#↳ steve threads

[tubesock86]

an ode to matching heart patches

#hey don’t judge me for how I drew the needles and thread ITS TOO LATE #anyway #I’ve been thinking about drawing this piece for a while #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanart #my art! #steddie #tubesock86

[loserharrington]

steve and argyle as a duo would be so…. argyle would never be outright rude to someone but he would be LOUDLY passive aggressive and steve has no problem telling someone to their face that he’d kill himself to get them to stop talking. it’s like good cop bad cop except they’re both bad cop

#when he met mike at the airport… #talking about his shirt: ​“oh no it’s a shitty knock off. don’t sweat it man we’ll get your the good threads out here!’ #JUST CALL HIM BROKE WHY DONT YOU #steve sighs loudly when customers at family video talk to him too much so they leave him alone #stranger things #argyle #argyle stranger things #stargyle #steve harrington #stranger things 4

[livwritesstuff]

Middle-aged Steve, Eddie, Robin, and Nancy definitely have a group chat once Apple introduces it. They actually love it because it makes it way easier to stay in touch while Robin and Nancy travel.

Steve and Eddie's three daughters are usually the main topic of conversation.

As is the case one morning in October 2013:

Steve: Which one of you got my children to call froot loops gay cheerios

His text is accompanied by a video taken in their kitchen that starts with Steve, behind the camera, asking, “Wait - what did you guys want for breakfast?”. Robbie and Hazel giggle from their seats at the counter as they respond, “Gay cheerios, please,“ and “yeah, gay cheerios.”

Steve's long sigh is cut off when the video ends.

Nancy: Not me.

Steve: I know

Eddie: definitely not me

Eddie: Apple Jacks are way gayer than froot loops

Robin: ???

Robin: in what world are Apple Jacks gayer than Froot Loops?

Steve: Okay so it was Robin

Steve: Great work team

#Nancy definitely sticks to formal grammar structure even when she texts #punctuation and all #we love her #the thread devolves into ranking cereals by perceived homosexuality #fruity pebbles wins #steddie #ronance #steddie dads #liv’s steddie dads verse #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler

[hannibaldjarin]

Before the Upside Down, Steve Harrington could sleep like the dead. Once he laid his head on the checkered pattern pillow, Steve would be oblivious to anything happening in the world around him as he found solace in his dreams.

Steve would never admit it to Tommy H or Carol, but his dreams were his only safe place. In Steve's dream world, he wasn't the son to absent parents or the perfect King Steve; he was whatever version of himself that would've never been allowed around the Harringtons or the population at Hawkins High. Steve was comforted by the anonymity that was created as he slept till an alarm or the sunlight peeking through his curtains woke him.

Before the Upside Down, Eddie Munson would laugh as he told the rest of Corroded Coffin about how much he slept during the weekend. But, groan when Uncle Wayne stomped into his bedroom at 4pm wondering, "Boy, since when did you become a vampire?"

Basically, Eddie found it hilarious that he could sleep 16 hours a day and still go to bed at 9pm every night. One thing about Eddie Munson before that fated afternoon with Chrissy Cunningham, he could sleep like a corpse and never worry about sleep avoiding his clutches. Because as Uncle Wayne or a member of Corroded Coffin could tell anyone, Eddie loved to sleep and would theoretically kill anyone who tried to disrupt his slumber.

After the Upside Down, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington found solace in one another as they struggled to remember who they were before circumstances led them to emotional, mental, and physical scars. Steve could no longer find comfort in his dream world as it replayed his most traumatizing moments from the last couple of years. Eddie could no longer sleep like the dead since he actually knew what it felt like to lay limp and face death.

Eddie and Steve stare into one another's eyes as they share a pillow in Steve's massive bed. Eddie whispers to Steve about how envious he is of his past self as he dramatically recounts Uncle Wayne's stomps or Corroded Coffin's scoffs. As Eddie spoke, Steve wonders if Eddie could be trusted with his deepest secrets about who he wishes he could be.

As Eddie's giggles fade into the dark of the night, Steve clears in throat and begins to tell Eddie about the lack of safety he has felt since turning 12 and being handed bundles of money that were to be budgeted until his parents came back home from whatever business trip Jonathan Harrington needed to attend. Steve mumbles about Tommy and Carol, or anyone else, never being able to fill the hollow space that was this mausoleum of a house until Dustin Henderson hijacked Nancy's roses and forced Steve to go on a wild demo dog chase. With a smile that actually reaches Steve's eyes, he tells Eddie how he finally knew what a mutual love felt like when Robin refused to get a new job without Steve.

Eddie desperately wants to read between the lines and believe himself to be someone who brought something into Steve's life. The begging words he sends up to whatever universal force doesn't want to continue fucking his life are interrupted as Steve looks Eddie in the eyes and admits, "Eddie Munson, you brought light and noise into my life."

Steve Harrington never understood how significant it was to feel the sun on his skin until Eddie woke up from his coma after his encounter with the bats, and begged for the blinds in his hospital room to be opened. Eddie's smile changed as he adjusted to the new scars on his skin, but Steve has never seen something so beautiful in his life.

Steve flinched in noisy environments when he remembers how angry his father would get if Steve existed too loudly. But, since Eddie took Steve to the middle of nowhere and convinced him to just scream, Steve has found himself seeking out music that taught him to release his emotions instead of pushing them further and further down.

Steve Harrington finally found safety in the real world when Eddie Munson whispers, "Stevie, please let me kiss you."

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steddie au #steve x eddie #steddie blurb #steddie thread #steddie writing prompt #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and eddie #platonic stobin #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #stobin friendship #codependent stobin #wayne munson #steddie writing #steddie fic rec #steddie hcs #steddie headcanon #steddie hurt/comfort #pre canon #pre relationship #this has been brewing in my brain for WEEEEEEKS

[flowercrowngods]

based on an idea i had about steve getting a bad migraine from the sudden bloodloss after kas feeds from him

post-canon, steddie don't like each other, hermit kas, depressed brain injury steve, kinda gloomy, anxiety & compulsions

Steve cuts the engine with a sigh, feeling heavy and alien, like a lone survivor in a ghost town. He’s not a lone survivor, and Hawkins isn’t technically a ghost town because there’s still enough of them here to build it back up or to watch it crumble and cave in on itself, front row seats to the fourth wave of destruction. 

Maybe the real ghost is Steve, actually, floating through his days just waiting for his brain to decide it’s had enough. Just waiting for the perpetual ringing in his ears to rise in pitch and frequency and for his skull to fucking crack open from the never ending waves of the never ending buzz.

Robin asks him about it a lot, notices how he will stop and listen to his body on every inhale that feels slightly wrong, or every movement that’s just a little too fast or just a little too sudden, the blood rushing into his head or out of it, the doctor’s words ringing in tune with the tinnitus: You watch that head of yours, young man, and do not hesitate to call emergency services when the headache won’t stop after a few hours, or when anything feels off, you hear me? 

The truth is, he barely heard him then. Blood was roaring in his ears, the tinnitus still quiet, but his hearing still dull from impact and screams and shock wave after shock wave of the world sewing itself back together. 

He sighs again, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel and trying to catch his breath. Taking stock of his head, the heartbeat he can only feel in his hands right now and nowhere near his temples, and the quiet little tap tap tap of his finger nails hitting the leather, wanting to make sure he can hear it. Wanting to make sure he doesn’t imagine the sound. 

Always fucking needing to make sure. 

Soon, he breathes a little steadier, convincing himself that getting out of the car won’t be the last thing he’ll ever do. It’s so stupid, too, that fear, all that anxiety living inside him just waiting to boil and spill over until he does something stupid just to spite it.

The cool breeze hits his face, working in tandem with his calming breaths to alleviate his obsessive thought spirals, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does nothing but breathe for a minute there. 

He’s up. He’s standing. He can walk through the forest to the vamp’s hiding place, it’s fine. It’s fine. Although standing so suddenly makes him aware that he hasn’t eaten much today, too busy hating everything about this town and helping to rebuild it anyway. 

Forgetting to eat and drink is another thing that’s new to him. There’s quite a few things he forgets a lot, but those are the worst. Robin is always on his ass about that, but at some point he stopped telling her. It feels like he’s stopped telling her a lot of things. Maybe that’s something else that comes with severe brain injury, young man. 

He feels plenty guilty about it at least — but not enough to tell her about all the horrible things that are happening to him, or the horrible things he thinks are happening to him. The Upside Down is gone, Vecna is dead. These bad thoughts, they’re all him. But knowing that doesn’t fucking help.

Pushing away from the car and turning around to lock it, Steve decides to wallow in self pity no longer and to just get on with it. As much as he hates it. As much as part of him wants to just go home and claim that he forgot about that, too. 

It’s no secret that Steve never liked Eddie. The boy’s a hypocrite, he’s loud, he’s annoying, and he just likes to shame people as publicly as possible, spitting proclamations of conformity and sticking it to the Man while at the same time turning anarchy into despotism under the guise of rebellion — and he’s the dictator. 

Or, he was. And Steve never cared about him or his larger than life attitude that was worse than any of the smiles Steve ever wore to fit in in high school. Steve mostly ever just wanted Munson to shut up and eat his lunch, stop pretending he’s better than any of them just because he liked different things.

Although it wasn’t even about liking other things, it was only ever about disliking. And shaming and denouncing. Steve always wondered what kind of a miserable life that dude must have lived, shaping himself not from what he liked but from what he hated. Creating an identity that left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth because it was so fragile and contradictory and, frankly, so fucking annoying. 

Still, he’d never wished for Munson to get involved in all of this. He’d never wished for the man to die. And then to come back only to be turned into some kind of vampire, doomed to live an even worse existence than he did as a human, hidden away in some shabby cabin. 

Steve feels a little bad for him now. For Eddie. Or Kas, as the kids like to call him because he never reacts to his name anymore, more monster than human these days, although Dustin is sure they can domesticate him into becoming his old self again. 

“Like Dart, remember?”

“Dude, don’t compare our friend to your sick little creature.” That was Lucas, affronted and annoyed. Steve could relate, although… 

“You gotta admit, he’s kind of a sick little creature himself now.” 

“Steve!” they’d both yelled, and Steve just playfully shoved their heads back before going to grab a coke from the fridge.

And Kas, because vampires are apparently a thing even after the end of the world, needs blood to survive. The forests are void of animals most of the time, like nature has decided to give Hawkins an ultimatum before returning and the day hasn’t come yet. Maybe it’s something to do with electromagnetic fields, or maybe it was something else entirely leading them all to safety while Hawkins was turned into a war zone. Either way, there is nothing for him to feed here. 

Kas can’t just stalk around the woods at night and drink up a deer or two. Nor can he go rob the blood bank at the hospital, they’re running low as it is anyway. That left them all with only one option that Mike so disgustedly pointed out back then: Kas needs their blood. And Steve feels just bad enough for him to play along. 

So now he is out here playing blood bank for the monstrous version of a guy he never even liked, and his hometown is in shambles, and his head might actually sign the fuck off at any moment now, apparently. 

Things are going great. 

Saving the world is just… really fucking isolating. 

Still he has no choice but to announce his presence with a firm knock on the door, the pattern easy but memorable. 

“This is Steve,” he adds as his hand falls to his side, waiting. 

Kas always takes a while to come out and open the door, hiding away from any noise like a feral cat. Steve can kind of relate — he and Kas don’t have the best relationship either. He has no idea how sudden vampirism works, but just like feral cats will be able to tell when someone wants to hurt them and when instincts should be kicking in, Kas seems to realise how little Steve wants to be here and help him. How little he wants to have his blood sucked out of his body leaving his limbs to feel numb and uncomfortably tingly. 

Eventually, though, the door opens with a creek, just enough for a pair of eyes — too large, too wide, too wild — blink back at him. Steve just lifts his eyebrows, really kind of not in the mood to deal with this barely human vampire and his absolute lack of learning curve about this situation.

When he’s sure Kas has blinked at him for long enough now, he pushes open the door and shoves inside rather roughly, immediately feeling bad when he hears the slight whimper. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets again and trying not to grimace at the stale, disgusting air in the cabin. “Jeez, you really gotta open a window every once in a while. Thought vamps were supposed to have heightened senses or some shit.” 

Kas growls at him, mirroring Steve’s move and shoving past him this time, his shoulder slamming into Steve’s with painful strength. Glowering at the stupid vampire, he rubs at his shoulder before crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Listen, buddy, I can just leave and have you deal with your hunger, okay? No big deal for me, I even get to keep my blood.” 

Kas snaps at him, showing his fangs and crossing his arms, too; a laughable copy of Steve’s own stance. 

“Or you could just cut the crap and get on with it so I actually can leave again without taking shit from the peanut gallery. Your choice.” 

The huff that follows is so indignant, Steve wonders if that could be what gets Kas out of Munson’s body and let the human win over the monster. Maybe indignation and annoyance is what will break the spell eventually, lift the curse just enough for Munson to get back into his old habit of monologising and spouting nonsense out of that big mouth of his. 

Steve is half tempted to try, but he really does want to just go home and lie on his large couch with no sensory input whatsoever, tuning out the world and his anxieties that might be about to turn into compulsions just for him to gain a little control over everything again. So he squares his shoulders and takes off his jacket before tilting his head to the side, allowing Kas full access to his neck. 

It’s always a little scary but still oddly fascinating, filling him with that same rush that came with witnessing all the supernatural shit over the past few years. Kas is the last remnant of all that, and somehow, buried beneath piles of rubble and trauma and the teenager he had to give up on being, Steve feels weirdly protective of that. 

Not of Eddie. Of Kas. Of the monster that lies dormant. Of the last bit of danger in his life, because he doesn’t know how to live without it anymore — so much so that he has to make it up.

Maybe it’s a symptom of his self destructive tendencies, as Robin would call it. But Steve might be as fascinated with the vampire as Robin is with fire; so she doesn’t get to have a say in this.

There is always a strange intimacy in the way Kas approaches him. Slowly, carefully. Like a hunter his prey. Steve doesn’t feel like prey, not really, but a part of him wants to. A part of him needs to be prey again, if only for those instincts that manifest with a perpetual tremor and a restless feeling in his chest to be of use again. If only so he can have a point again. Something to fight that’s outside oh his own head. 

Now, his point is standing still entirely and feeling those chapped but warm lips trail up and down his throat a little before Kas finds the right spot that won’t really hurt Steve, the right spot that will make it all go by quickly and without any hiccups. 

Still he shivers, like always, and Kas holds him close when he finally bites down. Like always. 

He stands motionless as he feels his blood flow alternating, rushing in his ears and his head, his heart thump-thump-thumping, putting up a fight against the strange intrusion. He hardly even breathes at all, focusing instead on his body and burying his finger nails in his palm for five seconds before releasing his hands and repeating the process three times before he gets it right. 

But then his head is pulsing, his heartbeat slowing down as his vision briefly blacks out in the same way it does when he gets up too quickly, and his heart falls. It’s too much. Too sudden. 

“Kas,” he says, but the vampire doesn’t hear him, drinking more and more of the blood that must be so thick with how little he’s had to drink today — something he only just remembered. “Kas,” he says again, more urgently this time; but still the vampire drinks. 

And where before Steve had a clear vision of the door in the dark room — the light of day streaming in through the cracks and framing it almost mystically —, it’s spotty now. Just slightly off. Like something is missing but his brain is working overtime to complete the picture anyway, reducing the blind spot to merely an illusion. But Steve knows what’s happening. He knows what the sudden pulsating of his head means, especially when it’s followed by his vision just going AWOL on him.

No, he thinks as the situation really settles in, and he begins to push Kas away. Not like it matters anyway now; the damage is done. No, no, no, no, fuck! 

He frantically shoves at the vampire now, blinking against the blind spot even though he’s painfully aware it won’t help. Kas breaks away from him, wiping his mouth and smearing his face and the back of his hand with Steve’s blood. If he looks just right, he can’t even fucking see it. 

Heart falling further, Steve buries his hands in his hair and pulls, hoping that by some kind of miracle he can just pull the migraine out of his head before it can really settle. It’s his only chance. He can’t drive like this, he shouldn’t walk like this, and soon he won’t be able to do anything at all. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” be hisses, hearing the edge of desperation in his own voice and caring very little about that right now. 

Kas is on him again in a second, and Steve waves him off, tries to shove him away but the vampire is stronger and persistent. 

A high keening sound builds in Kas’s chest, and Steve knows he doesn’t really speak, doesn’t really use his words, ever — maybe he doesn’t know how. But the keening sounds more like a whine, and the way he pulls at Steve to look at him is as much an indicator of worry as he’s going to get.

But Steve doesn’t want Kas’s hands on him, wants to just get out and away before the pain comes. So he takes another step back and holds up his hands, hoping that the vampire will just fucking take a hint. 

A little too quickly and a little too frantic, Steve shakes his head, his eyes flitting about the room to see if there’s still pieces of it missing or if phase two is about to start. He has about twenty minutes left before his body will be composed of nothing but skull-splitting pain that is only equal to someone ramming actual nails into his head — and even that would be preferable right noe, because at least that pain he wouldn’t need to explain. Or justify.

Another keening sound interrupts Steve's burgeoning spiral, and his eyes land on Kas, who really looks like a kicked puppy right now. 

"I gotta go," he says, voice a little unsteady with apprehension and panic, but just as he's about to rush out of the cabin, Kas crosses his path and won't let him move. 

A strong hand lands on his chest, and Steve really, really doesn't want to deal with that right now. He tries again, tries with more force to sidestep and push past him, but Kas won't let him budge. 

"Let me go." But Kas doesn't let up. "Kas. Please. You gotta let me go, I gotta get home, I—“ 

The first flash of white in his peripheral vision catches him off guard, moving his focus away from the clawed hand on his chest and toward the flickering line that cuts through the left side of his vision right now. 

Curious or worried or maybe just really fucking stupefied at having Steve act so weirdly, Kas inclines his head and ducks to catch Steve's eyes. 

"Move," Steve says again, as assertive as he can manage with his brain and body scattered between following the flickering lights that are invisible to everyone else and the pain that is about to consume him, leaving him incapacitated for several hours at least.

Instead of moving out of Steve's space and allowing him to leave, Kas shoves him backwards with that superhuman strength he has now, forcing Steve to stumble back helplessly. Fear rises in him again, and it's a different flavour this time that mixes horribly well with the anxiety and apprehension and all the waves and waves of blinding panic he feels out of nowhere almost all the time now. 

His knees buckle when they hit something rather violently, and then he's falling, landing on the worn couch with a breathless gasp, his instincts running wild. He needs to fight, he needs to run, he needs to get home and be safe and get the fuck away from this monster who won't let him go now. Steve doesn't know Kas as someone who will just take what he wants, but, well, he is Munson, in a way. So that tracks. 

But instead of attacking him, instead of going for his neck again and sucking the rest of his blood, instead of beating Steve to a pulp to keep him pliant and unmoving and turn him into some sort of personal livestock, Kas just... sits down next to him. Hands in his lap. Worried look trained on Steve, who needs to catch his breath and calm down.

"Hurt." 

It startles Steve. Kas has never spoken to him. But what’s more, Steve shouldn't be that obvious. He doesn't want to be that obvious, especially about hurting and being hurt. 

So he shakes his head, his hands coming up to press into his eyes, hoping to get rid of the flickering lights even though he knows that once they stop, the pain will come; and it will come badly. 

"'M not hurt," he says, lying through his teeth and the heel of his hand. "I just gotta go home." 

"Hurt," Kas says again, and it's more assertive this time, less of a question. Like he's telling Steve rather than asking. Like he's making him understand. 

He reminds Steve a little of Robin in that regard, and he almost has to smile. He would, too, if he wasn't so aware that it would become a horrible grimace, wavering and pale even by vampire hermit standards. 

So he sighs instead, letting his hands fall into his lap and wringing his fingers. There are about ten, maybe fifteen minutes left. Not enough to get anywhere safe on foot, and he sure as hell ain't driving when his vision is halfway through its rendition of a TV without signal, zig-zagging in white and red and green, flickering and flaring and leaving him a little disoriented even when all he's doing is sitting on that dusty old couch. 

"Hurt," Kas repeats for the third time, and Steve tenses, ready to snap at him to shut up, that he's not hurt yet but will be any minute now and that Kas should really just shut the fuck up and leave himself if he won't let Steve go anywhere. 

But looking at those wide eyes, he doesn't snap. He deflates. His shoulders fall and his eyes close, which only makes the flickers worse, he feels.

“I’m… I’m gonna have a migraine," he sighs, letting that hang in the air between them, letting the words take up the whole room and suffocate him while he knows that they won't touch Kas. That he won't understand. Nobody does. 

It's just a headache, Steve, get over it. 

They leave a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's just waiting for the huff to come. 

But it doesn't come. Instead, Kas just keeps looking at him; same worried expression, same unobtrusive posture, same everything. Right. He probably doesn't know jackshit about what that's supposed to mean. 

So Steve explains. “I, well. I kinda can't really see right now, but that'll pass. That's when the pain comes. I won't want to move. No light. No noise. No nothing. And all I can do about it is wait it out, which is why I need you to let me leave..." 

It's one of those moments where he hates that he's the only one of their group with a license; that he can't just radio with a code red and have someone come get him no questions asked. 

"I just wanna go home, man," he sighs, hating his voice for the weak whine around the edges. 

A beat passes between them, and Steve pretends like he's not counting the seconds. Like he doesn't notice that the flickering zigzag line is getting smaller and dimmer, and that agony is imminent. 

"Here," Kas says then, and somehow it's both an offer and a command. "You. Here."

Steve blinks, the words not really translating through the tired fog of his brain. 

"Huh? Sorry, uh, what?" 

"You," Kas says, shuffling closer to him, like that sort of helps him translate what it is he wants to say. 

"Me." 

Kas nods, then motions around the room and pats the couch cushion, releasing a cloud of dust from it. "Here."

“You—“ Steve frowns. "You want me to stay here?"

The nod is decisive and in another world Steve would have called it eager, with the way Kas is shuffling on the spot. 

"Kas," Steve sighs, rubbing his face, not quite sure how to make the vampire explain that it's gonna be bad. Really, really bad. The flickering shimmer is already waning, and phantom pains are already setting in, settling along his skull like little pinpricks of warning. 

A clawed hand reaches for his wrist, making Steve flinch away, but Kas doesn't hurt him. He pulls Steve’s hand away from his face almost gently, slowly, and makes sure Steve looks at him. 

"Safe." And he looks so genuine about it. He looks like he knows what that word means. "Safe." 

With a sigh, Steve accepts his fate. Kas isn't gonna let him go anytime soon, and at this point Steve really doesn't want to face the gloomy weather outside, stuck as it is somewhere between drizzle and downpour and so endlessly grey for days. 

Still he feels pathetic about it. Vulnerable. Exposed. Like a last bastion falling, the castle walls crumbling, the fragile house of cards finally falling, because suddenly this agony isn't something he keeps only to himself. 

Even if it's only Kas who witnesses it. Kas, who’s endured worse than that, Steve knows. Brainwashing, manipulation, the agony of shaping human into vampire so excruciating his mind has gone into hiding still. 

"Okay," Steve breathes at last, pretending that his voice didn't break on that single word. "Okay."

Kas hums, the sound resembling more a gurgle than anything else, and before Steve knows what's happening, cold hands are pulling him up and off the couch. 

"Jesus," he mumbles, barely catching his footing and pulling away from Kas's grasp, but following nonetheless, not even thinking about fleeing now. "I'm coming, I'm coming, man, don't touch me." 

Miraculously, Kas does stay away, walking just one step ahead of Steve, turning towards him every two steps to make sure he's still following. It reminds Steve of a mama duck herding her ducklings across the street and making sure they're all still there. It's weirdly endearing. 

"Why do you even care?" 

He doesn't get an answer, but that's no surprise, and he doesn't really mind either. It was more about wondering, about putting that question out there and letting it take up space for future contemplation. 

Kas leads him to an adjoining room, the north-facing windows all barred shut, ripped and moth-eaten curtains drawn to block out the last of the light. Right. Fitting, for a vampire's lair. 

The bed in the middle of the far wall is surprisingly large, though, and looks surprisingly soft. It's unmade, but that's just as well. There are no belongings in the room otherwis that Steve can make out, the framed pictures on the wall look as dusty as the rest of the cabin, so they can't belong to Kas. Or maybe he likes them enough to keep them, to claim them as his own now. 

It’s a heartbreaking thought. 

Stupidly and out of nowhere, Steve wonders if he could take care of this cabin. Dust it and clean it and only fill it with things Kas likes. Maybe things Munson used to like — surely the kids would know how to go about that. Or Wayne. 

He's about to ask; about the pictures, about the stuff, about Wayne — if he's been around lately, if he's still telling stories to bring back the dormant Eddie parts of his modified and manipulated mind.

But just as he's about to turn to the vampire and ask, the blinding flickers disappear from his field of vision in the dark room, and within seconds something inside his skull bursts, leaving his body awash with pain that nearly has his knees buckling. A whimper escapes him that he tries to steer into a groan, but then his hands are flying to his head and he stops caring about how he expresses this immediate agony to the world. 

Kas is on him again with a whimper, suddenly just as fucking tactile as his once-human form. 

“Don’t touch me,” Steve rasps, wrenching himself free from the gasp once more. He really wishes Kas would stop touching him. "You want me to lie down here, yeah? Take your bed?" 

Kas nods again, looking at Steve with those wide eyes that seem to glow in the dark — or maybe that's his migraine-addled mind seeing things where they aren't, making up for the blind spot and the flickering. 

Steve looks away, the motion hurting his entire face, and he closes his eyes as pins and needles are moving along the inside of his face, pricking up against the skin but never breaking through. 

"Right then," he whispers, his voice barely audible and still too loud, making his ears click and pressure collect around them, making him wonder if they're going to burst. "'M gonna lie down." 

Struggling with the heavy blanket, Steve is close to giving up and just lying on top of it, but Kas is quick to help him once he realises that Steve needs it. He pulls back the blanket, still looking so damn stricken about everything, like he's genuinely worried about Steve. It doesn't make sense. 

He doesn't have the strength for a Thanks or even a smile, but he nods just once, just barely, before sluggishly falling onto the bed and fumbling with the blanket once more. Every movement hurts. Every twitch of a muscle is too much, and just moving his pinkie is enough to douse his body in never-ending pain that travels from his skull all the way down.

Something Steve has always wondered is why migraines make his body shut down like that, leaving him in a state where all he can do is lie down and fall into a near-catatonic limbo until the pain has lifted enough to face the rest of the world again. Fighting inter-dimensional monsters and posing as a feast to demonic, modified monster bats was also agony. It also made him lose his footing and almost pass out from blood loss and pain, his back scratched open completely where the bats dragged him across rough stone. 

Migraine pains don't really compare to those, though, and it scares him. Because he knows that's all up in his brain. His fucked up, mangled, thrice-concussed fucking brain he never got cared for because the government goons never took them seriously. Never took him seriously. 

And now here he is, lying in a stranger's bed in a pitch-black room that's still somehow too bright, unmoving, too weak to even pull up the blanket, and hoping to pass out from it all. Hoping he won't hallucinate again this time. Hoping that he won't throw up this time, his body convulsing because it knows it shouldn't be feeling like this. 

Throwing up from pain. There's really nothing more fucked up than that. Or, there is. Throwing up from pain and begging an invisible man to make it stop, only to realise hours later that the most painful migraines can also make you hallucinate. 

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want any of that ever again, and certainly not in a strange, dark cabin with a vampire forged from a human he never even liked. 

Tears spring to his eyes, but they're not the kind that'll fall and bring relief. They just stay in the corners of his eyes, his only way to express the waves and flares of pain washing over him, wishing he could just pass out now. 

Kas tucks him in. Steve didn’t know he could do that. It strikes him as extremely non-vampiric even in this state he’s in. Steve doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as blink his eyes open as the pain travels up to his hairline and settles there, flaring over his forehead to his eyes and down to his cheekbones and then up again, a never-ending motion that he never stands a chance to get used to. 

“Safe,” Kas says again, and it zings through Steve’s body with violent force that doesn’t match at all with the gentle tone he’s using. 

Scrunching his forehead to stave off more words, Steve hopes that Kas will take the hint and know to shut up. 

But he has no such luck. 

“Here.” 

“Shhh.” He shakes his head minutely, shushing the vampire with a barely there noise, keeping the damage to a minimal amount. “You can go,” he slurs, trying not to speak at all. “Please.” 

A beat of blessed, blissful silence, before there’s shuffling again. Kas does walk to the door, but then stops in the doorway. Steve doesn’t want to look. 

“No.” Kas sounds surprised about it. Mystified. Like he wants to leave but can’t. 

What?

“Stay. Here.” 

Whatever you do, just please be quiet about it, Steve thinks desperately. Instead of saying any of that, he shushes him again, hoping that the thump he hears means that Kas is sitting on the floor now. Though he doesn’t understand why. 

Why do you even care? 

“Safe,” Kas says again, whispering the word into the room, and it doesn’t zing through Steve this time. 

With Kas refusing to leave and his pathetic state of existence so blatantly on display, and with waves and waves as his nerves fire signals to his overworked and tired brain, more tears sprint to his eyes. And this time they fall. Silently, and without a sob, without even a sniffle of acknowledgment. But they fall. 

And Steve just wants to go home.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @hammity-hammer (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

part 2 here

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #kas eddie munson #dio words #kas takes care of steve fic #still not sure if this is tumblrable but it shall no longer stay between me and the discord thread girlies

[viviseawrites]

steve harrington presents as an alpha a month into his senior year of high school, when the weather is just turning crisp for fall. his parents are thrilled—his father keeps talking about the clout it brings to the harrington name and partnerships it might encourage at the office.

steve harrington presents as an alpha, and he knows it’s wrong. he feels it in his bones. when his first rut hits, it's like running into a wall. everything stops. everything hurts. he’s angry about his rut, made angrier by the hormones rushing through him.

he locks himself in his room, tears apart the soft pillows on his bed with too-sharp teeth. he does not deserve soft things, does not deserve gentleness. his rage wanes as the rut comes to an end, and in its wake, he feels empty, like it burned him from the inside out.

nancy says he smells like a forest fire. he sees the way she winces at it, sees how she sometimes raises her upper lip like she means to snarl at him, to rise to a threat. steve never wanted to be a threat.

but when the Upside Down comes back for round two, he puts himself in front of the stupidly brave pups and turns his nail-studded bat against the four-legged demogorgon babies. he plants his feet and knows his scent is billowing around him, aggressive and uncontrolled. and he fights.

after, dustin keeps telling him how cool he was in the junkyard. steve wonders, now. maybe he doesn’t have to be a threat; maybe he can be a protector instead. maybe the rancid, acrid smell of destruction he wears could be a controlled burn. useful. good, even.

he uses it to distract the russians from robin, allows himself to be seen as a more dangerous target and goads them into focusing on him instead. later, in a grimy mall bathroom, robin tells him he reminds her of winter nights spent in front of the hearth with hot chocolate in hand.

it’s warm, she says, smoky but nice and comforting when he’s calm. she says even when he smelled like he wanted to burn the world down in that bunker, she knew she was safe from it, safe because of it. she settles in at his side, all sharp evergreen, and he leans against her.

fire doesn’t have to hurt. alphas don’t have to be violent, untamed, impossible creatures like society claims. and when he comes face to face with eddie munson in a dilapidated boat house, on the wrong end of a broken bottle, he knows he doesn’t have to let his scent flare.

eddie munson smells like rain, like lightning, crisp ozone and petrichor, a storm of an alpha. in appearance, in scent, in attitude, he makes himself larger. but up close, face to face, steve sees his need for shelter, for safety, for peace, and he wants to be that.

against the cold of that encroaching, panicked downpour, steve makes himself a warm light, offers eddie a place to rest. he gives him grace and lifts his chin, bares his throat. surrenders to the deluge.

and when everything is done, after vecna dies and hawkins recovers, eddie approaches him smelling like spring, like new beginnings, soft and gentle and all steve ever wanted.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #vivisea writes #omegaverse #alpha steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #a/b/o #robin buckley and steve harrington are platonic soulmates #that's just how it is #originally a twitter thread

[morganbritton132]

Someone starts a thread on Twitter like:

Ten minutes into a two hour flight and my AirPods just died. Kill me

Followed by a tweet that says: NVM, guy in front of me just asked the guy next to him if he wanted to join the mile high club. Imma eavesdrop (1/)

Dude is wearing a turtleneck on a two hour flight. He’s not the type for those shenanigans, Mr Spice Girl T-shirt Man (2/)

Wait. I think they’re dating. Def together. Turtleneck said no (3/)

T-shirt: Where’s your sense of adventure, big boy? It’s a club. You love clubs (4/)

Whoa. Turtleneck said that they’re already Mile High members. Not as uptight as I previously thought (5/)

T-shirt just said that they lost their membership because it’s been so long. Turtleneck says it’s a lifetime membership (6/)

“You can’t un-have sex on a plane” - Turtleneck, 2023 (7/)

T-shirt says it’s like a country club, you gotta renew your membership. Turtleneck is so offended (8/)

Not about the sex question but that T-shirt thinks he knows more about country clubs than him. Trust me, no one thinks that, Turtleneck (9/)

I don’t think this is making your case, Mr T-shirt guy. They’re still arguing about country clubs. T-shirt offered to blow him (10/)

Too long of a pause. Turtleneck said no (11/)

Convo over. They’re trying to figure out if they’re going to have enough time to go to their hotel before T-shirt’s interview. Hope you get the job and get laid, T-shirt (12/12)

Later that day, they post a picture of their tv with the caption “That’s the guy! That’s t-shirt” and it’s Eddie being interviewed on The Tonight Show.

#I’ve had this is my draft for a while but I think it’s funny #Robin sends Steve a screenshot of the thread but only because she wanted to know why he was wearing a turtleneck on a plane #you can’t convince me that they didn’t bang on the first private jet they were on #eddie munson tiktok saga #eddie munson #steve harrington

[jewishrat420]

Steve always thought Eddie was beautiful.

He never let himself linger too long on it in fear of what he might see if he let himself look. If he let himself dust off the dirt that lay on top of it, too overwhelmed by the possibility that he really hadn’t had himself figured out the way he thought he did.

But it’s true.

Like the sky knows clouds that filter in and out of eyesight, like the moon knows the unwavering devotion of the tide, Steve knows this to be a fact as irrefutable as the nature of gravity:

Eddie Munson is beautiful.

It’s in the way his hair bounces with every step. These springy, frizzy little curls that Steve desperately wants to know, intimately, the way he knows his own. Wants to compare them, wants to feel them in the spaces between his fingers, the sensitive parts that nothing else really touches.

It’s in the way he lights up a room as soon as he steps into it, a walking sun that burns so bright that he leaves the hole of every space he was once in great and gaping and singed at the edges. Everything he touches turns to gold, everyone he meets ruined for anyone else.

It’s in the way he carries himself. Tall when people are looking and small when they aren’t, like his body is a show that no one ever willingly buys tickets for but ends up seated front row at regardless.

Steve would buy tickets.

If he had known, if he had been brave enough when it really counted, he would have bought tickets.

There is no one like Eddie, and there never will be again.

But it doesn’t matter now.

Because Eddie is still beautiful, Steve thinks, even when he’s pale.

Even when his skin is sallow and sunken, even when his big brown eyes are tucked behind grayed eyelids.

Even when Steve himself was the one to shut them, but only after he spent nearly an hour gazing into their emptiness.

His hair is shorter now, the frayed edges trimmed by Wayne. He’d laughed as he did it, a sad little hitch in his throat, because apparently Eddie never let him cut his hair when he was younger.

When his blood flowed warm through his arteries, when his skin was still pink.

Wayne said he used to bounce his leg so hard that he was worried he was going to stab the scissors right through his thick skull.

So Eddie grew his hair out, split ends running wild.

But Steve still thought he was beautiful. Frizzy hair and all.

Steve’s never seen him dressed so fancy, not even for his own graduation.

But then again, he never got to try on that suit he borrowed from Wayne. Never got to see just how long the sleeves were, because he never got to be as tall as his uncle, did he?

No, Eddie never got the chance.

Never got the chance to he a normal boy with a normal childhood. To grow into the man he could have become and then into the world that was always too small to fit him.

Eddie Munson: born to die in Hawkins, Indiana.

If only he had tried just a little bit harder.

Fought just a little bit longer.

But he did his best, didn’t he?

Steve certainly thinks so.

Steve thinks he looks beautiful, now, still, always. He tucks a trimmed curl behind his ear, wishes he could have known what it would feel like if his skin were warm.

But it’s okay. He’ll know the feeling one day.

Next time.

Next time, they’ll try again. They’ll try harder.

Next time, Steve won’t be afraid to tell Eddie how beautiful he is.

Won’t be afraid of what comes after, because it will be different.

It won’t end with Eddie, sallow and skinny in a suit six sizes too big for him.

It won’t end with Eddie, pale and pretty as ever, laying in the coffin that’s been on reserve for him since the day he was born.

Next time will be different, see, because it won’t end.

They’ll do it right.

Steve will do it right.

And Eddie will still be beautiful, and Steve will tell him so.

x

original post

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #steddie thread #time loop #temporary character death #realizing feelings #oooo #steve is a sad boy #but also. determined

[headkiss]

ooh ooh okay, maybe in the single thread universe where either reader or steve has a nightmare about losing the other from the canon-type violence and it's like comfort. feel free to ignore if you don't like it, thank u and love u 🫶

hi my love thank u so much for this req i missed writing these two <3 i hope you like it!!! steve’s the one with the nightmare in this one | 0.6k hurt/comfort and fluff (this takes place in the single thread universe!)

Although you and Steve only live across the hall from each other, you split your time between the two apartments, though you’re rarely separated from each other when you can help it.

Nights are often spent at his place, him kissing you goodbye before slipping out the window and swinging off to his nightly patrol, you staying awake with a book in your lap until he comes home no matter how much he insists you get some sleep.

You fall asleep easier when he’s beside you, anyways. Where you can feel him, safe and breathing.

Tonight’s a little different. Steve slipped through the window quietly when he got back—uninjured, this time—from patrol. For once, you’d fallen asleep while he was out, though you tried not to, if the open book still on your lap says anything.

He shut the window and locked it, pulling his mask off and smiling at the sight of you amongst his sheets, like you’ve belonged there all along. Steve bookmarked your page before setting your book onto the nightstand that’s now been claimed as yours, shutting off the small lamp that sits there, too.

He showered and changed quickly, eager to lay down beside you and gather you up into his arms, your warmth surrounding him. He falls asleep with the smell of your shampoo filling his senses.

It’s also a little different because a couple of hours later, you’re woken up by Steve’s shout of your name, his chest heaving against your back. Frowning, you turn over, finding his eyes still shut but his eyebrows scrunched.

Nightmares aren’t new to either of you, you’ve had enough of them since being followed that one night after work, nightmares where Steve isn’t there to save you this time. It still hurts to see him go through one, though.

Pushing yourself up, you run one hand through his hair, the other squeezing his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.”

After a couple more tries, his eyes open quickly, darting around before landing on your face, on the worry he must find written there. “Honey,” he breathes. “Are you okay?”

It’s classic Steve that the first thing he’d be worried about is you, when he’s the one who’s just had a nightmare. You trail your hand down his arm to tangle your fingers together. “Don’t worry about me. You were having a nightmare.”

His eyes squeeze shut, like he’s remembering it all over again. “You were hurt and I couldn’t- nothing was working. I was too late.”

“Hey,” you cup his jaw with your free hand, making sure his gaze is on yours. “Look at me. I’m not hurt. Not one bit, okay?”

He nods his hand tightening in yours, his other one reaching to tug you closer, your legs tangling together. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

You think back to the day you first met him, when he’d carried your moving boxes for you like it was nothing. You hadn’t realized then just how much weight he really felt, a weight you now hope to help lift, if only a little.

Steve was afraid then, of getting too close to you, if possible putting you in danger. He’s still afraid of the latter now, but there was something inevitable about you two, he thinks. It must be why his heartbeat calms more and more the longer he lays there with you, the longer he looks at you.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You smile what you hope is something reassuring, trying to ease his mind, lighten things, “besides, I fell asleep on you earlier. It’s only fair.”

Steve’s not sure how he got so lucky with you, your patience, your understanding about everything. He can’t believe that you just happened to move in. It feels much more like fate than anything else to him.

“Thank you for being here, honey.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

#single thread #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington blurbs #stevie blurbs #steve harrington request #steve harrington requests #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #spiderman!steve #steve harrington au #spidey!steve #stranger things #stranger things steve #steve harrington hurt/comfort #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington story #spiderman!steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve x reader

[usedtobecooler]

isn't that so sad | steve harrington x eddie munson 1.9k

summary: steve struggles with his mental health and no longer being needed by his friends in the wake of vecna's defeat.

tw: 18+ minors dni, post season four, everybody lives. poor mental health and its direct impact, general sadness with a happy ending.

Steve feels himself begin to spiral once everything happens, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

After Vecna, the Upside Down, Dustin crying and begging for Steve's help. Dragging Eddie out with nothing more than determination and strength brought from the pits of his stomach.

He looked after everybody on autopilot, threw himself into protector mode and ran around like a mother hen to make sure everybody was safe, looked after and protected. Until one by one everybody got better and moved on, and the only people left who truly needed protection were Eddie and Max.

He spent almost all of his free time at Hawkins Memorial Hospital, at one of two bedsides as induced comas continued on. Took to sleeping in Eddie's room at nights whilst Wayne continued to work at the plant, because the Government hush money didn't go very far once medical bills were needing paid.

Hell, Steve was the only person there when Eddie awoke from his coma three months later, and knocked Steve off of his feet when Eddie grabbed for his hand and pleaded with him to just stay. Didn't want nurses or doctors or even his own fucking family to come in, he just wanted Steve.

New normal began soon after Eddie awoke, Steve's days that were once dreary and pointless were now filled with driving Eddie to therapy and rehab appointments, going grocery shopping for Wayne so he could sleep after his shifts. Checking in on Lucas as he prayed at Max's bedside, taking visits to Dustin and his mother, who had a habit of making enough dinner so that Steve could eat. Claudia knew Steve, knew he didn't look after himself, was too busy making sure everybody else was healthy and alive. So, she made sure he had the same courtesy, and he was forever thankful.

Things had routine, normalcy, until suddenly they didn't anymore. Eddie was back to (mostly) full health, school restarted so Steve didn't see the kids much unless they wanted a ride or a place to crash at the weekends — he wasn't needed anymore.

Robin left. Her parents hauled ass to the other side of the country, and she went, too. He couldn't lie to himself, say it didn't hurt, because it near enough fucking killed him. Broke his heart in two to watch his soulmate leave without a trace. She wrote often, called occasionally, but to not have her hand within grabbing distance when things got tough — well, that's something Steve would never come to terms with.

His parents never checked in, never asked about what happened in Hawkins, he doubted they knew much beyond the vague tellings that the news broadcasted. They sent money, they always did. But the house was empty, void. Steve longed for his mothers hugs, his fathers stern voice carrying through the halls. He hadn't wanted those things since he was fifteen and left on his own for the first time, but the loneliness crept in painfully quick, everything felt dark.

Steve still slept with the nail bat next to his bed. He'd seen this before, ever since the fateful night that he stepped in to help Jon and Nancy fight that fucking demogorgon. Just when they thought everything was over, something would happen. Whether that be Demodogs, Russians, Vecna. There was always something new to get them, and he could never rely on the fact that everything had gone quiet once they 'defeated' him.

He feels himself fading, but he's too proud to call and ask for anything. Blames it on the one too many knocks to the head, that's clearly what's causing this imbalance in his feelings. Doesn't want to call Nance and ask her how things are going at college, doesn't want to pester Dustin now that he's sixteen and old enough to drive, doesn't want to stop by Eddie's new government issued trailer for a smoke. He's far too sure he'd be considered more of a nuisance than company.

It's March. Spring Break, the one year anniversary. Steve can't remember the last time he ate, or showered, or left the position he curled up in on his mattress. The phone next to his bed rings on and off for days, and Steve chooses to leave it unanswered.

He didn't want pity calls.

He falls asleep finally, sometime after the second or third sunrise. Succumbing to exhaustion, heavy eyelids drooping shut, slipping into the first dreamless sleep he'd had since that fateful night in 1983.

"Harrington! Steve, Steve c'mon, wake up!"

A panicked voice rouses Steve. Firm, bony fingers shaking his bare shoulders as his bleary eyes struggle to open.

He's just so tired.

"Steve, man, please," the voice tries again, desperate and pleading. Steve's fuzzy head knows that voice, can make it out even in the state he's in, has heard it in his thoughts and his dreams for a year now.

"Eddie," Steve's voice is gruff, painfully dry, lips tacky from lack of saliva and fluids, "how... how'd you get in?"

Eddie barks out this fucking incredulous laugh, holds his hands up in defeat before slapping them down on his thighs dramatically, eyes wild and brows up behind his fringe, "I broke in, Steve! Nobody heard from you in four days. Four fucking days! I thought I was gonna come in here and you were gonna be— fuck!"

Steve tries to process what he's saying, feels this horrific pang of guilt in his chest when he realizes he's upset Eddie. He'd never even thought, not even for a second, that people would be worried he was dead.

"I'm sorry, m'sorry," Steve apologizes groggily, tries so hard to lift his heavy head from the pillow but fuck, if his neck won't allow it. He feels so useless, can't even find the fucking strength to pull himself up from his slumber. It's embarrassing, he's mortified.

"Hey, don't," Eddie scrambles, wraps ringed fingers around Steve's slender wrist, almost in a feeble attempt to pin him in place on the mattress, and Steve goes willingly, "you... you're not yourself, man. We should've known, I should've known. When you didn't answer the phone to Rob—"

"Robs called?" Steve winces, pained and choked. He doesn't want to fucking cry in front of Eddie Munson, not after everything. A missed phone call shouldn't be the hairline trigger.

"Yeah, Steve," Eddie sighs, the pad of his thumb running along the veins on the back of Steve's wrist soothingly, almost like he's trying absently to stop the freak out that he feels impending, "don't. Don't beat yourself up, okay? It's our faults, we didn't check in. I'm so fucking sorry, we all are. Things have just been—"

"Busy, I know." Steve sighs, still curled in a goddamn ball on his side, like he's frozen in place, held down and imprisoned by nothing but the weight of his own thoughts. He feels his eyes grow hot, teary, "Nobody needed me anymore."

There's a beat of silence, then Eddie rips the comforter off of Steve, exposing his body to the chilly air. Steve winces, half expects Eddie to try and haul his ass out of bed, give him the tough love his dad used to when he was given a telling off for something and would hide under the covers to cry.

Harrington men didn't cry.

But, Eddie Munson was always surprising Steve. Ever since that fateful day in that fucking boat house at Rick's, when the scrawny kid Tommy Hagan used to beat up for fun used his brute strength to pin Steve to a fucking wall.

He clambers into bed with Steve, Reeboks still on his feet, leather jacket on his shoulders, not a care in the damn world. Those wild curls fanning out over Steve's pillow as he lies down, face to face.

Steve's suddenly self conscious, knows he probably fucking reeks. Hasn't brushed his teeth or washed his hair in who knew how long, deodorant long worn off from the cold sweats he lay in. He cringes, embarrassment creeping up hot on his neck — he never wanted anybody to see him like this.

"When my old man used to come home drunk, my mom would lay in bed with me like this, gimme hugs and run her fingers through my hair til I fell asleep," Eddie explains, voice quiet as he shuffles in close to Steve, their knees knocking, "I was scared of him. She didn't want me to be alone. She died when I was six, then it was just me an' him, nothing to comfort me when he came home and yelled, blamed me for his loss on whatever card game they played that night."

Steve furrows his brows, chest tightening at Eddie's story. He doesn't understand why Eddie's telling him this, curses his stupid brain for being slow to tack on to what this all means, but he understands, to an extent. His own mom used to love him and comfort him, too, once upon a time.

She wasn't dead, but sometimes it felt like she was.

Steve doesn't realize he's crying until Eddie's eyes widen in shock, his gangly body flailing a little as he moves in closer to scoop Steve into his arms, pulling him into his torso. Steve's whole body freezes for a split second, goosebumps littering his skin at the feeling of Eddie's warm body basically engulfing his own fragile one.

"Fuck, sorry, man. Didn't mean to make you cry. Was just a stupid little story, my way of saying — fuck me," Eddie panics, struggles, stumbling over his own words as Steve sobs quietly into the soft material of his worn in shirt, "I get it. Feeling like you have to be on your own, and work it out on your own, because you've only had yourself for as long as you can remember. But you're not alone now, Steve. We're not alone."

Steve cries until his throat is raw and he's soaked through Eddie's shirt with his tears, tightly fisting the material because he won't allow himself to hug Eddie back. Eddie anchors him, buries a hand in his hair and strokes soothingly until Steve's doing nothing more than dryly hiccupping into his chest.

"I— I'm sorry," Steve apologises again, struggling to get the tiniest of words out past the hyperventilating, "I didn't— didn't want this t-to happen. Wanted to be — be strong for ev-everybody."

"Stop fuckin' fighting your feelings, Harrington. Let us look after you and love you. It's time somebody took care of you, you've done it for us for long enough." Eddie's stern but still soft, chin hooked atop Steve's head, "We can start slow, okay? I need you to drink some fluids, before you end up in the hospital."

Steve agrees tentatively. And it's not long before just drinking fluids turns to showering, eating a full meal, stepping outside in the daylight. Sleeping through the night, going to the movie theatre with the gang. Getting a new job, visiting Robin across the country.

Eddie's by his side through it all.

Steve falls hard but Eddie falls harder.

hurt my own feelings with this one my guys &lt;;/3

#steddie drabble #steddie blurb #steddie fic #steddie brainrot #eddie munson x steve harrington #this reads more like a twitter thread but i don't have any followers on that bitch #so y'all can have it here #mine #steddie #my fanfic

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 39.5

(this takes place just before their first day back to school after the events of season one)

They slip out of the trailer. 

The park is just waking up around them, a few birds chirping, Mr. Robinson’s car starting up as he drives to work. One of their older neighbors must have fallen asleep with the television on – he can hear its static blaring all the way out here. 

It makes a shiver run up his spine. That almost familiar, eerie sound that resonates through a Demogorgon’s call.

But, the sun is shining and Steve’s safe and whole and warm at his side. So, he brushes it off, skipping over to the passenger side of the van and holds it open for Steve with a bow. 

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s no more desperation bleeding into his expression. He’s like a caged bird, freed. He even settles his fingers daintily into Eddie’s flourished out hand, like he’s a maiden being helped into a carriage. 

Eddie closes the door once all of Steve’s limbs are in and accounted for, and damn near skips around the front of the van and flings himself into the driver’s seat. 

Dio blares out of his speakers when he turns the key until Steve reaches over to turn the dial down. Eddie tries to pout about it but the edges of his mouth keep turning up.

Steve’s slumped over in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he lolls his head sideways against the headrest to glare over at Eddie. “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He bites his lip against a grin as Steve huffs and rolls his head the other direction to glare out his window. 

Eddie taps his fingers to the quiet beat of the song, blood sizzling with anticipation. 

It’s a short drive, made longer by the careful way he’s stopping and starting, taking each turn ten below his usual. There’s precious cargo barely on the mend in here, and he won’t risk damaging it any more.

He pulls into an empty parking space, easing his foot onto the break. There’s only one other car in the lot, but the open sign in the front window of the diner is lit up. It’s a lurid red, but Eddie’s willing to forgive it.

“This is the surprise?” Steve asks. He’s not glaring anymore, but he’s looking doubtfully out of the windshield, eyebrows raised as he eyes the diner’s front door like he’s never seen it before. “Breakfast?”

Eddie reaches over to pinch his side – softly, gently – until Steve laughs that honking pig laugh that Eddie loves so much and has so rarely heard.

“You don’t remember?” Eddie asks, teasing. “You said you’d kill for some bacon, and now you don’t even want to go in?”

There’s something fathomless in Steve’s eyes as he finally looks over at Eddie. It makes heat pool in Eddie’s gut, sinking into him until he’s aflame. He wants to scoop out Steve’s brain, figure out what’s ticking away in there. He wants to rip out one of Steve’s eyelashes and make a wish. 

“I remember,” Steve murmurs, looking up into Eddie’s eyes. 

He still looks sallow and tired, but there’s a rudy pink blooming on his cheeks by the time Eddie rounds the van again to open his door. He doesn’t hold out his hand this time, but Steve still settles his fingers onto Eddie’s shoulder and uses it to lever himself up and out.

Eddie rushes back around to lock the van. Steve doesn’t wait for him, but he holds the door open wide to let Eddie in. There’s a little bell dangling off the handle that jingles under Steve’s shaky grip. 

Eddie hurries in. 

The waitress moves at her usual sleepy pace, calling out a quiet, “mornin’”, as she heads over to their chosen booth with unnecessary menus. 

Her eyes widen when she catches sight of Steve’s state, but she doesn’t comment, just takes their orders and walks away without writing anything down.

They settle into sleepy silence. 

Eddie’s breath stutters in his lungs when he feels Steve’s foot hook atop his under the booth. He taps the toes of his boot three times against Steve’s tennis shoe and smiles across at him.

The cook must be raring to go because it takes less than ten minutes for their waitress to round the partition, arms laden with dishes piled high with food. 

Eddie’d followed Steve’s lead, so there’s two of everything. The pancakes are fluffy, squares of butter melting at their centers, sides of warmed maple syrup just waiting to be poured. The hashbrowns are greasy and crip on the outside, soft on the center.

The bacon’s bubbling with fat, edges crisp, steam still rising from its surface. Fresh off the griddle. Eddie skewers a piece on his fork. He thrusts it up toward the middle of the table, nudging Steve’s sneaker repeatedly.

“What?” 

“A toast!” Eddie calls, beaming across at Steve when he finally gets with the program and raises his own fork and its dangling bacon. Eddie clinks their forks together. Fat drops in fat drops down onto the previously clean table. “To fresh starts!”

Steve brings his fork down to his mouth and takes a huge bite, closing his eyes in apparent ecstasy. “To good bacon.”

“And a monster free life.”

“And staying right-side-up.”

“Here, here!” Eddie cries, ignoring the way the waitress is glaring at the mess and ruckus their making. 

Because Steve’s smiling down at his food, taking big, savoring bites. The edges of the morning have been sanded down. 

Besides, it’s only fair. All Eddie had wanted when he got out was to hug Uncle Wayne, and he had. Steve doesn’t have a Wayne, so if he wants bacon, he gets bacon.

Eddie’d make sure of it, for as long as Steve will let him.

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#realized while editing that Steve had said his greatest wish during truth or dare was to get bacon at the diner and then they just never go? #anyway. added this! #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #anyway. not the update everyone wanted probably but honestly i found a COUPLE loose threads while editing so i'll probably make my way #all the way through before finishing the end. to make sure there aren't any more that I actually care about

[terminally-outsiders-obsessed]

every once in a while the outsiders rp accounts I follow show up on my dash, and It feels like I just woke up in the middle of the night to see my hamster doing weird shit in its cage every time. it’s so fascinating /vvpos

#i’ve always loved rp accounts for anything it’s so fun seeing what they post #I saw an entire thread where two-bit was insulting randy in class and it was so funny but I couldn’t laugh #I love the little critters in the tiny box on my windowsill #the outsiders #the outsiders book #the outsiders movie #johnny cade #the outsiders johnny #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #the outsiders dallas #the outsiders dally #the outsiders ponyboy #rp account #the outsiders two bit #the outsiders steve #the outsiders sodapop #the outsiders cherry #the outsiders darry #the outsiders marcia #dally winston #twobit mathews #steve randle #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #cherry valance

[sunshinediaz]

Eddie’s alive, just stuck in the Upside Down, but he doesn’t go to Dustin or Mike or Lucas—oh, no. And not even Steve, either, no matter how much he respects the dude.

Nah, Eddie traverses the woods of the Upside Down, knows where that old beat up truck sits that he and Wayne found a few months ago during season that they fixed up with the blessing of the landowner, and waits for his uncle there. 

Eddie’s trailer is fucked and he knows Wayne doesn’t have the money to afford a hotel room, so he sits in that truck in the woods, shivering and bleeding and singing songs to keep himself awake, and waits until Wayne turns it on.

And when he does in a few hours, Springsteen’s faintly heard and Eddie laughs because he loves his uncle, adores the man and he wishes he told him more of that when he had the chance, but he’s determined he’ll have more time later, he just has to get out of this hellish place first, and so he starts talking. 

It startles Wayne at first, swears and yells flying, and then there’s tears shared between them, so close and yet so far apart. Eddie explains what he can, pressing his hands into his wounds in hopes of slowing the bleeding, and he tells Wayne to hurry with an aborted, “I love you.” 

Wayne hurries. He fishes his rifle out from beneath his seat and thinks—about the kids who joined Eddie's club, about the band kid and the kid with the questions and the other kid, too, with soft brown eyes and a sad smile when he ducked his head in acknowledgment—and takes off. 

He finds Harrington’s house, knocks on the door until the kid comes running. He slings it wide, revealing himself and the band kid and Henderson, Wayne thinks, who's momma is sweet and kind at the diner, and says, “My nephew is alive. Let’s go get him.”

And he didn’t know what he expected from this kid—if he thought he’d get directions or what—but he’s surprised when Harrington nods, slips on some shoes, and follows him outside to his truck where Eddie's voice is still coming through the radio. 

Harrington says hi, a broken sort of thing, and promises they’re on the way, for him to just stay where he’s at, and Eddie giggles, says, “My knight in shining armor,” because he's always been romantic, and Harrington goes red and says, “Goddamn right I am,” and Wayne listens to Eddie's laughter the whole way to the portal that takes them to the other world. 

It's dark and ugly and dead, but they find Eddie fast. He’s bleeding out, blubbering as soon as he sees Wayne and Steve—“Call me Steve, please.”—and it takes both of them to carry Eddie up and out of that shithole dimension. 

They take him to the hospital, Eddie resting in Steve's arms the whole way, and as soon as Eddie's taken back and stabilized, Wayne and Steve collapse in the hallway. They’re quiet when they do it, but Steve's tears are hot and Wayne’s grip is tight and they hold one another close. They ask a nurse for an extra bed in Eddie's room; she’s reluctant but she does it anyway when Steve asks nicely. 

Wayne and Steve camp Eddie's room as he rests, talking quietly and getting to know one another better and sharing stories of Eddie. soon, Wayne passes out in the recliner—helps his back if he sleeps upright since those discs have been deteriorating—and wakes up a few hours later to see the extra bed unused.

Steve’s crawled up into Eddie's bed with him, nestled close and tight, and they’re both awake, faces turned toward one another as they giggle and whisper and chuckle, but Wayne can’t hear them and he thinks that’s okay. 

He rests some more, content to listen to the soft sounds of his boys—his boys, ‘cause Harrington is his now; a decision he made when he saw the darkness in the kid's eyes that reminds him so much of his own shit—lull him to sleep. 

That is, until one Dustin Henderson hears the news that Eddie's alive and safe and recovering. He causes a ruckus and a half, and the hospital staff is in shambles, and Wayne laughs because he might just have to make Dustin one of his own, too.

#wrote this on twitter and realized i can share it here too?? #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #see the thing is--i am wayne's biggest fan #he is my boyfriend and i'm holding him in my arms right now #and the idea of eddie coming to him [and he would!] and then wayne going to steve #and making steve tell him where to go so he can get his son [HIS SON] back warms my cold dead heart #and i've got plans to turn this into a full-fledged thing actually #[says actually as if it's hard for people to believe i write when i can't shut up!] #2023 i'm coming for your entire asshole so be prepared #fic thread #my writings

[embroid-away]

from Secret Empire #10 (2017) by Nick Spencer and Rod Reis

A 2021 Marvel Trumps Hate ( @marveltrumpshate​ ) commission - Part 1 of 2

Completed with embroidery floss, watercolors, acrylics, gouache, and iridescent fabric on 22-ct aida cloth in a 5″ diameter bamboo hoop.

Bonus for the sparkles and shine:

#steve rogers #kobik #marvel trumps hate #hand embroidery #mixed media #textile arts #captain america #i have a lot of mixed (and mostly negative) feelings about secret empire #but this was a really neat scene to recreate #and secret empire did give us Kobik (in child form) which led to marvel's version of kid fics with bucky #(kid-fic bucky art coming soon! lol) #(that's the part 2) #my work #comics #i knew i wanted to do the iridescent text and watercolor background #but the iridescent fabric was a light bulb that turned on at the end #and the idea for the gray thread shadows followed #and boy howdy do i love how the combination make it look like the sky is glowing #now that i got all this iridescent fabric i wanna use it on everything

[ihni]

For Harringrove Week day one: "only one bed".

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve Harrington #harringrove week #harringroveweek #they would use the covers as a barrier #and then qake up entwined like thread and you cannot tell me otherwise

[viviseawrites]

eddie munson knows he’s an anomaly. he has the kind of star power and attitude and talent that takes people far from where they start. unfortunately, his teachers don’t agree; nor does his presentation.

because eddie munson presents as a male omega in a small, backward town in the midwest, and that makes him a freak, makes him something to be sneered at instead of revered, insulted instead of praised.

he takes it in stride, though, because fuck that. he knows he’s gonna get out of here and make it anyway. so eddie munson does what he does best: he weaves a story for himself, around himself.

he imagines the struggles of high school and bigotry as enemies in his righteous quest for glory and vengeance. but at no point does he foresee his story veering into a romance. it’s never been in the cards for him.

because eddie is gay. he likes men; he doesn’t care about designations. but there aren’t any other male omegas in hawkins. and male alphas, at least here, are rude and crass and vaguely threatening.

they don’t like that eddie doesn’t behave the way he should, according to their conservative upbringings. so they talk shit and pick on him and sometimes get physically aggressive. so no alphas either.

and no one ever talks about betas. betas, who are caretakers and workers. who represent normalcy and stability. even eddie thinks that’s boring, and no beta has ever proved him wrong.

granted, it’s not like he talks to many to challenge that idea for himself. mostly he forgets about them. but that changes during spring break. eddie’s story changes. he’s still gonna do big things, only now he wonders if he can do it all in love.

he watches steve harrington face the Upside Down with bat blood in his mouth and bite marks up his sides and he wants. steve is a beta. steve is the most badass person eddie has maybe ever met.

and that latent crush from his second senior year rears its head with a roar because—and this is the trippy part—steve meets him gaze for gaze, step for step. steve calms him, humors him, acts normal. he keeps eddie sane.

eddie should hate it, did hate it for years. but he knows better now, because steve harrington is a steady, normal, boring beta, and eddie is falling in love with his quiet strength and focus. he’s anything but forgettable.

and after vecna. oh, after vecna, stability is all eddie wants. and he’s lucky, because steve is always there. taking his weight when eddie forgets his cane, challenging andy when the basketball team gets ideas, watching the kids.

eddie can’t help it. his heat hits because the bats ate his fucking suppressant implant out of his guts, the bastards, and steve offers to help him through that too. eddie says yes before he’s too far gone. and things change again.

his heat ends and steve just stays. and maybe eddie won’t let him go far, begs him for just a little while longer, but steve just grins and curls back into him, around him.

eddie thinks, sleepily, about how they fit together so perfectly, an anomaly and the ordinary boy who loves him. it turns out normal with steve is better than anything else.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #omegaverse #a/b/o #vivisea writes #omega eddie munson #beta steve harrington #originally a twitter thread