#steve and robin think its hilarious

[bleedingoptimism]

It’s a little after eleven when Eddie finally manages to get Tarja to bed. It’s hard for her without her plushie. And really, Eddie is very thankful having a hyper-fixation with her toy seems to be the only ‘consequence’ of having divorced parents Tarja seems to have right now. He always worries if having two homes and constantly moving between them is good for her or not. Especially with Tommy being Tarja’s other dad, but against all odds, he’s good to her. So their kid is doing just fine. She’s happy. And if she’s happy, Eddie is happy.

He’s getting ready to open a beer and relax when there’s a knock on the door. He smiles, assuming is Steve bringing Toothless over and almost knocks his beer to the floor when he opens the door.

Steve looks… well he looks amazing, dressed to the nines. Must’ve been date night. But his eyes are red and puffy, his face covered in dark blotches, and his lips are swollen like he’s been biting them too much.

He’s hugging Toothless to his chest and he smiles at Eddie when he sees him, but he looks so sad it breaks his heart.

Eddie throws the beer behind him, sure it will land on the couch and cradles Steve’s face between his hands, “What did that asshole do?

Steve leans into his touch and shuts his eyes for a moment before sighing and stepping away from him, walking inside and sitting on the couch still holding Toothless like a lifeline. 

“Nothing, he was just-” Steve shakes his head and chuckles darkly, “He’s just so mean,” 

Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and dips his head to look Steve in the eye just like he did that day in the park.

“Break up with him,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Tommy doesn't deserve you, Steve. You are worth so much more than what that asshole makes you feel. You deserve better. More. Everything,” Eddie pleads, placing his hands on Steve’s knees and squeezing, “If it’s because of Tarja, we’ll figure something out, ok? Lots of people keep in contact with their parent’s significant other after they break up” He rushes, the speech he didn't have quite prepared last week coming out of him in a single breath, “We are friends, right? So you can still visit and see her. Visit me. You don’t have to stop being a part of our lives.” 

Steve is staring at him right now like Eddie just gifted him the moon and he’s so beautiful it’s kind of hard for Eddie to keep eye contact, but he squeezes Steve’s knees again to ground himself and does. Steve needs to know he’s very serious about this. About him.

Eyes shining, Steve takes a deep breath and nods slowly, a tear falling down his cheek that Eddie follows with his eyes and watches until it hides under Steve’s v-neck shirt.

“Hey, even I didn’t put up with Tommy's shit for Tarja’s sake and I birthed her,” he jokes awkwardly, trying to make him laugh and feels like doing a little victory dance when Steve snorts cutely,

“Okay,” he hiccups.

“Yeah?” Eddie smiles back at him, relieved.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “Fuck Tommy.” And drops back on the couch, looking exhausted, “Can I stay here tonight?” he asks in a whisper, like he’s afraid Eddie will say no. As if.

“Yeah, of course,” Is what he answers, and has half a mind to invite him into his bed but knows it’s a terrible idea. So he lends Steve his favorite flannel pajamas and sets blankets and a pillow on the couch and they say their goodnights.

And if he does a little dance when he closes the door to his room, no one is there to see.

In the morning, Steve stays for breakfast. And attempts to kill Eddie by making his heart explode, cooking it himself from scratch with Tarja’s help, who is so happy she won’t stop running around the kitchen making Toothless fly and sing about ‘happy family breakfast time’.

It’s actually hard to tell if she’s happier to have her plushie back or that Steve is there. Eddie, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s happiest about. Death by tenderness. Is that a thing? He amuses himself thinking about a couple csi’s with sunglasses saying it, 

“He died because he witnessed something too cute,”

“Ah yes, death by fondness. I’ve seen it before.”

After, Eddie walks him to the door and Steve smiles sweetly at him, and holds his hand, squeezing it once before letting go, “Well, see you. I guess,” he says bashfully and there’s a moment there, a second where time stops and Eddie thinks he should kiss him. Wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Because Steve is still dating Tommy, and just because he said he was going to break up with him doesn’t mean he wants to start something new with Eddie.

Eddie himself called him his friend for the first time last night for christ sake. ‘Fucking chill’ he thinks to himself.

🧸

And then a week goes by without hearing a word from Steve. But Eddie doesn't hold it against him.

At first, he figures he needs time to think but then he starts to wonder if he really is going to break up with Tommy. Four days in, he gets paranoid about it. Maybe Steve got brainwashed into thinking Eddie is bad for him. Maybe Tommy told him Eddie was putting ideas in his head, that he shouldn’t talk to him anymore… With him telling Steve to break up with his boyfriend and all... 

He’s well aware of how manipulative Tommy can be and has seen the way he belittles Steve to keep him around, so he knows it’ll be hard for Steve to actually go through with it.

And he can’t exactly show up at Tommy’s and steal Steve away, no matter how appealing the idea might be. The only thing he can do is just think of Steve, wish him well, and send him strength to do what he needs to do. At the end of the day, it needs to be his decision. His choice.

As Tommy’s week with Tarja approaches he starts getting more and more anxious, wondering if it’ll be Steve or Tommy who picks her up.

When the day finally arrives, and the doorbell rings, Tarja runs to open the door and Eddie peeks his head through the hallway.

“Daddy!” Tarja screams.

“Hey, Tata! You ready?” Tommy says and Eddie steps into the hall to greet him too.

“Not yet!” Tarja chuckles and Tommy smiles at her,

“Okay, go get ready. I’ll wait here,”

Eddie walks to the door and leans on the doorframe, “Hey,”

“Hi. Long time no see,” Tommy says and then adds, “You look great,”

“You don’t,” Eddie answers, because it’s true. He looks like shit. Greasy hair, bags under his eyes, chapped lips, wrinkles on his clothes, “What happened?”

“Steve broke up with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he smiles, he doesn’t even try to hide it, “He did?”

“Don’t smile, fucker,” Tommy says but there’s no heat behind it. He knows he deserves it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, not sorry at all.

“Stop,” Tommy whines because Eddie’s smile is actually getting bigger,

“Sorry,” he repeats and then clears his throat, “Did he tell you why?”

“Because I’m a horrible person,” Tommy groans.

“Hey, the first step is to ad-”

“To admit it, yeah, yeah. I know” Tommy interrupts him, groaning again.

Eddie sighs, and punches Tommy’s shoulder lightly, “Look, Tommy, I’m just going to say this because, well… you are pathetic. You need to do better.” And then he points to his back, to where Tarja’s disappeared to get her stuff, “She’s going to grow up and realize you are an awful person and she’s not going to want you in her life. And I’m not going to dissuade her from it, because I already don’t want you to be in mine, you know that, right?”

Tommy looks at him seriously and then nods once, fast and hard. Like he gets it. Like he agrees and is determined to change. And Eddie hopes for Tarja’s sake he is. But knows, deep in his heart, that either way, she’s going to be fine.

“Also, just a heads up. I’m in love with Steve and I’m going to ask him out,” he adds in a rush when he hears Tarja running up behind him.

“You are shitting me,” Tommy whispers, shocked and clenching his teeth.

Eddie laughs, “Nope,” he says, closing his lips loudly around the P.

“Eddie,” Tommy warns him like he’s waiting for Eddie to say he's joking.

“What? I hear he’s single,” Eddie smirks.

“You motherfuc- Hey Tata!” Gathering Tarja in his arms, Tommy drops the subject but he glares at Eddie as he kisses Tarja’s cheek goodbye and murmurs ‘unbelievable’ as he’s leaving. Eddie closes the door and starts laughing at the look on Tommy’s face.

He needs to call Steve.

He tries a couple of times but he doesn’t pick up and he starts worrying Steve might not actually want to talk to him, and then there’s a knock on the door but Eddie, too preoccupied with his anxiety, opens without looking, thinking Tarja forgot something.

When he doesn't hear her, Eddie looks up from his ‘ignored calls’ screen to see nonother than Steve standing there, looking nervous and like a fucking dream with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. A fucking bouquet of flowers. For him. For Eddie. All different shades of red, because he knows is his favorite color.

Eddie just blinks at him a couple of times and Steve flushes even more and drops the hand holding up the flowers, scratches the back of his neck nervously, “This was stupid, the flowers were fucking stupid. They are stupid. I’m stupid, right?”

A laugh bubbles out of Eddie and he grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him inside. He closes the door once they are both in and slams Steve against it, crushing their lips together. Steve circles his arms around Eddie and holds him close, instantly returning the kiss with fervor. 

They kiss as if it were fate. They kiss until it's hard to breathe and Eddie pulls away only to kiss him again, and again, and again.

“Not stupid,” he murmurs between kisses and feels Steve’s smile against his lips.

Eventually, Eddie takes a step back and lets Steve into his home properly, “Hi,” he says cheesily.

“Hi,” Steve says back grinning, then he lifts up the bouquet again, which is now completely ruined by him still holding it strongly while they made out like crazy, and his smile drops,

“Shit,” he pouts cutely, god Eddie wants to eat him. He laughs and takes the flowers anyway, putting them in an empty glass bottle, because he doesn’t own a flower vase, because he’s a normal human being. ‘Who the fuck owns a flower vase?’

“Come here,” he says, holding out both hands for Steve to take and follow him.

Steve takes his hands but doesn't move, instead swings them from side to side, “Wait, let's talk,”

Fuck, yeah. They should. That’s a good idea. Fuck. Damn, Steven Whatever-The-Fuck-Is-His-Middle-Name Harrington and his sensible and very logical choice…

Eddie huffs exaggeratedly making Steve chuckle and redirects them to the couch, where they sit still holding hands, “Alas,” he says dramatically, “You are right, we should talk. I actually wanted to ask you out properly, not debauch you the second you walked through the door. Sorry about that” he lies, not sorry at all, again.

Steve blushes and smiles, drawing little circles with his thumbs on Eddie’s hands, “Yeah me too. I wanna do this right. Ask you out. Go on dates. I think we should take this slow,”

Eddie makes a face and groans at that. He doesn't want to take it slow. He wants Steve to move in right now or something. Steve rolls his eyes amused at his interruption and keeps going,

“I came here to ask you out the right way because I want you to know I’m committed. But we should think about how this will affect Tarja… and Tommy too. We should go out a few times, spend some time alone, and I want you to meet my friends and my parents and I want to meet your friends and your uncle too and just do this properly and-”

Eddie interrupts him with a kiss, he can’t take it anymore, he’s been dying to kiss Steve for months now and he’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes Eddie insane, makes him feel like he needs to ruin him, but in a nice way, like with devotion and love.

Steve lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist and hoists him until he’s straddling Steve. Eddie leans his elbows on Steve’s shoulders, and buries his hands in his hair, pulling and messing with it.

“Okay but have you considered having hard, hot, wet sex, and then maybe we do what you said?” He asks panting against Steve’s lips and actually feeling how that punches the air out of him.

He hugs Eddie closer to his chest and whines, “Yeah okay, we can do it your way,” and gets up, lifting Eddie with him as if he were weightless. Eddie squawks and laughs all the way to his room.

🧸

They spend the week together, talking, eating, drinking, laughing and fucking. Except it’s more than that because when Eddie is inside Steve, with his tongue, his fingers, or his strap, it feels like more. It feels like love. Like fate.

Steve, still determined to take things slow, doesn’t stay there all the time, going back to Robin’s where he moved back to after breaking up with Tommy. He actually brings her over one day and the three of them spend the afternoon together. Eddie decides they are going to be best friends immediately because Robin is hilarious and merciless. When Steve gets back the next day he kisses Eddie so good and hard his knees almost give out on him and tells him he has Robin’s seal of approval. Something he knows Tommy never got.

When the week passes Eddie says goodbye theatrically as if they were cross-star lovers in a bad soap opera and Steve chuckles and calls him ridiculous but kisses him so passionately that Eddie drags him right back inside and they say goodbye again a few hours later.

They had decided to wait until Eddie talked to Tarja about her feelings over Tommy’s and Steve’s breakup and whether she still wanted Steve around or not before having him over again.

But when Tarja gets back home she’s gloomy and silent. She hugs Eddie in greeting when she arrives and then spends the rest of the day lying face down on the floor and occasionally sighing loudly, obviously trying to make Eddie ask her what’s wrong.

And really, Eddie shouldn't find it as funny as he does, but he thinks about calling Wayne and telling him he gets it now when Wayne used to tell him he had too much personality.

Eventually, he lies on the floor next to her and asks. Tarja looks at him with big sad eyes and says, “I haven't seen Steve in a million years! And Daddy said he is not his boyfriend anymore! So I’ll never see him again and I miss him”

Eddie coos at her, “I’m sorry you miss him little dragon, but you can totally see him again! Would you like me to call him? Since he’s my friend too?” Already trying to strategize on how to tell her they are more than friends.

Tarja lights up and jumps off the floor and onto Eddie, punching the breath out of him, “Yes! Yes! Call Steve! Steve smiles more when he’s with you than he did with daddy anyway. Why don’t you boyfriend him instead?”

Well… that was easy.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “That’s a great idea sweety, go grab my phone,”

Tarja runs and grabs Eddie’s phone off the table and hands it to him, he doesn’t bother getting off the floor so she kneels beside him listening attentively as he dials Steve’s number. 

“Hi, handsome, you talked with Tarja already?” Steve greets him after it rings twice.

“Yeah about that, turns out Tarja talked to me, actually,” he chuckles, “Hi, by the way”

“Hi,” Steve repeats lovingly and laughs, “What do you mean?”

“She had this awesome idea!” he says winking at her and she covers her mouth with her tiny hands to hide her giggles, “That, since you are not with Tommy anymore, you should be my boyfriend instead,” he continues, voice going soft and chuckles when he hears Steve's breathless ‘oh’ on the other side of the line, “Come over?”

“Of course, gimme an hour? I'm with a client” Steve hums and Eddie whispers he’ll give him anything he asks for and hangs up.

An hour later Tarja is still lying on the floor, only now it’s with papers and crayons spread all around her when the doorbell rings. She looks up at Eddie excitedly and he nods at her, “Go on then”

Tarja runs to the door and opens it wide to reveal Steve standing there as beautiful as ever, giving Eddie a deja vu of the first time he saw him.

“Papa Steve!” Tarja yells and jumps up to hug him.

Steve gasps and falls to his knees with her in his arms and looks up at Eddie with shocked wet eyes.

‘So much for taking it slow,’ Eddie thinks with a smirk.

Fin.

☝️first part

☕🥐💕?

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

nancy wheeler is a dog person. specifically, a Big Scary Dog person. she owns two enormous dobermans and has named them the cutesiest names possible. think of the sugary-sweetest name you can think of and then double the cuteness. they are the most well-trained dogs anyone has ever met in their entire lives. they would kill for her if commanded. they also think they are lap dogs and insist on snuggling with her as much as they can. they have designated beds in her living room with their names neatly embroidered in pink on each one. their barks are intense enough to give a passerby a heart attack. they both have pretty little pink collars that nancy rotates out for a new one every couple of days. their teeth are the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen and they use them to bring nancy her notebooks and newspapers as gently as they can. she would die for them, but they would never let that happen. if she sits down beside them, they tower above her. it’s ridiculous.

ofc, if you wanna make it ronance (which i always do), when robin and nancy move in together, and the dogs can no longer fit on the bed with them (they are too big), nancy moves their beds from the living room into the bedroom and they sleep at the foot of the bed. someone once tried to break in and before robin could even dial 911, the dogs had it handled. nancy didn’t even have time to bring out her handgun before the dogs had the intruder pinned to the ground. they wagged their tails the whole time. robin loves them. she is also terrified of their power. nancy runs the house and all three of them—robin and the dogs—are perfectly aware of this.

[craperonipizza]

Happy Pride

[thinger-strang]

reverse au where argyle is the one who moves up to hawkins and becomes the lifeguard that summer and billy is the one who stays in california and ends up becoming the byers shitty chauffeur and begrudging friends with jonathan (just for the weed tho)

[devondespresso]

my steddie babes and non-babes alike (and other stranger things tumblrinians) i am deathly curious because i see these tropes pretty frequently and i usually don't enjoy time fuckery (there's maybe two exceptions) but i wanna know if its like really popular so

also no hate to this at all i genuinely don't hold any negative emotions towards it and if you paid me to stand on a soapbox and wax on about how i don't read it ill stand there like this 🧍 and say "uh idk its like.... uhhhhh.... idk i just don't read it...."

also also if you love this or love to write this thats so slay actually!!! theres so much you can do with time fuckery and its like objectively a pretty neat trope

also also also this doesn't apply to theories about time fuckery in the show, for some reason ill read pages and pages of ur guy's theories about it but not in fics?? idk

[munsster]

hii!! i'd like to request a steve harrington x fem!reader fic pls <33 reader confesses to steve, but he says he doesn't like her. then reader's all 'okay fine, i'm gonna move on' and when she actually does that, steve is 🥺 lots of angst please and some steve grovelling teehee <33

gut feeling

A/N: okay yes 😏 i screwed this up the littlest bit, but i hope it still tickles ur fancy. also i’ve seen this done for king!steve and i wanted to write it for s4 steven

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have big feelings for Steve, he’s just not sure he feels the same way. 3.6k words.

Warnings: angst, but it resolves into fluff, unrequited love trope, lots of feelings, friends to lovers?, CURSING!, italics, established friendship, feat. Keith 😑

"You think it would be gross if we kissed?"

Steve thinks you might actually sound hurt, but he also thinks the face he's making is hilarious beyond belief: kind of contorted and screwed inward, nose scrunched and trying really hard to batten down a grin. You glare at him from the passenger's seat, arms crossed tight over your green Family Video vest.

You think he's wonderful despite his naiveté. If only he knew how handsome you thought he was, all caramel locks and big brown eyes and the kind of smile that reaches his eyes before he's even thought of it. No wonder he has an ego up to the moon. No wonder he still manages to weasel his way into the creases and crevices of any living creature's heart. Even yours. Hell, especially yours.

"Yeah, duh!"—and he's so sure of it, you could cry—"You're like the little sister I never had!"

You chuckle but you look like you're about to hurl yourself out of the car or get yourself arrested for manslaughter. Thank God he's only a block away from your house, or he'd never see the light of day again. Does he really think of you like that? The soft laughter peters out into a grating silence that burns right down your throat and feels like hard metal settling in your lungs.

He doesn't dare glance over at you. He only bites down hard around nothing and grimaces, eyes set hard on the lines dashing beneath the grill of his car. Jesus Christ, he does not think of you like that. And he begs whatever stupid pride is keeping him steady in this nonexistent pissing contest to leave it be, but its jaw is set in the tender meat of the game.

"Don't have to be so jovial about it," you grumble.

"What?"

"Mine's on the left," you grumble, nodding out the window. Oh, he's definitely in trouble. You only ignore him like this when he's done something boyish to a fault.

"I know. I drive you home every—hey!"

"Bye," you coo, booking it up the steps to your door, refusing to turn over your shoulder for fear that you'll burst into tears upon seeing him smile or frown or crack the slightest look of confusion.

He watches you slam the door and rolls the passenger window up with a frustrated sigh. Where the Hell did that come from and why. All while you're sitting against the foot of your bed, chattering into the phone at Robin, still wearing your uniform and tugging at strands of your hair as expletives weave themselves between every three words.

"Oh my Fucking God, I'm so fucking embarrassed right now, Robs—Does he—? Does he think I'm some sort of fuckin' baby? I just don't—"

"He's just being Steve, okay? He probably didn't mean it—"

"The way he looked at me, Robin, I felt like a fucking imbecile. Of all the dickheads in the world I could fall for, my heart chose Harrington? Maybe I'm the idiot." You sigh and kick your feet out, the frustration winding up new nerves and letting them go like tight springs to fling out over your body.

She sighs and it rattles through the grainy speaker. "You're not an idiot; he has his moments. Don't beat yourself up, you know how he gets. He's probably not thinking straight, just... tell him? The worst he can say is—"

"That I'm like a sister to him? Oh, how delightful. That's even worse than just flat out admitting I'm unattractive."

"You're not unattractive, don't do that."

"I am to him," you groan.

"Hey," she hums after a beat of crackling silence. You close your eyes and grip the sickly yellow receiver a little tighter.

"I really like him."

"I know."

"And it sucks."

"I know." The other end rustles and you let out a curt sigh just as you move to stand. "I love you, and I'm here for you. Especially when dumb boys make you feel like shit. You'll always be the most amazing and most beautiful girl in my life, don't forget that."

"Thank you. I'll see you, Robs."

"Take it easy."

—

Steve wakes up to an ache in his neck and a soreness in his knuckles. You didn't call him last night. And he's assuming you didn't call him before school this morning because his alarm clock flashes eleven, first period starts at eight-thirty, and the tone his ancient landline emits is shrill enough to deafen a man. Let alone wake him up in a cold sweat. He concocts a sick feeling in his stomach of burnt orange shame and maroon guilt because he has to wait until closing shift tonight to explain himself to you.

But by then, he's feeling spiteful. You weren't home when he went to pick you up and he waited ten minutes and knocked on the door in bulk. Until someone who was not you answered and told him that you'd gotten a ride with some jerk from the Hawkins High football team. That's not how it was originally said, but that's how he heard it. So you're avoiding him? It makes him spit up a little in his mouth, and he's going about twenty over the speed limit the entire way to make it on time.

By the time he can fling open the glass door and hear the sound of the tiny bell, he spots you in the back corner with a stack of tapes under your arm. Listening to music. To drown him out. And it makes him frown. Six hours. That's how long he'd have to endure this, then he could go home and not call you and not be able to sleep.

The casette in your Walkman can only run for so long, right? But he watches you rewind it after an hour and a half and slumps against the front desk when you grab a new stack of tapes from behind him. He simmers down after the first half of the shift, and of course, the fact that you won't talk to him rubs him the wrong way, but what's even worse is that now you're bumming rides off of losers on the worst football team in all of Indiana.

He gets worked up thinking about that guy's motivation and how many times he probably tried to make a pass at you. Steve would never do that to you. Even if he wanted to, he's a gentleman at heart. He could beat that jerk to a pulp just imagining him giving you the look. God forbid that sucker puts his hands on you. Steve would get charged with battery before ever letting that happen.

It's not like he can say anything to you about it either. He's pissed, and he knows himself. He'd get all angry and confrontational, and you deserve better than that. It's his fault you got there first, and it's his fault you got to stocking, and it's his fault you're tuning him out. But he didn't think what he said last night would be worth all that trouble.

"If you keep up the optic blast, I'm gonna buy you a ruby-quartz visored monocle." And that droning voice could only belong to one overbearing manager.

"What do you need, Keith?" Steve grumbles, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches you looking to the front of the store to watch the encounter with a smirk.

"Duty calls, Harrington. Corporate sent us more shelf space. Need someone to unload it into the office," Keith murmurs, shooting a glance your way, "And, uh... it's kind of unwieldy, so get the kid to help you out."

It makes Steve's eye twitch because you're not some kid. And if you heard Keith refer to you as such, you'd unleash a fleet of curses on him. Only Steve is allowed to call you that. Because it's funny, duh. You're a year younger than him, obviously he's going to use that to his comedic advantage. Oh.

He lets out a sigh—"alright"—and leaves Keith to man the front while he skirts to the back of the store and leads you by the hand through the office.

"'The Hell, Harrington?" you hiss, but you keep your fingers locked between Steve's, abandoning the rest of the tapes on Keith's desk and jogging to catch up with his stride. As forward and demanding as his grip may be, you have to admit, the warmth of his palm is comforting and it makes your heart race because you've never held hands with Steve before. And in any other circumstance, you might've been able to enjoy it a little more.

"Keith told me to tell you that you have to help me bring a shelf in from the truck."

"Oh, I have to?" you bark, now pulling your hand away and putting your headphones around your neck once you exit through the back door with him. "And you didn't think to give me a warning before yanking on my arm?"

"Yes, you have to, and maybe if you weren't listening to that shit so loud, you would've been in the loop." It comes out far more harsh than he intended, and that was exactly what he was afraid of happening in a confrontation with you. His brow softens, and the tension in his upper back and jaw dissipates into his own self-pity party. "And I didn't yank on your arm. Or at least I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry for that much."

Steve hops up into the truck and offers you a hand you don't take as much as you both wish you would have. Because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you have to stop yourself from cheering yourself on. Maybe this will be your first literal step towards getting over him. Once and for all.

After about fifteen minutes of heaving and ho-ing, the two of you manage to haul the shelf into the office as per Keith's request. He was right: it was unwieldy. The awkward grip spots caused a lot of overlap, and you both flinched away from the physical contact in a matter of milliseconds. But Steve couldn't deny he felt bad, and you couldn't deny that you definitely still had feelings for him.

You grab your previously abandoned stack of tapes to scurry out of the office, but Steve stops you by the elbow. And you glare back at him.

"Sorry. The... yanking, I know"—he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down—"Look, I'm not entirely sure what happened last night in the car, but it clearly made you uncomfortable, and I'd like to apologize."

He can see the neurons firing when he looks you in the eye, but he can also see that his apology wasn't effective in the slightest. Because you're still anger-ridden and fuming at him. You put your headphones on and go back to restocking shelves.

He checks the digital clock above the door. Two hours till eleven. Great.

And they creep by like refrigerated molasses. Second by second. Every time he glances at the clock, only a minute has passed. Eventually, though, he starts cleaning up for closing: vacuuming, cleaning the windows, fixing the display. And he finds himself getting a little more efficient at checking tapes back in and rewinding them only so you'll cruise by the front—scowling at him, but nonetheless at him—to grab a new stack and shelf it.

Five minutes to closing and a sleek, blue sedan pulls into the parking lot, and you practically beam at it, grinning and skipping to the front. You grab your bag from under the counter next to Steve's hip and shove your Walkman into it.

"You know, my car works perfectly fine," he grumbles, "don't have to replace me with some football jerk." He knows that struck a nerve because your smile immediately flickers away into a squint.

"That football jerk is bilingual, a painter, and lets me listen to the music I like in his car."

"But that's not the rules," he whines, desperately defending himself against some sports guy who's probably taking advantage of you.

"Well, I like him and he's nice to me." You sling your bag over your shoulder triumphantly, marching towards the door.

Steve is aghast at the implication. He thought you liked listening to the radio. Plus he took Spanish and art for the required two years, it's not that great of an achievement.

Still, he sputters out, "Yeah, well—"

You wave over your shoulder. "Later, Steve."

Since when did he become such a loser.

He watches jerk-face open the car door for you then glance over to wave at him with a perfect smile and perfect hair and perfect manners. What an asshole. Steve does not wave back.

—

"That's the kinda guy she likes?" he fusses into the phone, palming his face while Robin chuckles on the other line. This whole time he thought for sure you liked the self-assured, cocky, college-age boy type. And now you're dating a high schooler. Come on, jerk-face is not even that good looking.

"First of all, they're not dating. Second of all, don't lie to make yourself feel better; even I can admit he's basically a Greek god," Robin says, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Third... why do you care? You’re acting like it’s your job to protect her, but it’s not. She’s an adult now, you know, she can take her of herself.”

He lets out a puff of air through his nose, blinking hard and leaning into the pale yellow receiver. Then mumbling: "She told you."

And she replies, cheerily: "Yup."

"Well—! I just... don't want to see her get hurt. I know that type of guy. I used to be that type of guy. He's bad news, I can tell."

"Right,” Robin scoffs, “It's definitely not because you love her.”

"I don't love her. She's just a baby, and we don't even like the same things. It would never work out between us, there's no connection." They both know it’s a lame excuse, but it’s worked up until this moment. It’s worked since the day you met. You’re too young, the end. Sure, you can be cute sometimes, but you’re also a pain in the ass and you two could never get along long enough to stitch together a real relationship.

But Robin sees through all of that shit. And she’s over it.

“Okay, maybe, but she listens when you talk about cars, and you buy the albums she likes even when she only mentions them once. Plus, you both love Dustin like he's an extra limb”—she’s right, you love that kid to death and Lord knows Steve looks after him like a son—“I think as much as you wretch and complain over her being too young and the connection not 'being there', it seems like you try an awful lot to get her to like you."

He immediately rejects the idea with a scoff.

"Of course I’d want a cool person to like me, old fuckin’ habits die hard. But that's all. She's cool and has a good sense of style and tells the best jokes and makes me feel smart and listens to me, and right now I'm feeling pretty crazy because maybe I do love her and I blew it because... because? Because I don’t know why—but she's probably sitting in some jerk's car listening to her favorite songs and watching him paint the sunset while speaking Spanish or whatever."

Robin closes her eyes, and Steve’s annoyed by the fact that he can hear her smirking. "Jesus Christ, I need to start charging you idiots for my time"—and she sighs—"Just... tell her all that cheese. And maybe throw in an apology or two. I don't know, do what you usually do when you pick up girls.”

He’s frustrated. And annoyed. But he throws a thanks at her anyway and stomps down the stairs and to his beamer. It’s not until he’s shrouded in the piercing light of the convenience store that he realizes three things: he’s still in his work uniform, it’s midnight, and he’s pretty sure he does love you. He grabs a bouquet, not even realizing it’s a bouquet of amaryllis and baby’s breath—he’d prefer roses, but ‘tis not the season, as the cashier told him.

Minutes later, he’s muttering under his breath like he’s mad, waiting for someone to answer your door. And thank God you do.

“Steve—?”

“Oh, shit, did I—were you—?”

“Oh, no, I was just…”—thinking about him—“nothin’. What’re you doing here?”

He pushes a furious hand through his hair, then tucks a chunk behind his ear, worrying at his bottom lip. More nervous than he’s been in his whole life. Then he flashes those soft brown eyes at you, and you’re toast. You step onto your doormat and shut the door behind you because he starts into his sentence like a blazing fire:

"I feel so stupid, and I’m sorry for saying you're like a little sister to me; I don’t believe that, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. You're not like a sister to me, you're like the only thing that matters and I feel like I wanna learn another language for you and take a cooking class for you and listen to your music with you. I just, I mean I’m trying to say you make me want to be a better person, and I feel like I’m already a better person whenever I’m around you. I... what I’m saying—and I promise I’m getting to it—is that I’m sorry for being so stupid and not seeing it before, but I think you're beautiful and I'd be honored if you'd forgive me and maybe consider letting me take you out sometime. Like on a date."

He’s breathing heavily, looking and feeling manic, and your eyes are wide as you slowly process his confession. It goes down like sweet wine, floral down your throat and settling in your tummy like candy. But still: what the fuck? Is he insane? Are you insane?

His hair is flopped to one side, and his work vest is snug around his shoulders. You step forward slowly, and the creases in his forehead seem to go smooth. And you point to the bouquet.

“For me?”

Steve glances down. "Oh, yeah, got em for you. Sorry they're not roses, it's not—"

"I love them, thank you."

He nods. And you smile. And despite how beautiful the soft pink and white flowers are, you’re not particularly focused on their safety when you hook your arms beneath his and rope him into a hug. It’s clearly just what he needed when he goes pliant and heavy against your chest, smiling into your neck as his hands wrap over your shoulders.

"I think we might both be stupid,” you whisper.

He chuckles. "Yup. Just a couple of stupids. Geez, what kinda pair are we?" You both pull away. Only to look at each other squarely. To see a smile creep and creep across the other’s face. And he cocks a brow and says, "By the way, worst twenty-four hours of my life—"

And that’s saying something after the last three years.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Steve, I was just so—"

"I know."

"So confused and disappointed, it was—"

"Torture, yeah, don't even think about doing that ever again,” he teases, pinching your side and scrunching his nose when you pinch him back.

"Yeah. Well, never tell me I’m like a little sister to you ever again.”

Gross.

"I don't plan on it"

With the slow bat of your lashes, and the tender curve of your lips, he can’t not think about kissing you. Not in this light. Not under the meddling moon, and not holding your waist like cupping pools of honey.

Then you look away. For all the shit you talk, he manages to make you far more shy than he ever anticipates. And it gives him butterflies to see you duck away.

"You know, I think you're pretty beautiful yourself, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s blushing now. The blood gushes hot to his face, he could sweat buckets right here and now. You can probably hear his heartbeat. Jesus Christ, what’ve you done to him? You can tell he’s nervous when he chuckles softly. "Does this mean I can start giving you rides again?"

You pretend to weigh your options. As if there would ever be a better alternative. "Only if you let me play my music sometimes.”

"Absolutely. I never liked the radio much anyway."

You let go of him only to cradle your bouquet in both hands, admiring the petals while Steve puts his hands back in his pockets.

"Then I'll see you later," he says. Grinning ear to ear, mind you.

"Yeah,” you coo, “I’ll see you."

With one hand on his shoulder, you plant a kiss on his willing cheek and let him go. But before he can make it to his car you holler, “Wait!” and he jogs back over to you.

"Did I forget somethin’?"

“Yeah,” you poke, "you forgot about our date."

He tilts his head a little, brows furrowed. "Our... our date? What do you mean our… Ohhhh”—he nods in understanding, suddenly hit with a wave of excitement and embarrassment—"Does tomorrow work? We could grab lunch or dinner or something and maybe stop by the arcade or—oh, the fair's in town, that could be kinda fun, unless you don't want to, I mean—"

"Steve?" you hum.

“Mhm?”

"I'd love to."

And suddenly his ego is miles through the roof; he's nodding and grinning and it’s like he can’t wait to wake up tomorrow just to see you again.

"Me too. Okay. Yeah! I'll see you then."

"Bye, Stevie.” You give him a small wave, and the shroud of plastic around the bouquet crinkles like the corners of his eyes at the idea of tomorrow.

masterlist

[blushweddinggowns]

“I know I have something clean in here!”

Eddie watched him, half amused and half exhausted. He leaned his head back against Steve’s bed, crossing his legs on the floor. He was dripping wet and freezing, impatiently waiting for Steve as he dug through his closet. He didn't know what he expected to find when ninety-nine percent of his clothes were on the floor of Eddie's room.

See, shit like this is why they always hang out at Eddie and Wayne's new place, instead of this certifiable mansion. Besides the fact that Steve liked to be as far from his house as possible, it took away some options for them to do dumb, impulsive shit. Like dragging each other into his pool, fully clothed at 2 am. 

In November. 

If it wasn't for the stupid fumigation at his apartment, they would be dry and asleep by now, or at least dry and giggling throughout the night. He also wouldn't be trying to think of an excuse to sleep in Steve’s bed, with all of these stupid guest rooms. It was so easy at his place, with its uncomfortable couch and shitty heater. It took almost nothing to convince Steve to sleep with him every night.

He sighed, shamelessly staring at Steve from behind and thanking the powers that be he decided to wear white tonight. He could make out all of the muscles in his back through the transparent fabric, cold water still dripping from his hair. He was too beautiful for his own good, or Eddie was just obsessed. 

Probably both. 

Maybe Eddie should use this as an opportunity to get used to being without him. This little game he was playing could only last so long after all.

He knew he was monopolizing Steve's time, like an ass, and he’d been doing it for months. Ever since he was out of the hospital, the two had been inseparable. No one even called Steve's house anymore, half the time when Eddie answered the phone it was Robin or one of the kids asking for Steve. 

There's yet to be a time when he wasn't there. 

Hell, even before that. The little saint had been there for every step of his recovery, bringing him books, music, and his own adorable self. His little crush on Steve had grown into a full-blown infatuation. He was all he could think about anymore. 

Steve was just so…him. Self-sacrificing, hilarious, disturbingly attractive, Eddie had been doomed from the start. Eddie became the one who picked Steve up from work and dropped him off, deciding that he deserved to be chauffeured around for a change. 

Steve became the one waiting for him at home from his dealings, cooking food for him and his uncle, always reassuring him that he wasn't a bad person and it was temporary, just until he had enough cash to leave this hellhole. He wasn't sure how he was ever going to leave without Steve, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Or he would just stay in a town that loathed him until Steve moved on with his life. 

Whatever came first. 

They just fell into each other, like they had been best friends all along. And maybe he was tricking himself, just building up a mountain of false hope, but from his view, Steve loved their time together just as much as Eddie did.

Steve had been the one to press himself against Eddie's chest on that first night, sleepily putting Eddie’s arm around him with a soft, "I'm cold."

Steve was the one who would spend hours laughing with Wayne on the couch, giggling at elementary school photos of Eddie and swapping stories, never shutting up about how cute he used to be. 

Steve was the one who wiped his tears away if he had night terrors, reliving almost dying over and over again in his dreams.

And Eddie couldn't help but push. 

It felt like he had to touch him all the time or he'd combust. Steve was touch-starved to hell and back, and Eddie took full advantage. An arm around his shoulders when they walked, a hand on his thigh when they drove, pinkies linked when they went to sleep. Steve leaned into it all, he never tried to push Eddie away, he'd only ever pull him closer. 

He rationalized it. If Steve ever told him no or to back off he would immediately but…he just hasn't. 

Besides, Eddie almost fucking died to save the world, he could indulge in some self-destructive behavior a little bit here and there, even if it would lead to the worst heartbreak of his life. 

Eddie shifted, trying to get comfortable but there was something digging in his back. He reached behind, pulling at whatever was poking him under the mattress. It was some wadded-up denim, shoved right under the edge of Steve's bed. A question was already on his lips as he unwrapped it, dying when he realized what it was. 

It was the vest from the Upside Down. Steve had told him it was unsalvageable months ago and Eddie had believed him, even if it made him a little sad. He had loved that thing.

But here it was, washed and only partially stained with the remnants of Steve’s blood and the general muck of the Upside Down.  Why did he still have this? Why did he lie?

Steve turned as Eddie stared at it, a yellow sweatshirt in hand and a pleased smile on his face. Eddie doesn't think he's ever seen Steve’s smile drop so quickly. He was kneeling in front of him in an instant, snatching the vest from Eddie’s hands with trembling fingers. He clutched it against his chest, looking absolutely mortified. 

“I can explain.” 

“You kept it?”

“I-I’m not a creep, really! It just helped me sleep when you were in the hospital and it became this stupid habit and I should have told you- ” 

Steve’s face was on fire and he was talking a mile a minute, his voice shaking. Eddie just looked at him, stupified as Steve desperately tried to explain why he was cuddling with a ratty piece of Eddie’s clothing.

“I was gonna give it back," Steve held it tighter against him, like the thought of parting with it physically hurt, "I swear! but you just wouldn't wake up at first and I needed something-" 

Eddie’s eyes traveled down, landing on his lips, his self-control evaporating with every stuttered word out of Steve’s mouth. 

“A-and I shouldn't have lied, I can give it back, really, I didn-” 

“Steve, I’m going to kiss you now.”

“I-what?"

Eddie didn’t wait, couldn't wait, and Steve was so close, looking irresistibly embarrassed. Eddie grabbed behind his neck and pulled him down to his level, pressing their lips together before he could question himself. 

Steve was kissing him back before he could even think to regret it. He melted against him, letting the vest drop down in between them. Steve sighed against his lips, resting his hands on Eddie's shoulders to steady himself. Eddie pulled away first, half to double check that this was okay and half to try to will his erection away so Steve could sit in his lap.

Steve looked down at him with dazed eyes, his lips wet with Eddie’s spit. He watched with rapt attention when Steve licked at it, closing his eyes with a pleased hum, like he just loved the taste.

God, he was going to give him a heart attack. 

They grinned at each other like idiots, Steve finally breaking the comfortable silence with a shy smile, "Does this mean I get to keep it?"

[freefalasteen]

You know that video of the couple in the haunted house and they get scared and the guy accidentally grabs the actor and runs the whole way out holding the actors hand?

AU where steve meets eddie for the first time when Steve and Robin go to a haunted house Eddie is working at and steve ends up holding eddies hand instead of robins and they both think its hilarious at the end and eddie breaks character because steve harrington is just really fucking cute okay.

[weird-an]

Steve is such a bad liar.

Robin would be insulted, if it wasn't so funny. He bitches about Hargrove coming in at Scoop's and teasing him about the shitty uniforms every day. He claims to be annoyed by Billy nearly crawling over the counter to stare at his thighs, while not having asked out any of the pretty girls that had only eyes for him since it started. He talks about boobs every day but can't stop ogling Billy's chest. Well, to be fair Billy's shirts are always unbuttoned.

Still, Steve complains about it. It's hilarious and sad at the same time.

"I swear Robin," Steve says for like the fifth time in a few minutes. "I'll punch him in the face tomorrow."

Robin rolls her eyes. Like Steve's going to do anything else than nearly drooling on the sundaes. "Yeah, sure."

"What?" Steve puts his hands on his hips, reminding Robin of an upset, overworked dad. "I already did it. I'll do it again"

That's it. It's one thing that Steve is lying to himself, but lying to her face? No fucking way.

"Dingus, you stare at him every time he comes here." Robin gives him another point on the You suck board. "You're into him."

"I'm not staring." Steve purses his lips, face turning a little red. "And I'm not-"

"Well, he's into you."

"He is?" Steve clears his throat. "I mean... I don't think he is."

Robin gives him a day to let sink it in. The next time Billy comes to Scoop's its so blindingly obvious. Steve has to see it.

Billy made his hair. Fluffy curls, bouncing around his head, shirt held by one tiny button, showing off the shadow of his nipples. Robin wonders how much time he spent getting ready.

They're both hopeless, Robin thinks.

"Steve has to talk to you," she snaps before any of them can say anything. "In the break room."

"What?" Steve turns to her.

She's so fucking done with them. Boys are stupid.

"In. The. Break. Room." Robin points at the door. "Now."

"Welcome to Scoop's Ahoy," she says to the girl behind Billy, flashing her a smile.

Steve and Billy stay away for an hour. Robin gets a bit worried. Maybe she has been wrong and they're killing each other back there. Scoop's new flavor is going to be interesting.

Finally they come out. Well, Billy stumbles a little.

"Bye Buckley," he says, not looking at her. His hair has even more volume than before. There's a bite mark on his pec.

Jesus, she just wanted them to talk. Boys are idiots. Robin is glad she isn't into them. She's never eating her lunch again in that room.

Steve has a dazed impression on his face, grinning like he does when they smoke too much pot.

"I... " he pauses. "I owe you."

[livwritesstuff]

Ooohhh ok I just read this and now I need to know the car convo please and thank you 👀

<3

For Steve, telling his oldest daughter what happened in Hawkins is…well, it’s weird. It’s definitely not easy either, but Steve had known going into it that it wouldn’t be. It’s ends up being weird because it’s not a story he tells very often (or ever, if he’s being honest), and he sort of has to decide in the moment which details to share and which not to because, ultimately, his trauma is not his daughter’s problem.

Moe doesn’t need to know that he was tortured just like she doesn’t need to know the specifics of how Eddie nearly died, so he mostly just tries to talk around those parts.

Also – Steve is a firm believer in not telling other people’s stories, but how intertwined or whatever it all is makes it real damn hard to stick to that, so he settles on the next best thing, which is being as objective as he possibly can be, and that’s weird in its own right.

He starts with the lab, with Brenner and MKUltra and he pulls in a little of El’s involvement (without bringing up the whole superpower thing, obviously) and how Will got taken into the Upside Down. He describes the Upside Down and demogorgons and how he’d gotten pulled into it all.

In retrospect, some of it is kind of funny, and Moe has an uncanny way of seeing an odd kind of humor in things, so she’s actually a pretty decent audience.

Moe: So you’re telling me that you spent the entire time thinking Nancy was cheating on you?

Moe: And you only found out what was actually happening when she pointed a revolver at your head?

Moe: Pop, that’s fucking hilarious.

(And it actually kind of is).

He tells her about Dustin’s ridiculous attachment to a demodog that ended up almost eating them. He tells her about the Mind Flayer and hive minds and Max driving his car and all kinds of close calls.

He talks about Starcourt Mall, about meeting Robin, about the elevator falling halfway to Hell. He talks about what was happening on the surface while he was stuck underground, about Nancy’s detective work and Joyce’s magnets, and he tells her about what happened after they all came together again.

Moe: So, like, nobody thought it was weird that mall security was Russian?

Moe: Even during the Cold War?

Moe: And nobody noticed them escaping after the mall blew up?

Moe: Are people okay?

By the time they’re pulling into their driveway, Steve has covered Vecna's role in everything. He leaves out Chrissy Cunningham, because that part of the story is for Eddie to tell if he’s willing, but he tells her about Lover’s Lake and the stolen RV and finally bringing it all crashing down once and for all.

Moe: Damn.

Moe: Those conspiracy theorists are way off.

Steve: Good.

[moonstruckme]

Steve x Wednesday!reader and the gang really didn’t expect Steve to end up w someone so different from all his exs but also low-key think she’s way out of his league??? Found your fics and your writing is sick 😋😋😋😋

Thanks for your request sweetheart! I haven't written wednesday!reader before so idk if this was too much? Or too little? Anyway, I hope you like it, mwah <3

Steve Harrington x Wednesday!reader ♡ 698 words

You hadn't been at all nervous to meet Steve's friends. Really, they probably should have been more nervous about meeting you.

You could be a bit off-putting at first, with your impassive stare and clipped, to-the-point manner of speaking. The few other girlfriends Steve had introduced to his friends had greeted them with smiles and nervous laughter, and Steve had caught Dustin and Mike whispering about just that when you'd gone to the bathroom.

Overall, though, Steve thinks this is going pretty well. Nancy had liked your giant combat boots, Eddie loved that you had the same taste in music, and when the kids found out how much you knew about mages and battle strategy, they'd grilled you for a solid twenty minutes before Steve had called them off, complaining that he was going to dream about their nerd jargon that night if they didn't shut up.

Now, Eddie and the boys are discussing the edition of their nerd game they'll be playing next week (how it even changes from week to week, Steve can never figure out), and you seem to be listening with mild interest when you turn towards him suddenly.

"I have to go home," you say, in your matter-of-fact way. "I left a potion on the stove, and its six hours are almost up."

Steve blinks at you. He should be used to this by now, but sometimes your hobbies still take him by surprise. "Alright," he says after a moment. "What's the potion for?"

Impossibly, your expression darkens. "Something ate my venus fly traps, and I intend to find out what."

Steve declines to ask what you plan to do when you do find them, or how whatever you're brewing will accomplish that. "Okay," he stands, looking for where he left his keys. "I'll drive."

"No, you can stay," you say, as if it makes no difference to you. "I want to cut through the woods to find some belladonna on my way."

He's not going to ask what you want with the poisonous berries, either. "You sure, honey?" You nod, and Steve sits back down. He knows better than to bother arguing with you once you've made up your mind. "Okay, be safe, alright? Text me when you're home."

He tilts his chin up, and you lean down to peck him on the lips, a brief, chaste thing compared to what you prefer behind closed doors.

"Bye, Y/N!" Eddie calls, and a chorus of goodbyes follow you out. As soon as the door closes behind you, every eye in the room turns on Steve.

"Steve, what the hell? She's so cool." Dustin says, sounding almost shocked.

"Yeah," Eddie chimes in. "Where the hell have you been hiding her, Harrington?"

Steve grins proudly. He known they liked you, but it doesn't hurt to hear it out loud. "Yeah?"

"Um, yeah," Max says. "She's hilarious."

Robin nods enthusiastically. "She is! She's so funny, and smart, too. Honestly, Steve, it's a good thing you're nice, because she's, like, way out of your league."

Steve blinks. Okay, ouch. This compliment session seems to be taking an unexpected turn. Up until today, no one was out of Steve Harrington's league. "You really think so?"

"Duh." Robin looks around for support, but only Dustin is nodding, everyone else having fallen unusually silent. "Oh, you guys are cowards. She's gorgeous."

"I know that," Steve says defensively.

"She does have better hair than you," Nancy says, somewhat apologetically, "and that's kind of your thing, so."

Steve blows out an exasperated breath, slouching back in his seat. He thinks you have better hair than him, but he didn't know everyone else would think that. And of course you're far too good for him, but aren't these supposed to be his friends? Any modicum of loyalty they'd had between them seems to have vanished.

"Whatever," Steve says. "You guys are just jealous."

Eddie sighs, his eyes sparkling with exaggerated infatuation. "I know I am. Don't let her get away from you, Harrington, or I might take her for myself."

Steve rolls his eyes. As if he'd be dumb enough to let that happen. He's happy to be your charity case forever.

[rebelspykatie]

Gymnastics/Olympics AU Part 1

Steve’s not used to sharing the spotlight. He can’t believe this fresh-faced nobody is out here acting like he has any idea what he’s doing. For years, Steve’s been the golden child of gymnastics. Everyone loves him, no one’s come close to beating him at any of the events he specializes in, he puts butts in seats, which is more than most of the field can say. Until now, when Eddie Munson just waltzes onto the scene like he was born to do gymnastics. 

He makes it look so easy, long limbs flying through the air as if the universe created him to be aerodynamic. Strong arms holding him in place on the rings, not moving an inch, and perfect balance on the pommel horse. It makes Steve furious. He’s trained his whole life, worked for years to get to this level. It shouldn’t be easy. 

Every qualifying event leading up to the Olympics just made it more obvious that Steve should be concerned. Eddie kept climbing the ranks, perfecting his routines, sticking every landing. It grated on Steve’s nerves. His success doesn’t feel earned, which is stupid because he did earn his place just like Steve, but it happened in the blink of an eye. 

And Steve just has to suck it up and accept it or he doesn’t look like a team player. The media loves pitting them against each other, too. Golden Boy vs. Wild Child. Steve’s known for his looks, perfectly coifed hair, bright charming smile, eyes that melt the panties off the ladies in the crowd. And here Eddie is, long hair wild and untamed, just like his personality. His smile is coy, teasing the crowd. He’s boisterous, where Steve is reserved. 

So of course when they get to the Olympic village, they’re paired up. Roommates. Steve can’t help groaning when he walks in and sees black and leather scattered all over one side of the room. He makes it his mission to stay out of their room as much as possible over the course of the competition. He’s being cockblocked by a tragic set of circumstances. At his first Olympics, he was a bit too young to honor the tradition of sleeping his way through the Olympic village, but the next year, he made a name for himself.

Now, he’s frustrated, not just with Eddie stealing the show, but he’s got a lot of pent up emotions he wishes he were taking out on the hottest athletes from around the world. He can’t even focus long enough to convince someone to take him back to their room, mind only on Eddie and the way he looked at podium training. 

Robin, who's on the US soccer team, thinks it’s hilarious, following him around and pointing out all the ways Eddie is better than him. She likes to humble him. When she catches him staring, she has this smug little smirk on her face like she knows that Steve can recognize how talented Eddie is, but won’t admit it. And that’s not the problem at all, he can admit it, he just doesn’t want to. He’s fascinated with the way Eddie stays on his feet, like a cat falling from its perch, he alway seems to land upright, perfectly positioned. His eyes are drawn to his lithe limbs and how strong his forearms look as he’s braced in the air over the parallel bars. 

And maybe Robin picks up on that too, teasing him about how dumb his face looks when Eddie flexes, or how Steve can’t help but stare at the way his shorts ride up when he dismounts an apparatus. It’s not enough that Eddie’s taking his spot, but he’s captured Steve’s attention, as well. He lies awake at night, listening to Eddie’s even breathing, wishing he had the courage to be nicer. But there’s a tone to their relationship now. A reputation built on rivalry. It would be foolish for him to think that Eddie would want to even be friends after the way they’ve circled around each other in these competitions. 

Little does Steve know that Eddie’s been watching him, too. 

Part 2 | AO3

[monstrous-femme]

So You Want to Write Poly Fic: A How-To from Your Favorite Poly Mutual

(i know for many of you I'm your only poly mutual so that works too)

This guide is going to rely heavily on Stranger Things pairings, because that's the fandom I'm currently writing in, but these concepts can apply to any fandom.

Expand your definition of Polyamory

Fandom loves the triad, and if this is what you want to write, there's no reason not to. However, three people all dating each other should not be the only thing you think of when you think of polyamory! Here are some other configurations for your consideration:

Jonathan is dating both Nancy and Argyle, but Nancy and Argyle are not dating each other

Chrissy is dating Robin, but sometimes makes out with Heather at parties.

Eddie, Steve, and Nancy are all dating each other, and Nancy has a separate relationship with Barb.

Steve and Robin have a queerplatonic relationship that they consider their primary partnership, but both date other people in a casual setting.

Chrissy is not ready to be in a relationship after breaking up with Jason, but has casual hookups with multiple people who are aware of and comfortable with the situation.

2. Pay attention to your dyads.

One of the most common mistakes I see in poly fics is trying to superimpose the same way you'd write monogamous pairings onto more people. The problem with this is that in a couple with only two people, you are only writing one relationship. In a poly ship, you're writing more, and probably a higher number than you think of. This is where the dyad comes in.

A dyad simply the relationship between two people. Say you're writing Nancy/Chrissy/Robin (as you should). You're not just writing the one relationship between the three of them. There are also three separate relationships to consider:

Chrissy/Nancy Robin/Chrissy Nancy/Robin

Each of these relationships will have its own dynamic, and just because they're all dating doesn't mean it will all be the same. This is why I often caution newer writers away from writing relationships with tons of characters off the bat. The jump from a triad to a quad moves you from 3 dyads to 6. Now, depending on your POV character, you may not have to focus much on every single dyad, but you do need to be aware of their existence.

3. Metamour Dynamics

A metamour is a person who your partner is dating and you are not dating. Metamour dynamics can be very complicated (but also very fun to play with when writing) because of the feelings that can come up seeing your partner with someone else.

Let's say both Steve and Robin are dating Nancy, but not each other. Are they thrilled to never have to be apart? Do they find it hilarious how much they share one brain? Or do they get sick of never having space away from each other? Does Robin resent that Steve's relationship with Nancy is more recognized by society because of heteronormativity? Does Steve resent that Robin's never had her heart broken by Nancy?

Metamours also may be awkward or choose not to interact. Let's say Nancy's dating both Barb and Eddie now. Do Barb and Eddie form an unlikely friendship? Are they consistently awkward and tense to a point where Nancy doesn't keep them near each other?

There are as many different metamour dynamics as there are people, and giving some life to these relationships will give a lot of texture and realism to your poly fic.

4. Let it be Messy

When we write monogamous pairings, most writers in a longer fic will include things not working out, miscommunication, hurt feelings, jealousy, anger, and angst. But there seems to be an anxiety around allowing any of these things to exist in polyamory, as if by admitting it's not always perfect, we're giving ammunition to polyphobia. (This same pressure is put on poly people in real life to be the Perfect Poly Partner and never experience difficult feelings around polyamory.)

The truth is, relationships are complicated. And while I love seeing poly pairings in fluff and smut, there seems at time to be real resistance to putting poly pairings into genres that are messier.

Mess is a part of life. Mess is especially a part of intimate, vulnerable relationships, and, on a personal note, I need the mess to exist in fiction because stories are how I understand myself. When poly people are allowed to be human, it helps me (and probably other poly people) give myself permission to be human too. You are not hurting the poly community if your characters mess up, especially if it's in real and human ways.

I hope this helps you feel more comfortable and confident writing poly characters! Feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any follow-up questions.

[stobinesque]

@steddie-week day 3: first kiss | 2.1k words | G or T

Steve and Robin were about halfway through a rewatch of Clue when the phone rang, and Steve was across the living room before it was halfway through its second ring. “What’s wrong?” He asked without preamble. His heart was already racing; too anxious to consider the possibility that it could be someone calling for his parents—or even that it might be a non-emergency call. It was past ten already, and most of The Party should have at least been pretending to sleep by then.

“Steve?” The voice on the other end of the line was a bit distant—drowned out by the staticky sound of rain hitting pavement.

“Eddie? Are you alright? Where are you? Did something happen?”

Eddies’ van was out of commission, so he’d been relying on rides from Steve and the rest of the Corroded Coffin crew to get him to and from places for the past few weeks. If he was out somewhere and in trouble, he was stranded there.

“Yeah—I-I mean, no. Nothing—nothing happened. Just—could you come get me?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“I’m out at The Hideout.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten—maybe fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I said I’d be there in ten, Eddie.”

“Okay.” 

Steve hung up the receiver and turned to make for the foyer to find Robin standing behind him—jacket on, back slung over one shoulder, and a pair of his shoes in one hand. “Picking Eddie up?”

“Yeah.” Steve took the shoes from her hands gratefully, and started pulling them on.

“Can you drop me off on the way without slowing yourself down?”

“Yeah, I budgeted Robin home-delivery time just in case.”

“Well, hop to it then, dingus.”

~*~*~*~

When Steve pulled up in front of The Hideout after dropping off a surprisingly acquiescent Robin (Eddie needs you more than I do right now, dingus), it was to find Eddie sitting atop one of the wheel stops of The Hideout’s small lot, looking like a drowned rat. 

Eddie was up and yanking open the door to the beamer before Steve could so much as put it in park, and Steve pulled out of the lot as soon as Eddie had his seat belt buckled across him.

“You okay, mann?”

Eddie shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

“Sorry to interrupt movie night with the missus.”

Steve laughed. “She already forgives you. Provided that you were actually having a crisis and not just faking one as a ploy to get me alone with you.”

That startled a laugh out of Eddie in turn, and he turned in his seat to shoot Steve a mischievous grin. “Now, does that sound like something I would do, sweetheart?”

“According to Robin? Yes.”

“Ah, I see who the brains of the operation is, then.”

“Was that in question?”

“Well—whether or not there was a brain behind you and Robin’s whole deal was a little up in the air.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Silence fell between the two of them, and twenty seconds in Eddie started rooting around in Steve’s glove compartment.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a tape in here that doesn’t suck, man!”

“What are you talking about? We have, like, half the same taste in music!”

“Yeah, but the only thing you keep in your car are mixtapes! And I’m sorry, Steve, but some of the things the kids have made you are—objectively speaking—extremely cursed.”

“You could put in the one Robin made.”

“It’s hilarious that you think there’s only one Robin mixtape in here. But also: I’m not in the mood for Cyndi Lauper.”

“Cyndi Lauper’s not in the mood for you,” Steve snarked under his breath—more because he knew that’s what Robin would say if she was in the car with them than for any other reason. Raising his voice so that Eddie knew it was meant to be heard, he added, “I think there might be one from Jon in there?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Eugh. No thanks. My night’ been shit enough.” He kept rooting around for another minute or two, until— “Aha!” he emerged triumphant, an sparsely labeled tape held aloft in one hand. It looked like one that Steve had made for himself years ago—long before he’d gone knocking on the supernatural’s door. If he was guessing right, it was a mix of Queen, Bowie, and Fleetwood Mac. “How have I never found this one before?” Eddie asked.

“Because in spite of your loud protestations to the contrary, you usually just let whatever music is playing in the car happen to you.”

Eddie gave a considering hum as he stuffed his find into the tape deck. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

The two of them fell silent again as “The Chain” poured from the speakers, and the rest of the ride passed without conversation, the only sounds between them besides the music was the steady beat of rain against the windshield, and Eddie’s fingers drumming along to the beat of the song.

~*~*~*~

Steve killed the engine as he pulled up in front of the Munsons’ trailer. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Eddie said, pulling a strand of hair out to cover his mouth as he did so.

“Yeah—any time, dude.”

Eddie made to get out of the car, but froze in place as he leaned half-in, and half-out. “Could you—wanna come in?” There was a put-upon air of casualness to his tone in a way that made Steve suspect that he was being asked to stay the night. He wasn’t sure why Eddie felt so shy about the request, though—it wasn’t like this would be the first time.

“Oh. Yeah, man. Of course.” All he ever wanted was to be helpful. So Steve took his keys from the ignition, and trailed after Eddie as he led them both inside.

Eddie started peeling out of his soaked clothes before the front door had finished closing behind them, and made a beeline for his bedroom so he could pull on a pair of boxers and a bleach-stained t-shirt, before flopping down onto his bed. Steve followed after him, toeing his shoes off inside the door, and crawling into bed beside Eddie once he was finished changing.

"Wanna talk about it now?" he asked, as Eddie tucked himself up against his side.

Eddie shrugged. He took one of Steve's hands into both of his own and started idly playing with his fingers. "Bad date."

"Oh yeah? People aren't going mad over a metalhead who was only recently cleared of all murder charges?"

Eddie shoved at him. "Low blow, Harrington."

Steve stole his hand back to hold both of them up in surrender. "Sorry, man."

Eddie yanked Steve's hand back and held it covetously in both of his own, and Steve reached down with his own free one to tangle it into Eddie's wild mane of curls, which were still damp from the rain. "Whatever, dude. It wasn't that. He just…he was just kind of an asshole.” Eddie shrugged again, sounding a little resigned. “The regular kind."

Steve was silent, but ruffled his hand through Eddie's hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

"I just…I don't know. I don't know why I even bother trying to go out on dates at this point.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's like…I don't know. Just feels like I'm chasing after something I'm never gonna find."

"I get that," Steve said, tone soft and understanding.

"Really? Figured you'd have people falling all over you."

Steve snorted. "I don't think I've gone on a date since I went to the championship game with Heidi back in March."

Eddie jerked a little in Steve’s grip. "Why not?" He sounded…genuinely very confused.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, I just…haven’t really felt like it. Honestly, I’d already felt like I was circling the drain back at that point.”

“...Huh.”

They both went quiet, Steve still running one hand through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie still tangled his fingers through those of Steve’s other hand. 

“So, how do you…?” Steve trailed off with a frown, unsure of how or whether he should finish his question.

“How do I…?”

“How do you, y’know, find guys? To go out with? Who you aren’t scared of knocking your lights out, that is.”

Eddie shifted in Steve’s arms to get a better look at him. “Wait, wait. Have you not been on a date with another guy yet, Harrington?”

“No…?”

“Then how did you—?”

“How did I, what?” Steve felt a little on edge; a little on the defensive. Like there was some unseen standard he wasn’t living up to.

“How’d you figure out you were into them, then?” Eddie sounded a little bewildered. A lot incredulous. “Figured you were the victim of a drunken make-out discovery or something.”

Steve laughed, because that did sound like him, but— “Nope. Never been kissed.” He tilted his head toward Eddie with a little smirk. “By a guy, that is.”

Eddie propped himself up on one arm and stared at Steve like he was a puzzle to be solved, and there was a glint in his eye that made the hair along the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. “D’you wanna be?”

Steve’s heart skipped a bit, and his hand stilled in Eddie’s hair. “Uh…what do you mean?”

“Do you wanna be kissed? By a guy?”

Steve laughed, feeling awkward. “Are you offering?”

Eddie shrugged, just a touch too casual. “Sure, why not?”

“I don’t know. Wouldn't it be weird?”

“Doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it weird, man.”

Steve turned that over. It’s not like he and Eddie didn’t already spend most of the time they spent alone together tangled up in one another. There was a quasi-romantic edge to their friendship that Steve wasn’t really used to—well. Except for with Robin. But that was different, for obvious reasons. And, granted, the dynamic between him and Tommy had been…intense, but it still hadn’t felt like this. 

Regardless—kissing Eddie wouldn’t change anything about their friendship if they didn’t want it to. “I guess you’re right.”

Eddie half-turned in Steve’s arms. “Yeah?”

Steve repositioned himself so that they were facing each other, hitching one shoulder up in a nonchalant little shrug. “Sure, why not?” he parroted back.

Eddie smiled, and it made his whole face go soft and gentle in a way that had Steve’s stomach twisting up in knots. Oh, he’s beautiful.

Eddie reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear, and then let his hand drift along the line of Steve’s jaw until he was gently gripping his chin between two fingers. Steve’s lips parted in anticipation, and the two of them breathed into the silent space they’d created between them. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

It didn’t make any sense though. It wasn’t like it was his real first kiss. And he’d known he was attracted to men for ages, even if he’d never acted on it. It wasn’t even exactly news to him that he found Eddie attractive. But…none of their interactions had been this charged before.

Eddie closed the space between them, and pressed a gentle, but firm kiss to Steve’s lips, grinding the trajectory of Steve’s thoughts to a halt. It was a simple kiss. And it could have remained like that—soft, sweet, and almost chaste—except that Steve couldn’t hold back a sharp gasp in response, as his breath hitched in his throat. 

He should pull back. He knew he should pull back—but he’d always been greedy, and Eddie was making no move to put any distance between the two of them either. So Steve surged forward, capturing Eddie’s lips into a more passionate kiss, and savoring the small whine it elicited. Eddie gave as good as he got, winding an arm around Steve’s waist, and slotting a thigh between both of Steve’s legs with a force that startled a little “Mmpf!” from him. 

All in all, the kiss probably lasted little more than a few moments. But for all Steve knew, whole civilizations could have risen and fallen in that soft, gray space of time he and Eddie had their lips pressed together. 

He wasn’t sure who finally broke away, but once they did, both of their breaths came short and heavy.

“That was…really good?” Steve said, a high-pitched note of giddiness and wonder in his tone. 

Eddie smiled with cheshire-style grin, eyelids heavy and low. “Yeah? Wanna make it even better?”

Steve smiled right back. “I think I might.”

[sailing-through-hawkins]

saw this post and it reminded me of a snippet I wrote for a crack-ish Kas!Eddie AU idea i had a while ago ft. nobody knowing Steve has demobat venom in him that tells other democreatures he's a friend:

Imagine Eddie coming back as an undead vampiric bat person thing and he's all "oh how you left me behind" and shit and he's surrounded by demodogs and demobats and they're poised ready to strike at his command and -

"Eddie?" Dustin whispers like his heart's been broken. Steve's grip on the nail-bat (he still refuses to give it a name because it's not a person, Robin) falters but he steels himself - the kid is gonna be vulnerable, now more than ever and he's gotta keep him safe.

"Oh Henderson." The thing wearing Eddie's face grins the same way Eddie grinned, with a promise of chaos at his fingertips. "Not anymore."

So Eddie sets the democreatures to attack and Steve shoves Dustin behind him while he tries to fight them off but they overpower him until he's on the floor except -

The scratches and bites aren't happening. He's just - drowning in slobber? And very weird bits of flesh just, like weirdly pushing at him oh god, this is so weird. Steve squints one eye open and sees all the gross creatures nuzzling at his arms and chest like they're just innocent mutant hellbeasts who didn't mean to break the vase.

"Wh - I said attack, dipshits!" Kas yells out and that seems to just...make them nuzzle harder? Steve doesn't know, okay, he's been through a lot and he's just tired. So tired that he doesn't even register how one of the demodogs bumps his hand up onto its closed head (a phrase Steve doesn't and will never fucking like) or the fact that he just...pets it like it seems to ask. The other beasts apparently all really like that and run over each other trying to get under his hands.

"S-Steve?"

"What's up Henderson?" Steve tries not to laugh as one of the littler creatures topples upside down after it tried climbing his leg. He sets it right side up and gives it a big long pet along its back, holding back his shiver at the slimy skin. "Y'know when they're not trying to eat you, these things aren't half-bad."

"You always manage to fuck things up, huh Harrington?" Suddenly Kas is right in front of him, pushing him back onto the ground harshly with a hand on his throat. Steve idly wonders if the guy has a thing for necks. Maybe Steve just has a very targetable one? "You ruin everything, don't you?"

He then wonders if it's the high from not being ripped apart coupled with the excess adrenaline in his veins. There should definitely be a stinging in his chest from the words but he's just...god, he's just so tired right now. The other creatures are making weird, pitiful noises around the two of them.

"There there," Steve chokes out, raising a head to pet at Kas' very angry head. The vicious eyes go blank. "You just needed some attention, huh?"

Steve thinks he hears Dustin spluttering somewhere but his vision is already blacking out. Shit, he's supposed to take care of Dustin. Nope, no time to black out now. The hands, kinda claws really, around his neck loosen and Steve blinks the big splots of darkness out of his head just to open his eyes to Kas or Eddie or whatever staring at him with like...it's kind of what Steve thinks he looks like when Dustin tries explaining his latest strategy for a campaign. Incomprehension? But funnier because Eddie doesn't look like he's trying to understand, he looks like his head is just totally empty, no thoughts. Scratch that, this is hilarious.

"Doing alright, Munson?" Steve coughs out, his voice wrangled from the...wrangling. He continues to pet the hulking figure above him, moving his hand behind Eddie's ear. "Am I getting the right spot?"

The blankness in Eddie's face turns into a bright purplish blush (that means he's still got blood in him, right? or is it some kind of Vecna juice? Ew gross, no, don't think about that) and he scutters back away from Steve, who's once again surrounded by the various monsters as they yip or whatever the fuck sound monsters make. He finally manages to sit back up, no thanks to Henderson, the little shit just watching the whole thing in a corner with a fucking notepad are you kidding me -

"D-don't come any closer!" Eddie holds a hand out as Steve gets himself on two feet, his back against the wall like Steve's the one who was strangling him, oh fuck you Munson. "I have - I'll bring a parade of pain on you, Harrington, I swear it!"

Steve snorts as he pets one of the demodogs, hoping to god it doesn't eat his hand. "Yeah, okay, Kas, sure. You wanna do that now or after you give these guys a bath?"

And Eddie is basically half-angry because NO HE IS KAS HE IS A GENERAL HE WILL BRING HELL UPON YOU ALL, half-smitten because omg hiiii stevie wow do you feel a connection right now because i definitely do i think this is like fate or something

[scoops-aboy86]

Obsessed with the idea of working at scoops ahoy causing Steve’s weight gain. Maybe Eddie comes into the store at some point

Oh hell yeah, it’s such a goldmine of opportunities. 

Does Steve start snacking on purpose or does it creep up on him over time, during the slow hours when the only so-called customers are Erica Sinclair and her sampling horde? Is it the cold, thick ice cream that calls to him? Nibbles of toppings? The crunch of an empty cone that broke in the bag and it’s just going to go to waste otherwise? I think we all know he’d eat the bananas, they’re fruit and therefore healthy and therefore he can have as many as he wants. 

Or… (Brace yourself for 4067 words, 1k for every day this sat in my inbox. 😅)

Eddie has resorted to entering the mall for its air conditioning, and stays for the music selection in the Sam Goody. He’s about to leave when he passes Scoops Ahoy, and—is that King Steve? Oh, he has to go in. 

The store is otherwise quiet, and Steve’s coworker that Eddie vaguely recognizes from school is hanging out the window behind the counter, accepting a free employee’s cone that Steve has just scooped for her. “I can’t believe you eat so much of this stuff,” Steve is saying, and Eddie is surprised to hear a lot more genuine confusion than derision in his tone. 

“It’s ice cream, Steven,” the girl retorts, rolling her eyes. “Pretty sure it’s universally beloved by anyone who can stomach dairy or has ever experienced a heat wave.”

“It’s pure sugar,” Steve protests. “You’re going to get hyper and crash in an hour or two, and then you’ll be cranky while we’re closing up again.”

“That’s the plan, dingus,” she says with bright sarcasm, and takes an exaggerated lick of her cone before rocking backwards and snapping the window shut. 

And well. What is Eddie to do with King Steve’s apparent disdain for ice cream but dare him to eat some? He’ll let Steve pick his own favorite flavor, he’s not an animal, but— “Well well, I see how it is, Harrington. You’ll sell it but you won’t eat it? I’m pretty sure that’s negative advertising. Should I maybe… tell the manager?”

Steve whips around, and puts his hands on his hips that reminds Eddie terrifyingly of his gym teacher… who, now that he thinks about it, also coaches the basketball team, he’s pretty sure. Hilarious. 

“The manager isn’t even here today,” Steve snaps. 

“Oh, I could come back,” Eddie says with a smirk, and leans against the glass case to look him dead in the eye. “Whatcha got against the ice cream here, huh? Is it not very good?”

The jock pinches the bridge of his nose, another look he swears he’s seen in response to his forced attempts at sportsball over the past five years. “Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters, and pulls his ice cream scoop from his side holster with a little spin to get it in the ready position—what the hell, people can actually do shit like that in real life? “Please tell me you’ll go away if I give you a free cone.”

“I’ll go away if you eat a free cone,” Eddie shoots back. 

“Fine. Whatever.” Steve slides one of the back panels on the display case open and digs a scoop out of the tub of chocolate ice cream, grabbing a cone to plop it into. 

“Two scoops,” Eddie prods, amazed that it’s turning out this easy and amazed again when Steve just rolls his eyes and does it. “And I’ll hang around for a bit to make sure you don’t cheat.”

“Munson, I swear to god—”

Eddie flutters his eyelashes and slaps a hand to his own cheek. “Oh heavens,” he exclaims in a bad falsetto, “King Steve remembers my name, I might faint!”

Watching Steve bite and try to swallow as much of his reluctant treat as possible to get it done and Eddie gone faster is a spectacle only made better by the brain freeze visibly hitting Steve a second later. 

The next day Eddie goes back and half annoys, half challenges Steve into eating another ice cream treat. Robin, the coworker, thinks it’s hysterical and even helps him badger Steve into doing it. She gives Eddie a high five and, the following day when he comes back and does it again, introduces him to the You Rule You Suck board. She marks another two ticks in the latter column, one for each scoop. 

It’s six days of this in a row before Steve seems to realize how committed Eddie is to the bit. As soon as Eddie comes into the ice cream parlor on the seventh day, Steve just starts automatically preparing himself a two scoop cone of chocolate ice cream while scowling at him. 

So, on that seventh day, Eddie gives it a rest and actually orders something for once: a scoop of orange berry sherbet in a cup. Robin gets it for him and he accepts it with a bow, letting his change slide into the tip jar for the entertainment. “Thanks,” he says with a grin. “Don’t like ice cream much myself, but sherbet always hits the spot.”

Steve crunches loudly on the last of his cone and pushes his way into the back room to sulk his way through his fifteen minute break. 

And Eddie keeps coming back, because he’s grown to appreciate Steve and Robin’s idle banter in between customers—though his official reason is to mooch off the mall’s AC. Steve treats him more like a pest than a freak, which is. Refreshing? It’s something, anyway, Eddie thinks. Can’t quite decide if it’s amusing or annoying, so he sticks around to find out. And to check out the royal ass in those little shorts, thank you corporate America. 

Within a few weeks, Eddie has gotten used to planning his campaigns in a cool and only slightly sticky environment on a daily basis and also witnessed Steve interacting with his brood of young teens. (The hands on hips comes out again. Pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh keeps making repeat appearances. Threats with no actual weight behind them are made. Eddie isn’t quite sure how he feels about Steve reacting to him the same way he does a bratty gaggle of incoming freshmen, but it is also so funny to watch and then needle him about with Robin.) And Steve has started eating ice cream of his own accord. 

“Whatever,” Steve grumbles when rudely confronted by this fact, which happens every other day or so; Eddie and Robin take turns. He adds a third scoop to his cone without even seeming to think about it. “Everybody loves ice cream.”

Gradually, Eddie’s interest in Steve has shifted. He still gives the guy a hard time, all grins and theatrics and toeing the line, but the King—former King, really, since high school, for Steve, is over and Eddie and Robin have both personally witnessed some of his spectacular flops in the flirting department that really drive that fact home—is actually not that bad. A lot of the popular jock swagger is gone, replaced by tolerant exasperation and a sarcastic, delightfully bitchy streak that Eddie just loves to poke at. 

But more than just that, there’s… more of Steve. The ice cream floodgates have opened, and Eddie has definitely noticed the way Steve’s little sailor shorts showcase his imminently grabbable ass better by the day. Every part of Steve is looking a little softer, Eddie can tell through his shirt that he’s getting a little belly, and there is nothing the metalhead wants more than to touch. 

It’s becoming a problem, actually. He watches Steve lick at an ice cream cone every day and, increasingly, the image is burning itself into his brain. Eddie didn’t ask for this, doesn’t necessarily think getting so attached is a good development, for his reputation or his sanity, but that doesn’t stop him from picturing it at night. 

So sue him, Steve is pretty and Eddie is a young gay man with a healthy sex drive and a strong right hand. And it gets a workout aaaaaall summer.

By the end of August, they’re actually kind of friends. Steve is locking up Scoops after a long, grueling solo shift because Robin had called out with a summer cold. Eddie helps, because yeah he’s not an employee but he’s been hanging around long enough to know how to do it all, and Steve… Steve gets a bit winded these days, if he has to do it all by himself. 

It had taken him a while to size up from his first uniform, belly and more than a few stretch marks peeking a little out the bottom before finally giving in and putting in the request. By the time the replacement finally arrived the blue sailor shirt kept riding up by a good fraction of an inch, and Eddie’s cue to realize he was staring again had come every time Steve tried to pull it back down, or hike up his straining shorts in an unsuccessful attempt to split the difference… So, basically, any time Steve wasn’t behind the counter, because it happened constantly. And then he’d be staring again by the time it happened again a few minutes later. Probably would have been less stressful to just keep looking. 

Even with the resized uniform, and the next, Steve kept eating ice cream without any sign of regrets or second thoughts. He was up to three or four cones a shift now, one right after clocking in and the rest timed to just before predictable busy hours so he could ride the sugar high through the turbulent waters of food court customer service. Three scoop minimum, with a constantly revolving selection of toppings and more often than not in one of the big cones that came pre-dipped in chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. 

But always chocolate ice cream, though, same as Eddie always getting his scoop of sherbet in a cup. 

“No accounting for taste,” Eddie sighs as Steve hands him his usual as a thank you for helping and starts scooping himself an all chocolate ice cream banana split. 

“Excuse you, Munson, chocolate is a classic,” Steve retorts, barely glancing up. “It’s chocolate. Everybody’s heard of it. Who’s heard of orange berry sherbet?”

“You literally sell it for a living.”

“Mostly only to you.” Ice cream acquired, Steve turns to the side counter and starts adding whipped cream and various toppings. “I mean, regular orange sherbet was my grandad’s favorite. You, Eddie Munson, have grandpa taste.”

Eddie slaps one hand over his heart, while the other (the one with more rings) clacks dramatically against the display glass. “Excuse you, what about me says grandpa to you? Is it the long, dark hair? My dexterous and nimble musician’s fingers? The very youthful twinkle in my eye?!”

“I literally just told you it’s your taste in ice cream,” Steve replies, with maraschino cherries rounding out his already round cheek and a bitchy roll of his eyes. 

Despite being annoyed, the sight swamps Eddie with a now familiar feeling of wanting to grab Steve by the face and, just. Aggressively make out with him. Taste that sticky red fruit on his tongue. Feel how soft he is, all that extra padding around his middle, how increasingly heavy that belly rests on his thighs throughout the journey from empty to full. 

All of which is crazy, because it’s Steve Harrington, Hawkin High’s golden boy athlete. And yet. 

Since the tables have all been wiped down already, Steve waves for Eddie to follow him into the employees only area. He’s been back there before but tonight he’s surprised to see several tubs of ice cream crowding the break table. “Oh. I thought you tossed the empty tubs out earlier…”

“They’re not empty,” Steve says simply, settling into the nearest chair with a huff like it’s a relief to sit down. Which Eddie can believe, from the way he’s a little bit flushed. And then, then, Steve hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and tugs them down to let his belly out over the top of them, digs a hand in to dig the bottom of it out. Breathing room. And it’s necessary, is the thing, because there are indented red lines on his skin from where the seams have been pressing. Eddie is staring, and he knows that Steve knows—is pretty sure, suddenly, that Steve wants him to. When his eyes flick up to the other boy’s soft face and the smug little smile there, Steve winks and gives his belly a pat. “I'm empty, though. These should be melted enough for you to pour for me by now. You want to, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Eddie says. Simultaneously, his throat has gone desert-dry and his mouth fills with spit. He has never wanted to bite someone more than he does right now. “Yeah?”

The grin widens cockily, and Steve slouches in his chair a bit, spreading his legs and letting his belly drop between them to put himself even more on display. “I knew it,” he crows, digging a spoon into his banana split to load up the opening salvo. “I knew you were watching me. It’s the shorts, right? They make my ass look great.”

And wow, the sheer amount of ice cream and banana he crams in his mouth belies his own words, hazel eyes flashing as if challenging Eddie not to look at his lips with their sheen of lip gloss and melted ice cream, the way he licks the spoon to make sure he’s gotten every last trace of chocolate and whipped cream. Telegraphing, I know it’s not just the shorts.

Eddie swallows hard and tries not to grind his teeth because, yeah. Urge to bite. “I’m, uh, not going to tell you. Wouldn’t want to inflate your big head any more… Not when your eyes are already that much bigger than your stomach.” He waves vaguely at the tubs on the table. “These are three gallon tubs, man. Even mostly empty, there must be at least a gallon of melted ice cream here, on top of everything you’ve put away today.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Steve scoffs. The second spoonful is already passing his plush lips before Eddie can reply, eyes glued to the way they pucker around the metal as he draws it out slowly, once again clean. There’s a single dribble of chocolate running down his chin, though, reaching and dripping from the suggestion of a second one onto the front of his sailor shirt… the shirt that will have to be sized up again soon, a testament to just how big Steve’s stomach really is.

“Wait,” he sputters, brain catching up to Steve’s words, “wouldn’t be… What?”

So Steve explains that, after Eddie had first goaded him into eating ice cream at work, it had truly hit him for the first time how much ice cream Scoops Ahoy’s company policy had them throwing out at the end of each day. He’d started with just finishing off the scraps of chocolate left at the bottom of a mostly empty tub on one of the maybe once a month occasions he got stuck closing up alone. The next time there hadn’t been any almost-done chocolate slated for the dumpster out back, so instead he’d stirred chocolate sauce into the softening Cookies N Cream until it better suited his taste buds. 

And he’d liked it. The ice cream itself, of course, but also the tight, intense feeling in his stomach that came with being overly full. 

So, since he didn’t close up solo very often, he’d started sneaking a tub or two out to his car when he could get away with it. The contents would always melt before he got home, and since he didn’t have unlimited chocolate sauce on hand there…

“...I’ve ended up expanding my horizons.” Steve winks. “Among other things. There’s something really freeing about getting all sticky on your own kitchen floor, you know?”

Eddie is still standing, holding his cup of sherbet and mouth dropped open while he processes this. Of course he’d known that Steve had to be aware, on some level, of what he was doing to himself… but this is so closely aligned with his own secret fantasies that he can’t help but suspect it’s some sort of trick. An elaborate trap designed to definitively out him as a freak. He narrows his eyes, then stalks forward to further investigate the tubs, trying to ignore the hard-on forming in his jeans. There’s Vanilla Chip, USS Butterscotch, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Cinnabon Swirl, and something he thinks might be Cherries Jubilee with most of the cherry parts already scooped out. 

“You don’t like any of these flavors,” he accuses, crossing his arms and leveling a stare at Steve, trying really hard to convey more skepticism than lust. “You hate anything but chocolate, even if it’s something else and chocolate. I actively judge you for it on a daily basis.”

Steve shrugs. “Drinking it is different from eating it.”

Which, okay, makes some sense, Eddie supposes, but that makes no sense. Neither does the concept of Steve Harrington chugging ice cream straight from the tub on the floor of his fancy rich boy kitchen, smeared in chocolate like a pig rolled in mud, maybe with his uniform stripped off the second he got home because it was getting too tight, or because he wanted to watch himself expand with each greedy gulp—

Eddie takes a deep breath and gets ahold of himself before he resorts to jamming his hand down his pants and… getting ahold of himself. He just has one more question, and if that checks out then he’s going for it. “How much weight have you gained since you took this job, Steve?”

Steve gives him an exact answer, down to one decimal point and Eddie is already stalking forward, putting his forgotten, melting cup of sherbet down and grabbing the nearest tub.

It pours nice and smooth over Steve’s lips, down his throat, and into a bottomless pit apparently from the way he never signals to pause or slow down. He just keeps gulping it down, moaning when the chocolate from the Vanilla Chip avalanche down from where it was all piled at the bottom into his mouth. When it’s cookie dough pieces that takes him a little longer to get through, and he returns to bites of his banana split between mouthfuls. Streaks of pale cream line his neck, beading in the chest hair just barely peeking out the top of his shirt like he’s begun sweating cream, and while chugging he increasingly often has a free hand rubbing tight circles over his stomach. 

He breaks away from the rim of the last tub with a gasp. The last thick dribbles of USS Butterscotch splatters on his cheek from Eddie’s attempt to shake whatever’s left out. “So full,” he slurs, looking up at Eddie from beneath heavy eyelids. 

And then he pushes past it, ignores whatever signals his stuffed gut is trying to send him, all his attention rerouted into sluggishly cramming the last of the banana split in his mouth. 

Eddie drops the empty tub to the floor and lurches forward to lick sloppily at the other boy's cheek, at his chin, at his neck. A ringed hand brushes over the swollen belly between them, only for Steve to grab on and guide him to press harder, explore his waist and love handles. Then they’re kissing, both of their faces sticky with sugar and dairy, and Steve tastes like the inside of a honey pot, he’s so sweet. 

It’s not just the way he tastes. Steve’s pupils are blown, reactions slow as he kisses back lazily but with a happy hum. Eddie wonders if he would even be able to get up right now, with so much inside him. 

“Can’t believe you,” Eddie marvels, nipping at slick lips. “Can’t believe you like this—” he gets his fingers up Steve’s shirt and drags it up to knead at the padded suggestion of ribs, at softened, hairy pecs that are just as sensitive as Eddie had dreamed, from the whine he gets from just a testing squeeze “—so fucking much, but you do, don’t you sweetheart?” 

He drops his touch down to the straining arch of Steve’s belly and feels the underside of it, lifting a little, testing; even being careful, he jars a string of breathy hiccups loose. “Edd—hic—ieee,” Steve whines, trying to squirm, trying to press into his touch, but can barely manage anything before he has to stop and catch his breath. “‘M so…”

“Is that why you’re such a brat all the time, Steve, because you’re hungry?” Eddie coos. He leans in to kiss him again, then drops to his knees. “All I have to do to make you docile is fill you up. Takes a while, but.” He slaps the plump roll spilling over the side of Steve’s shorts, surprising a burp followed by a groan out of him this time. “Well worth the wait, big boy.”

At which Steve giggles, and mumbles something that sounds like an echo of ‘wait,’ but Eddie’s not sure of the spelling. 

“If you’ll pardon the pun,” he adds dryly, and grins when that gets him another giggle. “Well spotted, Stevie.”

And then, because Eddie figures that he has been admirably patient up to this point, wriggles his way into the blue sailor shorts straining before him for his treat. With Steve’s ragged moans of yes and fuck and Eds ringing in his ears right up until Steve’s thick thighs clamp around his head in the ecstasy of orgasm, and it’s worth it. 

The wet stain seeping through the front of Eddie’s jeans proves it. 

He helps a very dazed, very sated Steve clean up after—though, honestly, Eddie does almost all the work. (Steve slurps down his little cup of melted sherbet no problem though, smiling serenely as Eddie gives his still exposed belly an approving slap.)

“You okay to drive home, man?”

Steve hums, then yawns—giving himself a third chin for a second there. “‘M not sure if I’m good to stand up,” he admits. “‘Sfine, I can sleep here…”

Eddie rolls his eyes and grabs both the other boy’s hands. “Oh no you don’t. If you stay, some security guard is going to find you here looking like a stowaway on the Good Ship Lollipop, and we can’t have that. I’ll give you a ride, come on—up on three. One, two… two and a half…”

Fifteen minutes later he hustles a slow-moving Steve into the back of his van, where the guy can at least lay down and stretch out while his body attempts to digest. And Eddie wonders—is this what he’s become? Spending his entire summer at the mall palling around with the former King of Hawkins High, filling said dude full as a tick exactly once and getting them both off in the process, and then driving him home like a nice boy at the end of a respectable date? 

No one has called Eddie a nice boy since approximately kindergarten, and respectable probably never. But he glances over his shoulder to see his stuffed and sleepy sailor boy cuddled up under the blanket he keeps back there in case of emergencies, knows that beneath it Steve is still spilling out of his shorts because once undone they’d been impossible to zip and button up again, and feels… something at the look of utter contentment on his face. Something that’s been growing in him for a while, if he’s being honest with himself, intertwined with every sardonic comment and light ribbing at Steve’s expense. And Steve always gives as good as he gets—except tonight, when he’d just let Eddie take and take, letting go completely. They could be good together, Eddie thinks; especially since what they each want seems to mesh so well.

Steve has already been wearing the results of this particular brand of hedonism for months now, so maybe he won’t even regret it come morning. 

Maybe if Eddie leaves his number after getting Steve home (probably only as far as the couch, for simplicity’s sake), Steve will call. 

They can hang out somewhere outside of Scoops Ahoy, maybe even call it a date. Maybe Steve will let Eddie feed him sweet nothings under the stars and smile that sweet little smile at him again when he gets full, all happiness and trust. It’s a heady prospect, one that knocks Eddie’s dumb heart for a loop just considering it. 

He ends up parking in the woods just a short walk from Steve’s house and crawling in the back of the van with him. One quick change into an emergency pair of clean boxers (he keeps a lot of stuff back there in case of emergencies, okay?) and he makes himself comfortable as the big spoon to Steve’s invitingly cuddly form. 

And wonders, as he dozes off, what they’ll do for breakfast. 

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