teen and Up | 1224 words

I’ll Sing For You, Baby Fluff/Angst | Teen and Up | 1124

◆ Keg Boys ◆

We Love You, Tommy H&C/Cuddling | General Audiences | 1196 words

Tumblr Writing (non-AO3)

Dogs & Cats | Cuddly Billy

HC's & AUs

S3/Post-Starcourt | Billy + support system

Headcanon Meme

This Steve with this Billy: College/Band AU | Mailman/Lifeguard AU

NSFW headcanons: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

#my writing #my aus #my headcanons #my ao3 #my writing rec list #not to toot my own horn there since i'm not the greatest writer out there #but since i have done a fair amount of writing lately...#i thought i'd make a little self rec list #in case someone's interested or has liked my writing before #and i might actually wanna write some of those aus someday #maybe (lol)

54 notes · View notes

pappydaddy · 4 years

Text

Make-up (s.h.)

A/N: I am finally being able to start writing more (slowly but surely)! This is a request sent in by the lovely @secretjellyfishpolice (I love your profile pic by the way lovely!!). I love writing Steve x Henderson!reader stuff purely because I love Dustin and Steve’s relationship! This might be a little short, but I just thought it should end there, felt like it would be better. Sidenote: I had absolutely no idea what to name this... So, thank you so much for your request and I hope you like it💛!

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!fem!reader

fandom: stranger things

requested

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

warnings: fluff. good dustin and steve content. slightly suggestive, mentions of sex.

- not my gif -

For as long as Y/N could remember, her dream was to go to Cosmetology school to learn how to professionally do make-up. Her mother always told stories of how Y/N just couldn’t stay out of her make-up when she was a baby. Unfortunately, her mother told those stories to everyone who would give her the time-of-day to tell the said stories. No matter how embarrassing the stories and the pictures that came along with the stories were, they helped Y/N realize what she wanted to do with her life after high school.

When the day came that her mother had yet again pulled out the photo album loaded with the embarrassing photos to show Y/N’s now (much more) serious boyfriend Steve Harrington, she had decided to finally take the plunge and apply for the Cosmetology school a thirty-minute commute away. It was in the city, sure, but it was very prestigious and close enough for her to still live at home if she managed to get accepted. Steve was the ever-loving boyfriend through the entire application process, offering to help hold the light so she could take the required photos of her make-up skills (that she had used her mother as a model for) to send with her application. But his support didn’t end there.

“I am sure your acceptance letter is on its way right now, stop pacing and come sit down,” Steve tried to calm his pacing girlfriend down as she just about wore a path in the carpet in front of the door. “Come on, Sunshine, I bet your legs are exhausted from all that walking back and forth.” He spoke as he patted the couch cushion beside him.

She stopped her pacing, looking up at him as she wrung her hands together. “I’m too nervous to sit,” She shook her head, resuming her pacing. Steve remained silent, simply looking at her. He knew her, he knew that in any given moment she would rush over to the couch and worry from sitting down. Sure enough, with a final over-dramatic one-eighty whirl, she scampered to the couch. Sitting on her knees, she completely faced Steve with her eyes wide. “Why do you think it’s taking so long? It should have arrived by now, shouldn’t it have? Maybe they are trying to figure out the best way to let me down? That’s probably why it’s taking so long! They are trying to tell me that I suck without making me want to run through a wall-”

“Y/N, darling. You know how the postal service is in Hawkins, it’s complete shit! It’s probably sitting in a mailbag attached to some mailman taking yet another forty-minute coffee break and talking about everyone behind their back with the other mailmen that should be working.” Steve rambled, resting one of his hands on hers, shifting to prop one leg up and face her. His elbow propped up on the back of the couch, resting the side of his head against his closed fist.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” She sighed, slumping back slightly as she relaxed. Steve once again watched her, knowing that her mind was still racing and that it wouldn’t stop until she held that letter in her hand. She suddenly stiffened up again, sitting up straight as her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Steve wasn’t startled by the sudden action, only blinking and trying to hold back his smile. She was too cute in his eyes. “That doesn’t mean they don’t think I suck though.”

“They don’t think you suck,” Steve reassured her gently. “And if they do, they are clearly blind since you are the best damn make-up artist ever. Seriously, I am always amazed. You work wonders.” He praised her, boosting her confidence. She smiled at him, her body finally relaxing to the point where Steve knew that she would be relaxed for at least a few minutes. That was until she spotted the mail carrier walking towards the mailbox from the window.

“He’s here!” She jumped out, this time scaring Steve out of his mind, He jumped in his spot, his hand flying up to his chest in an attempt to calm his wildly beating heart. Taking deep breaths, Steve stood from the couch.

“Give the man a chance to get to the mailbox before you trample him.” Steve told her, watching the man lazily shift through the disorganized mail. Y/N surprisingly listened to him, dancing around on her tiptoes to try and peer out one of the three triangle-shaped windows at the top of her door.

“Is he gone yet,” She asked, rolling back down to her flat feet, unable to see out the windows. Steve shook his head, stretching his arms and legs as he watched the man add envelopes to the mailbox one by one. “God,” She let out a dramatic groan, slumping her shoulders over. “What is taking him so damn long?”

“By the looks of things, he decided to skip the part where he pre-sort the mail,” Steve observed. “There, he’s done-” He didn’t even get to finish his statement before she yanked the door open and took off down the driveway, not even caring that she was running into the crisp air of late August in her thin socks. “You could have at least put shoes on!” He called after her, standing in the open door.

“I got it! I got it! It’s here!” She ignored him, smashing the mailbox door closed before racing back up the driveway, nearly bowling Steve over to get back into the house. Steve kicked the door closed, following her back into the living room. She threw the other mail on the coffee table, not caring about the assortment of bills and junk mail. Steve settled back on the couch, his knee bouncing as he waited impatiently for her to open the letter she inspected with awe.

“Well, come on, don’t leave a guy hanging here,” Steve spoke up after he watched her flip the envelope for the second time. “Open it and see if you got in!”

She followed his instructions, using the letter opener she had placed on the coffee table weeks ago to tear along the fold of the envelope. Her nerves were overridden with impatience as she pulled the tri-folded paper out. The empty envelope fluttered to the carpeted floor by her feet, but she paid it no mind, too busy unfolding the letter. “I got in!” She screamed, turning to Steve, her eyes wide and her mouth dropped in shock.

“You got in!” He yelled back, shooting up from the couch once again, his arms open wide, his eyes just as bright and excited as Y/N’s.

“I got in!” She repeated, stepping onto the coffee table before launching herself into Steve’s arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. The force of her body flinging towards him knocked him off balance enough to send him falling back to the couch. His head lulled to rest on the back of the couch, his eyes set on the excited girl still clinging to him, the corner of the letter digging into the back of his neck little, but he didn’t mind.

“I told you that you would!” He reminded her. She pulled her head from his neck, peering down at him with sparkling eyes, he assumed it was from the excitement of getting into her dream school, but he didn’t know it was because of all the love she felt for him.

“You did, didn’t you?” She asked, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She was beyond thankful that she had managed to find someone that believed in her even when she didn’t believe in herself.

“Just to prove how proud I am of you, I will gladly loan my face to you for practice anytime,” He suggested, tapping her nose. She scrunched it up, pulling away from his finger. “All you have to do is ask.”

____

Steve did mean his words with his whole heart, but when a few weeks passed without her taking him up, he had thought she didn’t want to. It wasn’t until two weeks before she started school that he was proven wrong. “Steve!” She called in a sing-song voice, skipping through the house in search of her boyfriend. Her shopping bag swung by her side as she skipped through her living room into her room. Instantly, she spotted Steve laying on her bed on his back, tossing a slinky back and forth, giggling lightly to himself at the noise it made.

“What’s up, Sunshine,” He asked, not taking his eyes off the metal slinky, still pushing it back and forth. She hopped onto the bed, causing her and him to bounce. Dropping the bag between him and the slinky, she obscured his view as she practically vibrated with excitement. He oohed at the bag, not seeing the label on the other side of it. “Did you go to the naughty store to get me a present?”

She scoffed as he sat up, moving to dive his hands into the bag, thinking that was exactly what she had done. “You wish,” She commented, flipping the bag around so that he could see the store logo. He pouted in disappointment when he realized that it wasn’t from the dirty store. “I had to go get some supplies for school because they want us to get used to these specific products before the first day.”

“Okay?” Steve questioned, looking into the bag. He saw a bunch of make-up products that he wouldn’t even try to figure out what they were. Y/N had tried to explain the different things, but he just could not get the hang of it.

“Well, I can’t possibly get used to them without a model,” She pointed out, snatching the bag back from him. “You told me that I could use your face, all I had to do was as and this is me asking.” She bounced on her knees, her hands pressing against Steve’s side to shake him lightly.

“I did say that and I always stay true to my word,” He agreed, smiling as she clapped happily, cheering. She scrambled off the bed and over to her desk. “But I am really disappointed you didn’t go to the dirty store.” He added in, standing from her bed and plopping himself in her vanity chair, the slinky still in his hand. She plucked the slinky out of his hand, tossing it to the bed before resuming to unpack her make-up.

“If you behave, maybe we can go together tomorrow.” She bargained, clipping his hair back from his face. He nodded eagerly, making her laugh as she reached behind her for some primer.

“Make sure you match to my skin tone,” He reminded her his eyes fluttering closed as she started to apply the primer. It was almost like he could see the look she gave him when he added a quick ‘just making sure’ behind it. Shaking her head, she set to work on the base of his face.

____

“I am surprised that you’ve sat still enough for this long.” Y/N voiced her amazement, her eyes zeroed in on his eyelids as she swept the pigmented pink eyeshadow over it, carefully putting it in the right spot. Steve scoffed, trying his best not to move too much.

“You have no faith in me.” He muttered sarcastically. He was even surprised that he had sat for this long without getting antsy. Maybe it was because she had let him rest his hands on her waist as she worked, maybe it was just that he wanted to help her in any way he could, but it was probably the promise of going to the dirty store that kept him so still. Either way, they were both utterly shocked.

“Not true, I have lots of faith in you,” She corrected, moving to the next eyelid to cover that in pink. “I leave you alone with faith that you won’t burn my house down,” She pointed out, her eyes nearly crossing from how hard she was focusing. “I also leave you alone with my brother with faith that you won’t kill him, though both times he could have been killed, you were almost killed instead so-”

“Yeah, but was Dustin in danger?” He perked an eyebrow in question. She gave him a look.

“Last time I checked, trying to not be killed by Demo-dogs, Billy Hargrove, Russians, and a Giant Flesh Spider is classified as dangerous. So yes.” She pressed her lips together, twisting around to grab another eyeshadow brush, collecting some pigmented blue eyeshadow on it.

“But he didn’t die.”

“True,” She started, brushing some blue in the outer corner and crease expertly. “But you almost died instead, so I don’t think that pleads your case.” She jumped to the next eye, trying to get it the exact same as the other one. She leaned back, inspecting the blue powder on both, adding more to the second one.

“What’s the third colour you want?” She asked, unable to pick the next colour for his eyes.

“Purple.” He blurted out, not even sure that the other two colours were.

“Purple it is then,” She shrugged, plucking yet another brush off the table beside her, coating the end with purple eyeshadow, placing it in the inner corner gently. Steve scrunched his nose up as it tickled lightly. “Sorry,” She whispered, too focused on trying to perfect it. “You know, I didn’t think these three colours would look good together for an eyeshadow look, but I am pleasantly surprised,” She spoke as she started the other eye. “Once I blend it, it’ll look better too.”

“Remember, make me look good,” His warm breath fanned over her wrist as she put the final stroke of eyeshadow on. Grabbing yet another brush to blend the eyeshadow. “Dear God, how many brushes do you need?” He questioned, feeling the new brush swirling over his eyelids, making them flutter.

“A lot, now keep your eyes closed or you’re gonna mess it up,” She exclaimed, moving to the next eye. Steve remained silent, fighting to keep his eyelids closed. “Now, lipstick, mascara then I am done! You want pink or red? Pink might look better with your eye make-up.” She trailed off, looking at the two tubes of lipstick.

“Pink.” He chose, his eyes staying closed.

“You can open your eyes now, you Doofus,” She giggled, uncapping the lipstick and twisting it up. The creamy lipstick smeared onto his lips easily, taking no time at all. “Now, you need to keep your eyes open for this or it’ll mess this all up, okay?” She instructed, putting on the lipstick and grabbing the tube of mascara. Steve nodded, watching her intently. He visibly gulped when she pulled the wand out and brought it to his eye.

“Woah, woah, woah,” He panicked, leaning away from it in fear. “What the hell are you going to do with that?” He pointed to the black-coated wand. Y/N glanced down at it, shrugging as if it was nothing to be scared of.

“Put it on your eyelashes,” She told him, looking back at him. Her hand gripped the back of his head, keeping it in place as she brought the wand closer. “Stop being such a baby, it’s not going to hurt! I do this to myself all the time!” She struggled to keep his head in place, finally touching the wand to his already luscious lashes.

Just as she went to do his other eye, her door burst open to reveal Dustin standing there. The couple jumped, snapping their heads to look, the wand still raised in the air, and Y/N’s hand still on the back of Steve’s head. Dustin looked between Y/N and Steve, his eyes stitching together in question. “Did I just walk into some weird sex thing,” Dustin posed the question before squeezing his eyes closed and frantically shaking his head. “You know what, don’t answer that please?” He pleaded, opening his eyes to look at the couple again.

“It’s not a sex thing, it’s a make-up thing. Steve offered me his face to work on,” She clarified, turning Steve’s head back to face her. Whisking the wand on his eyelashes, she spoke to Dustin. “What do you need Dustin?”

“I honestly can’t remember now that I walked in on this.” He gestured to the scene in front of him, trying to hold in his laughter as he looked at Steve all made up.

“Stop laughing!” Steve cried in protest, his eyes tearing up slightly as Y/N fanned his eyes to make the mascara dry, her other hand placing the now capped mascara on her vanity. Dustin couldn’t help but let out a barking laugh at the comment.

“Yeah, stop laughing Dustin.”

“I’m sorry, but do you really expect me not to laugh at Steve with make-up on?”

“Yes, because A, make up doesn’t have a gender, and B, I think a man who is in touch with his faminine side is very sexy - so do a lot of girls, you should take notes from Steve for when Suzie finally comes to meet us.” She listed unclipping Steve’s hair from his face.

“Yeah, Twerp.” Steve stuck his tongue out at the teen.

“Real mature, Harrington, real mature,” Dustin narrowed his eyes at Steve. “I am ordering a pizza and I expect you guys to pay since you’ll end up eating most of it.” With that, he turned on his heel, marching down the hall. Y/N huffed out as he left the door wide open.

“You know what it is,” Y/N turned to look at Steve, pointing to the open door that Dustin was just standing in. “This attitude is all because his teeth are starting to grow in.” They both hummed at this, agreeing.

“Can I take this off now?” Steve asked, interrupting Y/N as she worked to put everything away. Looking behind her, she saw the glammed-up Steve blinking back at her. Furrowing her eyebrows, she put her brushes back in the spray-painted mason jar she kept them in, slipping her new eyeshadow pallet in the drawer with the rest of her make-up.

“Why, don’t you like it?” She asked, worried that he didn’t like the idea of having make-up on (which would be fine). Steve shook his head frantically.

“No, no! I do like it, I love it even, but, uh,” His nose twitched weirdly, making her eyebrows furrow even more. “It’s just my nose is itchy and I don’t want to ruin it, also, I am weirdly warm right now,” He gushed, his face scrunching up as he tried to survive the itch on his nose. “I have no idea how you guys wear this all the damn time, honestly.” He muttered in awe.

Y/N laughed, tossing him the package of make-up wipes. “Here you go.” She chuckled, sitting down on her bed, sliding a magazine off her nightstand table to read.

“I look damn good though, I almost don’t want to take it off, but I can’t take this itch anymore!” He exclaimed, scrubbing at his face with a wipe. Y/N peeked over her magazine at him, watching as he leaned close to the mirror, working hard to rid his face of the perfectly applied make-up. Glancing at the clock, she hummed, a smirk on her face.

“Hey, Steve,” She sat her magazine on the bed beside her. Steve hummed, working on the eye make-up just like he had watched Y/N do countless times before. She bit her lip, trying to stop the sneaky smile stretching onto her face. “As a thank you for doing this for me, I think I should give you something in return,” She paused, scooting to the foot of her bed. “How about we go to the dirty store today instead of tomorrow? We’ve got the house to ourselves after Dustin goes over to Mike’s for an overnight campaign.” She said with a suggestive tone.

Steve snapped his head to looked at her so fast, she was sure he’d be feeling the whiplash soon. “Really?” He asked with wide, excited eyes, a multitude of colours smudged around the from the eyeshadow, mascara, and eyeliner. She nodded, giggling at his excitement.

“Really! The store doesn’t close until nine and it’s five now, so hurry up, we can go after we drop Dustin off.” Steve started madly.

“Hey, Dustin, how about we give you money for pizza and drop you off early at Mike’s,” Steve yelled, still scrubbing at his face. “I guess he was right, this was a weird sex thing.” He commented, dropping the used wipe in the garbage by her vanity.

“It wasn’t a weird sex thing!” She defended weakly.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington preferences #steve harrington blurbs #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #dustin henderson #stranger things imagines #stranger things preferences

325 notes · View notes

cockasinthebird · 4 years

Text

“I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.” -William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 3 Scene 5

Brown and blue both stare up at the many a love declarations on the underside of the bleachers of Hawkins High. Football practice has begun, along with their ever so faithful cheerleaders, and while Robin was here just for how short those skirts went, Steve was here for both those legs, and the sweaty muscles of the blonde haired quarter back; how he shone like diamonds underneath the ruthless summer sky.

Robin hands him the roach, and he has possibly never felt more at peace than now, in the shade with the occasional breeze. But of course, he thought so every time the two of them decided to get high and lie in the grass.

“Tommy + Carol 4 Ever,” Steve reads out loud. “Fucking asshole.”

“Aw, does poor Steve still feel abandoned?” Robin pouts falsely and puts both hands behind her head.

“Shithead was my best friend for most of our lives, and now he's off somewhere licking Billy Hargrove's boot.” He frowns whilst pressing the final embers of their joint into the grass.

“You're just jealous,” she laughs mockingly at him and turns her head to peek out through the seats.

And Steve leans up on his elbows to look past her and in the same direction, to where he sees Billy Hargrove tearing off his helmet with a victorious smile, mullet done up in a low bun, bangs clinging wetly to his forehead.

“Fuck no,” he lies.

“Come on, Dingus.” Robin knocks their shoes together. “You know you can't lie to me.”

“I can try,” he huffs a laugh and looks at how she mimics him genuinely.

“You think I got it any better?” her laugh turns to a scoff and points up. “Tammy Thompson loves John Johnson.” And there's a deep silence for a few short seconds as she keeps her finger in the direction of that etching. “Who the fuck names their child John Johnson?”

Steve cannot contain his chortle, and she is right behind with her usual snort; the one that only comes forth when they're this high.

“It would be like-” Steve takes a deep inhale. “If you were named Robin Robinson!”

“Or you Steve Stevenson!”

“Is that a real name?!”

“Y-yes?” Robin fights against the grin that wants to spread all too wide, and looks at him. “Robert Louis Stevenson!”

“Who?” Steve keeps breathing slowly to try and calm down from something that isn't actually that funny, but when you got bloodshot eyes like these, everything is.

“The famous writer? He wrote Treasure Island and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.”

Steve leans up on his elbows again to stare down at her with the most bewildered look this illiterate teen can manage. “Mr Hyde as in... our chemistry teacher?”

“Oh...” Robin's blue blue eyes grow as wide as they can. “My God... Steve... No wonder you're failing literally every class.”

And his expression falls from confused to somewhat offended, but it is the inevitable truth. “It's fine,” he says with nary a worry, “I will get a job at my father's office as... I dunno, coffee guy? Mailman?”

“You really think he'd put you in charge of something as important as their postal service?”

Rather than come up with a sensible reply to that remark, he simply grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at her.

He smiles, she laughs, and the both of them settle down once more with only the loud cheers from the girls in uniform to fill the comfortable silence they find themselves in again, as they continue reading everything that's been carved and written into the far too old wood.

Steve's name can be found numerous times, both in forms of compliments-

“I wish Steve Harrington would notice me.”

“Mrs Harrington is my dream job.”

“Steve Harrington the Keg King.”

All surrounded by hearts.

On one step it reads, “Steve 'The Hair' Harrington” in suspiciously familiar handwriting.

He used to bring girls down here, too, and would have them watch as he reached high above them and wrote his name + theirs.

Steve + Laurie. Crossed out. Steve + Amy. Crossed out. Steve + Becky. Crossed out.

He never got to bring Nancy here. Brought Robin here originally for the same reason as the rest, but she was quick to tell him the truth as he stood too close.

At least they remained friends.

“Is your name up there somewhere?” he asks her, having never actually found it.

“I'm a band dweeb, what do you think?” she sighs but acts like it doesn't bother her.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Nope,” she lies and pops the p.

And of course he doesn't believe her, but he considers himself too nice to press her on any of it.

Silence drags on for what feels like eternity crammed into one minute, and he's got something on his mind, but has absolutely no clue how to work it into conversation all casual like, because it's kinda a big deal, but he doesn't want to seem a fool for thinking so.

So he tries to just flat out say it, “Robin?”

“Steve.”

“You're... smart, right?” He feels himself failing at just saying what he's thinking.

“Smarter than you, although that's not saying much,” she chuckles out and looks to him, but he seems... nervous, and she stops. “What's up, dingus?”

“I... I got a note in my locker today, and I don't really know what it means,” Steve speaks hesitantly and rips small pieces off of a blade of grass.

Robin's brows quirks up. “Oh? And you want me to decipher it for you?”

He sits up far too fast, and even though his body remains still, the world spins for longer than what is possible. “Would you?” There is such a brightness to his tone.

“Sure, what does it say?” She gets up as well and crosses her legs.

Steve fishes out a paper that has become impossibly crumbled up in his front pocket, to a point where the letters written in beautiful cursive is almost unintelligible.

“I love you more than words can wield the matter; dearer than eyesight, space and liberty.”

And while she turns the paper around and re-reads those words, Steve stares unblinkingly so at her.

“So?” he finally asks, bursting with anticipation.

“So, it's a love letter.” She hands it back, and he looks at the paper with such admiration, as if he had forgotten he was worthy of such, just to be reminded of it now. “It's Shakespeare, King Lear. It means that she loves you more than words can describe.”

At that he looks up, beaming with elation as he asks for reassurance, “Seriously?”

“Yup.” She is clearly far less excited, but there's optimism to her tone, to know that he might find what they're both longing for, whether out loud or in secret.

“Someone wrote me a love note...” His smile wide with shocked disbelief.

“Congratulations.” She rolls her eyes although with raised lips, and lies down again.

The very next day, shortly after lunch has begun, he finds another in his locker and runs to where Robin would be eating her lunch alone in the unattended library.

Steve slams down the paper in front of her, and she pauses just before biting into her boring ham sandwich.

“Well well well lover boy,” she mocks lightly and places her food back down on the tray. “I assume you're in need of my service once again?”

The chair next to her screeches across the floor as he sits down with a hard bump. “Yes, and it's the same handwriting as last, so that means it's the same girl, right?”

“Hey now, I haven't agreed to anything yet!” She slaps her hand down on top of the paper, and smirks. “I will help you with this, again, if you buy me pizza after school.”

“Yeah, deal, whatever, just-” He gestures wildly to the neatly folded paper. “Tell me what it means!”

Robin shakes her head and slumps back into her seat; slipping down a bit with her legs splayed out all comfortable and taking up far too much space.

“Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, the pretty follies that themselves commit.”

She nods for a moment in thought, fully ignoring the way Steve's eyes could drill holes in her skull.

“I think it's from The Merchant of Venice. It means... something like, how love makes you act different?”

And since she seems satisfied with that, nods more and lets out a little “Yeah,” so is he.

“Okay, so, someone that acts differently around me?”

Robin taps her temple with a blackened nail and continues nodding like it's all he understands. Still, to ensure he gets her point, says, “You got it.”

Now it is his turn to slump into his chair, but far more confused. “How... how am I supposed to know that they act differently around me? Isn't that how I'll always have seen them, then?”

She raises her brows at that and sits up a bit more straight. “How astute!”

As if he knows what that means.

Through the weekend he waits on his bed, each note in hand and smiling so wide his cheeks grow sore.

Two love letters in two days? They are meant for him, right? This girl didn't accidentally put it in the wrong locker, right?

Steve catches himself briefly hoping she's beautiful, but pushes that aside by the fact that she's so poetically inclined, so sweet and shy that her looks hardly matters, for her choice of words warms his heart and makes it beat in a way that he has oh so missed.

Another thought is what if it's Robin, but he shakes his head violently at that stupid little thing, because no, she's his best friend and that's all they'll ever be, and he truly is happy with that. But everyone gets wrong and bad ideas from time to time, so he won't fault himself for her name popping up, as he mentally goes through a list of all the girls he knows. Or thinks he knows.

And though he tries to distract himself with TV and swimming in his pool and letting Robin paint his toenails, Monday always feels so far away.

It is the first thing he does when he shows up at school; pushes his way through his peers to fling open his locker, and sure enough a little note slips out.

He skims it for just a second before he rushes off to stand by Robin's locker for when she eventually moves to it and shoves him aside.

“Another?” she asks with her head in her locker as she rummages for gum.

“I knew she was gonna leave me another! I could feel it in my body the entire weekend!” his tone pitched high with excitement.

“Ew, gross, I don't need to know that!” she jokes and yanks it from his grasp.

“Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy, that one short minute gives me in her sight.”

And Steve folds it, lovingly so, before placing it inside his wallet, and thankfully he doesn't have to wait long for a more modern translation of it.

“Something something about how her pain and misery goes away in your presence; in the presence of a loved one. Romeo and Juliet, which is not a happy love story!” she says ardently and points a stern finger at him for emphasis.

“Okay, but does that mean we have classes together at least then?” Steve shrugs and runs a hand through his shiny hair.

“Probably? Or maybe some extra curricular activity,” Robin's tone careless and she starts down the hall, with Steve right behind.

“But the only other extra whatever I take is basket.”

“So maybe your admirer is a guy.”

He shakes his head with conviction. “Nah, I doubt that completely, I mean you've seen the handwriting! And what guy is into Shakespeare?”

“Anything is possible Steve, don't be so close minded.”

For once he is early to first-period history class, and he sits on the desk Robin usually occupies, to which she responds with throwing her bag into his lap, accompanied by a cocked brow and strong stare.

Steve doesn't say a thing, simply lifts up a fourth note, and she snags with from his fingers with an exasperated sigh.

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

She groans out loud now and pushes him off of her table. “Come on dingus, this one is easy! You cannot be this stupid.”

“Just tell me what it is!” he says as he shuffles into the seat in front of hers.

“She only wants you, no one else, Jesus.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, his wide grin that of pure joy, and although this is a tiring thing to be bothered with every day now, she does appreciate his happiness to some extend.

Wednesday morning Robin is already by Steve's locker, arms crossed and a friendly smile painted across her face.

“Let's see what your stalker has come up with this time,” she says and leans away so that he can twist the lock in the right order.

And today it is a far shorter note.

“Love hath made thee a tame snake.”

She doesn't bother waiting before saying, “Love will humble and soften even the most hardened individual.” And there's a glint in her eyes, so short and easily missed, revealing that she might have an idea as to which hardened individual this could be. Not that she hadn't thought about him before already.

For she had seen his copy of As You Like It by Shakespeare fall from his bag in English Literature, but it is not her place to out anyone.

“That's a weird one, right?” His brows furrowed as he awaits affirmation. “Hardened individual? What does that even mean?”

“Steve, I-” She rubs her eyes hard and nods. “Yeah, it is a weird one. But it probably means someone who's acting tough, but in truth softens around you.”

He folds it back up and slips it into his wallet together with the other four.

“Tomorrow, then,” Robin says and pats his shoulder a few times before heading to class.

Steve stays still for a moment, looking at how the five notes stretches the leather of his wallet. His thumb runs over their ripped edges, all seemingly from the same piece of paper, thinking about the dainty fingers that must hold the ballpoint pen to write him such loving words.

Cheeks flushed, smile tender, eyes soft, he wanders towards class as well.

Months ago when he and Robin became best friends, she took a very slight interest in him and his education, because he very clearly needs help with school, and she's suspicious of the fact that he might be dyslexic, but when asked about it he gets mad.

So instead she demands food and favors from him whenever he starts screwing up in school again, starts falling behind, or shows up late to class. And of course he has slept through his alarm for the first time in weeks on this Thursday, the one day of two where they have first-period together, and now he'll have to pay for dinner at the diner, but he has a good excuse!

Sat up all night with several books written by none other than William Shakespeare that he had checked out at the library.

He's hungry and tired and in a goddamn hurry to get to class ASAP; the hallways empty and silent save for the occasional teacher yelling at an unruly student, but even that he can hardly hear over the beating of his heart, which is just great, because now he'll spend all day with floppy hair and reeking of sweat.

He just has to make a quick stop by his locker to see if there's a new note, the only thing that truly matters and overshadows the importance of getting passing grades or upholding his deal with Robin.

Around the next corner and... and...

And it never dawned on him at any point, even with Robin's constant droning of “Guys can read Shakespeare, too!” that his secret admirer might not be a girl at all. Maybe he was just so stuck in the expected reality of the world, the one he's so used to, before Robin helped him see the light, to help him realize that there's other options than gay or straight.

No he never even bothered thinking that way, till he sees Billy Hargrove slip something into his locker.

#Harringrove #My Writing #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #Billy Hargrove #Shakespeare #Fluffy fluff fluff #pining #I got drunk last night and listened to #twelfth night #And was like #Poet Billy? Poet Billy.#I think I've seen some other people talk about their love for that #and altho out of character imo #it was nice and fun #I write a lot of smut so stuff like this is RARE and a breath of fresh air to me #10/10 would write Poet Billy again #Also dumbass oblivious Steve #too much fun

208 notes · View notes