hey! iâm joy, early 20s, lesbian, massive eddie munson enjoyer who likes to see him in a pit of despair. no minors please!!
incurable monoshipper obsessed with steddie, ronance, and lumax. also have the occasional byler or will x dustin moment. sometimes i get obsessed with a crackship for a couple days and everyone is forced to witness it
sometimes I write blurbs! theyâre always free to a good home if the ideas reasonate with anyone and you want to expand on them! most should be under #steddie fic
genfic enjoyerâiâve got tags for that! the most used ones are #eddie and max, #steve and dustin, #eddie and dustin, #steddie dads (yes i have major favorite character bias for max and dustin)
am i a d1 billy hater? absolutely. do i think making him steveâs shitty ex is an amazing whump tool? also yes. tag is #this fucking guy again for filtering
I write stuff but itâs mostly crackâwearfinethingsalltoowell on ao3. Also I have fic tags where I yap/give bonus content! Right now thereâs #fic: turn back the clock, #fic: nothing like being in love and fic: not enough rain in indiana to wash the sins out of that house
literally always down for asks send me whatever weird ST thoughts you have! DMs open if you ever want to chat/become each others enablers.
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girl do you literally ever sleep?! every time i check your blog or see you on my dash you've ALWAYS updated within at LEAST the last two hours
i wish i could say it was a queue or something but no i just never sleep. iâm notorious for my love of an 8pm energy drink and iâve hated sleeping since i was a baby
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Was stunned by how easy it was to think Blorbo thoughts while listening to my Broadway playlist so now I suggest. The gang tries to have movie musical night but keeps getting sidetracked cause every choice brings up someoneâs trauma.
Like Hadestown? About getting taken to a dark underground place and your love failing to save you, thatâs a no-go for Byler and Lumax. Be More Chill? The one about something implanted in your brain that changes your personality? Gives Will mind flayer flashbacks. Heathers? Assuming Steve isnât with them to nope out at Candy Store, Lucas turns it off before the murders even start because itâs reminding him wayyyyy too much of Jason and Andy. Ditto on Mean Girls. Dear Evan Hansenâyouâd think the obvious choice would be Max breaking down at Requiem but they donât get that far. Dustin sees the drug addict character who gets called a freak die and it brings back too many âfinding Eddie in the Upside Downâ memories. Anastasia makes El cry because itâs a child who canât remember her family (explaining the historical context does not help this).
Steve asking Eddie to spar/wrestle with him while fully expecting them to fuck at the end because the locker room taught him thatâs how guys show interest. Meanwhile halfway through Eddieâs like. Why is he hard.
Steve had a plan. And yeah, heâd had this plan for weeks, but whatever. Heâs going to do it this time. Heâs no chicken. Heâs decided heâs not letting hisâŚshall we say, hesitation. Get in his way this time. Not today. Not while heâs somehow managed to corner Eddie, alone, at the lake, on the hottest day of the summer so far. Not while Eddie has been in fucking swim trunks and a t-shirt all day. A t-shirt thatâs obviously ancient and too small and torn in places that keep making Steveâs mouth water. Like under the left armpit. Or the mouth-sized hole on his right shoulder.Â
Steve isnât stupid. He knew that this shirt would probably not make most peopleâs attention wander. Can admit that the tiny sliver of hair that is revealed every time Eddieâs arms go above his head is probably not enticing enough for this inability to act that heâs been dealing with for the last hour. But thatâs the entire point, isnât it? He knows whatâs happening here. Itâs not like itâs the first time heâs been attracted to a dude. He can handle this. Queue the fucking plan, god dammit.Â
The plan was simple; it was tried and true. It had always worked during his locker-room trysts. The hookups heâd managed all the way through high school with no one any the wiser. This plan had landed him blow jobs, hand jobs, and frotting (and everything in between) for four years without even creating the whisper of drama or rumours. Because The Plan was usually foolproof, easy to execute, and easy to flee from.Â
Heâd attempted several other things first, just to get Eddie to understand the goal. He was pretty sure that he didnât want the locker room version of Eddie. Well. No. He wanted that. He just wantedâŚthe rest of it too. Confusingly. So heâd done his level best. Had tried almost every other thing in the Steve Harrington playbook. But nothing seemed to work. Eddie seemed incapable of wanting Steve in return. And most sane people would have given up by now. He would probably have given up by now.Â
Except.Â
Every time he catches Eddie staring at him when he thinks Steve isnât looking, thereâs such a hunger in those stupidly large brown eyes that Steveâs stomach melts to his feet. When Eddie bumps into his shoulder to make some sort of punchline land, Steve is not imagining that lingering touch and the heat between them. He isnât.Â
At least. He doesnât think so.Â
He physically shook himself off to get his head back in the fucking game, which earned him a little quirked smile and a puzzled expression that Steve really could have lived off of for the next five years if given half a chance.Â
Eddieâs hair was still damp, though heâd pulled it out of the ponytail it had been in in a futile effort to keep it somewhat dry, and now the ringlets that were forming at the base of his neck were so much tighter than the rest of his curls. His shirt was back on because theyâd eaten a literal picnic heâd brought, full of juice boxes and poptarts and homemade crustless sandwiches that heâd produced from a cooler bag after theyâd finally gotten out of the lake.Â
It was infuriating. Eddie Munson was fucking infuriating. He was hilarious and confusing, equal parts exhausting and addictive; he was hot, but such a dork, and he didnât seem to know that either thing was true. And Steve had never, literally ever, wanted anyone so bad.Â
He shoved Eddie in the shoulder. Part one, complete. Steve laughed as Eddie shoved him back.Â
âHey,â Steve said, rough and low. âBet I could take you.â
Eddieâs eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading slow across his face like heâd just been handed something he didnât know he wanted. âTake me where, Harrington?â
âIn a fight. A real one.â Steve rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. Showed off a little, maybe. Heâd been doing that a lot lately and he was starting to think it might be a problem. âYou and me. Right here. No rules.â
âOkay, first of all, there are always rulesââ
âNo rules,â Steve repeated, and shoved him a third time, which was probably pushing it, but Eddie just crumpled a bit and laughed, and that laugh did something stupid to Steveâs chest cavity.
Eddie looked him up and down in a way that was probably meant to be sizing him up for a fight and was absolutely not doing that. This time, when Steve checked him, he put his weight into it, catching Eddie off-balance enough that he fell to the side, bare feet kicking up sand. Eddieâs eyes went wide for a second. He was surprised, maybe, but not angry, and then that grin was back, the one that split his face in half and made Steveâs chest do something embarrassing.
âOh, you wanna go, Harrington?â Eddie announced, standing quickly, nimbly.
âYeah,â Steve said, and his voice came out lower than he meant it to, quieter. âYeah, I wanna go.â
He didnât wait for Eddie to process that. He leapt up and lunged.
It was sloppy. He was out of practice, and this wasnât high school; he quickly realized that wrestling in the rocky sand was nothing like the mats in the gym, or even the pavement of the parking lot, but the basic mechanics of a friendly grapple were the same. Get a hand on the shoulder, hook a leg, drive forward. Eddie went down with a surprised grunt, and Steve landed half on top of him, one leg between both of his. Steve grinned and offered Eddie as he helped him up.
âRound two,â Steve teased, backing up with his hands raised. His breathing was uneven and way more laboured than it should be based on so little exertion.
They went at each other again, and this time, the bout lasted longer, their arms tangled and connected, scrabbling and grabbing. Steve got an arm around Eddieâs waist and hauled him sideways. Eddieâs elbow caught him in the ribs; not hard, but enough to make him hiss. But then they were both laughing, that wheezing, breathless laugh that meant they were having too much fun to actually fight properly. They went down together again, a tangle of limbs and sand and damp skin.Â
Eddie ended up on top this time, one knee in the sand beside Steveâs hip, both hands planted on Steveâs chest like he was about to push himself up. He didnât push himself up. He stayed there, breathing hard, and Steve could feel the heat of his palms through the thin cotton of his own shirt, could feel the weight of him, and his brain short-circuited for a second.
Because Eddie was heavy. In a good way. In a way that made Steveâs whole body go stupid and warm.
âYield,â Eddie said, and Steve snorted.
Steve got a grip on Eddieâs wrist, twisted it behind his back, and for one perfect second Eddie was pressed flush against his chest, all damp heat and the smell of lake water and that weird smoky sandalwood shit he wore. Steveâs chin brushed the top of Eddieâs head, and he felt, more than heard, the little hitch in Eddieâs breath. Then Eddie was gone, rolling off him with a huff and flopping onto his back in the sand, arms flung wide. Steve lay there for a second, staring at the sky, his whole body buzzing like heâd stuck his finger in an outlet.
âJesus Christ, Harrington,â Eddie panted. âYou fight dirty.â
Steve propped himself up on his elbows. Eddieâs shirt had ridden up to his ribs, and there was sand stuck to the damp skin of his stomach, and Steveâs mouth went dry. âYeah. Thatâs the point.âÂ
âOf course it is.â Eddie turned his head, and his hair was a disaster, sand caught in the curls, and he was smiling that stupid crooked smile, and Steveâs chest did the embarrassing thing again. âRound three?â
Steveâs heart hammered. Round three was where it usually happened in the locker room. Round three was where someoneâs hand slipped lower, where the pretense fell off, and they stopped pretending the fight was for anything except getting each other off. Steve inhaled sharply, noticing all of a sudden how out of his depths he was. This was not a locker room, and Eddie wasnât Tommy fucking Hagan.
And Steve, in his stupid short shorts, was decidedly hard. Heâd noticed, obviously. Somewhere between the scent of Eddie on top of him and the sudden loss of contact, the blood had drained from his face. And desperately migrated south. Heâd be embarrassed if this hadnât been the whole plan. And he was going to follow through if it was the last thing he did.
âRound three,â he murmured, rolling with the intention of getting the drop on Munson.
But he didnât, because Eddie was already pushed up on one arm, studying him. Studying all of him. Eddieâs gaze traveled downward, halting somewhere around Steveâs midsection. Steve felt his face flush hot under the scrutiny, but he didnât break eye contact. This was it. This was the moment where Eddie would either laugh orâ
âYouâre hard,â Eddie said, not laughing. Not moving either. Just stating it like he was commenting on the weather.
Steveâs mouth opened, then closed. His carefully constructed plan didnât account for Eddie just...saying it. Out loud. So Eddie.
âYeah,â he managed, because what else was there to do? Deny it? With the evidence right there, straining against his shorts?
âYou jocks. I knew there was something off about you,â Eddie said, his tone teasing, but he was also on his knees now, walking closer in a way that should have been hilarious but was not. âWrestling. You could have just asked.â
Steve laughed, more air than anything else. âIâve been trying, you dork.â
Eddieâs eyebrow arched as he settled himself on his knees, balanced on his own heels. His gaze dropped. Lingered. And Steve felt it like a physical touch, like a hand sliding down his stomach, and his whole body went tight and hot and mortified all at once.
âThat so,â Eddie murmured.
And that was all Steve could take. He wanted this too badly. He pounced. He grabbed Eddie by the shoulders and pulled, and Eddie went with it like heâd been waiting, like his body had already decided before his brain caught up. They tumbled sideways into the sand, and Steve ended up half on top again, one leg slotted between Eddieâs, and Eddie made a sound, a small, punched-out noise that Steve felt in his teeth.
âOkay,â Eddie breathed, and his hands came up to Steveâs waist, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. âOkay, yeah.â
Steve kissed him. Just leaned down and did it, no finesse, no buildup, no practiced ease; just his mouth on Eddieâs, and the taste of lake water and grape juice and Eddie's tongue. Fingers tightened on his shirt, pulling him closer, and Steve pressed into it, and Eddieâs back arched off the sand, and they wereâ
They were doing this. They were doing this.
Steve pulled back just a bit, waited for the panic. Waited for Eddie to tell him to go away.
Instead, Eddie keened, pulled him back. Attached himself to Steveâs neck. Steveâs brain fizzled out like a wet fuse. Eddieâs mouth was on his neck, hot and open and slightly damp, and the sound heâd made? That whimpering, desperate little noise? It was still ringing in Steveâs ears as he leaned into the touch, vibrating through his skull, settling somewhere deep in his chest where it pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Eddieâs teeth grazed his collarbone, and Steveâs hips jerked forward involuntarily, pressing himself against Eddieâs thigh, and the friction was so good it was almost painful. He heard himself groan, felt it rumble up from somewhere in his gut, and Eddie made that sound again, muffled this time against Steveâs skin as he bucked into Steveâs leg too, making him aware suddenly that Eddie was hard too.
âFuck,â Steve breathed, and it came out wrecked, shaky, nothing like his own voice. His hands were on Eddieâs ribs, fingers spread wide, and he could feel Eddie breathing, could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the thundering of his pulse. He was overwhelmed. The plan hadnât ever, even in his imagination, worked. He was completely out of his depths.
As if reading his mind, Eddie chuckled, released him. He shoved Steve over so that they were lying on their stupid little blanket again, and he was winding his way down Steveâs body, roaming hands and open-mouthed kisses on skin that he released from a damp t-shirt one inch at a time.
âYou gonna panic, sweetheart?â Eddie murmured as he shoved sure fingers into the band of his swim shorts. He paused as he waited for Steve to confirm, to consent, to express anything. âSteve?â Eddie insisted, his fingers pressed into Steveâs skin, rubbing circles along his hip bones.
âPlease,â Steve finally managed, a breathy murmur he barely recognized. âPlease.â
Eddieâs hand slid lower, and Steveâs breath hitched as those fingers shoved his shorts away and wrapped around his cock. The touch was confident, almost reverent, and Steveâs hips bucked involuntarily into the grip.
âFuck,â Steve gasped, his head falling back against the blanket. The sky above him blurred, blue and white and too bright, too much.
Eddieâs mouth returned to his stomach, kissed along the trail of hair leading downward. Steveâs fingers tangled in Eddieâs wild curls, sand falling from them like tiny stars.
âYou have no idea,â Eddie murmured against his skin, âhow long Iâve wanted this.â
Steve could only groan in response, his body arching as Eddieâs tongue traced a path along his hip bone. He had some idea of how long, but this was hardly the time. The sensation was electric, overwhelming, nothing like the rushed, furtive encounters in locker rooms. He was being studied. His cock jumped at the thought, and Eddie laughed.
âImpatient,â he huffed, finally moving his mouth to ghost over the head of his dick, joining the hand that had just been lazily running up and down his shaft.
Steveâs hands moved of their own accord, holding firm onto Eddieâs hair. Something in the back of his mind wanted to grip, to guide, to hold his head. But that wasnât now. That wasnât this. Eddieâs tongue traced a slow, maddening path up the underside of his cock, and Steveâs fingers tightened without meaning to. The sound that escaped Eddie was somewhere between a groan and a prayer.
âYouâre gonnaââ Steve started, but the words dissolved as Eddie took him fully into his mouth, warm and wet and impossibly good. His hips bucked up again, and Eddieâs hand pressed firmly against his stomach, holding him down with a gentle but unmistakable authority.
Steve had done this before and had this done to him. But never like this. Never with this kind of unhurried attention, like Eddie had all the time in the world and wanted to spend every second of it right here, like Steve was something worth savouring. The thought made his chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with his arousal.
Eddie pulled back, his lips swollen and wet, and looked up at Steve through those ridiculous lashes. âStop thinking,â he demanded.
âWhat?â
âThinking too much.â
As though a switch had been turned off, Steveâs brain silenced, cut off mid-tirade. When Eddie took him back into his mouth, it was just sensation that met him. The wet heat of Eddieâs mouth, the scrape of teeth just shy of too much, the way his tongue pressed flat against the underside on every stroke; all of it bled together into something that Steve couldnât have named if his life depended on it. His hands stayed in Eddieâs hair, just sitting there, like if he let go the whole world might spin off its axis.
Eddieâs free hand moved from Steveâs hip to his thigh, gripping, fingers pressing into the muscle, and Steveâs leg twitched under the hold. The sand was everywhere. He felt it, gritty under his shoulders, stuck to the backs of his arms, probably in his hair. And he didnât care. Couldnât have cared less if the entire town of Hawkins had decided to have a picnic three feet away.
The rhythm changed. Slowed. Eddie hollowed his cheeks and sucked, and Steveâs back arched off the blanket. Eddie hummed around him, and the vibration travelled up Steveâs spine.
âEddie,â he groaned. His voice broke on the name, shattered into something unrecognizable. His hips jerked upward, chasing the sensation as Eddie took him deeper, swallowing around him, and Steve saw stars.
âCocky,â Steve repeated, his voice still wrecked. âReally?â
The orgasm hit him as if a live wire had been dropped into standing water, unexpected despite everything leading to this moment. His whole body seized, muscles locking as pleasure ripped through him, the riptide pulling him under from the ankles, sudden and total and without mercy. He came back to himself in bits and pieces. He finally noticed that Eddie had collapsed beside him and was actually giggling like a maniac.
âI should,â Steve gestured, trying to drag himself from the sand, trying to reciprocate.
Eddieâs laugh gained momentum, and he rolled over to throw an arm over Steveâs wrecked torso. âDidnât think youâd heard me, Stevie boy. I came already. Down there. Surprised me, to be honest. You were pretty gone by then, and the sounds you made. Jesus. I swear itâs usually a bit harder than that to get me off, so donât getâŚum. Cocky.â
Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, but the warmth spreading through his chest had nothing to do with the summer sun. Eddieâs arm felt like it belonged there, heavy and grounding against his skin as he let his breath slow further, as he returned to himself, to the insane disconnect between this manâs dweebiness and his beauty. He was, unfortunately, intoxicated.Â
âWhat? I had to.âÂ
Eddieâs grin was unrepentant, his eyes half-lidded and satisfied. Sand clung to his cheek where it had pressed against Steveâs chest, and Steve had the sudden, overwhelming urge to brush it away. So he did.
His fingers moved slowly, almost reverent, across the curve of Eddieâs cheekbone. Eddieâs breath caught, and his eyes widened just slightly before softening again. The moment stretched between them, fragile and new and terrifying in its simplicity.
âSo,â Eddie said eventually, his voice lower than usual. âThe wrestling thing. Thatâs how you usually...â
Steveâs hand stilled on Eddieâs face. âUsually what?â
âGet guys to...â Eddie started.
âLetâs just not, okay. Iâm an idiot. IâmâŚnot sorry, butââ
âI want you to know that you are stuck with me now. Okay?â
âPssh,â Steve murmured as he flipped them over. He rolled on top of him, letting his weight collapse as he cupped Eddieâs cheek again, forcing their eyes to connect down to the soul. âYeah, Eds. Obviously. I yield.â
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I donât think Eddie ever knows what to do when he turns around and Steve is looking at him with unmistakeable bedroom eyes. Like âwhat do I DO should I go over there and kiss him. Iâm not even doing anything hot. Iâm putting cream on my bat scars why does he look like he wants to eat meâ
have you seen that screenshot of a youtube video thats like "the car crash that made me question my sexuality"? because it immediately made me think of steddie and i need you to confirm nor deny the steddie-ness of it because i might also have just fallen into the deep end where everything is steddie coded to me
yes I have and YES thatâs them. Eddieâs absolutely horrible driving captivates Steve. rear ends him and Steveâs all mad but then he gets out and. Wow that guyâs hot
Hopper hadnât known what day it was for at least the last few weeks. A robot going through the motions of life while cloaked in a veil of alcohol and grief. And now, an old friend from high school was calling him at 2am.
(Nope. He checked the clock. 1:30 in the afternoon. Damn, how the day got away from him.)
âWhat?â
âYou can take the boy out of Hawkins, or whatever. Hop, weâve got an awful scene, and my department is just me and two guys who donât know their ass from their elbow. I know itâs a lot to askââ
âIâll be there,â he was saying before the other voice could finish. A drive to Tennessee would certainly be something to do, that wouldnât make everyone in his life say he was self-sabotaging.
âThanks. Just a warning, itâs really bad. Courtesy ofâŚ.an old friend of ours, letâs say.â
Couldnât be worse than his life right now, he thought as he started the car.
But when he got there, it was certainly close. Al had always been a dick, one of the meanest bastards heâd ever known, but Hopper hadnât thought even he would be capable of this.
The boy in front of him was Alâs son, for certain: the face was a near clone, all the way down to the split lip, broken arm, and cracked, bruised jaw. The difference was Al got his injuries from fights he started, and this kidâŚ.Hopper didnât want to think about it.
He wouldâve cut out his own heart if it meant giving his daughter even one more hour to live, and this was what people had the nerve to do to their children. He wanted to scream, or punch a wall, but the way the kids big brown eyes were fixed on him told him that wouldnât be a good idea.
The boy had huge brown eyes filled with mistrust, and they were boring into Hopperâs soul.
âThe mother?â he whispered to the officer at his left.
âDOA.â
âThatâs a shame,â he sighedâheâd liked Katherine in school, and her death was certainly a loss for the world. But the more pressing question is what it would mean for this kid. Hopper sure had no idea.
âHey, bud,â Hopper kneeled down at the boyâs bedside, trying not to feel offended when he scooted back on instinct, âIâm here to help, okay? Can you tell me your name?â
He decided against offering a hand, feeling like intruding into the kidâs space would be a misstep.
He felt those huge eyes size him up, glazed over and paranoid. A look he knew well.
Eventually, though, the kid seemed to run out of will to fight, because he croaked out âEddie.â
âHey, Eddie,â this was usually the part where he told the victim he was sorry for their loss, but he knew from recent experience how hollow that rang. So, instead, he tried âyour dadâs gonna have to go away for a while. Is there any family around here you can stay with?â
âI know what prison is,â the kid bit out, sounding far wearier and more aggressive than his nine years would suggest, âand no. Canât I just go home? I can take care of myself.â
Hopper closed his eyes, reminding himself this was not a situation where he was allowed to feel frustrated.
âYouâre 9, Eddie. The government wonât allow that.â
âWhat the government doesnât know wonât hurt âem.â
This kid was going to be the death of him. âGet that from your dad?â he snarked, briefly forgetting how young Eddie was.
âMy mom.â
Well, now he felt like an asshole.
âIâm gonna go make some calls. Weâll get you through this, Eddie.â
I love baby Steve because I inevitably start thinking âand at the same time, somewhere baby Eddie is being given a babyâs first Hotwire kit for Christmasâ
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Hopper's eyes scan over the after school traffic from the side of the road, directing a minivan to move along before he address this kindergartener, "Can't say I have, kid. Stay on the sidewalk."
"I saw an alligator before," He says, toeing up to the curb. "They live in Florida with Grandpa Otis. They're cute."
"That's great, Steve."
"I wasn't even in a swamp - that's where alligators live," He continues. "I was in a car and the alligator was crossin' the street. At the crosswalk. Like a people."
Hopper gestures for a car to stop, waving on a few kids to cross the street before he turns to this kid, "I thought you had a bus to catch."
"The bus doesn't go to Loch Nora, Mr Hopper," He replies. "Do you know how I knowed it was an alligator and not a croc-a-dial?"
"How?"
"Cause I sawed it later."
Steve pauses.
He waits, watches, and burst into laughter the moment Hopper's lips waiver into a smile.
The kid looks pleased as punch with his joke and Hopper is willing to indulge it but also, "Do you want a ride home?"