#steve & his ducklings

[darling-winnie]

I have this hc were Steve Harrington has Steve days and has Stevie days. Where he assumes everyone has days where they feel more masculine and days where they feel more feminine.

He makes a casual comment about it once to Robin and they start doing research. Robin ropes in Vickie then ropes in Eddie. Steve ropes in Nancy who ropes in Jonathan who ropes in Argyle.

It never bothered Steve that the kids call him mom. Or that El and Max call it girls night even though Steve will also be joining them. Or that Nancy and Robin love putting subtle make up on him. Or that Eddie calls him princess. Or that Erica braids his hair. Or that Argyle uses she/her pronouns sometimes when referring to Steve. Or that Vickie buys him dainty jewelry.

[gamoraswonder]

#proud mama

[sky-neverending]

Stranger things but they are ducks. Someone draw it. I just want a little doodle. please. Steve leading the group, maybe with Eddie beside him, and then their children like ducks in a row trailing behind. Dustin-Duck with his curls and his hat, Max with her skateboard or headphones, Will with his wizard hat or his bowl cut, El with a waffle in her little duck beak. and Mike just being Mike because he’s Mike. And lucas with a little camo bandanna tied around his head. Just Steve and his kids. and maybe the other adults but mostly Steve and his ducklings. someone draw it.

[transmunsons]

Eddie teaches Steve how to fight. The Munson name might be good for nothing but they were a scrappy lot. Eddie learned early how to throw a punch. His dad said real boys knew how to fight, so put your whole body into it, twist your hips.

Eddie had heard King Steve got his face beat in by the Byers kid. Also heard he might’ve deserved it. And that Byers got off with hardly a scratch. But none of that was his business. He was just trying to graduate.

The second time Steve showed up to school with a face full of bandages, he took pity on him. This time he’d apparently gotten into a fight with that mouthy new kid, the one who gave Jeff the heebie jeebies. They ended up in detention together and Eddie leaned into his space and asked some questions, like “how come you get beat up more than my ducklings?”

Apparently the pretty rich boy had never learned how to defend himself, never needed to. What a waste of muscles. Which is how Eddie ended up giving Steve a lesson in the middle of Ms. Pratt’s room. Keep your fists up, turn your body so you’re a smaller target, shift your weight to your toes, and if you need to: scream.

“What?” Steve lowered his hands, bewildered.

“Yeah, man, just scream.” Eddie said. “At the worst, it’ll give you a second while they’re confused and at best they’ll think you’re nuts and disengage entirely. It’s a win-win scenario.” He shrugged.

“Is that how you fight?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed my reputation around here, Harrington, but half the school wouldn’t touch me with a rainbow colored pole and the other half thinks I’m straight up insane. No one’s gonna fight a crazy person, ‘cause crazy people might just kill ya.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Steve remarked. He packed up the singular sheet of homework he’d tried to do.

“No problem, that face is too pretty to be marked up all the time.”

But Steve couldn’t stay out of trouble for long.

Eddie was trying to see if the new mall theater was as easy to sneak into as the Hawk when he passed by some teens in sailor costumes slumped by a water fountain. One of them pointed at him as he walked by.

“Munson! It worked!”

[solarmorrigan]

I love when people label different members of The Party as Steve’s favorite in fics. There is no wrong answer, they’re all good. Like,

Dustin: The obvious choice. He was Steve’s first duckling, they spend the most time together, they have that dorky/adorable secret handshake routine. Dustin will always be Steve’s favorite, even when he’s going through moody know-it-all teen phases

Max: He threw himself in front of a monster to save her before he even knew her. She saved him from being murdered by Billy. Big brother-sister vibes in s4. She gave him a goodbye letter!

Erica: SCOOPS TROOP. It’s probably hard not to feel extra attached to her after being responsible for her for however long they were trapped in the Russian elevator. Trauma bonds, man. Plus, she’s littler than the others, even if she doesn’t act like it; Steve’s maternal instinct snaps her up

Lucas: Look me in the eye and tell me that Steve didn’t practice basketball with Lucas to help him get ready for tryouts. Tell me he didn’t hype the shit out of Lucas. Tell me he didn’t take Lucas out to celebrate when he made the team. Tell me he wasn’t at every single one of Lucas’ games. You can’t do it

El: Obviously Hopper adopts both Steve and El, and obviously El is Steve’s little sister and he loves her. Next question

Will: Actually says please and thank you. The patience of a saint. Has been possessed by a demon but is the only one who doesn’t act like a demon. Steve’s calmest child. His favorite. (Also: queer kid solidarity)

Mike: It’s never Mike

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve had died in that interrogation room under Starcourt and now, he was stuck haunting Robin Buckley who might as well be his shortest heartbreak and long-lost twin.

The problem was she couldn't see or touch him.

No, she could hear him just fine, but physical contact was just impossible.

Steve, however, didn't care much so long as he had someone there to listen to his daily monologues. It was fun.

They bickered most of the time and while Robin always seemed sad that she couldn't hug him whenever he told her about his parents or how lonely he used to be before her, Steve was just happy with what he got.

Because even in death, he wasn't alone, and that was enough of a gift to him.

Then, the day his funeral was held, Steve was thankful that he had convinced Robin to attend considering it was how he reunited with the kids.

They all saw him.

A thing that Steve would never take for granted.

Robin didn't know what to do when they flocked around her and bombarded her with question after question, demanding to know why she was the one who got the privilege of being haunted by Steve.

"A privilege?" Robin burst into a laugh, giving them a ridiculous look.

"Of course, to think you've been haunted and actually having real conversations with a ghost every day is a revolutionary step into the spiritual science field," Dustin narrowed his eyes. "And I am very disappointed in you, Ms. Robin Buckley, for not telling me right away!"

"Just say you're jealous that Steve doesn't haunt you." Max rolled her eyes.

"You say it as if you're not jealous yourself!" Mike scowled at her.

"No, I'm not, you delusional nerd!" Max scowled back.

"Hey!"

"C'mon guys, don't fight," Lucas frowned and sighed in exasperation.

Noticing the odd looks from other people at the cemetery, Robin herded the kids into Steve's car that he had given her as a keepsake.

Once they were safely away from prying eyes, Robin clapped her hands to gather everyone's attention.

"Children!" She then continued under their curious gazes. "Steve-o here said he really appreciates that you munchkins care so much about him. But sadly, he can't leave my side. Like literally can't so if any of you want to see him, you can always seek me out whenever you see fit."

"Why are you saying all of this?" Mike squinted at her.

"Because Steve can't talk to us, obviously." Dustin responded haughtily, earning an eye roll from the other boy.

"Bingo!" Robin did a fist bump with Dustin.

Then, she held up a finger at them. "And before you ask, I can't see him. Or touch him."

She watched the kids look at the passenger seat before nodding at her.

It must be Steve who confirmed the truth, she thought.

As they went back to discussing Steve's incorporeal state, Robin had a feeling that she had unknowingly adopted a gaggle of troublesome ducklings who were going to give her grey hair very very soon.

"C'mon Robbie, it's a Halloween party," Steve begged. "Let's go have some fun! Don't your heart ache to watch your bestest friend rotting in sorrow while eating pumpkins?"

"First of all, I've never ever met anyone who uses 'heart' and 'ache' like that," Robin blew at her freshly painted nails.

"Well, now I'm your first. Didn't people always say special always come late?"

"I don't even want to correct you on all of that," Robin huffed quietly at Steve's goofy chuckle. "And no, Dingus, you don't eat pumpkins. Or if you do, I don't care."

"Please, Robbie, I just wanna have fun," Steve sighed dolefully. "It's been a long time ago since I went to a party." He sighed again and even sniffled a little.

When Robin groaned, a big grin stretched on his lips.

"Just this time." She narrowed her eyes at him, or precisely speaking, at the spot where she assumed he was sitting.

Sometimes, when she made a wrong guess, Steve would just move over to where her gaze stopped and continue talking her ears off.

"I promise you're gonna have so much fun, Robbie." Steve ruffled her hair even if his hand always passed right through her. It was still one of his hard-to-get-rid-of habits anyway.

By the time they arrived, the party was already full-blown and swarmed with people.

As Robin struggled her way through the crowd, Steve just walked beside her with barely any difficulties.

He bet she would curse him so much if she saw how comfortable he looked right now.

But then, his little moment of joy was cut short when he bumped into someone whose lips literally knocked against his.

As cliché as it might sound, he certainly felt the electricity running through his body from that single accidental kiss.

And belatedly, a realization dawned on him.

He had bumped right into someone.

He, a ghost, had bodily collided with a living human.

Shocked, Steve stepped back and was at a loss for what to do next.

Then, a shaky voice shook him out of his trance.

"Harrington?"

Staring into those scared Bambi's eyes, Steve clenched his jaw and forced himself to not panic.

"Munson."

[schnuckiputz]

it takes a while, but one day, after the kids have graduated, eddie and steve pack their most precious things into eddie's van, and they leave. for months, they just drive from city to city, from state to state, go wherever it takes their fancy. until they find a little town surrounded by age-old trees and mountains, with unpredictable weather and more rain and fog than sunshine. but the pacific ocean isn't far, and if they leave early in the day, they can spend a few hours in san francisco's queer neighborhoods.

the town has a little old diner that's a bit run down but has good bones. so, steve and eddie combine their powers: steve knows how to take care of customers, has one of his nonnas old books with delicious cake recipes, and knows how to use it. eddie is a god in the kitchen and knows how to make money stretch. they are both charming, so pretty soon they have a few regulars and a steady stream of patrons.

included, are a group of high schoolers. and neither eddie nor steve know what happened to these kids, but they recognize the looks in their eyes. and they just can't help themselves, both like taking care of people a little bit too much, so they basically adopt this group of little ducklings, offer their time and ears in the hope of making the lives of these kids a little easier.

but the longer they stay, the more the town starts to feel a little...strange. there is something unsettling about the way the woods creak at night, how the shadows stretch at night. sometimes, after locking up the diner, steve lingers by the stairs that go up to their apartment and stares into the woods, and he knows something is looking back.

it comes to head a few months later. the ducklings stayed late at the diner, late enough that it's just them, when the thing that kept its eyes on steve steps out of the forest. for a second, everyone just stills before the kids spring into action. trying to barricade the diner doors.

steve and edddie share a resigned look, a touch, then separate. eddie goes for the high proof alcohol they keep in the kitchen, making molotov cocktails. steve gets the bat from under the counter. it's not the original, but mark ii is sturdier, a little bit deadlier. he tests his swing once, twice, then steps into the way of the first thing the crashes through a window and bats it right back out.

afterward, the diner is a burnt out shell, but everyone is alive. the kids are a little worse for wear, but steve knows this was probably not their first or second rodeo. steve and eddie keep the kids in sight but step around the van a little for some light thank-fuck-we-survived pda.

that's when a bunch of government cars arrive and out steps none other than owens. owens prioritizes the kids at first before movement catches his eyes. he stops, stares and then makes the kids loose their minds when he greets steve and eddie by name.

steve just pinches his nose and sighs. they should have known.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 17

Part 1 Part 16

Let it be known that Eddie Munson is not a morning person, presuming it’s morning at all. And with the bags under Will and Steve’s eyes, Eddie’s doubtful. He doesn’t look in the mirror to check his own. If King Steve Harrington looks this ragged even with his genetic lottery, Eddie doesn’t want to know what he looks like.

He wants to brush his teeth, but when he opened the toothpaste, it was a rusty-looking brown color. He wants a shower, but none of the pipes work, and their quarry water is a precious commodity. Hell, he wants a hot cup of coffee, and he doesn’t even like coffee.

It'd probably turn to acid once it hit his gut, though. Hunger’s gnawing at him in a way it hasn’t for years. When the fridge would be empty for days. When he wished for school days, so he could take his little blue slip up to the lunch line and get a meal for free, never mind that all the other kids gave him a wide berth for it.

It's messing with his head to have that same, gnawing feeling in this place where Wayne makes breakfast in the mornings after he gets off a shift. Where there’s always food in the fridge, no matter how lean money is. Where someone cares enough to stock it.

So, no. Eddie Munson is not a morning person, and he’s going to strangle Steve Harrington if he keeps corralling Eddie like a wayward child as they pack up their supplies for the trek to Mama Byers’s house.

“Just help me sort the first aid supplies, and then we’ll be done,” Steve says, riffling through their stolen loot where he’s strewn it out across the kitchen counter.

Eddie groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, letting the weight of his elbow settle into Steve’s shoulder. Regrettably, it’s the bad one.

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, shrugging out from beneath Eddie’s arm.

“Shit, sorry big boy,” Eddie says, fluttering his fingers toward Steve’s injured shoulder like he can magic it all better.

“Are you hurt?” Will asks quietly from where he’s once again hovering at the threshold.

They both jump, trading guilty looks at the omission caught so quickly. “Just a scratch on my shoulder,” Steve replies, like a liar.

Will nods but doesn’t seem to believe them. The kid’s clearly too smart for his own good.

“Should we go?” Eddie asks brightly, clapping his hands like he’s a camp counselor leading a nature expedition and not corralling a middle schooler and a peer he still totally hates, he swears, out into a hellscape.

Steve rolls his eyes, but dutifully swipes it all back into his pack after a cursory look.

Steve and Will follow him out of the trailer like ducklings, Eddie in the lead, and Steve maintaining the rear, keeping Will sandwiched in the middle in silent agreement.

They keep quiet. Eddie’s eyes skitter wildly about, and when he glances back, Steve is clutching the shotgun tightly. Clearly, he’s not the only one more on edge with a kid to keep alive now. In contrast, Will looks excited.

Eddie doesn’t know which is worse, that the kid trusts them that much to keep him safe, or that he’s so excited to talk to Mama Byers that he’s not fussed about the rest of it.

Eddie remembers the general direction of the Byers’ house. It’s a small town – there’s only so many places for people to live, but he still has to ask Will for directions a few times. Will tells him where to turn, both speaking quietly enough that Harrington only twitches a little in alarm from behind them.

Only once does Steve stop, the sound of him raising the shotgun the only indication Eddie receives that he’s stopped at all. His heart kicks up as he whirls around to see Steve standing, gun trained into the woods, like fucking always. It takes endless moments before Steve lowers his gun again, waving them along.

No one talks after that. Eddie looks at Will, and Will points. It works well enough.

The Byers house is a single level, short and small, but it’s got a front porch with chairs on it, and laundry on a clothesline. It would look homey without vines. And the sky. And the ash. And the everything about this place.

Still, they file through the unlocked front door. Eddie can almost feel the smack Uncle Wayne would land on his head for going into someone else’s house first, uninvited, but there’s no way he’s letting Will go first into a place the Demogorgon had been less than twenty-four hours before.

It's silent inside. Will pushes past him, rushing into the house and taking a left. Eddie and Steve follow, Steve still clutching the gun. They find him in a small, outdated kitchen. He’s picked up the phone.

“Mom?” he says. His voice breaks, and Eddie wants to grab him and hide him in Steve’s closet for the rest of the day. “Mom?”

They stand in silence for a minute, ears straining for the smallest sound. “Anything?” Steve asks, brow furrowed.

Will doesn’t answer, just presses the phone to his ear harder. “Mom?” His voice sounds wet. Eddie’s going to fucking murder Joyce Byers. “Mom, please.”

“Maybe we can try in a few minutes?” Eddie asks, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

Will puts the phone back into the receiver like it weighs a thousand pounds. “What if the Demogorgon got her?”

Scratch the murder threats, Munson. “She’s probably just out,” he says.

Will finally turns around, slowly. Reluctantly. His face is streaked with tears already. Eddie doesn’t fight the urge to wipe them off. His hands leave grimy streaks though, so he switches to the sleeve of his shirt.

Behind him, Steve is pacing down the hall, muttering quietly under his breath. He’s not concerned until the movement abruptly stops.

“Steve?” Eddie calls, still cradling Will’s face.

His steps start again, slow, and purposeful. “Come see this,” he says. He doesn’t sound scared. Shocked, maybe even awed, but not scared.

Eddie pats Will’s cheek before turning and making his way out of the kitchen. Steve Harrington is haloed in light. It’s white, and fluttering, and following every step he takes. He looks like a fallen angel – bloody and grimy, but heavenly still.

Eddie almost asks, “are you an angel?” because if there are monsters, then why not something good? But he doesn’t. Because as soon as he steps past the threshold, there’s a light above him. Holy. Beautiful.

“What is this?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, smiling up at the light hanging over him. Steve Harrington is entranced by the lights and Eddie Munson can’t take his eyes off him.

Will steps beside him, and lets out a little, “oh.” When Eddie glances his way, he’s not looking at the lights either. Eddie can’t blame him.

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” Steve asks, still too focused on the beauty of it to sound worried.

“It’s just—” Will starts. But he’s interrupted.

The voice sounds distorted, but not like the Demogorgon’s. It’s more like the sound is coming from far away. Like Nancy Wheeler’s voice. Like her friend’s.

“Will?” it calls. “Will, are you here?”

Well, looks like it’s time to meet Mama Byers. Eddie can’t wait.

Part 18

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | gen | wc: 846 | cw: none | tags: established relationship, soft boys being soft | @steddielovemonth prompt: Love is being seen and known by @acasualcrossfade)

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon in late May, the sun streaming in through the living room windows and bathing them in its warm light.

His head is in Eddie's lap and Eddie's fingers are running through his hair in that soothing way that makes Steve feel closer to sleep than awake. Everything is soft and hazy, like a dream he never wants to wake up from.

Everything could be perfect.

Everything is perfect, really.

Everything except the voice in his head. It speaks in different tongues to better disguise itself, making it harder for Steve to get rid of it.

Sometimes it sounds like his grandfather telling him to go somewhere else to eat like a goddamn pig when Steve ate his chicken legs with his hand and got grease on himself.

Other times it's his mom telling the neighbor that Steve wasn't the brightest kid, but at least he was good at sports.

Often it is his father's voice asking him why he is such a disappointment.

On his bad days, it is Nancy's voice reminding him that his love is bullshit, that he is bullshit.

Eddie helps. Most days he makes the voices go away, or at least helps him quiet them.

But not today.

Today Steve woke up to a bad day.

That's why they canceled their plans to go to the Hopper-Byers' for a family picnic and decided to spend their Sunday on the couch instead, just the two of them.

That's why Steve is biting back the questions he's been dying to ask for hours. It's too much to ask, too raw, too needy. It would be like cutting himself open and showing Eddie the emptiness inside where a real person should be.

That's why he breaks so easily when Eddie looks down at him with a soft, adoring smile on his face and kisses the tip of Steve's nose.

Just like that. Like it's nothing. Like it's everything.

Like it's love.

"Why?" It bursts out of him like hot magma from an erupting volcano, spilling out of his mouth and leaving scorched earth in its wake.

Brown eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting a natural disaster in their living room.

"Why what, Stevie?" He asks, his fingers stopping their soothing ministrations, and Steve begins a tally of the casualties. That's one.

"Why are you doing this?" Steve demands, unable to contain the outburst. "Treating me like... like I'm something worth treating with so much care and gentleness? You canceled the picnic today like it's no big deal, but I know how excited you've been all week about your little campaign with the kids. Just because I'm too weak to handle a bad day. Why are you not angry? Why... why...?"

Why are you still here?

He can't say it, can't ask it, too afraid of the answer.

But Eddie hears it anyway, can see through Steve and his bullshit as if he were made of glass.

"Because I love you, Steve."

Steve hates that it sounds so simple when Eddie says it like that.

"But why?"

Steve scrambles into an upright position, can't bear to have this conversation lying down. He needs to be able to run and hide, to get away so he can lick his wounds.

Some of these thoughts must show on his face, or maybe it's just the way Eddie has learned to read him like an open book. Those dark chocolate eyes Steve loves to get lost in go impossibly soft as they take him in, and Eddie's calloused hands are so, so gentle as they grip Steve's own, as if Eddie is afraid he'll break him with one wrong move.

"There is no why, Stevie. I love you because I have to. Because there is no other way to exist in a world with you in it. No why, any more than there's a reason your hair does that floppy thing no matter how hard you try to tame it. Or why a gaggle of middle schoolers imprinted on you like ducklings, so now we're co-parenting them."

Eddie brings both of Steve's hands to his mouth and kisses them reverently before placing them on his own cheeks, silently asking Steve to hold him.

And Steve does, as if Eddie is the most precious thing he's ever held in his hands.

"Some days I felt like I wasn't even real, you know? Like I was imaginary, and if people stopped believing I was real, I would just disappear. So I invented myself every day so other people wouldn't have to. It was like who I really was was secondary to what I wanted everyone else to see. But not you. You saw me. You knew me, from the beginning. I can't really explain it any better than that. You make me real. And I love you. And there is no why, only a how. I love you like you're real too."

The voices in his head do not magically disappear, but when Steve kisses Eddie, he begins to feel like a real person, too.

[luveline]

radio cure | steve harrington

an unhappy you meets steve harrington and his merry band of dorks. he shows you that some things are worth sticking around for.

5k words, fem!reader she/her used, tw mentioned/implied suicidal ideation please don’t read if that’s going to have a negative impact on you (no graphic imagery. but reader is passively suicidal and dealing with the other factors of that), robin steve + eddie chaotic trio, friends to lovers, multipart, swearing, friendly teasing, sarcasm, artist!steve, 90s au

.•° ✿ °•.

You're twenty two when you decide to kill yourself.

It's a warm day. The sun shines like a flower bud unfurling, a faint hint of golden yellow masked by cloud cover. You're savouring the brief moment of blessed cool as you walk around Lover's Lake, your ipod in one hand, headphones around your neck.

The flowing pants you're wearing help mitigate the heat around your legs, an itching, slick thing. Warmth feels like oil on your skin. You tip your head back and smell the grass, the lake water, the dry mud under your feet. You're thinking it's as nice a day as you're going to get this week, and you're forlorn, because it doesn't make one drop of difference.

You look up at the blue sky, squinting against the light, and you think it to yourself resolutely. This is going to be my last year. When your savings run out you're giving up.

It doesn't feel conclusive. It doesn't feel scary. It's just a decision.

You walk over dry grass until you reach the short pier on the leftmost side of the lake and sit down. You pull your headphones over your ears and bite your lip when the music isn't loud enough. The dock is rough. You're uncomfortable immediately. You want to go home, but you pull out your little craft sketchbook made of yellow paper and a pencil you've sharpened with a pen knife, staring out across the lake for something to strike you. A duck. A goose. Anything at all.

The thing is, you don't want to draw. You aren't some master, though you try, and you aren't a natural talent… You try sometimes. Nothing seems right. Most people have a style, charm, but you could draw a picture perfect copy of the day in front of you and still feel the lack; you have no idea what it is that makes other people's art beautiful, and that's the problem.

It doesn't matter. You put the sketchbook away. You have nobody to impress but yourself, and besides — you're not the first person in the world to feel uninspired. Thousands of people must feel it everyday, and they aren't throwing any pity parties. You peel off your cardigan, ball it up, and lay down with the fabric behind your head. You can hear the soft pant of a dog across the way, the happy chattering of a Frisbee game. Under the dock, little bodies thwack the planks, tiny green frogs that occasionally hop in the grass nearby.

You press your arm against your stomach and you fall asleep not long after that, your ipod playing music a few feet away.

—

Steve Harrington doesn't know why he stops to look at you. You're just a girl enjoying the summer sun, and he doesn't mean to be a creep. But you've left your stuff laying in small hills around you and your body's lax. You're asleep.

He kneels down next to you. Enough room to swing away if you try to stab him for perving. He isn't perving, he reasons. He wants to check if you're okay.

He tilts his ear toward you and holds his breath.

You're snoring.

Good, he thinks, crawling back to the far side of the dock, at least two feet between you. You're sleeping.

He sits down, knees up, hands between his thighs, and looks out across the lake. The sun shines high as the clouds shift to reveal it in full force, a burning yolk. It kisses every bit of green foliage it can find, dappled sunlight everywhere he looks. Steve is out today to draw whatever beauty he can find, and the light across the water riding the rippled waves of ducklings and brave human swimmers seems nice enough. He peers out of the corner of his eye at you, deems you still sleeping, and takes the pocket sized sketchbook out of his denim jeans.

His pencil is a stub folded between the pages. He lays down graphite in big sweeping lines, more focused on the impressions of shape than the specifics. It's hard to see a coloured world in black and white values. Steve isn't great — he's been drawing for two years now, and that feels like both a lifetime and a flicker. Every day he learns something new about making art, and every day he looks back and feels embarrassed at what he made before. The start of his sketchbooks make him cringe. This one is a mixture of pride and tepid reluctance.

Being bad at something is a stepping stone at getting better. Not every drawing he makes is good, but hopefully it's teaching his brain to be better. He doesn't know what he believes about art but he likes to draw, and he has gotten better.

The point isn't in being good, he'd told Robin. I just need something to do. Before I go crazy doing nothing. 

He draws the lake. He loves the way it comes into being. Ten minutes can turn grey splotches into trees, and bluegrass, and the heat rising off of the water. He draws a duck when it swims really close, though he has to abandon it when it swims away, leaving a half formed lovecraftian creature to haunt the page. He draws the dock, and his shoes, and your shoes, and your hand curled weakly next to your ipod. He draws your wrist, though he stops quickly.

He looks at your sleeping face.

Steve thinks you don't look like anyone he's ever seen before. He notes your lashes, your brows, and your nose. The sun emphasises the fine hairs across your cheek, and the texture beneath them.

He wants to draw your face, but he thinks drawing your hand and your shoes might have been too much without permission. He lets you sleep for a while, and then when he realises the heat is making him dizzy, he can't leave you there to bake.

He rips a sheet of paper out of his sketchbook and shoves the small book back into his pocket. The dock groans as he stands, and he casts a shadow over your face and upper torso.

"Hey," he says.

You flinch awake.

"Don't panic," he says, which is something a pervert might say, so he amends, "don't freak out, I'm just worried you're gonna cook your brains. I didn't want you to get sick."

You sit up. You look kinda cooked already, blinking and disoriented.

"You okay?"

You don't look up. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you for waking me up."

"Yeah, sure. Here."

He holds out the drawing of your hand. He doesn't think it's good, doesn't want you to see it, but he already did it. Giving it to you will ease his guilty conscience.

It's unlike Steve to bail, but he bails. Your fingers are barely brushing the paper when he's wiping his palms on his thighs and stepping away.

"Bye," he says, uncertain. "Try not to fall asleep again!"

—

It's not so weird. Sure, he'd made your fingers skinnier than they really are, and he made your shoelaces look like spaghetti, but they're good drawings.

You're trying to read a book in the corner of Benny's when he finds you a second time. He hovers, and you're not cool, you aren't, you're working with what you've got. Not many people skills.

“Hi,” he says.

"They were good drawings," you say, in lieu of your own hello, thumbing at the pages of your book all full of jumpy nerves.

"Thank you, I'm… new to it. My best friend, she's– she's actually nicer than she should be about them, I can't lie. I was going to say she thinks I should be banned from picking up a pencil, because I wanted to make you laugh, but. She's nice when it matters."

You can't keep looking down, it wouldn't be polite. You dog ear your paperback and let it lie against the tabletop, greasy to touch but you doubt it'll make a difference. The book is old and had cost you 50 cents at Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler's yard sale.

He's tall. Hair falls around his face and curls gently against his cheeks, a sandy brown. He's wearing a hat. He hadn't been wearing one the day he'd given you his drawings, but you can understand why he needs it. The sun is an inescapable force: sun stroke has half the town down for the count. The whole reason that you're in Benny's is because it's air-conditioned and shady.

"Do you want to come and eat with me and my friends?"

You say no automatically. "No, that's okay. I don't wanna," —you don't know what to say, so your voice hikes up awkwardly— "impose."

"You don't have to, but if you want to, you're not imposing." He twists at the waist and nods to a booth across the room, where a boy and girl sit. When they see you seeing them they look away. "Sorry, they're dorks. There's usually more of us, but Jon's in work and Nancy's in Emerson, so…" He seizes up.

You wonder why people are so afraid of being awkward. It terrifies you, to think one day you'll fuck up and be awkward and the other person will remember it and laugh, but looking at him now, you can't see why it matters. It actually makes you feel better, knowing he's worried too.

"I only brought enough for the milkshake," you say.

"I'll get you something."

"That's– no, that's okay."

He hesitates. "You'd be doing me a favour. I love them, really, but I can't stand it when they're together, they bully me."

It would probably be worse to reject his offer and sit here lonely while they laugh and talk. You'll worry they're talking about you.

"Okay," you mumble, picking up your book and your milkshake.

He grins at you and you follow him through the diner. It's not busy today, but there's still feet to fall over and backpack straps to tread on, so you watch the floor.

"My name is Steve, by the way."

You tell him your own name, which brings another quick smile to his face. He slows as he approaches the booth of his friends and beckons for you to slide into the empty side before following you in.

"Guys, this is– Eddie, what the fuck is that? We said no gross shit at the table."

"This, my friend," Eddie says, words rolling around his mouth grandly, "is a monster."

It's a little man made of coffee stirrers, sporks, and chewing gum seams. It's kind of gross, but it's cute. Grossly cute and cutely gross.

"We're about to eat."

"You're stepping on his artistic licence," says the girl, her voice distinctly pretty and a tiny bit hoarse.

"Disgusting," Steve says.

You shift on the leather chair underneath you and anxiety pulses in the bottom of your stomach. They're ignoring you, but not really. Both have lifted their eyes to look at you, and, in sync, they smile. The girl's smile is startling, lip gloss lips and white teeth. Eddie's is softer, less happy and more reassuring.

"I'm Eddie," Eddie says, though you'd figured it out. "That's Robin. Do you think my monster is gross in the gross way or gross in the sick way?"

"He's cute," you admit to thinking. "But the gum…"

"I didn't have any glue."

"Steve told us about his drawings. If he's holding you hostage right now, blink three times, okay?" Robin jokes.

Eddie and Robin lean their shoulders together and start a bit where they count your blinks. There's murmurings about shelters and how they can definitely throat punch Steve hard enough to make him mute. You're stunned at being the object of a joke and don't know how to react, feeling like you've been whacked and now there's cartoon birds flying around your head and they can all see them.

Steve grabs the menus out of the rack and slaps one down in front of everybody. "Alright, team. You know the drill. Last person to choose what they want has to buy drinks." He spares you a glance. "Except you. She's on me because hostages don't pay for themselves."

"I would make such a pretty hostage," Eddie says.

He is pretty, in fairness. Dark curls thick with baby hairs frizzed up in the summer heat frame a pale face. He has big brown eyes.

“And talented,” Robin adds, poking the gum man until he falls flat on his face. The head pops off and Eddie shrieks, not loudly but with a passionate upset about him that makes you laugh.

Steve leans over. “Please choose quickly so I don’t have to pay for Robin's lemonade addiction. No pressure.”

“I’ll just have what you have.”

“With a coke?”

“Sure.”

“Robin?” he asks.

“I want a cheeseburger with a lemonade and then, if you will, another lemonade.”

She dumps her menu in Eddie’s lap, who looks up from his decapitated figure with a look of defeat.

“Wh- hey, she cheated. She hurt my dude.”

“Rules are rules.”

Eddie sulks and accepts everybody’s money. He slinks up to the window like an annoyed cat. After he’s placed the order, he looks back to the table and flips the bird covertly.

“So, how old are you?” Robin asks.

“Twenty two.”

“How’s that?” she asks sympathetically.

“Robin.” Steve chides. “She’s twenty so she thinks she’s a baby.”

“I am a baby. This is my first year not being a teen, which means it’s my first year as an adult. I’m one.”

“We have this argument a lot,” Steve says, though not with any bravado. Simple explanation, his voice soft and warm. “When being an adult actually begins. It’s not the adult part that even matters, it’s the not having rules that fucks people up. Look at Eddie. He’s been out of school for a year and he’s been arrested three times.”

You frown, not because his getting arrested would bother you (depending on the charge), but because you’re surprised, and surprise is quick to appear as anger on your face. His shirt and rockstar rings, his nice smile, his gum man — you’d assumed he was a huge nerd. His arrests are a surprise.

“What for?” you ask, before you can remind yourself that invasive questions are rude.

“Once for indecent exposure– completely accidental. Once for trespassing, and the last time was because he chained himself to a tree outside of Tawny’s bar. They weren’t cutting the tree down,” Steve says. “He, and I quote, wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Don’t give away my RAP sheet when I’m not here,” Eddie says, placing a tray of drinks on the table carefully. Three cokes and two lemonades.

“It’s not a RAP sheet if you don’t actually get in trouble. They let him off ‘cause they know his uncle. And also ‘cause it’s Hawkins.” Robin slides her slice of lemon between her teeth, shepherding her two lemonades as far away from everybody as she can, looking extremely hedgy. “I’s a bitch sheet.”

Eddie feigns for her second lemon slice and snickers when Robin defends it, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

“I paid for it!” he says through laughs.

Your hands start to shake. You hide them under the lip of the table but it’s no use. Soon your legs are shaking, your arms, all of you. They’re minute tremors, both invisible and impossible to ignore. You glue a smile to your face and try to calm down. You’re overwhelmed and you don’t know why — this isn’t a new feeling. You are not the first person to feel this feeling.

Then why does it feel like it?

Sometimes, everything gets so scary so quickly, and you sit there wondering why it isn’t scary for everybody else, and you wonder why they can’t see it on your face how scared you are, and they must see it? They must know you’re fucked.

You’re shot with thoughts. These people, you could be friends. All you have to do is make a good impression. But how should you go about that? How do you talk? What do you say?

“I draw too,” you say, hands clamped between your knees.

Steve’s eyebrows do this little dance. It’s adorable, and it makes you want to be his friend most of all.

“You do?”

“I do. I’m not good, I mean. I used to be better. I’m out of practice.”

“I draw,” Eddie says.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Jonathan, too. God, you should see his shit. And he’s an even better photographer. But I draw shitty zine comics. And Robin does the typesetting for me.”

“Oh, wow,” you say genuinely.

“Nancy writes,” Robin says. “So we’re, like, a jerk circle of artists. She’s good, too.”

“She’s good,” Eddie imitates fondly. “I bet she is. Robin’s gonna be a great writer as well, once she gets all these private Nancy lessons.”

Steve puts a hand up and Eddie promptly shuts up. He takes a big, sheepish slurp of coke and you feel like you’ve said something wrong though you barely said anything at all, sipping at your own coke.

“What are you reading?” Robin asks.

You slide the book toward her so she can see for herself. “The Sea, The Sea,” you tell her. “It’s about, uh,” —you’ve only managed to read the first thirty pages, and that’s after reading the first ten five times straight— “this guy named Charles, he’s unique. He’s uh, annoying.”

“You know, Nancy used to have a book that looked just like that,” Steve says.

You laugh weakly. “It must be popular. I got it at a yard sale.”

“Can I open it?” Robin asks.

“Of course. It’s already pretty beat up, I don’t think there’s anything you could do—“

Robin opens the book with one hand, thumb and pinky fingertip pressed to either side, and tries to take a sip of her drink without looking, tipping her glass of lemonade straight into the pages of The Sea, The Sea. What doesn’t get soaked up by your book rushes down the length of the table and into her lap.

Steve reaches across the table to grab up the glass, but the damage is already done. Your lips part. Eddie gawps, throwing a hand over his slack-jawed face.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she says, looking at you with wide eyes. “I have the worst case of butterfingers ever, I’m sorry.”

It’s as if she can’t believe she did it. You fluster when you realise they’re all waiting for your reaction.

“It’s okay!” you say, as loud as you’ve ever spoken in public.

“You can be mad,” Steve assures you.

“No, it was an accident. I’m not mad, it cost fifty cents, and it was totally garbage anyway. I’m really not mad.”

Eddie stuffs napkins under the table and Robin shivers uncontrollably, dishing ice cubes from her lap and the seat. Steve, laughing now, says, “God dammit, Robs,” sounding like she might be the most golden person on the planet.

—

Steve works his hat over your hair the best that he can. “There. Now you won’t die from heat stroke.”

You bring both hands to the hat to encourage it down onto your head. “Steve,” you say, sounding unsure on how to continue.

“It’s on loan.”

You nod and look out over the lake, where Eddie stands at the edge of the dock. "It's getting way too fucking cold for this," he complains, in swim shorts and a shirt, gazing in distrust at the lake’s shimmering surface.

Lake is kind. It is technically a lake, but also technically a really, very pathetic lake that feeds from a pathetic tributary. If you stationed Steve on one side and you the other, he would strain to hear you talking. Likely infected with brain eating amoeba or tadpoles or leeches. Slimy things. It’s less disgusting than Lover’s Lake, a condom cesspit, so that’s a plus.

You aren’t looking any more eager about jumping in than you had been, thighs naked and kissed by the hem of an oversized, black t-shirt. It’s wrinkled. Steve kind of loves it.

"Just jump in, you big babies," Robin says.

She'd already jumped in, screamed at the cold, and now languishes in the chest height water in front of the small fishing dock with a smug smile on her face. "Not you," she says to you. Steve rolls his eyes.

You shake your head, hair slipping out of the hat. You sigh as you pull it off and readjust the sizing band.

"I guess I am being a baby,” you say to him quietly. “The sun’s been out all day, how cold can it be?” You’re not feeling confident. It seeps into your voice, to which Steve lends a placating smile.

"Really fucking cold."

"Eddie, shut up. Y/N, it's fine. You'll like it."

“I really don’t think she’ll like it.”

Steve doesn’t either, but he wants you to feel included, and less tense. Distract you from whatever it is that’s giving you such a big case of the frownies, and prove he and his friends aren’t just book-ruining hooligans.

Eddie finally jumps in over Robin’s head, disappearing into the not quite blue water with a cut-off curse. He appears again a few seconds later, black hair slicked to his face, neck and shoulders, wiping the water from his eyes as he splutters and giggles boyishly.

“Shit, Stevie,” he says. “Not that cold after all.”

“You don’t have to jump in, you can just ease off the dock, if that’s better,” Steve says.

“Frogspawn,” you murmur.

Steve does a bunch of flexing, throws in a jumping jack for good measure. “Alright,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

You shake your head gently.

Steve doesn’t wanna embarrass you further, or insist when you really don’t want to, so he nods and smiles and takes a running jump into the lake. Robin and Eddie both swear and dart away as his body collides with the surface of the water, and he sinks like a well-practised stone to near enough the lake bed, feet gracing slippery pond weed and things he’d rather not think about. The air shatters out of his lungs and the water, despite the summer sun, is cold. It feels amazing — he hadn’t realised how warm he was until the temperature abruptly shifted.

He rushes back up to the surface and shakes his hair out like a dog, water running down his face and shoulders in fast thick rivulets. He peels his eyes open and turns to find you still hesitating on the dock. Robin splashes at Steve in retaliation for his hair splatters and Eddie laughs evilly as he joins in.

“Come on!” he begs you. “I told you, they bully me! I need back up!”

You toss his hat on the dock. The jump you take into the lake is timid but enough to miss the frogspawn and not break your legs, a cold splash of water and you’re there. Luckily, your presence has Robin and Eddie both stopping in their cruel tracks, and you don’t have to save Steve after all.

Your happy laughter is stunning.

"It's so cold!" you squeal, water in your eyelashes.

Eddie takes one of your hands and together the four of your tread into deeper water.

"Now that all who can be present are present," he says, falling into his dungeon master drawl, "it's time we commence the The Tournament. Swimmers, take your stations."

Everyone falls into line. You don't know what you're falling into line for, raising your timid voice to ask, "What's the game?"

"The game is me and you dunk the ever-loving out of dumb and dumber," he says.

"Hey, what?" Robin asks. "How come you get her? She's a total wild card, she might win the game all by herself."

"Or she might really suck. We don't know, and so in the interest of fairness, I propose she swims with me." Eddie's wet sleeve sticks to your skin as he nudges you. "But you don't suck, do you?"

"Um…"

"Attagirl. On your marks, get set, go!"

You spend an hour like that. Steve and Co, they're stupid, but they aren't stupid stupid. The Tournament is a series of chasing and dunking (stupid but fun) wherein you get to throw yourself on the shoulders of the person you're chasing and submerge them (stupid again). You can't hold them down, though, they aren't trying to drown one another. Much.

The sun regretfully starts to set. If it's anything like the last few days, that means it's likely near 10PM, and they're all working tomorrow.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" Steve asks in concern, after he's heaved himself up onto one of the huge stones on the opposite side of the lake.

Cattails obscure you from view on your own stone. Across the lake, your possessions lay thankfully unscathed on the dock. Robin sits as close as she can to Steve on his rock, kicking water at Eddie every time he tries to approach.

"You fucking rat," he fumes, mouth full of lake water.

"I'm not really working right now,” you say.

"Do you need a job?" Eddie asks. "They're hiring— Harrington, restrain your creature! They're hiring at the Palace Arcade, aren't they?"

Steve nods voraciously. "Yeah! Hey, we can get you an interview no problem, they probably won't even ask you that many questions. I mean, Keith worked there."

"Don't be mean about Keith," Robin says, though she doesn't really like him. He thinks it's akin to defending your deadbeat older brother.

"I don't know, I think even a couple of questions might be too many," you worry.

"How come?"

You pull the fluff off of a cat tail, and it explodes in your hands. Steve yanks one down to do the same, watching the fibres float across the lake's disturbed surface with a cool breeze. Robin shivers beside him, sensitive to the cold in her wet clothes, the adrenaline of swimming and almost but not really dying wearing off.

"I'm bad at stuff like that."

"I don't think anyone's good at interviews at our age," Eddie says, nose wrinkled as cat tail floats toward him. "We're, like, babies."

"I always feel like I'm really old," you confess. You look down at your naked knees. "Like I wasted all the good years already."

"What, school?"

"And the four years since," you say.

Steve gets it, in a way. His high school years sucked, and he'd maybe thought he'd get out of Hawkins on a track or swim scholarship, basketball — anything. But he's here still, and at first that hadn't been what he wanted. Sure, he'd expected it, but in different ways.

Steve pushes back the cattails to see you clearly. "I didn't even get any real good years until just now," he says, as kindly as he can.

"I failed senior year twice," Eddie speaks up, "I kinda thought I was wasting my life too, but if I didn't, I wouldn't even know Robin, and she's, like, my best friend."

He throws his hands over his face before Steve can kick a huge wave of lake water into his eyes. "Get your own," Steve fumes. He's not really mad.

"Yeah, these are the good years," Robin says, "probably. I never had guys fighting over me in high school." She laughs and tucks her wet hair behind her ears, her freckled cheeks pale in the oranging light of the sunset.

You hold your hands out for Eddie and he finally climbs onto one of the rocks. From this side of the lake, you can watch the sun set behind the silhouettes of Hawkins town a half mile away. It dips slowly down, meandering almost, a pearl sinking through layers of raspberry pink and orange and, as Steve holds his breath, that sudden flash of electric green.

"I'm blind," Eddie mumbles, falling back into the rocks and grass.

"Shit, that was cool." Robin stands up and stretches. "I'm so cold I'm gonna die right here. Steve, do you still have a blanket in your car?"

Steve looks over at you again. You look shell-shocked, not quite awed. He doesn't know what emotion you're feeling, only that you're feeling it, eyes wide and set across the lake at the darkened sky, lights from the buildings like stars shimmering in your pupils.

He stands up and offers his hand to you. When you take it, he pulls you up without hesitation, not a flicker of doubt or an ounce of struggle.

"I'll get you that interview," he says, questioning, soft. If you want it. 

Your fingers linger in his palm.

"Yeah, okay. Thank you."

"Come on!" Robin says, taking your other hand and tugging without apology, barefoot over the asphalt path surrounding the lake. "Before the gnats come out."

"We might see fireflies if we stick around," Eddie says.

They bicker. Steve lets go of your hand and you and Robin walk just ahead, your head bobbing between his two arguing friends like you're watching a quickfire tennis match.

You turn to the side and hide a smile. Steve sees it, and he figures it's a start.

"Munson," he hollers, "how about you stay and watch the fireflies and you tell us all about it? Me and the girls aren't gonna freeze out here so you can get back in touch with nature."

It's a bad joke, but it works. "Fuck you, Harrington. The ladies wanna see the lightning bugs, don't you?"

"I can't remember the last time I saw them," you say.

"Then we have to stay," Eddie says smugly.

You all crowd the back of Steve's car, the heaters on but not doing a lot, the blanket stretched over Robin's shoulders. She tucks it behind your back, and you all look out to the night and scout for bugs.

"There," you whisper, pointing.

Green dots of light rise from the dry grass like tiny lanterns, a handful at a time.

"Jonathan's gonna be sad he missed this," Robin murmurs.

You try to count them all. Four voices whispering bets into the night air, though the real number isn't possible to calculate. "Winner gets a new paperback on Robin," Eddie jokes, swiftly quietened by a barrage of elbows to his side.

They let you win.

[buckyalpine]

Cute

I love grumpy Bucky. I love sunshine reader. This is another ridiculous fic. Does it even make sense? Tbh no. I should have a section on my master list for utter fuckery and tom foolery. 

Bucky being offended he looks cute. He’s a tough beefy muscly super soldier so how. dare. you. 

You watched Bucky carefully as he took apart his gun, his brows furrowed as he focused on cleaning the different parts, setting each piece aside carefully so it wouldn’t get misplaced (after cursing under his breath when one part rolled under the couch) Every so often his tongue would dart out the harder he focused, completely in his own world. It was adorable. 

“You look so cute” You giggled, setting your book down while he narrowed his eyes at you frowning. Did you just call him cute? How dare you. Bucky thought of himself as many things but cute? Absolutely not. 

“M’not cute” He mumbled, internally retching at the word, shaking his head while you rolled your eyes, ignoring his grumpy staring. 

“Yes you are” You stated, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You grabbed your book, deciding to make yourself some tea, leaving the super soldier utterly perplexed over what the hell was wrong with you. Bucky stared at you while you getting up to go to the kitchen, he’d never been so offended. 

Bucky didn’t understand you. You were the newest member of the team, he’d only really interacted with you on missions. You never seemed to hold back your tongue, always complimenting others with random statements. You were always sweet to everyone. Smiling. Bubbly. Happy. Kind of like sunshine in a bottle. 

That didn’t excuse what you just said to him. 

Cute. 

Cute was what you used to describe puppies and ducklings and kittens. He was 6′4 with a metal arm, a trained assassin and super solider. How. Dare. You. He lifted his shirt up, inspecting his abs, all 6 of them right there. 

Cute. 

Except it didn’t stop there. 

Everyone sat together for movie night, you sat in your designated corner of the couch; everyone sitting in their favorite spots, munching on snacks, cuddled up with blankets. You smiled at the way Bucky had curled up on the large bean bag, his soft Henley stretched over his broad chest and thick arms. He snored softly, half asleep, occasionally blinking at the screen before closing his eyes again.  

“Oh he looks so cuddly!” You whispered, while Sam’s face twisted in confusion to see what the hell it was you were looking at. His eyes grew wide when he realized you were looking at Bucky, shaking his head while you continued to admire him. 

“You think the killing staring machine looks cuddly?” 

“Very much so” You nodded, draping him with a fuzzy blanket before going back to the movie, smiling when you saw him snuggle into it, falling asleep immediately. 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he dreamt someone calling him cuddly or if it really happened but he was some how more offended than before. He was pure muscle. Metal and muscle. How does one look at him and think of cuddling. 

No. 

“M’not cuddly” He grumbled half in his sleep, before burying his face into the bean bag, going back to sleep. You snickered at his antics, going back to the movie while the rest of the team quietly eyed you both. 

It didn’t stop there either. 

You sat on the stool at the kitchen island, eating some berries while Bucky and Steve walked in after training. Steve smiled at you while Bucky quietly made his way around the kitchen to get his coffee, he didn’t know why his heart started to do this weird jumpy thing around you, it was probably a defect of some sort, he’d make an appointment with Bruce soon. 

It had been a while since he shaved, his beard had grown fuller and his hair was a little fluffier. You thought it made him look soft, paired off with his size, he looked like he’d give the most warm hugs. 

“He’s like a teddy bear” You said, more to yourself but both men heard, given they both had enhanced hearing. Steve smirked to himself while you continued to munch on your snack, unaware Bucky was deeply blushing, stirring an empty mug, now utterly distracted because of you. 

“Teddy bear y/n?” Steve gave you a pointed look while you nodded. 

“Yeah, he looks so huggable like he’d give the best hugs” You hopped off your stool, making your way over to where Bucky was standing. He froze while you smiled up at him, your sweet face making his insides melt. Wait, since when did he think your face was sweet- “Look”

“Y/n, I don’t think thats a good-

Before Steve could finish, you walked over, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist, resting your head on his chest. Bucky’s body moved on its own, wrapping his arms around you, enveloping you into the warmest, safest hug you’d ever felt. You lost yourself for a moment, nuzzling yourself into his chest while he squeezed you tighter, holding you close to him, secretly hoping you wouldn’t let go. 

Steve’s soul nearly left his body, staring at you both, his best friend practically rocking you while you were in complete bliss, clearly reluctant to ever let go. You soon realized you had been hugging him for longer than necessary, letting go while Steve watched you both with a shit eating grin on his face. 

“See? Good hugs” You quickly pulled back as if nothing happened, grabbing your things and leaving the kitchen. Bucky turned back to his mug, diligently stirring, ignoring the way his heart was beating out of his chest, ready to escape. 

“The mug is empty punk” Steve snorted while Bucky groaned, his cheeks pink while he filled his cup this time. What had you done to him. 

Ever since you called Bucky cute, he’s been sneaking glances of himself in the mirror. 

Was he cute?

He carefully inspected his features; if the sweetest person on the planet said he was cute then he had to be true. You also called him cuddly. And huggable. 

Ever since the team made note of your exchanges, they’ve been having a field day with it. 

“Rogers, you’ll be paired with Romanoff and Barnes who is not cute, will go with Wilson” Tony stated, snickering to himself over the way Bucky stared at him. 

“I am cute” He pouts, grabbing his gear at making his way to the jet. 

“Yeah, based on what tinman”

“Y/n said so” he shrugged, while everyone else watched carefully, wondering how much longer it’d take for you both to get together.

*****

You made your way to the kitchen, passing by Bucky and Steve, both men sitting on the touch watching some documentary on something you’d probably fall asleep to. Bucky watched you carefully, wondering what you’d say about him this time, his heart hoping you’d come and sit with them while you went to grab a snack. 

You weren’t sure if Bucky actually liked you or not, you decided to give him some space since they’d just gotten back from a mission, quietly sitting off to the side while Steve rolled his eyes watching Bucky ignore the TV, sneaking glanced at you instead. 

“Y/n, your cute cuddly huggable teddy bear’s been waiting for you to-Ooof” 

You looked up to find Bucky smothering Steve with a cushion, only to have Steve wiggle his way out, scrambling away on all fours before finding his footing and running off, cackling to himself. You felt your face heat up, making your way over and plopping on the couch beside Bucky, both of you inching closer and closer until your thighs brushed against his.  

“I-I think you’re cute too” He blushed, smiling while you tucked yourself by his side, sighing contently at his warmth. He hesitantly put his arm around you, pulling you closer, “and you’re really huggable” He pressed a soft kiss onto your cheek. “and I like you” 

You giggled, snuggling up with him, grinning when you looked up at him, his perfect puppy eyes gazing back down at you. 

“I told you, you were cute” 

Somewhere down the hall

“CUTE GRUMPY CUDDLY TEDDY BEAR AND SUNSHINE ARE FINALLY TOGETHER” 

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[darling-winnie]

Steve Harrington is touch starved. He loves physical affection but hates feeling like a burden. He doesn't want people to think he's weird, annoying or clingy for wanting to be held.

The first person Steve talks to about this is obviously Robin. Robin who isn't big on physical affection but will always hold Steve's hand. They hold hands so much everyone's stopped questioning it.

Then Steve talks to Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle because Nancy wants to go on double dates and Steve needs to shut that down immediately. They completely understand and let Steve know they don't mind if he wants a hug or whatever.

The Party stops questioning why Argyle always has an arm around Steve's shoulders, why Jonathan throws his arm around Steve's waist and why Nancy's always cuddling Steve.

The Party eventually piece everything together with the help of Max, El, and Will. Now they constantly hug Steve. They all agree that Steve gives the best hugs, yes even Mike agrees.

Will starts holding Steve's hand which annoys Mike. El starts kissing Steve's cheek which annoys Mike. Max also starts doing both which annoys Mike. Dustin & Lucas have a special handshake with Steve which annoys Mike.

When Eddie starts hanging out with the kids he's surprised about how affection they are with King Steve. He's surprised Harrington even let's them hang all over him.

At his first movie night he's maybe possibly jealous of Nancy. And Jonathan. And Argyle. He's even jealous of Mike who at one point was cuddled up against Steve while Steve played with the younger boys hair.

Why was everyone weirdly overly affection with Steve? Eddie was use to Robin and Steve's constant hand hold, he thought they were dating until Robin told him she's a lesbian. He got use to The Party hanging off Steve constantly. He even got use to whatever his thing with Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle was. He just didn't know why it bothered him so much that Steve wasn't like that with him.

Steve wasn't very or at all physically affectionate with Eddie. He didn't understand why.

When Steve finally tells Eddie everything about his parents and how he likes physical affection Eddie finally understands.

Eddie loves playing with Steve's hair. He loves waking up wrapped around Steve. He loves draping himself over Steve. He just loves his charming boyfriend.

[gamoraswonder]

I swear if something happens to mama Steve and his three little ducklings max, lucas and dustin and their fun aunt robin I will never be the same and those brothers (idk their names) better watch their backs

[catharusustulatus]

Steddie Drabble, sequel to this post.

TW: child abuse.

Steve doesn’t have much. Eddie had made them a list of things to grab before they’d headed over to the Harrington house, a list of clothes, toiletries, basics and such, with “shampoo” underlined and “bowling pin” circled. They’d borrowed an extra duffel from Marianne across the way, since they didn’t know if trash bags would be enough, and thank god they had, kid sure had a polo collection. But moving it all out of that place - nice car parked yet nobody home, they found, blood still on the carpet - and seeing it stacked up next to Eddie’s exploding menagerie were two different things. And it just seemed to Wayne, well, when Steve was up for it, maybe they’d go to the thrifty mart together.

Steve is quiet, on account of the pain he felt moving his face and the shyness he had shrunken into, having been quickly and sharply beaten and disowned and then thrust into a new life, a new space. Wayne knew it was different, going from a frequent guest who got to put on the charm to a hurting ball of need. To feel like a burden. He saw the same thing happen to Eddie, when he was a child; he changed from an energetic ragamuffin who’d visit Wayne once every couple months to a sad, angry teen who he had to figure out how to live with. But it had worked out. And seeing how gently Eddie cleans Steve’s bruised face, how he changes his whole schedule to take care of Steve, how he cuts fruit for Steve, hearing Eddie whisper Steve to sleep, he thinks it will work out again.

Wayne learns a lot about Steve over the next couple of weeks. He learns how good a cook Steve is, how good he is at making scrambled eggs, tuna melts. How his hair is a source of pride but also seems to show off how he’s doing, like it’s connected to his mood. Some days it’s sky-high and some days it’s flat until Eddie starts whistling up the walk. Wayne loves watching Steve’s hair puff up, his smile grow, and Eddie seems to do the trick. Wayne learns just about every shirt he has is striped, that he can’t hear that well on his left side, that he likes his toast burnt to a crisp.

One morning, a couple weeks after Steve becomes his second duckling, they’re both up early in the kitchen waiting for Eddie to rise. Steve is making bacon and pork sausage, shuffling the meat around and shuffling himself around, like he’s scared to say something. Finally Wayne says “what is it, son?” And Steve starts to cry, one slow beautiful tear down each cheek. He’s been looking better, lately, seeming brighter, but he’s still been holding his breath. It’s time to exhale.

“Thank you. For saving me,” Steve moves the pan to the back burner, meat cooked, looking away. Wayne turns the stove off, and folds Steve into his arms, chuckling. Steve smells like Eddie. Steve smells like Wayne’s tobacco.

“Ain’t no thing about it, boy,” Wayne whispers to Steve, trembling and clutching the spatula. “You’re safe. You’re family.” And he pulls away before he goes softer himself, coughs, turns the stove back on for Steve’s eggs. A small little smile creeps up on Steve’s lips, still shy but an agreement nonetheless. He’s home, making breakfast for those that love him. And later, they’ll go thrifting, get Steve a thicker winter coat, more kitchen tools, some striped pajamas.

[sadboyhrs]

s5 wishlist (in no particular order)(also incomplete):

WillEl following Jonathan around like little ducklings

Nancy and Mike actually bond as siblings (never before seen)

Jopper telling ppl they have 3 wonderful children

Healthy Milkvan breakup

Steve, Jonathan, Mike + Will team up

Wheelers x Byers soulmatism

Robin-Mike affiliation

Nancy and Will bonding over guns, how annoying Mike is and how cool Jonathan is

Lumax reunion (has to be v.emotional)

Stonathan bromance

OG party actually having scenes together

Karen Wheeler learning abt the upside down and slipping into joyce byers mode

Cali gang reunion because Argyle, Jonathan, Mike and Will are the funniest thing ever

WillEl defeating vecna with THEIR powers

Mike and Will leave hawkins together xoxo

Argyle, Nancy, Steve, Robin and Jonathan team up

Will and Max scenes

Dustin and El scenes

Jonathan and literally anyone who isnt his family

Little woman parallel with Mike and Will

Jonathan and Will hiding Lonnies dead body (this is personal)

Central Byers family xoxo

[reallyromealone]

WARNING: ANGST, RAPE THEMES, IT GETS DARK, EDDIE IS A BIT OF A DICK, OMEGAVERSE

Eddie Munson x male reader

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

Resilient.

That was the best way to describe (name).

Having been through the works in life, he pushed through.

"Goodnight baby" (name) tucked little (sons name) in, the boy content in the queen sized bed and hugged his little teddy bear.

His third birthday was near, something (name) thought about deeply.

He had put aside money for a gift and gathered his god parents, the only ones (name) trusted after all this time.

Opening up his laptop he hesitantly opened his email and typed.

This was the last time he was contacting Eddie Munson.

Not for money, not for anything.

This was the last olive branch he was giving him about their son, having sent countless letters to Wayne's home though he doubts Wayne told him after... the incident.

"Nancy wheeler... you can go to hell" he whispered to himself and sent the email.

"A son... fucking gold digger" Eddie hissed as he glanced at his phone while at a party with his friends, Dustin glancing at him "how dare he... probably not even mine."

"Dear Eddie,

I know you hate me, but I just want you to know, you have a son.

You don't have to meet him, but you should know he exists.

-(Name)"

He read this out loud and the party seethed, the band seethed as Eddie sent an email, not noticing others doing the same, Dustin, Mikey, Garreth and Eddie sending horrible messages.

'gold digger '

'slut'

'shameless whore'

'Come crawling back now that he's worth something? Pathetic'

'why not crawl back to the guy who knocked you up you cheap bitch'

These were things sent to him in multiple emails by people he once considered his pack, the Omega breaking down once his son went with his grandfather Hopp for the day, the cop wanting to take his duckling fishing for the day.

"I-I didn't cheat-- I-I swear!" He gasped out as Steve and Robin held him close, the two knew the truth of what happened and wanted to throttle Eddie Munson for how blind he was.

(Name)... wasn't a cheater.

He was a victim.

(Name) never let anyone get close to him like that since high school ended, his focus on his pup.

That boy was (name)s world, sacrificing everything so he had a good life.

And he would never let another alpha hurt him again.

"And then my ex, you remember (name)? Fucking messages me and like 'this is your kid'" Eddie ranted to his friend, an outcast who also attended Hawkins high "fucking slut cheats then has the Gaul to say that kids mine? Guess the baby daddy ditched him"

"...you didn't hear?"

"Hear what?" Eddie was hesitant as he looked at his friend "(name) didn't cheat..." he said softly "he was raped, there was a whole rape kit and everything, Nancy made lies about him because she thought he was too close to Steve because she didn't know you two were dating" the friend explained and eddie felt his world stop.

"...what?"

No.

What?

Holy shit.

Eddie felt his world stop as he thought about everything.

Oh god...

He... he was so cruel to his boyfriend at such a traumatic moment.

Eddie shot up and left, driving back to his house.

Rushing to his laptop he went back to that email, clicking the photo attached to it and stared. That was his son, he was a spitting image of Eddie with (name)s eyes and skin tone, wild hair and the smile... oh god the smile.

He didn't know what to do.

"He was raped... oh god my mate was raped..."

By who?

Who did that to him?

Oh.

Eddie thought back to that day.

The day he dumped (name).

"Oh my god..."