He’s Not Entirely Sure What Wakes Him, Something Between Instinct, Experience, And The Dreadful Gut-feeling

Jep!

I have nightmares from these games.

Their style is almost too realistic.

They can really fuck you up 😅

Friends also recommended me stepstones… let’s see if this is less horror.

Found this really scary new horror game yall should check out. It's called indeed.com and it has a sequel called linkedin

I hate when people ask me about my preference but I don’t understand their preference level. Like yes I kinda want Chinese food 10% more than I want a sandwich but if you want a sandwich like 40% more than Chinese food then I would say it’s totally reasonable we get sandwiches.

macarons

⚠️ Warning there is some violence in this so if you’re not comfortable please don’t read.

One day, Eddie Munson and his friends hatched a plan to toilet paper Steve's house. As they were about to drive away, Eddie suddenly remembered something. "Shit, I forgot the eggs!" he exclaimed, jumping into the backseat to grab them.

He threw the eggs with precision, but his aim was off. Steve unaware of the impending attack, opened the front door just as the egg hurtled towards him. It splattered squarely in his face.

Eddie's friends erupted into howls of laughter as Eddie yelled, "Drive, drive!" His friends scrambled to get back into the car, speeding away from the scene.

Steve stormed out of his house, furious. "My dad is going to kill me!" he yelled, egg still dripping from his face.

Tommy stood beside him, seething. "We have to get that freak," he growled.

Seeking revenge, Steve and Tommy headed to Eddie's trailer. Steve thought they'd just return the favor, throwing eggs and toilet paper. But Tommy had other plans.

As they approached the trailer, Tommy started vandalizing it, smashing windows and causing chaos. Steve was horrified. "Tommy, stop! You're going too far!"

But Tommy wouldn't listen.

The next day, Eddie seethed with anger at school. "I know it was you, Harrington," he spat. But without proof, he couldn't do anything.

Steve just shrugged. "You started it."

Eddie vowed to take Steve down, and the prank war escalated. Each tried to outdo the other. Their rivalry turned in a chaotic confrontation at a school event. In the heat of the moment, they found themselves locked in a storage room together.

Steve glared at Eddie, furious. "Have you had enough, Munson?"

Eddie shrugged, a hint of innocence on his face. "I didn't know it would escalate this far."

As they stood there, locked in the storage room, Steve's expression softened. "There has to be something I can do to make it right."

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "Pay me back."

Steve hesitated. "I don't have the money."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? You're rich."

Steve corrected him. "My parents are. Not me."

Eddie's gaze locked onto Steve's, a sly smile spreading across his face. "There's something you can do," he said, his voice low and suggestive.

Steve's eyes widened in alarm. "Like hell I'm not doing that! What's wrong with you?"

Eddie chuckled, holding up his hands in defense. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington. I just need you to pick something up for me."

Steve banged on the door of Eddie's trailer, and Eddie answered with a mouthful of cereal. "You got it," he mumbled.

Steve barged in, slamming the bag of drugs onto the kitchen counter. "Drugs?!" he exclaimed, outraged.

Eddie's eyes sparkled with mischief . "Well, I couldn't go myself. It's too shady."

Steve's face turned red with anger. "Yeah, no shit it's shady! I'm picking up drugs, and you told me it was candy."

Eddie shrugged, still chewing his cereal. "Yeah, and you were stupid enough to believe me."

Steve's voice rose in indignation. "Eddie, what if I was caught? Huh?!"

Eddie's grin was unrepentant. "You said you'd do anything to pay me back, right?"

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, but not this, man."

Eddie shrugged. "Yeah, well, I need a few more pickups."

Steve's face fell. "What are you talking about? I thought this was it."

Eddie settled into the couch, lighting a cigarette as he gazed out the shattered window now duck taped. You smashed my van windows and my trailer. Do you know how much money that's going to cost me?" He turned to Steve, his eyes stern.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Eddie's voice was laced with a mix of anger . "Yeah, well, sorry isn't going to fix it." He took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes never leaving Steve's face.

Steve's voice was curt, resignation etched on his face. "Fine."

As the days passed, Steve continued to make pickups and drop offs for Eddie. He arrived at Eddie’s place, knocking on the door. An older man answered, eyeing Steve warily.

“We don't want what you're selling," the man growled.

Eddie appeared behind him, “Uncle Wayne it’s for me,” taking Steve's hand and dragging him inside. Steve felt a shiver run down his spine at the touch.

Eddie closed the bedroom door, his expression stern. "I told you six o'clock on the dot, not four hours later."

Steve explained, "Yeah, well, my tire blew .

Eddie cut him off, his voice curt. "I don't care about your life story, man. Just give it here."

He grabbed Steve's backpack, dumping its contents onto the floor. “So that’s your uncle,” he asked already knowing the answer.

Eddie's silence was palpable before he replied, "Yeah."

Steve asked, "Does he know?" Eddie's laughter was low and husky. "Yeah, no. He would kill you from where you're standing."

Steve felt a pang of guilt at that. Eddie handed Steve his backpack. "You can leave now."

As Steve walked out, Eddie's uncle stopped him at the front door. "You Ed's friend?" he asked, glancing back at Eddie's closed bedroom door.

Steve hesitated, feeling uneasy about the lie. "Yeah."

The older man's expression turned sad. "I guess you've seen what those punks did to our trailer."

Steve offered a sympathetic apology. "Yeah, I'm sorry, sir."

Wayne raised an eyebrow. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, boy. It wasn't your doing."

Steve gulped, feeling a sense of relief that he didn’t suspect him.

Wayne's expression softened. "Be good to my boy, will you? He might seem tough, but he's really a good kid. Doesn't have many friends."

Steve stuttered, "Y-yeah..." He quickly added, "Hey, I actually got to get home for dinner, but it was nice talking to you."

He hastily walked out to his car, smacking his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. He layed his head on it,taking a deep breath. "I’m such an asshole," he whispered to himself.

Steve arrived at a secluded house, getting lost a couple of times before finally finding it. A burly man answered the door, eyeing him suspiciously. "Eddie?" he questioned.

"No, Steve," he replied.

The man raised an eyebrow, opening the door wider to let Steve in. Steve sat on the leather couch, taking in the scene before him. Men lounged in the living room, drinking and all over them. Steve's gaze landed on one man with a gun holstered at his hip. A shiver ran down Steve's spine as he thought,

He's going to kill Eddie when he sees him."

The man who let him in disappeared, replaced by a taller, skinnier guy who looked annoyed. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Steve stuttered, "Uh, Steve. I'm here to pick up for Eddie."

The burly man sat down beside Steve, making him squirm uncomfortably. The skinny man sat on the other side, shoving a picture of a younger guy into Steve's face. "You know this man, huh?"

Steve shook his head, "N-no, I uh..." he stuttered.

The skinny man leaned in, his voice menacing. "Come on, kid."

"No, I don't, sir," Steve squeaked out, his voice trembling.

The two men exchanged a glance. "What do you want to do, Rich?" the burly man asked.

Rich's eyes blazed with fury as he turned to Steve. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he sneered. "What's your name again, Steve?" Steve nodded nervously.

Rich's smile twisted into a snarl. "Yeah, well, Steve, I'm going to lock you in that basement," he pointed to a door, "and tie you up. Then I'll pistol whip you until Eddie boy gets here."

Steve's eyes widened in terror. "Wait, no, please!" he begged.

The burly man grabbed Steve by the shoulders, dragging him away.

Meanwhile, Eddie answered a phone call in the kitchen. "Steve, are you coming or what?" he asked.

A menacing voice replied, "Not Steve."

Eddie's tone turned icy. "Where is Steve?" he demanded.

Eddie arrived, a hand gun concealed in his boot. He had been warned if the cops showed up, Steve would be killed. As he entered, a man announced, "Rich, the kid's here."

The man proceeded to pat Eddie down, discovering the small handgun. "What, you thought you'd come in here guns blazing?" he sneered.

Rich walked in, laughing. "Look at this, thinks he's some kind of hero." His amusement was laced with menace, and Eddie's eyes narrowed, his grip on his composure tightening.

Rich gestured to the couch, and Eddie sat, his eyes scanning the room for Steve. "Where's Steve?" he grunted.

Rich sat down in a chair, positioning it so that his legs were in front , "Steve's here, but don't you worry about that," Rich said, his voice dripping with malice. "I have some questions for you."

He leaned forward, shoving a picture in Eddie's face. "You recognize this man?" he demanded.

Eddie's gaze dropped to the photo, and his expression faltered. It was Rick. He was confused why would Rich want Rick?

"Yeah, I know him," Eddie said, his voice neutral. "So what?"

Rich's expression twisted into a mocking grin. "So what? Rick, that son of a bitch, sped off with my money, that's what."

Eddie shook his head, his eyes locked on Rich. "I don't know where he is, honest."

Rich's face darkened, and he backhanded Eddie, who felt a searing pain as his cheek throbbed. His lip began to bleed, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to give Rich the satisfaction of a reaction.

Rich's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "How about one of my men starts beating the shit out of that kid downstairs? Will that help you remember?"

Eddie's composure cracked, and panic etched his face as he glanced at the basement door. "I really don't know," he said, his voice laced with desperation. "I couldn't get ahold of him last night, and he's not at his place. I even went to one of his hideouts looking for him. I don't know, really."

Rich's fist connected with Eddie's nose, the crunching sound echoing through the whole house. "Fuck," Eddie groaned, clutching his shattered nose.

Downstairs, Steve's he hears Eddie's anguished cry. He was bleeding from his own head wound, but his concern for Eddie distracted him from his own pain. "Eddie!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the gag.

Eddie's battered body was dragged downstairs, and he landed with a thud beside Steve in the basement. Steve's eyes widened as he took in Eddie's injuries, and he gasped in horror

Eddie's eyes fluttered closed, and he passed out from the pain. Steve was left alone, his own injuries momentarily forgotten as he gazed at Eddie's broken form.

When Steve woke up from the sound of Eddie's labored breathing. With a surge of adrenaline, Steve struggled to sit up, wincing in pain. He gently turned Eddie onto his back, assessing the damage.

With a deep breath, Steve began to tend to Eddie's wounds, using his shirt to try to stop the bleeding as he held the shirt to him , Steve's fear and anxiety gave way to a sense of determination. He would get Eddie out of there, no matter what it took.

I love this, but I won’t be continuing it, but if someone wants it, please message me.

God damn it. This is awesome!!!!!!

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

This part includes the Russian torture scene, so adding a warning for gore/violence just to be safe!

-----

Eddie comes by Scoops, once Steve gets the job there.

The first time, he laughs at the sailor hat for a minute straight until Steve rolls his eyes and calls back, “I'm taking my lunch!”

“Now?” Robin bitches. “Did you actually get a girl to fall for those ridiculous li-” She cuts off as she comes out of the back room and sees Eddie. “Oh. Huh.”

Eddie flashes a sharp toothed smile at her, and Steve rolls his eyes again and elbows him.

“I'll be back before the actual lunch rush hits this way,” he tells Robin, untying his apron and depositing it to the side of the counter.

To Eddie, he says, “Here, since this brought you so much joy,” and drops the sailor hat onto the top of Eddie's head.

Eddie gives a squawk and squirms around like he's trying to bat him off, though Steve notices he doesn't actually push him away as Steve adjusts the hat to his liking.

“There,” Steve says, shooting Eddie a teasing little grin as he steps back. “You keep that on the whole time, and I'll buy you lunch.”

“A small price to pay for a free meal,” Eddie says solemnly, but his eyes are crinkled a little like they do when he smiles, and he doesn't take the hat off the entire time they eat together.

—

He and Eddie sit out back behind Scoops, passing a cigarette back and forth. It's the end of Steve's shift, and technically he doesn't have to stay anymore, but he's not in a hurry to get home.

Dustin's away at camp, after all.

“Why the hell are you working here?” Eddie asks, sounding like he's been mulling it over for a while.

Steve snorts. “Needed to work somewhere.”

“Okay, fine, but haven't you done the lifeguard thing for like three years?”

Steve - didn't actually expect Eddie to know that, and he shoots him a little smile before he rolls his eyes. “Not a real job, according to my dad. It's just hanging out at the pool all day.”

Eddie scoffs. “Would your dad even know a real job if it bit him?”

“My dad's never really had to work for anything,” Steve mutters. “I didn't get into any of the colleges they wanted me to, so I needed to be taught a lesson. Pretty sure he was hoping it'd humiliate me.”

Eddie tips back, looking him over. “You don't look very humiliated.”

Steve shrugs. “Because I'm not. Yeah, sure, the outfit and the hat are stupid, but work is work. Ice cream makes people happy, I make people happy, it could be worse. Besides, he has no idea what I'm even making here. Every paycheck is a little more I can stash away where he can't touch it.”

Eddie's watching him very closely now, in a way that Steve's never seen before.

“How long have you been doing that?” he asks quietly.

“What, saving money that my dad doesn't know about?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

Eddie's face is serious - far more serious than Steve's ever seen him, than he thinks the situation warrants. Steve frowns.

“Since I got my first job, I guess? Anything I ask for from him comes with some kind of string attached, and I got tired of paying for it.”

Eddie's quiet again. “You've gotten in a lot of fights the last couple of years,” he says, slow and careful like he thinks Steve might bolt. “Lot of bruises.”

He clocks on to what Eddie's trying to get at, then, and a rush of relief washes over him as he hurries to set him straight. “Oh, no, my dad's not abusive or anything, just an asshole. He's never hit me.”

Eddie considers that. “Your dad can be an abusive piece of shit without ever hitting you.”

Steve licks his lips, takes his turn watching Eddie a little more closely. “Sounds like you're familiar with it.”

Eddie laughs, sharp and humorless. “Come on, man, you know who my dad is.”

“I know what people say about him,” Steve agrees. “But I've learned not to listen to rumors.”

Eddie flicks the cigarette butt off into the distance.

Steve gets out another one, puts it between his lips to light it. He takes a long drag, then - pulls his heart out of his chest, setting it between them before he passes the cigarette over.

Eddie's eyes drop down to his heart as he takes the cigarette, but this time he doesn't say anything.

Steve still doesn't ask to see his, even though he's tempted.

“You can listen to these ones,” Eddie says after a while. “They're mostly true.”

“You deserve better,” Steve tells him.

He looks over when Eddie doesn't say anything, finding him watching his heart. It's beating strong and steady.

“So do you,” Eddie says without looking up.

They sit in silence for a while longer, until the cigarette is gone.

Then Steve tucks his heart back into his chest and stands up. “Come on, I'll get us lunch.”

Eddie scowls at him. “You bought last time.”

“Yeah, but a conversation like that deserves a burrito bigger than your head, and I've got employee discount,” Steve counters, holding out his hand.

Eddie concedes, accepting his hand up.

—

Steve keeps making up excuses to buy Eddie lunch after that, every time he comes by at the end of an early shift or close to his lunch break on a later shift.

One day he gets them both pizza from Sbarro, and they sit at one of the sticky plastic tables in the food court. It's so small their knees knock together as they devour their slices, but -

But it also means that Steve can tuck his ankle up against Eddie's, hook his foot half around it, and have an excuse if he needs one.

He doesn't need one.

Eddie doesn't move his foot away, but he does shoot wide eyed little looks over at Steve like he's not sure whether this is a joke or not, and -

“Hi,” Steve says, soft and ridiculous and holy shit, he has to have something better than hi.

But apparently hi works, because Eddie ducks his head, looks back up at him with something soft and wary and surprised all at once.

“Hi,” Eddie says back.

And that's -

It's something.

—

Steve gets closer to Robin - their bickering has started to become playful, and even though her teasing's never been mean, now it sounds almost fond. She still gets annoyed when customers watch them work in complete sync and think they're a couple, but now she just rolls her eyes and complains to him later instead of throwing things off by trying to protest it.

It's nice. He thinks he might be winning her over, and it makes the days pass a lot quicker.

—

He doesn't see Eddie for a week after their pizza lunch.

He tries not to think much about it, just tells himself that if he hasn't seen him by the time Dustin comes back from camp, he'll call him.

—

This isn't like any beating he's taken before.

Steve'd thought he was prepared. He was prepared, at least in the beginning. Billy did just as much damage, even if it was in a shorter span of time, and the ache in his ribs and stomach and face is familiar.

He can handle it.

Besides, it doesn't matter how much they hurt him - protecting Robin and Dustin and Erica is more important than anything else.

"Let's take a look at his heart," one of the soldiers says. "See how honest he's really being."

Steve's pretty sure he makes a choked off little guh.

He doesn't want to let them anywhere near his heart.

But on the other hand - he isn't lying as much as they think he is, and maybe that will prove it? They'll have to undo his hands to get him to take it out, and he briefly considers trying to get the drop on them, but he has to concede that probably won't go very well for him.

It's not like they're really asking for his opinion, anyway.

They aren't making any move to untie his hands, either, and Steve's brow scrunches in confusion.

He sees one of them holding what looks like a mix of a gun and a taser. It - honestly, it looks pretty stupid, like a prop in a bad movie, and he wrinkles his nose at it.

They press it up against his ribcage, pull the trigger - and fuck, he jolts back with the force of it.

His chest splits open.

The shock of it makes him numb for a precious few moments, staring down at the gaping hole in his own chest. The pain doesn't hit him until they take his heart out. It feels like it's being carved out of him, ripped from his chest as though he were being mauled by a wild animal, and he has the somewhat hysterical thought that he shouldn't be alive for this.

His heart was torn out of his chest, and somehow it's still beating, erratic and racing.

"Hmm," one of the soldiers says, tilting his heart this way and that. "Feels real."

The soldier squeezes it, and this time Steve screams at the pressure tightening around his heart, making him convulse in his bonds.

The second soldier laughs.

"They're making such good fakes these days," the second soldier says.

The first soldier relaxes his grip, and Steve sucks in ragged gulps of air, too disoriented to really understand what they're saying.

"Much more sophisticated than patches and paint," the first soldier agrees. "What good would a spy be if he showed his real heart?"

"No," Steve protests. "It's real, come on, you can feel it."

There’s no sign of deception from his heart, but it's beating too wildly from the pain to really make a difference.

"We'll see about that," the second soldier says, handing a switchblade to the first.

The first soldier presses the flat of the blade against his heart. "Let's see what's underneath if we shave a little off?"

—

Steve doesn't really remember anything after that. He must have passed out, because the next thing he hears is Robin's voice, and he realizes he's in a different room, tied back to back with her.

His chest aches.

Everything aches, really, but his chest is the worst of it.

Steve looks down, sees himself solid and in one piece again. He might have thought the whole thing was just a pain induced hallucination if it weren't for the unstable beat of his heart. It's pulsing unsteadily, and he feels as though if he even breathes too hard, it might burst into pieces with the next beat.

But he's not alone now.

He's with Robin, and she makes everything better, and even though his heart beats too fast when he thinks of how much he likes her - it's the good kind of too fast, not the kind that makes him think his heart is going to explode.

He is pretty sure that his heart is going to explode, though, that they're probably going to die here. He knows Robin is thinking the same thing - he just knows, like going through Russian secret agent torture together has made them automatically on the same wave length.

They were heading towards being friends before this, he knows, wonders if maybe they could have ever been for real.

It's a shame he doesn't think he'll ever get to find out.

—

Dustin and Erica find them before Steve loses any fingers.

Which is good. He might not be on the basketball team anymore, but he still plays with Lucas sometimes, and he likes all of his fingers attached to his hand and not on the floor of a secret Russian base.

He tells Dustin that as they're escaping from said Russian secret base. Dustin looks a little pale, hugs him tight around the middle, which makes Steve laugh - it should hurt, he thinks, but he doesn't feel a thing.

The only thing he feels is kind of floaty, and the itchy, overheated sensation he always gets when he's had his heart locked inside his chest for too long.

When no one's looking, Steve takes his heart out of his chest.

His stomach turns.

Whatever he's feeling about it seems distant, too far removed for him to be able to react to it, but the physical sensation of his stomach heaving is present and accounted for.

It only barely looks like a heart. The shape of it is hardly visible, more like a double handful of the precut chuck roast he gets to use as stew meat, sluggishly oozing every time it beats.

The thought of putting it back in his chest makes his stomach heave again, but even like this, he knows he can't keep it out in the open.

He rips off the red scarf from his Scoops uniform, wraps it around his heart to hold it together, and ties it off.

There.

Now no one will notice.

-----

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @samsoble @persnicketysquares @cryptid-system @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse

fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says "actually works" does actually work.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i'm gonna do it tho

Oh Baby

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “omega/omega” and “pregnancy” | wc: 816 | rated: T | cw: pregnancy and birth related anxiety, vaguely implied past abusive relationship (Billy/Steve) | tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Omega Eddie, no Upside Down, alternate meeting, pregnant Steve and birth coach Eddie, pre-relationship

———

Steve doesn’t know what he expected from a potential birth companion, but Eddie Munson isn’t it.

The man practically bounces into the consultation room, haloed by a head full of frizzy hair and carrying a haphazard stack of papers. “Hi! Steven, right? I’m Eddie.” He holds out a hand for Steve to shake.

“Just Steve, please,” he corrects. “Only my parents call me Steven.”

“Steve. Gotcha.” As he sits on the other side of the desk, he grabs a pen to note Steve’s preference in his file. “And what brings you here today, Steve?”

There’s something in Eddie’s eyes, deep brown, big and soft, that makes Steve want to tell him everything. He can’t smell him underneath the scent-blocking patches at his pulse points, only knows Eddie’s an Omega because it says so in the practice’s brochure, but Steve imagines a dark chocolate aroma that matches his eyes.

“Well, like I told the receptionist, I’m pregnant. Obviously,” he jokes, resting a hand on the gentle swell of his belly. “But it’s my first pup and I’m starting to, uh, freak out a little?”

Eddie smiles sympathetically. “What freaks you out more, the end product or the process?”

“Definitely the process. I’ve always wanted pups, I want her, it’s just… There’s a lot of painful and bloody stuff that has to happen to get her here. Steve lowers his voice, suddenly sheepish. “Which I knew in, like, an abstract sense, but it’s feeling a lot more real now that we’re past the halfway mark.”

“Totally normal,” Eddie reassures him, flipping through his intake paperwork. “Twenty-two weeks, huh? Looks like your OB is happy with how you’re doing so far. You’re not high-risk, no complications.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, so far.”

“Any reason to think that will change?” Eddie’s brow furrows as he looks up at Steve. He’s too pretty to look so serious when Steve is just being ridiculous.

“My roommate,” he sighs. “I love her to death, but she can be…”

Eddie nods. “A little paranoid?” he guesses.

“It’s contagious, I guess. Robin tells me everything she’s read that can go wrong. Then I can’t help but worry, even when I know Baby and I are healthy.” Steve rubs his eyes, not tearful but exhausted.

“I gotcha. Sleep is already a precious commodity during pregnancy, and it probably doesn’t help that your Alpha is so nervous.”

He can’t help but laugh at that. “Robin? No, she’s just a friend. My best friend.”

Steve must be imagining the relief that crosses Eddie’s face. “So Baby’s other parent…?”

“He’s not in the picture.” He lets own scent take on the sour edge it always gets when he thinks about Billy, hoping it will keep Eddie from asking.

Eddie simply nods and makes another note. “Okay, any other birthing support besides Robin?”

“Robin actually isn’t allowed in the room because I’d probably have to kill her, so…” Steve claps his hands on his thighs. “That’s where you come in, I guess?”

“Killing Robin falls a little outside my job description, but I do try to go above and beyond for my clients.” When that gets a chuckle out of Steve, Eddie winks at him. “But seriously, that’s what I’m here for. We’ll make a birth plan, work on whatever physical or mental preparation might help, and then I’ll be there for the main event. Anything you need, ice chips, a massage, a hand to hold, someone to yell at the nurses for you, I’m your guy.”

Steve bites his lip. He feels a little better already, just knowing he has Eddie in his corner. “That sounds like exactly what I was hoping for.”

“Excellent. I aim to please.” Eddie smiles at him. “Our receptionist, Chrissy, can get you set up for weekly appointments if that works for your schedule. Do you have any questions for me before we wrap up for today?”

Several, actually, but Steve knows better than to start asking if Eddie is single or into other Omegas. Instead he clears his throat. “No, I think I’m good.”

“All right.” Eddie stands, ready to hurry to his next consultation, and Steve fights down the urge to beg him to stay. Stupid hormones. “Well, Steve, it was a pleasure to meet you. If you need anything before your next appointment, give us a call.”

Steve shakes his hand again, relishing the warmth and strength of Eddie’s grip. “Thank you. Really, this has already helped so much. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Me, too. Not to mention meeting the little lady.” Eddie inclines his head in the direction of Steve’s belly. “Just not any time soon, right? Stay nice and cozy in there!” he tells the baby. “See you both next week.”

As he watches Eddie leave the room, Steve knows the flutters in his stomach are from more than just his pup kicking.

He is so screwed.

The Language of Steve Harrington’s Feelings

After everything — the underground base, the torture, the screaming, the bloody teeth, another concussion, and that awful, bleach-heavy smell that lingered in memory — Steve started learning Russian. Just… because. Because when you survive torture, when no one understands the words you’re screaming, you simply want to be able to speak.

And to be understood. Or not understood — that too.

He studied from old textbooks. Ordered cassettes and grammar guides, repeating harsh, growling words until they turned into honey and milk on his tongue. He scribbled awkward letters that, over time, became a graceful Cyrillic flow.

Steve didn’t tell anyone. Not Robin, not Nancy, not even Dustin. There weren’t any Russian language experts in Hawkins, and no real reason to speak it, so it was easy to keep his little hobby tucked away at home. He didn’t even use the local library — just occasionally bought books with his father’s money. (He secretly hoped some government official would start wondering why John Harrington suddenly took an interest in the USSR. But that, of course, belonged more to the realm of unlikely fantasies.)

Two years passed, and it became a habit.

He’d start thinking in Russian when he wanted to hide from his own thoughts. And speaking it — quietly, when no one was around. Or even when they were, but couldn’t understand.

One day he saw Nancy and Jonathan in the park. They were laughing. Holding hands. Jonathan had that rare look of confidence on his face, and Nancy… she had a softness in her smile, a gentleness in her eyes. Their happiness scorched Steve with quiet bitterness. He didn’t love Nancy anymore — not in that way — and he loved Jonathan, if anything, like a friend. But his feelings almost lifted its heavy head and made him whisper:

"Я завидую тебе. Мне до сих пор больно из-за того, что ты сделала тогда со мной на вечеринке" (“I envy you. It still hurts, what you did to me at that party.”)

And no one understood. And that was… a relief.

From then on, Russian became his emotional purge. He’d whisper, "Если бы ты только знал, как я устал" (“If only you knew how tired I am,”) when Mike begged for a ride even after two shifts and three sleepless nights. Of course, Steve would still pick him up. He’d mutter "Придурок" (“dumb-ass”) in Russian to particularly rude customers at Family Video and smile broadly when Robin wasn’t on shift. His father, in the private corridors of Steve’s thoughts, was officially renamed “Сэр мудозвон” ("Sir fuck-nugget") Russian swearing hit just as hard as drugs.

And then… there was Eddie.

Eddie became something like a permanent hallucination. Always there. Loud, alive, real. And that… was dangerous.

Steve, who had long stopped feeling in English, stumbled one day in a Russian-English dictionary on the word "любовь" (love), and froze.

Nothing changed in the way he behaved, but his vocabulary shifted.

Sometimes, when Eddie sat beside him, loudly sipping soda, feet kicked up on the table, calling Steve pretty boy, Steve would turn away and whisper:

“Отвяжись, я тебя умоляю!

Вечер страшен, гул жизни затих.

Я беспомощен. Я умираю

от слепых наплываний твоих.” (Набоков)

(“Leave me alone, I’m begging you. The night is terrifying, the hum of life is still. I’m helpless. I am dying from your blind surging will.” (Nabokov))*

Or he’d murmur:

"Я бы хотел, чтобы ты знал" (“I wish you knew.”)

It all came out by accident.

Summer. A quiet evening. The Party threw a backyard bash — barbecue, lemonade, beer for the grown-ups, sunscreen in the air, fireflies. Everyone had gone. Nancy and Robin, freshly licensed, had dropped the kids off. Only Steve, Eddie, and Hopper remained — the latter fiddling with the Jeep, not in any hurry.

Steve was tired — the kids had been extra energetic, and sleep had been a stranger lately. Slightly drunk, which was rare, but Hopper had promised them a ride home. Disheveled.

He watched Eddie walk toward the woods with his guitar, and without thinking, not even loud enough to be heard, he said:

"Я люблю тебя. Ты же никогда не узнаешь, да?" (“I love you. You’ll never know, will you?”)

Nothing happened.

The world didn’t explode. No cicadas stopped singing.Hopper sighed, slammed the hood of the Jeep, and called them over.

Nothing happened. But before he dropped Steve off, Hopper said quietly:

"Знаешь, парень… ему ты можешь это сказать и на английском." (“You know, kid… you could tell him. In English.”)

Steve froze. Turned his head. Hopper was looking at him — not judging, just calm. Understanding.

Steve lowered his gaze.

“I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s easier that way. I… didn’t think you knew Russian.”

“You’re not the only one who had a wild time back in ‘84,” Hopper replied with a shrug. “I don’t know much — just the basics. But "Привет" (‘hello,’) "Пока" (‘goodbye,’) "Сдавайся!" (‘give up the fight’) and "Я люблю тебя" (‘I love you’) I can still recognize. And listen, Steve… that’s your choice. But him? You can definitely tell him.”

Steve nodded. Said nothing. Just turned away.

Hopper watches them for another month. He doesn’t look at Steve—Steve is already clear to him. He watches Eddie. Watches how Eddie smiles only at Steve. How he jokes a little too nervously, as if afraid of how Steve might react. How he leans toward Steve more than toward anyone else.

That’s all Hopper needs. One day, he catches Eddie by the trailer park and hands him a battered book, a creased notebook filled with scribbled notes, and a worn-out cassette tape.

"Hopper? What’s this?" Eddie asks, uncertain, not quite sure how to deal with the former sheriff without a bunch of kids around.

"You’ll find out if you want to find out," Hopper says simply and turns to leave.

Eddie stands in the doorway, holding a Russian language textbook.

—

The next time Steve says " Я люблю тебя" (“I love you”) they’re sitting in his backyard. Summer is in full bloom, and the world feels quiet for once—no monsters, no missions, no kids who need constant supervision. Just sunlight and the sound of cicadas.

Eddie is covered with drop of water and tattoos, halfway through a story about the one inked on his chest.

Steve says it in a whisper “Я люблю тебя.” ("I love you") Soft. Natural. Because he’s used to thinking in Russian when the feelings are too big for English.

He doesn’t even notice the shift at first— Not until Eddie’s face flickers, like something fragile just cracked. Steve’s heart skips. Panic bubbles up. Then— A push to the chest, sudden and strong. Followed by a kiss. Desperate. Breath-stealing. So intense Steve forgets how to breathe.

"...what?" Steve whispers, dazed, still not quite caught up.

"Harrington, you’re a damn mystery." Eddie’s voice is hoarse, a little wild.

"Я люблю тебя тоже" ("I love you too.")**

*It's not really a love poem and damn me, I shouldn't be translating Nabokov. Sorry. **It would be more correct to say "Я тоже тебя люблю" (like “I too love you”), but let's assume that Eddie uses the correct words, but puts the words as in English grammar.

*** It started as the language of pain and ended as the language of love because Steve deserves it.

secret admirer part four

1,321 words

one two three

Eddie the hobbit, huh? i haven’t read that one (which isn’t saying much cause i've only read books from class) it’s probably good i’d love to hear you talk about it i’d love to hear you talk about anything, though, so maybe i’m biased p.s. i know it makes me sound like an inconsiderate asshole and maybe i am but i’m only now realizing that i don't know if you want me to stop with these i’m sorry if you do promise i’ll figure out a way to ask -H

Eddie finding a way to reply to him about the book gives Steve peace of mind that he doesn’t want him to stop with the notes, but he still feels sort of weird about it. His thoughts go round and round all day and by the time the dismissal bell rings, he has a bit of a headache. 

After checking that he has enough cash on him, Steve goes out to the picnic table behind the school where Mark Jones sells pot most days. 

He makes his way into the clearing only to see someone who is certainly not Mark Jones perched on top of the table. 

Steve stops dead in his tracks.

Eddie grins sharply and holds his arms out wide. “What have I done to be blessed with his highness’ presence?”

Steve wants to talk to him. Wants to tell him to just call him Steve, wants to ask about his book, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “What are you doing here?”

Eddie’s arms drop to his sides and he raises his eyebrows in question.

“Where’s Jones?” Steve clarifies, taking slow steps forward.

“Ah, I see. You’re here for my wares.” Eddie abruptly jumps from his seat and stretches with a groan that has Steve’s cheeks heating up. Eddie meanders over to the other side of the table before looking back at Steve and tilting his head in amusement. “Unfortunately, Mark has been let go. He had a nasty pilfering habit.” 

Whatever the fuck that means.

Steve can’t help the small smile that grows on his face, but he lifts his hand up to wipe it off inconspicuously. He’s never talked to Eddie before. 

Eddie drops onto the bench and gestures for Steve to sit across from him. As he does, Eddie opens his lunchbox and begins to rifle through it. Steve lets his eyes trail to Eddie’s hands while his focus is elsewhere. This close, Steve can finally see what shape the chunky silver ring is. A skull with fangs. Of course, it’s a skull. He should’ve known. 

Steve thinks about complimenting it but decides it would only make Eddie suspicious and he doesn’t wanna be found out (yet, he thinks then immediately backtracks. He can’t let anyone know that he’s writing love notes to a boy. Especially not the boy himself. Who knows how Eddie would react. Even though Steve hasn’t been trying to come off as a girl through the notes, and even though no one could possibly mistake his chicken scratch penmanship for that of a girl’s, still. No one can know).

“So.” Eddie claps his hands and Steve’s eyes snap to his face. “What’ll it be, my liege?”

Steve clears his throat. “Uh, I usually just go for a couple of pre-rolls.”

“Mhm, great choice. Prepared these myself.” Eddie swipes a baggie with two in it and holds it out. When Steve goes to grab it, though, Eddie pulls it out of his reach. “Ah ah ah, Harrington, no freebies.”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, alright, man.” He pulls his wallet out and hands him what he usually pays. Eddie takes the money and counts it leisurely. “You’re five bucks short.”

Steve stares at him deadpan. 

“Birthday fee,” Eddie offers in explanation, shrugging like 'what can you do?’ “Can’t a guy make some extra change for his special day?” Eddie bats his eyelashes.

This boy is trying to kill him. Steve looks heavenward for strength. He counts down from five in his head and only then does he risk looking back at Eddie. “It’s your birthday?”

Eddie grins. “Yup,” he says, popping the p, “Tomorrow. The big one eight.”

Steve stands and tosses a ten onto the table. Eddie passes him the baggie and starts shuffling through his lunchbox. He pulls out a five and holds it out.

Steve waves him off and Eddie peers up at him suspiciously before shrugging and returning the bill to his stash. Steve turns on his heel and begins his journey back to the parking lot. “Happy birthday to me, I guess,” Eddie mutters and Steve smiles to himself. He shoves his hands in his pockets and pivots to walk backwards. 

“Happy birthday, Munson,” he calls and Eddie’s head snaps up.

Steve grins before turning back around and breaking into a jog. 

It’s not often that Steve finds himself in the thrift store. Not ever, actually, but with all that Eddie complains about capitalism and The Man (who the fuck is the man) and whatnot, he supposes this is his best bet. 

Steve wanders around, not even really knowing what he’s looking for. He’s idly skimming over the women’s jewelry section when he finds it. A silver ring with a blackish blueish stone in the center. It’s not that far off from the one Eddie already has, is it?

Steve tries it on and it’s a bit snug. Steve will admit that he spent far too much time earlier looking at Eddie’s hands and he thinks they were about the same size as his own, if not a bit thinner. 

It’s perfect. 

…He hopes it’s perfect. 

Eddie heard through the grapevine today’s someone’s b-day i left a gift for you under the dealer’s table p.s. it didn’t fit in the locker p.s.s sorry if this is weird but you’ll understand once you see it -H

He jogs to plant the present in its place. He’d rolled the second note up and slipped the ring onto it. It kinda looks like a scroll.

happy birthday eddie i don’t know if you want me to keep writing or if you think it’s weird or what if you want me to stop just don’t wear the ring and i’ll back off i hope you have a good day and that you like the ring <3 p.s. you’re older than me now

Steve is so anxious that he feels nauseous by the time he makes his way back to practice and it must show because coach tells him to take the bench. Tommy shoots him a worried glance but Steve just waves him off.  

By lunchtime, Steve doesn’t think he can look. He doesn’t know why it feels like this. Like Eddie not wearing the ring would be the end of the world. 

He manages to avoid looking for the first ten minutes and is seriously worried that he won’t have the guts to do it. Just as he’s resigned himself to his fate, Tommy groans from where he’s sitting in Steve’s usual seat (he hadn’t questioned the change) and then he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts.

“Get down, freak!”

Steve only just manages to not flinch. Slowly, he turns in his seat. Eddie pays no mind to Tommy other than flipping him off without even looking in his direction or pausing in his speech.

Eddie is currently using a lunch table as a stage as his friends grin up at him, egging him on. He’s passionate about whatever it is he’s talking about. Steve can tell from the way he begins gesturing wildly as he speaks. 

Steve can't tear his eyes away. He feels like he's finally been given permission to look since half of the cafeteria has their attention on him. 

It’s then that Steve glimpses the ring on Eddie's right hand. His ring.

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sorry if i missed anyone!!

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