Samsoble - A Little Bit Chaos

Coming in late on Pack Dynamics day for @stmarchmm

Pack Omega Steve Harrington is so important to me.

Like, he doesn't really have a pack with his family, which is both small and distant, and never formed anything but a preliminary bond with anyone besides Tommy and Carol. He gets really close to pack with Nancy and Johnathan, but its cut off swiftly and abruptly when Nancy dumps him and turns to Johnathan.

Then all of a sudden he's got one pup, and then three, and suddenly he's Pack Omega to seven 10-13 year olds. They raz him and bully him, but they also look up to him and seek him for comfort. They don't always listen to him, but they know that he's always going to keep them safe.

Robin very quickly becomes Steve's alpha in every way but romantic, but she never quite steps into the role of Pack Alpha. She's got a stable pack at home and never feels the need to try and look over the kids in quite the same way Steve does, even if she does love them and look out for them.

When the kids start highschool, suddenly the boys aren't around as much. Max, El, and Erica still spend most weekends and after school at his house in his big living room nest when they don't have their own extracurriculars, but the boys start coming around less and less. The Hellfire Club has scooped them up and taken all their time, and it starts to take its toll on Steve.

He's been left behind and rejected so many times that his body is on a hair-trigger, reacting hard and fast to the slightest hint of abandonment. It starts with a generally lower mood but quickly descends into something bordering in rejection sickness. Every time the boys brush him off for Hellfire or get in his car only to talk on and on about how cool Eddie Munson is and how much they want him to hang out that day, Steve sinks a little deeper.

El, who is also extremely sensitive to pack bonds, pretty much glued herself to Steve's side once he started feeling unwell. Unfortunately, she's very easily influenced by other people's hormones and eventually becomes unwell herself.

Once that happens, it's Hopper who has to step in. He gets Max and Erica to tell him what the hell is going on and Hopper takes that all to mean that it's all actually Eddie Munson's fault. He rolls up to Hawkin's High on Hellfire night in his cruiser, barges in, drags the kids out and squishes them all into the back seat, and then goes back to pull a very confused Eddie out as well.

He makes everyone apologize and make nice, especially Eddie who, again, is so very confused by everything that is happening.

But hey, he's not one to pass up a perfectly good opportunity, and he's always kind of had a thing for Steve. Maybe a very heartfelt, prolonged (like maybe a couple of months) elaborate apology is a good way to start a courting.

Stolen 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 CW: Omegaverse, Kidnapping, Pregnancy, birth, Alpha!Eddie, Omega!Steve, mention of stillbirth(not steve)

Wayne Munson is a man with presence Steve thinks, from the moment he entered the bathroom he'd commanded Eddie like a general on the battlefield, getting the alpha to organise better, Eddie skittering around following orders.

Steve watches with a certain amount of awe, because Wayne Munson, as far as Steve can tell from his scent, is an omega.

Yet there is so much power in this older omega in a way that Steve's not seen before, not in their small-minded town. Omega's are demure, quiet, polite.

Not this rough omega.

He hadn't even realised he was an omega, though Steve's only seen him once before when he'd picked up some weed from Munson's trailer before.

But now as "Call me Wayne, son," cups his cheek gently wiping away the sweat getting into Steve's eyes, he can see the other omega clearly.

This man looks like he's worked hard his entire life, wrinkled brow and lined hands, but that doesn't mean that he's devoid of softness. The way he tilts Steve's head, coaxes him to chew on the crackers one by one, Steve's heart feels warm, cared for.

The first gentleness he'd had in a month.

He wants to cry again, the emotions welling up in his head, blocking up his throat as he swallows dry crackers.

"Easy son, you're doing good, I'll get you some water, gotta get you some energy to pop this pup," he whispers, tone calm and even, just like the soft lavender scent coming off from him.

Steve nods, hopes that his face portrays how grateful he is, for the cool towel that Wayne's got on his forehead, for the strong hand holding his own.

"Alright, Ed was saying you wanted to check the dilation? Do you mind if I go on and have a look? I've delivered a few pups before,"

What? Since when?" Eddie says as he shuffles back into the room with the hot boiled water and a sharp knife in a bowl.

"Before you were born Ed, I was your mother's first birth, so I helped her out with a few after that," Wayne says as he pours some of the hot water into the bath.

"Excuse me what?" "You had a pup?"

Wayne looks at Steve and Steve's heart drops.

"Birthed yeah, didn't survive, was too weak and we didn't have money for the hospital,"

Steve grasps the hand in his harder.

"Now let's just see how far you're gone yeah?"

Sorry y'all this one gets a lil sad, pls dun kill me, the one after this is quite touching.

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Thinking about some angst real early in the morning because I can't sleep!

CW: Implied/Referenced Depression, Implied Suicidal Thoughts (In Reference to Dead Poets Society)

Steve and Eddie breakup. They'd been together for years. And when I say years, I mean YEARS. So long that Steve had proposed to Eddie, so long that there's an engagement ring to leave on the table. So long that when Eddie leaves their relationship, their shared life behind with two suitcases and a pale strip on his ring finger, it means something.

Steve left behind with the words, "I don't love you like I used to." Words abrupt. Right before dinner was served. The house still tainted with the seasonings on Eddie's favorite dish. The dim light left in Eddie's wake. The cold spot in their bed. Half of a closet that once was brimming. A shower shelf that only has residue to tell that Eddie once existed there.

Steve who doesn't know what's happening, not really, when it comes to people being around him. He knows there's something. That there's always been something with him that has ruined everything he's ever wanted. Maybe it's the fact that he was a baby born from an act of cheating, the baby that forced a marriage into existence, the baby that became a point of contention and proof that there is no trust even in vows. Maybe it's the fact that when he says he wants to do things like theater or band or math club, he's told he's a pansy or a pussy or a fairy, that he's making a disappointment of himself, that he's not living up to expectations—expectations forced upon him because again he is a point of contention otherwise. Maybe it's his personality or his lack of personality or his clumsiness in his personality. It's the lack of book smarts, it's the lack of street smarts, it's the lack of—the absence, this crater birthing inside him. He's a child for not knowing, he's a child if he can't get himself together, he's something to be molded, to be made, he's a child for rebelling, he's a child for wanting something more.

Maybe it's the trying. The flowers and the apologies and the replacement camera and the cleaning of the vest and letting movies play (even when he doesn't like them) and turning on music just to consolidate his top-forty interests.

It's the fracture, hair thin and spreading inside him. Something that came with him when he was born. Something he's never known to remedy. He's a failure, he's a let down, he's grime, he's the worst, he's bullshit, he's unworthy, he's too much, he's actually a good guy, he's too opinionated, he's not opinionated enough, he's one way, he's this, he's a loser, he's—

He doesn't know who he is. He just bends himself into shape whenever he needs to be a certain way for somebody. The basketball star for his dad. The smarmy asshole for Tommy. The charming boyfriend for Nancy. The older brother for Dustin. The sarcastic best friend for Robin. The cool good guy for Eddie. But, deep down, he doesn't know who he is.

Eddie leaves him. In dust. In the afternoon. In broad fucking daylight.

And Robin comes over to comfort, to soothe, to love him—supposedly. And they do another dumb thing together, they form a lavender marriage. They coexist. They cohabit. They share the same bed because of nightmares, because they can't fathom being apart from each other. They eat at the same table and laugh at the same jokes and do the same things and talk on the porch. And Steve smokes a cigarette and Robin tells him to brush his teeth. And Robin is a loud drunk and Steve tells her to keep her voice down.

Robin falls in love with a girl. Steve is happy for her. Meets this girl. Meets the girlfriend. The lover. And, suddenly, it's not a lavender marriage anymore. It's two best friends and a girlfriend. It's two best friends and a girlfriend who has her own place. It's one best friend and a couple. It's a best friend in a too big house with an engagement ring on the coffee table and a cigarette between his lips and food burning on the stove and movies he doesn't have opinions on and an empty bed.

It's Steve with an array of hookups. One after the other after the other. He can't be loved, but he can be touched. It's the intimacy in sex, it's finding himself to be useful, it's finding himself to be handsome and worthy and wanted. It's Steve and a random hookup telling him that he's too shallow. It's Steve running out of condoms and always buying more. It's Steve and this crater stretching within him, a gaping maw in the center of his chest, his heart still beating like a near dead horse panting, held together by the thin, fraying sinew of grief.

It's him on the porch, the last cigarette in the pack, his teeth yellowing and his mouth gummy and the constant sheen to his empty eyes and being a few pounds underweight and the quietness of an uninhabited backyard. Him on the porch, Robin forcing her way inside to sit with him.

It's Steve turning to her, cigarette dwindling between his fingers. It's him being honest.

"You know that paperback you lent me?"

It's Robin conversing like this is kind of normal. "Dead Poets Society, right? I've been meaning to snag it back from you."

"I read it recently."

"Yeah?"

It's Steve nodding. And taking a drag and holding the smoke for a little too long. Until it burns. Until he can make it hurt. "Did you know that a girl called me shallow? Just because I wanted to have sex?" It's him not letting Robin answer. "I've run out of condoms, like, three times since Eddie left. I didn't even have sex with him that often. But...but...these girls, they always wanna know if I'm clean. The people at the clinic know me now. First name basis, Robs. And they smile at me when I come in. Like I'm doing them a service."

It's her being silent.

"I read that book you lent me. And...and it was weird."

"What was weird, Steve?"

"I could see myself between the lines. Like I was hanging onto the curls of the letters. Like I was Neil." He flicks the cigarette into the dead grass of his backyard. Watching it sizzle out and die, too. "I'm empty, Robin. I don't think I have anything else left in me to give."

"Don't say that"—

"Everything I've ever done in my life has been because somebody else wanted me to. And everybody I've ever loved, I think I only loved them because I was chasing something. I don't think I want love, Robin, I think I just want to be complete.

"And I don't think I'm there, like, at all."

"I'm here, Steve. I'm right here."

It's Steve seeing Robin. Her freckles and her sad eyes and her hope bundled tight to her chest. "I know," he whispers, "and none of this is your fault. I think it's me. I feel like...I feel like I'm gone or something, I don't know. Empty? Fruitless? Accepting something I'm not supposed to."

That's as far as I can think for this, I think. But I know for sure that Robin would suggest he goes to a therapist. But Steve would refuse the help because he's, like, so far in the dark that he's just out of it. He's letting all of this continue to pile on and hurt him because it's better than complete and absolute nothingness. And also, he wouldn't know what would become of him if he got better—he doesn't know what version of himself would become apparent; because he's never truly met himself.

This is also lowkey hypersexual Steve. Which wasn't completely an accident, but also wasn't completely purposeful.

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you're welcome

Part One Two Three

Eddie’s laid flat on his back, it’s not particularly comfortable. He’s on a yoga mat on the grass. The sun is shining, so Eddie has his shades on and his eyes closed, but it still feels too bright. The sun feels too warm on his already itchy skin. He’s vaguely aware that his cock is probably doing it’s own version of ‘saluting the sun’ or whatever the fuck the pose is called, because his rut still isn’t done.

Eddie’s jerked off a couple of times, a little half hearted. Sometimes crossing the finish line and some times not. He’s never had a rut last this long and it’s pretty miserable. The not full nature of it is somehow making it worse; like his system is sluggishly working through years of blockers and inducers and general abuse, so it doesn’t have the energy to tip Eddie into a full, proper rut.

“This is bullshit,” he tells the sky.

Next to him, he hears Steve hum a vaguely agreeable noise, and then there’s rustling as he moves. Eddie squints over just long enough to see that Steve has bent himself into yet another highly improbable pose. He’s making a big show about how good he is at breathing.

Eddie can breath. Steve isn’t all that.

Steve’s dumb floppy hair falls forward, and Eddie just wants to give Steve a shove and watch him topple over. It’d be easy, the way he’s balancing.

Low hanging fruit, Eddie decides, and closes his eyes again.

There’s more rustling, and Steve’s just sitting there now, criss cross apple sauce, hands resting easily on his knees. Stupid yoga pants with leaves and flowers printed on them, like Steve doesn’t care what he looks like.

Yoga pants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“What are you doing?”

“Meditating.”

“Is it working?”

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t.” Steve answers evenly.

Eddie decides to sing the green bottles on a wall song, he starts at one hundred, but looses steam at around ninety seven when he realizes Steve is showing no outwards sign of being bothered.

Eddie sighs. Flops over onto his stomach and sighs again.

“Why am I here for this?”

“Chrissy said you said you wanted to try yoga, so here we are.”

“That is not what happened,” Eddie flops back over onto his back indignantly, “she told me that she’s been doing yoga, and that she thinks I should try it. She said it might help.”

“She’s right, it might.”

“I don’t see how.”

Steve’s quiet for a second, then, “you know when someone comes to the door, and the dog barks like crazy?”

“I don’t have a dog, and no one ever comes to my-”

“Hypothetical dog. And front door.”

“What color?”

“The dog or the front door?”

Eddie tuts, “the dog. The hypothetical dog, what color is it?”

“It’s a golden retriever.”

“Okay, yeah,” Eddie waves his hand vaguely, “go on then.”

“It’s really difficult to train a dog to stop doing something; the best way is to train it to do something else instead. So, you train the dog that when there’s someone at the door, it fetches a toy or something. Reward when the dog meets you at the front door with the toy.”

“Are you actually a dog trainer? Like, I’m so insulted, why did they get me a dog trainer-?”

Steve snorts, “my point is, the dog can’t bark if it has something in it’s mouth. It takes ninety days to build a habit.”

Or seven or eight lines, Eddie thinks absently. “What, and I can’t get high because I’m too busy being bent up like a wanna’ be pretzel? Bullshit.”

“I think it’s more the frame of mind Chrissy was-”

“Got fucking high playing twister once. So, yeah, calling bullshit.”

“Yeah, makes sense. It’s rough anyway, yoga. Lots of core strength.”

“Shut the fuck up, try playing a three hour gig, you don’t even know core strength.”

“Right right, yeah. Of course.”

“Show me the, the stupid thing,” Eddie gets up, “the one with the ass in the air, I’ll show you. Can’t be that hard.”

“Sure, start by standing up straight...”

“I tried the stupid, the thing. The yoga thing.”

“Eddie that’s great! How was it!”

“I’m broken. Don’t tell Steve.”

Chrissy snorts down the line, “awww, you’re getting on okay with him then?”

“He’s got a great ass.”

“Eddie!”

“Might fuck it.”

“Oh my Jesus Christ Eddie no-!”

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Best behavior. Scouts honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

Eddie snorts, “no, definitely not. Bet Steve was though. Where did you even find this guy anyway? He knows how to like, do everything. He made waffles for lunch, ate like, four of ‘em. Even the fruit.”

“He got you to eat fruit? That’s it, I’ll hire him full time right now, he’s never leaving-”

“Pffft. Shut it. I’m not that bad. Besides, he’s probably got like a wife, and two point five kids and white picket fence to get back to.”

“I...actually don’t know anything personal about him really.”

Eddie hums vaguely, because that’s boring.

“He said your ruts not done, if it’s not any better in forty eight hours they want to send someone to do a blood draw.”

“Great. You know I love a nurses- hang on, wait. Is Steve reporting back to you? What else has he been telling you?”

“Not much!” Chrissy says in a bright voice that Eddie instantly knows is a lie, “and he does work for me Eddie, I mean, be reasonable. I need to know you’re okay.”

“You can ask me if I’m okay!” He takes a deep breath, feeling kind of angry and not just a little betrayed.

“I...Eddie. Your...what you tell me about yourself isn’t always...accurate. At least, it hasn’t been.”

“Oh, what so now you don’t trust me?”

“Eddie, come on-”

“No. Fuck off.” And Eddie hangs up the phone.

Eddie stews on it for a bit. Then storms through the house. He finds Steve on the couch, reading a book, “you! You fucking- you, you Judas! Get the fuck out of my house!”

Steve doesn’t even stand up off the couch, just lowers the book a bit, “I’m sorry?”

“Where the fuck do you get off, huh? What have you been telling Chrissy? Did you tell her about the other night? I bet you did you fucking snake-”

“You want to read what I wrote?”

“I- what?” Eddie deflates instantly. He was expecting Steve to put up a fight or deny it or spout some bullshit about confidentiality or something equally wank and made up.

“I do have to report back; Chrissy is my employer. This is my job.”

“But you’ll...let me read it?”

Steve shrugs, “it is about you.”

Every twenty four hour period appears to be it’s own email. All neatly laid out. It starts with if Eddie’s had a wash or not, and it turns out that Eddie is not a fan of having his personal hygiene clinically reviewed on a daily basis. It’s followed by what he’s eaten and drunk that day; or at least, what Steve’s seen him eat and drink. Not that Eddie’s been snacking much; he’s too thin right now, he can tell that by looking at himself in the mirror. It’s not a good look; it’s not the kind of skinny that would have the tabloids saying how great he looks.

It’s the kind of skinny that would have them speculating about eating disorders.

Right after that is just...notes. Clinical but...vague.

EM supported with nesting. “I have not nested.”

“No, but I changed your sheets.”

EM continues to show poor engagement with nutritional food. “Steve. I’m not eating the fucking salad.”

Steve shrugs, “you’re not eating much of anything.”

Eddie tuts.

EM continues to be disinterested in any scenting/is not showing any particularly Alpha behaviors despite continued rut. Sex drive/mating urges still appear to be low/non existent. Eddie isn’t even going to touch that one; in fact he does a solid job of pretending he didn’t even read it.

Eddie skips back a day, looking for his little nighttime misadventure. EM restless during the night. Reluctant to engage in talking therapy. Encouraged primal therapy; worked well and resolved without incident. EM exposed to positive fan feedback.

“Restless?”

Steve shrugs, “you were, weren't you?”

Eddie slides down in the office chair, “Steve, I was looking to score, I’m not some ninety year old who wouldn’t stay in bed.”

Steve shrugs again.

“Okay I guess...I mean, thanks. For covering for me.”

“Just calling it as I saw it. You didn’t actually go anywhere...I like to think you’d have come around before you made it to the gate.”

The...optimism. Faith. Trust. Whatever that Steve’s just shown is kind of...prickly and uncomfortable, “you can’t know that,” Steve shrugs, “how did you know, anyway? You got a secret spy camera or something? Door alarm?”

“No just...good instincts for this kind of thing, I guess.”

Eddie ‘harrumphs’ dismissively.

“You should call Chrissy. Apologize.”

“How do you even know-”

“Eddie,” and Steve might not be physically, like, rubbing his forehead or pinching at his nose in despair, but his tone is doing a lot of heavy lifting, “you stormed in here angry that I was spying on you. I am just doing my job, okay? You’re a smart guy, you don’t need me to point out to you how that behavior looks from the outside,”

“Meh meh meh meh looks from the outside,” Eddie mimics back in the most childish voice he can, “smart guy meh meh.”

Steve’s eyebrows twitch a tiny bit, “paranoid Eddie. Pretty classically paranoid.”

“I-oh.” Eddie stops for a second, because...well. He tries to be angry, because what the actual fuck, but the anger part has kind of already happened. Steve's watching him, not in any kind of way, not really. He’s just...prepared.

“I imagine it...like a stage,” Steve starts slowly.

“What, like I’m on stage?” Because that’s an image Eddie can get behind. He knows that feeling. The heat of the lights, the physical force of the crowd screaming. The weight of being the absolute center of the universe for literally thousands of people.

Steve moves to the couch, leaving Eddie in the office chair, “yeah, sure okay. You’re on stage, and you’re...calm. Competent. You have a plan right? You’re centered. There’s...harmony. You’ve done this a hundred times, the band backs you. You are yourself, right?”

“Okay…” Eddie says slowly, no fucking idea where Steve is going with this.

“So the crowd is...also you. Parts of you. But you have control over the crowed, right? You tell them to get their phones out for the lights, or one half of them sing and then the other half sing, right?”

Eddie does do that, it vaguely makes him think Steve has at least seen a recording of a gig, because that’s pretty accurate. He likes interacting with the crowd. Likes getting them involved and playing games like that to get them hyped. It’s the most fun part of the gig. “Sure.”

“Okay so...the audience is you, the good bits, and the bad bits. So...something unexpected happens, and maybe you get angry, or scared, or...restless,” Steve says carefully, “but they want control, so they get on the stage with you. Now you’re not in control any more. There’s too many people on the stage and not enough left in the audience, it’s chaos, right? There’s not enough of you left out there for you to...take control. The stage is loud and crowded and you can’t find you in the middle of all that, follow me?”

Eddie does. He can. He’s always had a fucking stellar imagination, and a stage crowded with fucked up versions of Eddie is really easy to picture.

“So...the first thing you learn is to recognize it’s even happening. Step one. Just that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “and then one to ten with The Count after, right? Shapes with Big Bird?”

“Only if you’re good,” Steve smiles at him, and Eddie feels like it’s the first genuine one he’s gotten so far.

Robin might platonically marry Steve, though it's not the only reason, just so she can say dramatically in an argument:

"That's it! I'm divorcing you, and I'm taking everything!"

It's usually only said when they're playing monopoly. Steve would respond with:

"Fine! But I'm keeping your last name and the kids!"

"I never wanted them in the first place!" Robin shrieked.

"What a rude thing for our dad to say," Dustin said.

They were eating popcorn and watching the whole thing unfold before them.

"Well, it's not like we don't all have daddy issues," Max said. "Except for Lucas."

"What am I looking forward to with that? Any advice?" Lucas said.

"Don't date older men," Max said. "Especially ones who are old enough to actually be your father."

"You mean the same age as Robin?" Lucas asked.

"Yeah," Max said.

"Damn, there was this cute college guy - "

"Cheating whore!" Robin shrieked.

"And here it comes," Max grinned.

She hollered and flipped the table.

"Yeah, that's right, I cheated. Dustin isn't yours!" Steve yelled.

"I knew it!" Robin gasped.

"Okay, so when Dustin said that things get intense with Steve and Robin during Monopoly. . ." Nancy said, trailing off.

"Yeah, he wasn't kidding," Jonathan said.

Eddie was gaping with Jonathan, Nancy, Vickie, Chrissy, and Argyle while the kids watched from the sidelines.

"Who else isn't mine?! I bet it's both Mike and Dustin. They both could be Eddie's! Look at them!" Robin yelled.

"Babe, I swear, I didn't touch Steve," Eddie said to Chrissy.

"Okay, first off, Dustin and Mike are not actually Steve’s sons, and two, this is just a game," Chrissy said. "Also, Steve can't get pregnant."

"Oh no! Did the doctor say why?" Eddie asked with a gasp.

"Eddie? Did you smoke with Jonathan and Argyle without me?" Chrissy asked.

"Totally," Argyle said.

"The wedding rings were a nice touch," Nancy said.

"Oh, no, they actually got married. I was the witness!" Vickie exclaimed happily. "I got to kiss the bride!"

"What?!"

"We were at Steve's house when Steve's parents came home and immediately started ragging on Steve about what a disappointment he was, that they were his only family. . .blah, blah, blah. Anyway, Robin was like "not anymore" before dragging him out of the house. We went to a wedding chapel, and I watched as my girlfriend married her platonic soulmate," Vickie said. "It was a beautiful ceremony. Didn't you notice that Steve took her last name?"

"I thought he kept calling for Robin whenever someone said Harrington," Jonathan realized. "He was correcting them."

"Buckley!" Argyle laughed.

"Yeah!" Steve and Robin yelled, looking at them.

"Holy shit," Dustin muttered.

"Well, hey, we're no longer bastards," Max said. "Except Mike. There's no fixing that."

"Hey!"

What is...

On every What is Wednesdays I will explain a trope, a rhetorical device, or a literary technique in a few sentences. Put in the comments what you would like me to explain next.

What is... a drabble?

What is... dead dove?

What is... archetypal characters?

What is… deus ex machina?

What is… whump?

What is... plot bunny?

What is... canon vs. fanon?

What is… a headcanon?

What is… a plot hole?

What is… retcon?

What is… WIP?

What is… a sequel hook?

What is… a crossover?

What is… crack?

What is… a rarepair?

What is… a red herring?

What is… fluff?

What is… smut?

What is… OOC?

What is… a missing scene?

What is… Coda?

What is… a trope?

What is… Alpha vs. Beta Reader?

What is… a cliffhanger?

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Teen Dad AU

Part 7!! (??)

I’m losing track.

More Steddie interactions (kinda?)! Plus Steve and Louie and the kids :))

I’m so excited for this one aaahhhhh!!!!!

I’m starting this on my 15th bday lmaoooo

(Update it is now 2 months after my bday, HAPPY pride month everyone!!)

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.

Steve didn’t want to leave the kitchen.

“Get the hell out there, Harrington!” George scolded him. “It’s a bunch of middle schoolers!”

Yeah, Steve refused to serve a table of middle schoolers. Because they weren’t /just/ middle schoolers.

They were his middle schoolers.

Accompanied by Miss. Byers and Jonathan.

Steve internally groaned. He had been completely avoiding and refusing to tell any of them where he worked and had sworn Hopper to secrecy. Dramatic? Sure. But valid? Absolutely.

Those kids were menaces. Even Will in his own way, giving Steve one of those sweet smiles of his to get him to give them rides almost whenever. Ugh.

The point is; Steve didn’t want to the Brat Bridge to know where he worked. Because then they’d come just about everyday to harass him.

But a teasing comment about “Scaredy Steve” from Mason had Steve punching Mason in the arm and marching out into the actual diner.

Gwen walked past him into the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes. She clapped him on the shoulder with a sly smile. “Good luck, they’re a loud bunch.”

Steve sighed. “Trust me, I know.”

Five kids, one teen, and one adult. Steve would be fine. It’d be totally fine. He sees these people like every goddamn day—

“Steve!”

He’s been spotted.

Steve gave a strained smile to Dustin, who was actually bouncing in his chair between Mike and Max, who were both looking at him like a freaky big they’d never seen before.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas chirped, across from Dustin, grinning ear to ear. Will sat quietly next to him but smiled at Steve when they made eye contact.

Steve crossed his arms and popped his hip, a small grin of his own plastering his face. “I work here, Sinclair. Now what does the Brat Pack want?”

A chorus of shouts of different menu items flew at Steve all at once. He chuckled quietly, and then groaned louder— just to be a dramatic shit.

“One at a time! You learned how to take turns in kindergarten, didn’t you? Or are you guys still there?”

Dustin and Mike immediately protested, Max making a dig at Steve’s “elementary school IQ”. While the three of them argued with a not-listening Steve, Steve turned his attention to Will and Lucas.

Orders were placed quickly after. Steve turning to Jonathan and Joyce after the kids.

When he gave the paper to Mason the raised eyebrow he got back held thousands of questions. Questions Steve ignored with a smirk and wave of his hand.

.

His shift that day was rowdy and filled with teasing and laughter. Not much different than usual but it was warmer. More comforting. The kids didn’t leave with Miss. Byers, opting to stay behind with Jonathan and wait until Steve’s shift ended.

Allya and George waved Steve off about closing, insisting they’d get to it themselves.

So, Steve and Jonathan split the brats up between their cars; Lucas, Mike and Dustin with Steve, Max and Will with Jonathan.

“Steve can we go to your house? Please?” Dustin begged, hanging off of Steve’s arm while they all walked to the cars. Steve pretended to think about it, already knowing full well that he’d give in and let them storm his trailer.

He sighed dramatically, just for shits and giggles, before agreeing. Because he’s a giant push over.

Steve and Jonathan split the kids up and Jonathan followed Steve all the way to trailer park.

“Hang on—“ Dustin slapped Steve’s arm from his seat in the passengers side. “Don’t you live in Loch Nora?”

Steve huffed, his irritation flaring at the reminder. He quickly tramped it down, refusing to be angry at Dustin for being curious.

“Used to. Moved out once I got Louie.” He explained, barely even a lie.

Mike and Lucas shared a glance in the back seat. Steve narrowed his eyes at them before quickly returning his gaze to the road. He’d have a talk to them later about trying to play detective.

Jonathan and Steve pulled in side by side in the driveway. The kids got out one by one, rushing to the porch and waiting impatiently for Steve to open it for them.

Steve smiled a small smile at the antics, before catching Jonathan staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

Steve turned to him with a confused raise of his eyebrows. Jonathan raised his own eyebrows and looked pointedly to the trailer before back at Steve.

So it wasn’t Lucas and Mike playing detective, it was Jonathan.

Steve rolled and eyes and made a very pointed and obvious “later” look before pushing through the kids and unlocking the door.

The kids discarded their shoes haphazardly and spread out in the living room, looking at everything.

“I’ll be right back. Break anything and I’ll break your asses.”

Max and Mike rolled their eyes, disappearing with Will down the hall to no doubt look around more. Dustin and Lucas stayed in the living room.

“Where are you going? And where’s Louie?” Lucas asked suspiciously.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Wow ok. More interested in my kid than me, Sinclair?” Lucas spluttered a reply, but Steve waved him off with a chuckle. “I’m kidding, doofus. Louie’s up at Gran— er, Margaret’s, because I had work.”

Lucas deemed this an ok answer and let Steve go.

He knocked on Gran’a door three times before she opened, Louie on her hip and the twins right behind her. Noah and Casey immediately ran out the door to hug Steve on the small porch, each hanging off of a different leg as Steve reached out to take Louie from Gran.

“Heya, baby!” Steve greeted the now teething infant. Teething, as Louie immediately stuck Steve’s shirt collar in his mouth to chew on.

Steve smiled at Gran, letting her know the brats were over but that they could still have dinner together that night if she was ok with an extra five kids (and Jonathan).

Grab waved him off. “The more the merrier, dear.”

Noah and Casey followed Steve home, Gran having to go run some errands and taking advantage of Steve finally being home. Steve didn’t mind.

He’d just made it to the bottom of his porch when something caught his eye across the street; leaving his own trailer was Eddie Munson, his hair thrown half-up-half-down and his shirt and jeans ripped to basically scraps. He was grinning and talking while walking backwards, supposedly to the old man standing in the doorway.

Eddie turned around just in time to make eye contact with Steve, raise an eyebrow, and grin devilishly. He stuck out his tongue, and Steve and Louie both giggled.

Steve broke the tension-filled eye contact to look down at little baby Louie, who was still chewing on his shirt. Louie grinned back at him, his little teeth nubs shiny. When Steve looked back to Eddie, the van was gone and the pretty metalhead was nowhere in sight.

“Steve! Why are you withholding the child?” Max demanded.

Steve snapped back to reality just enough to glare over his shoulder at her.

.

IM SO SORRY FOR THE SLOW ASS UPDATES BUT I CANT PROMISE ILL DO BETTER WITH MY ADHD AND HYPER-FIXATIONS EVERYWHERE 😭😭

Idk what it is but I just love omega! Steve with body worship…

—

All of his life Steve has been put on a pedestal; taught to primp and preen but he never really received it. Never any tender touches or words of encouragement.

He’s the Harrington’s prized pup, and when his first heat hits and word comes out that he’s an omega; Steve becomes that much more of a pawn for his parents to use to gain control.

Because of this, Steve acts out; of course he does. On nights his parents are away he will throw himself at anyone. He doesn’t care how rough the touch is because it means he is being touched, being held, being close to someone for once.

He forms his pack and of course Robin and the kids are there. They love him and grow to be practically glued at the hip but it’s just never enough. Steve needs to be held down, trapped under the weight of an alpha for the night for his omega to soften to a gentle purr ‘Held. Safe. Adored’ even if he knows it isn’t real, just something to help stave off the need eating him from the inside out.

Then comes the spring break from hell-

touched starved omega Steve, my beloved🥲