I've got brainrot about 2 idiots from the 80s

What was he thinking?

Nothing. That's the problem. He was not thinking when Steve talked him first into agreeing, then into organising a hotel room and waiting there. Shirtless, Steve had suggested, said the chicks, especially that girl he wanted to bring, were crazy about his bad boy look, his tattoos, that he should show them off, make her see all of them as soon as she entered the room.

And Eddie could not think.

Not with how Steve touched him, first his arm, caressing each bat, then trailing one nail oh so softly over his chest, barely more than hinting at the demon's existence there.

But it was enough to make Eddie short circuit. His ability to create thoughts reduced to providing an assortment of lewd things with Steve as the star and the only shred of being a civilised human that was left solely focused on keeping it in his pants, on not jumping Steve in front of the kids waiting in his van.

So, no, Eddie did not, could not, think in that moment. He's also not sure how, or even if, he got everyone home safely, but he must have or he would have heard from Steve.

And somehow, he thinks, that would be preferable to waiting for what felt like years in this damned hotel room. Waiting for Steve, and a girl Eddie has no interest in, only to get a few more glimpses of Steve, to hear him make those sounds again. That and the hope that, maybe, if Eddie was lucky and careful enough, he'd even get to feel Steve himself this time. Just for a second and it would be worth it.

The door opens, just as Eddie starts pacing again, stopping him dead in his tracks, to look at– only Steve.

Where's the girl and why is Steve looking at me like he wants me?

Erica Sinclair leaned forward in the La-Z Boy and leveled them all with an intense stare.

"We've known each other for a long time, nerds," she began, hands folded in front of her. The plastic jewelry from Claire's that adorned her wrist still sparkled in the low light, and in her lap, there was a grey stuffed kitten. "I don't even remember the last time you invited me to play DnD. Even though my brother is your friend."

Jeff and Gareth winced; she was right. It had been a while since she'd been invited to a session.

"But lets be frank here, you never wanted my friendship, and you're afraid to be in my debt. You're all big, scary guys. Ready to take on the world. And I'm just Lucas' kid sister. You didn't need a friend like me."

They looked down at their feet in shame.

"You come to me and say, Erica. We need your awesome dance skills. You don't ask in respect or friendship. You don't call me Lady Applejack."

Eddie faltered for a second. "Wait. A-are...you quoting The Godfather?"

She leveled him with a glare and folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm proposing an abridged adaptation for the Fall Play at Hawkins Middle," she explained. "It's fresh on the mind."

"Leave the gun, take the My Little Pony," Gareth muttered under his breath.

"Are you here for help? Or not?" Erica snapped at him, and he cowered. She looked at Eddie. "Obviously you're the only smart one here, which isn't saying much. So I'll negotiate with you. You want dance lessons, you've gotta be ready to give up a few things in return."

"What'll it be, kid?" Eddie mimicked her stance, arms crossed, but it was all posturing to make it seem like they were on even ground. However, they both knew she had the advantage here.

"I get to play in the next 4 Hellfire sessions--" she started.

"Done. We were gonna invite you for the next campaign anyway."

"And I roll with advantage on all skill checks where I have negative modifiers."

"I didn't think you had any," Jeff pointed out.

"That's what I wanted you to think," she replied with a sweet little smile that belied her evil genius nature. Her sharp gaze went back to Eddie for a second time.

He grumbled for a moment. Obviously, mastermind Dungeon Master that he was, he didn't want his players to just waltz through to the prize. But, he supposed, he had to give the rest of the guys a fighting chance. And this would only mean he needed to come up with new, fresh, sadistic ideas to challenge them all.

"Fine," he agreed after a beat. "What else?"

"Some day, and that day might never come, I will call on you to do me a favor in return. And you won't be able to say no."

"Seriously, Erica, enough with the Godfather stuff," Gareth scoffed.

"I'm not hearing a yes."

"Fine," Eddie agreed, sending Gareth a scathing glare.

"And..."

"And?!" All of the boys shouted in tandem, looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

"And, if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this the right way," she insisted. "Which means you'll show up on time with all of the necessary accoutrements. 7am on Saturday and Sunday, bright and early. I've heard rumors that you skip gym class; you're gonna have to dust off those uniforms. No jeans, no lessons. Period.

"Legs. Shaved. Hairy legs cause air drag on turns. No tutus--"

"No problem," Dave grumbled.

"--but leg warmers will be supplied by yours truly." She laid a hand over her heart, as though it was an act of charity. "So what do you say?"

The boys all fidgeted as the considered the offer. 7am was a hard sell on a school day, let alone a weekend. But they wanted this. They really wanted this.

They huddled together for a moment, all whispering while Erica waited. She leaned over so she could see the TV.

"Ok!" Eddie shouted as they turned back to face her. "You have yourself a deal."

"Who has a deal?" she asked, cupping a hand around her ear.

"You have yourself a deal..." Jeff sighed. "...Lady Applejack."

She grinned and clapped her hands together. "I can't wait to spray you guys with the hose, it's gonna be fun."

They all groaned, but...truly they knew there wasn't anyone else they could turn to.

There were footsteps outside of the living room, and Lucas' voice came from the doorway.

"Eddie? Jeff? Guys?" They all turned to see him there, frowning. "W-what are you doing in my house?"

"Don't ask about my business, Lucas," Erica answered for them.

"Did you make a deal with them?" he asked, then turned to his friends. "Did she? Is it true?"

"Don't ask about my business," Erica repeated.

Steve swallowed. "Yeah. Yes, I am."

Eddie reached out subtly and squeezed his leg under the table.

"So has this passionate romance been going on for a while now? Is that why you, what do they say? Came out of the closet?", his aunt asked.

"Um, not actually? I mean, I guess Eddie and I started dating pretty much right after I came out."

"Have you ever thought of how this might affect your future?"

"Or your parents?"

"What about your job prospects?"

"And you must've heard what the president's said-"

Jonas and Eddie slammed their hands down at the same time, shocking every including themselves. After a brief pause, Jonas started.

"I know you all didn't come here just to interrogate my son. You didn't know until an hour ago that he was dating a boy."

"Steve's parents aren't being 'affected' they're the ones who brought us together", Eddie said, eyes blazing now.

"And of course, Steve is primed to join Jonas once he's ready. That's always been the plan", Diane added. "He still needs to go to college but that part hasn't changed."

"And don't even get me started on what Old Ronnie said", Jonas said with a roll of his eyes. "How this country elected a man like that, I'll never know."

"Jonas you KNOW I voted for Reagan!", Steve's uncle shouted.

It very quickly devolved into an argument on politics now and even some of Steve's cousins started getting in on it. Eddie lost the trail of the conversation up until suddenly all eyes were on him and Steve again.

"What?", Eddie asked.

"Well?", the uncle asked. "What are your intentions with Steve?"

Finally, an easy question. "I intend to love him."

"Eddie...", Steve whispered.

"What-oh." Eddie hadn't ever said it out loud. But it'd been pretty obvious right? Steve must have known.

"Oh", his aunt sighed. "Why that was the most romantic thing you could've said."

Bobby was visibly gagging while Steve's parents looked on with adoration.

Eddie grabbed Steve's hand. "Even if your parents hadn't given me the greenlight, I probably would've worked up the courage to talk to you eventually. They just...accelerated everything."

"You really did get him a steady boyfriend", his uncle said, in a bit of awe.

One of Steve's cousins piped up. "Wait, did Uncle Joe and Aunt Diane pay this guy to date Steve?"

"Of course we didn't", Diane clarified. "We just told him Steve was available."

"Wait....", Eddie said as a realization came upon him. "You Harringtons are loaded. You could have paid me to date Steve!"

"We weren't going to do that", Jonas said. "No need to bribe when you're getting the deal of a lifetime to date our son."

"That's right, Steve's a catch. You should be so lucky", his aunt said.

"Maybe YOU should be the one paying them", his uncle suggested.

"But we wouldn't make you do that", Diane assured Eddie with a pat on the shoulder. "You're practically family now."

"Speaking of, when you two get hitched, you are going to take the Harrington name, aren't you?", Jonas asked.

Diane rolled her eyes. "Sweetheart, not now. We agreed they should take it slow."

"You've got a meeting with that senator's wife next week, I think we should have some things decided now", Jonas said.

"It's not a meeting. It's just a luncheon, and it's not just with her. Other ladies will be in attendance."

"They are determined to marry you off, huh?", Eddie teased while the others continued their conversation.

"They just want me happy. And they know I'm happy with you. So they wanna make it permanent." Steve brought their hands to his lips and kissed the back of Eddie's. "And Eddie Harrington doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

"Not bad at all", Eddie agreed.

Eddie thought about how gung-ho Diane and Jonas were when it came to getting involved in Steve's life. They were meddlers, for sure, but well-intentioned ones. And they knew when to pull back just a bit and let Steve take the wheel. They were definitely some of the most open minded people of this generation that he'd met. Even Steve's extended family didn't seem too put off by the whole thing. Just curious, if not lacking in a bit of knowledge regarding it. It couldn't be understated how much they cared about Steve though.

There were worse families to be marrying into, was all.

So he wasn't very surprised when about a week later, he got a call from Diane while he was relaxing around the trailer.

"The luncheon went well~", Diane sang into her end. "So we should probably get the ball rolling on that proposal."

A month ago, rushing into a marriage would have been a red flag to Eddie. Forget the fact that gays couldn't even get married. But now, craning his neck to look into his room and seeing Steve snoozing away, half dressed, the thought didn't scare him so much.

"Alright, Mrs. H. Let's talk rings."

END

Whew! Thank you for following me on this! I just think this idea would be the funniest rom-com and I'm surprised I haven't seen anything like it (if you know of another fic or even a movie with this premise, pls tell me!)

Normally this is where I plug other similar fics but in all my other stuff Steve's parents are assholes LOL

I guess if you want something light and family oriented, check out Turkey Day

Anyway, thanks again!

Tag Team

“Yeah, no shit.” He heads over to Steve’s car and cocks his head at the case. “Are you trying to uh, trade? I’m cash only, Harrington.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says flatly. “No, it’s—you know Robin, right? She’s in your year.” At Eddie’s blank look, he adds, “Robin Buckley,” trying not to sound judgemental. It’s just now that he knows her, he can’t imagine how it’s possible for anyone to not know her. It’s Robin.

Eddie glances at the case again; the penny must drop, because he says, “Oh. Yeah, duh, she’s the one in band? Fluent in, like, everything?”

Steve smiles. “That’s her.” He hands the case over. “Thanks, man, she’s gonna freak when she realises she doesn’t have it. They’re practicing for the game, so—”

“Swiftest of deliveries, got it,” Eddie says, and he actually manages a little salute while holding the trumpet case.

Steve almost laughs.

He doesn’t think any more on the exchange until he’s picking Robin up again. He’s temporarily locked Family Video—what Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Thank God he’s out of town for Spring Break; Steve’s counting down the days. A whole week of just him and Robin, and whatever movies they want to throw on and enthuse about. He’s already picked out his choices, though he still needs to check if the store has them or if he should go through the tapes he’s got at home.

He brings out a notepad from the glovebox and scrawls a reminder to do just that before he sees Robin walking out of school, trumpet case swinging by her side.

She spots his car without him needing to use the horn—claps her free hand to her forehead, and he shakes his head, smiling. It’s a gesture they keep doing at each other, especially when making mistakes at work, getting more and more stupidly exaggerated each time. Then she switches to a thumbs up which Steve returns enthusiastically with both hands, as she opens the door to the backseat and puts the case back inside the car.

“Glad the delivery was successful,” he says, craning his neck to try and meet her eye.

“Yeah, it—” The clunk of the door being shut, soon followed by Robin opening the passenger door and sliding in, still talking, “—was all good, I just, um—ooh, you have gum in here! Great, thanks—what was I—? Oh yeah, I think I confused him?”

“You confused him?” Steve echoes with amusement: an incontrovertible fact of Hawkins High is Eddie Munson’s talent for confusing other people.

“I didn’t mean to! It’s just—okay so, he showed up, like, ten minutes into first period, but you know how Taylor’s stressing about the pronunciation of—basically Rebecca said fam-eel instead of fam-ee—”

“Quelle horreur,” Steve interjects wryly.

Robin snorts, then nods in approval. “Très bien, see, you sound great! But, like, poor Rebecca, she lost her shit—Miss Taylor, I mean, though Rebecca was—anyway, the point is Taylor’s so incredibly strict about talking in French the whole time. I mean, the whole time.”

“The whole time, got it,” Steve says as he reverses out the parking lot. “Wait, the whole time? What if—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, I guarantee you Taylor doesn’t care. Unless someone’s actually dying, and even then—”

“Okay, but what if there’s—like, what if someone’s gotta get pulled out of class—”

“No-one interrupts Miss Taylor,” Robin says gravely. “No-one has dared try.”

Steve starts to grin. “I see where this is—”

“So, Eddie Munson—Taylor always shuts the door but I see him coming, and he’s, like, looking through the window, and I’m trying to wave without being obvious about it so Taylor doesn’t murder me, and I guess I don’t do it great ‘cause he’s looking at me like…”

There’s a pause. Steve huffs a laugh, knowing that Robin’s probably doing a not all that faithful interpretation of what Eddie looked like.

“Rob,” Steve says patiently, managing a brief side glance, “I’m driving.”

“Right, okay, basically he looked like he thought I needed medical attention. And then he’s lifting up my trumpet case, and I’m trying to, like, signal with my eyes like, yay, great! Please just leave it outside the door if you wanna get out alive, but he doesn’t get it, so he knocks and Taylor. Just. Goes. Silent.”

“Ouch,” Steve says. He knows that type of silence well—thinks namely of Mr Mundy’s ire whenever he showed up late to math.

“And Eddie opens the door, and Taylor just speaks the most rapid French at him, and he basically does the world’s most startled mime act, like, pointing at the case then at me, and he’s got these eyes, Steve—”

“Woah, he has eyes? Hadn’t noticed.”

“—that are just begging you for help. And I’m trying to talk for him, in French, obviously, but I’m trying to widen my eyes like, dude, leave, but he just looks even more confused, but then it must click ‘cause he stammers out Bonjour, and Taylor’s staring him down, it’s so—”

“Sounds painful.”

“I mean, it was kinda worth it in the end.”

Steve chuckles. “Really? How?”

“A: I got my trumpet. And B…” There’s a giggle rising in Robin’s voice as she says, “Eddie Munson might not know much French, but he does know how to say Monsieur Harrington.”

“Bullshit, he didn’t say that.”

Silence, quickly broken by Robin’s hiccuping laughter—which, of course, means Steve starts laughing, too. Much later, he’ll recall just how much he smiled; how he told himself he didn’t quite know why.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes!” Robin says. It’s more of a squeak. “He even tried to make your name sound French, oh my God, I can’t breathe—”

“I mean, doesn’t it sound pretty French already?” Steve says, already planning how he can keep this going; maybe he’ll steal Robin’s beret when she isn’t looking. “Don’t I have that je ne sais quoi?”

“Oh, you are so corny, it’s unb—and don’t act like you don’t know it’s all anyone would talk about after, the whispers.” Robin’s voice rises comically. “Did he say Harrington? As in Steve, Steve Harrington?  Oh, my cousin was in his year, he’s so—”

“Shut up,” Steve says fondly. Then, faux smug, “Told you I’m still cool.”

They’re stuck behind a little build up of traffic, just before the turn off to Family Video—and just as Robin starts to reply, she cuts herself off.

Steve gives her another sidelong glance. She’s trying to slide down in her seat.

“… What are you doing?”

“Shh, Steve, he’s right there!”

“Who’s right—oh.”

Eddie Munson must be walking home today, because there he is on the sidewalk. He’s not noticed them, he’s just readjusting the strap of his bag across his shoulder.

Robin keeps wriggling.

Steve snorts. “Jeez, what’re you so scared of? He’s not gonna turn you to stone.” He thinks about it. “Well, actually, there was that one time where—but that’s just ‘cause one of the Murphy twins freaked at—”

“I’m not scared, I’m just mortified, Steve! I’ve basically ruined his life.”

“Uh-huh, totally. Look at him over there, that’s a broken man, all right.”

The traffic starts to move.

“Oh no,” Robin says. “Oh no, no, no.”

Steve grins mischievously. “I’m gonna say hi.”

Robin sounds like he’s just suggested they go rob a bank. “Steve, don’t you dare—”

“What? I like honking the horn, sue me!”

Which is true: whenever he stumbles upon one of the kids—when he’s not actually giving them rides—he loves seeing their reactions when they spot his car. He’s still got a warm glow from passing by Dustin and his mom on his way to work at the weekend, their enthusiastic waves.

They catch up to Eddie, and Steve sounds the horn in a short rhythmic group of three, like a little song.

He glances over in time to see Eddie’s eyes widen in recognition, a red flush creep up his neck. His hand lifts and hovers in the air like he doesn’t know whether to commit to a full wave or not.

Robin, evidently still panicking, winds down the window. She shouts wildly into the wind, “Merci!”

Steve makes it to the parking lot before he loses it.

“Merci?” he wheezes with laughter, as Robin frantically slaps him in the chest. “Merci?”

“I panicked!”

“Oh my God, really? No-one would know.”

“He’s gonna think I’m a total—”

“Freak?” Steve cackles. Robin socks him in the arm. “Ow!”

“That did not hurt. Ugh, maybe—maybe he didn’t know it was me?” A beat. “Steve.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you wanted me to lie to you.”

This time Steve avoids the punch, gets out the car and retrieves Robin’s work vest from the back. He tosses it to her over the roof of the car, shakes his head with exasperated affection.

“Rob, seriously, relax. Eddie Munson’s probably just praying he never sees us again.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, in that case.”

But she does relax as she puts on her vest; she’s already enthusing about the movies they’ll watch over Spring Break by the time Steve unlocks the front door.

“You need to pick some, too, Steve.”

“Dude, I have a whole list, it’s in the car.”

“Très bien, Monsieur Harrington.”

“Jesus.” Steve scoffs. “Was that supposed to be an impression?”

“No! Eddie was more like…” Robin does an incredibly odd movement with her jaw, as if preparing herself.

Steve flinches back in mock horror. “Oh my God! Never mind.”

“Now, Monsieur Harrington—”

“Uh, no. That is not becoming a nickname.”

“Pass me those tapes, please.”

“No.”

“Whatever you say… Monsieur Harrington.”