sphynxratedr

[sphynxratedr]

ornament.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompts: ornament | wc: 999 | rating: teen & up | tags: eddie pov, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington, the party, steve's nuggets (+ friends) love him so much, fluff, tree decorating, getting together

Eddie’s sitting on the couch with sweaty palms between Nancy and Steve with Robin to Steve’s right while the kids, including Will and El who’ve moved back to Indiana permanently, sit in a poorly constructed circle near the Christmas tree. 

The tree Steve hates. 

The reason Eddie’s palms are sweating. 

“I just hate this thing,” Steve had sighed as he flicked on the pre-lit white lights. “When I was a kid, I’d beg for the colored lights and when I’d make ornaments in school, mom would give me this polite smile and then I’d never see them on the tree anywhere. It’s always these stupid red and silver bulbs.”

It hadn’t taken much for Eddie to rally their friends and host an ornament painting party, everyone crammed into his trailer under threat of death if they blew the surprise, but now that’s it’s here, Eddie kind of wants to run and hide. 

What if he hates it? What if he thinks it’s stupid? 

Nancy knocks a knee against his and raises her eyebrows with a quiet smirk. Eddie nods, just one quick jerk of his chin, as his heart clatters in his chest and Nancy excuses herself. It’s telling, probably, that Eddie couldn’t keep the box of ornaments at his trailer because Steve spends too much there with him but Eddie’s too busy wiping his palms on the rough denim of his jeans to unpack that at the moment. 

“Where’s she going?” Steve asks. 

“We don’t need permission to go to the bathroom, do we?” Robin teases, uncharacteristically smooth in her distraction. 

Steve’s too busy needling her back to realize the front door opens and shuts, at least until Nancy comes back in with the shoebox she’d helped Eddie wrap.

“Oh my God, yes!” Dustin pipes up, spotting Nancy and whacking Lucas on the back. “Look!” 

“What—” Steve looks around in confusion, mainly down at the box that’s plopped in his lap. “What’s happening?” 

“Tell him, Eddie!” Max grins at Eddie, always a little too smart and observant for her own good. Or Eddie’s, for that matter. 

“Uh,” he stutters. “Well, we wanted to do something I guess, special? For you? It’s really nothing big but—”

“Will you stop underselling it?” Robin laughs. “It took me days to get that paint off my fingers. It was a big thing!” 

“Paint? What are you talking about?” Steve asks again, huffing. “None of your presents are ready yet, so we can put this under the tree or something and then—”

“Nope, you need this before Christmas. That’s the whole point,” Nancy chides, sitting back down next to Eddie. “Right, Eddie?”

“Yeah,” he nods, meeting Steve’s eyes with a blistering vulnerability he’s sure Steve can see, can maybe even feel with his thigh pressed against Eddie’s. “You should open it.” 

“Alright, alright,” Steve agrees, sliding a finger beneath the neatly folded paper, peeling back the tape and tossing the wrapping paper to the ground. “Did you guys get me new shoes?” 

“Just open it!” Robin snorts beside him and elbows him gently in the stomach. 

Eddie holds his breath and hopes he doesn’t pass out as Steve lifts the lid and finds the handmade ornaments carefully placed in the box. 

On top of strands of multi-colored lights sit a dozen ornaments with tiny hooks ready to be hung on branches. Lucas’ sits on top, painted to look like a basketball. Max’s is made to look like the nail bat he’d once used to save her life. Robin’s is an ice cream scoop with an anchor painted dead center. Dustin’s looks like a can of hairspray which Eddie still doesn’t completely understand but Dustin assured him that Steve would get it. Jonathan and Argyle’s pizza ornament, mailed from California. One after another, Steve pulls out ornament after ornament with splotchy paint by the people who love Steve more than they’ll ever begin to express. 

It’s silent and loud all at once as Eddie watches Steve pick each one up and run his fingers along the imperfections, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose before he speaks. 

“You… you guys make these?” Steve finally asks; soft, hushed. 

“We did!” El offers with a cheery smile. “It was Eddie’s idea.” 

“Holy shit, this is…” Steve whips over to Eddie, and any nerves he has disappear. He can’t possibly hate it, can’t possibly think it’s stupid when he’s smiling ear to ear, his nose wrinkling from the force of it before he chokes out a laugh that sounds almost like a sob. “Thank you.”

Eddie swallows and feels the heat creeping from beneath his jacket collar. He shrugs and bumps their shoulders together, nods at the kids across the room. “They’re all such great little artists, aren’t they?”

He doesn’t speak for long seconds, staring directly at Eddie until Max, menace that she is, speaks up. 

“You guys can kiss after, okay? Can we decorate the tree now?” 

Oh, she’s never getting a ride to school from him again. 

“Okay, everyone come grab an ornament!” Robin claps her hands together and pats Steve on the back, winking at Eddie as she stands up. 

Neither Eddie nor Steve move.

At least, not until the kids have their backs turned with Robin and Nancy trying their hardest to wrangle the kids into wrapping the lights around the tree. Steve leans over, Eddie’s impression of the vest he’d once thrown at Steve— the same vest that tethered Eddie to life as he’d gripped it with bloody fingers while Steve carried him out of the Upside Down— resting in his palm. 

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Steve whispers, the back of his hand landing on Eddie’s thigh. “Seriously. I can’t tell you… this means a lot, man.” 

“They love you, Harrington,” Eddie tries for subtlety but that’s never been his strong suit. “We all do.”

“C’mon,” Steve nods at the tree, his smile reaching his eyes. “The quicker we get this done, the quicker we can prove Max right.” 

[sphynxratedr]

ornament of christmas past

written for ‘ornament’ | wc: 857 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-canon era & post season 4, toddler steve, gift-giving, cute shenanigans

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Steve went to a public preschool for two whole weeks.

After a termite infestation and a backlog in the exterminator’s schedule, all the children were temporarily transferred to the only other preschool in Hawkins. Being right before the winter holiday, even Steve’s father didn’t bother throwing a fit.

Steve didn’t remember much about the place. Just under five-years-old, not that surprising. He didn’t remember much about the private preschool either, except the bland health crackers they fed at snack.

But he did remember the holiday party the staff had thrown the last day before break. Sugary cake with red and green icing, classic songs on repeat, and a gift exchange of ornaments they’d made a few days before.

Steve had already given his away to a blonde girl he’d played with a couple of times. He’d made a foam snowflake covered in glitter and threaded with a green ribbon.

No one had given him anything.

But that was okay. The kids from the public daycare had little idea who he was, and he wasn’t likely to ever see them again to remember them when he grew up.

The party ended, and all that was left was waiting for the parents and nannies to pick them up.

Another kid sidled up next to him, bumping his shoulder. He ignored it, assuming that everyone’s puffy jackets were to blame for the jostle.

Then the kid bumped him again.

He’d turned to look with a frown his face, and found this wide brown eyes staring right at him. The kid’s head was shaved, dark hair barely growing back in.

“What?” he asked.

“You don’t have a present.”

Matter-of-fact, no room for questions.

“I don’t,” Steve agreed. He didn’t really remember the kid much from those two weeks, if he had ever met the boy before that moment at all.

Whatever reason the boy had, Steve never learned. A man’s voice called toward the crowd—probably the boy’s name, since his attention was pulled over by it—and the boy shoved one of the plastic bauble ornaments into Steve’s hands.

He’d barely kept from dropping it before the boy had run off.

Steve turned the ornament over in his hands. The entire inside had been coated in red glitter with ‘Mery Crismas’ painted across the front in black paint. Or, that was the best Steve could make out, with half the paint streaked across the front.

When winter break was over, Steve went back to the private preschool his parents paid a few thousand in tuition for.

Steve never saw the boy again.

“Where did you get this?”

Steve glanced up from digging into a box of decorations at the sound of Eddie’s voice. Found him turning around a bauble ornament in his hands, catching flashes of red between his fingers.

He extended his hand toward Eddie. “Let me see.”

Eddie bounded across the haphazard living room, half-decorated and the floor scattered with boxes, and took a seat beside Steve on the couch. He bounced slightly on the sofa, curls swatting Steve on the shoulder.

He handed over the ornament.

Somehow, the closure at the top of the plastic bubble had stayed on nearly two decades, keeping the red glitter trapped inside. The painted words on the outside had fared nearly as well, chipping off just a bit on the edges of the letters.

“Had this since preschool. Some exchange thing. Some boy gave it to me.” Steve gave the ornament back.

Eddie quirked up the corner of his mouth. “Some boy have a name?”

“I was only there two weeks. Never saw him again.” Steve shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a four-year-old from my past.”

“Oh, I know I don’t need to be jealous,” Eddie said brightly. He stood from the couch and headed to the bare pine tree by the window.

Steve sat back on the couch, his hands braced on his knees. “You do?”

“Yeah,“ Eddie answered plainly.

He selected a branch right in the center of the tree, facing toward Steve, and hooked the ornament carefully in place. He tapped it with his fingernail, and then aimed a mischievous grin at Steve.

“Considering it’s mine,” he said.

Steve raised a brow high. “You remember an ornament you made in preschool?”

“Well, Wayne remembers me talking his ear off about a boy from the fancy school named Steve around then. Said I should give him a gift for Christmas. Still likes to remind me of it.”

“So your game plan was to shove my present at me and then book it?” Steve chuckled when Eddie shrugged, a pink blush glowing across his cheeks. “And that was better than just talking to me?”

“Well,” Eddie drawled out, walking a back and forth path across the rug.

Steve’s gaze followed him as Eddie walked slowly back toward the couch, his dark eyes fixed on Steve underneath his bangs. He easily moved his hands out of the way for Eddie to climb onto his lap, knees on either side of Steve’s thighs.

Eddie cocked his head, curls falling over his shoulder as he said, “Had to mark my claim, didn’t I?”

[sphynxratedr]

It's not like there's anything inherently wrong with Steve. Just...weird. Odd. A wealth of other various synonyms to describe his decidedly bizarre behavior.

Well, Bizarre's a strong word.

But Eddie's point still stands! Steve's a little to the left and it makes Eddie feel endlessly awkward for noticing. The fact that he's uncomfortable about it compounds his unease over it.

"Wanna talk about it, then?" Jeff asks, riffling idly through the record crate. Of course, the one day off they spend window-shopping in Indianapolis results in Eddie getting the fucking 'let's discuss our feelings about things' talk from Jeff. He wonders how the man isn't green with sickness from therapizing all the goddamn time.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I'd look like an idiot."

"Would the idiot keep running or confront his problems head-on?"

"This feels like a trap."

"Oh yeah," Jeff says simply.

"Like the ones with the cardboard box and the stick."

"Pre-cisely."

Eddie's shoulders slump in defeat. Better the idiot who speaks, he supposes. "He's very smiley about me being gay."

"Smiley."

"Smiley. As in he's acting like I vomit flowers and shit rainbows." Eddie shakes his head in frustration. "I'm not opposed to the support and everything...it's just that. He's like an octave higher than usual about it."

Jeff purses his lips in thought. "Like, his voice?"

"No--like...like, he's very enthusiastic about my sexuality."

Eddie leans back against the shelf behind him. Steve's a nice guy, really, but the way he goes about his support of Eddie feels like he's trying to compensate for something. A lack of empathy when he was younger, perhaps.

"He always asks if I have a boyfriend, or if I've been hooking up with any guys lately--which, hello, does he not know that queer metalhead nerd isn't a very hot item here?"

Jeff pulls a face but nods in understanding.

"And when I tell him obviously no, he says he can hook me up with his, what? Fucking father's brother's cousin's former roommate? It's like he's begging for a double date with him and his new squeeze, it's goddamn ridiculous." "New squeeze?"

"I'm hyperbolizing." Eddie blows a raspberry and shrugs. "He says it's sad that I don't have someone for how good-looking I am. You're making the face again."'

Jeff snaps out of whatever trance he's in, his drawn eyebrows shooting up to his hairline in surprise. After his gawking mouth clacks shut, he cautiously gestures at Eddie to continue.

"It's stupid," Eddie concedes, "but I really don't understand what changed, y'know? He used to be this cool, confident guy with a dorky side, but now he's just so...I don't know."

Jeff smiles lightly and knocks Eddie's shoulder with his. "I have a theory."

"Go on."

"I think Steve isn't being supportive."

"Uh-huh."

"Far from it, actually."

"Yeah. Whatever you say, chief."

"He isn't smothering you," Jeff points out. "He wants to fuck you."

Eddie blinks. Takes a moment to access and really take in what Jeff just said. "What?"

"Or at least, he wants you in an entirely non-friendly and possibly even carnal way."

"Excuse me?"

"Biblically."

"Dude," Eddie insists. "What. The. Fuck."

Jeff raises his hands placatingly. "Steve clearly likes you. A lot. He probably sees you being gay as an in for him."

"Okay, well, I don't understand. He tries to set me up with randos he knows all the time."

"He called you good-looking."

"While he was trying to set me up with said rando!"

"Guys like him have a really backward way of doing things." Eddie crosses his arms sternly. "Or he's straight," he says.

"Again," Jeff asserts. "Good. Looking. Dude, he's fucking obsessed with you! You said he's an octave higher around you now, right?"

"Because he's a well-meaning friend?"

"Eddie, remember when he crashed band practice last week?"

Oh yeah, Eddie remembers that. The man of the hour randomly parked in Gareth's driveway, leaned against his Beemer with his arms crossed, and watched Eddie play like he fucking hung the moon. Afterward, he'd sung his praises for the band and gave Eddie a yellow guitar pick attached to a sparkling silver chain. "Found the pick a couple of towns south with Robin the other day. Reminded me of you," he said softly. "Since you lost your last one."

It went unspoken where Eddie lost 'the last one'.

Eddie remembers smiling back at Steve with the force of a thousand supernovas, and thinking later in the night that it felt like a scene from a romance movie. Steve's favorite color is yellow, isn't it? It was like he wanted a piece of himself with Eddie at all times, right next to his heart.

Eddie didn't want to give himself that stupid hope. That Steve Harrington wanted in on his heart.

It doesn't feel so stupid anymore.

He looks back at Jeff and says, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

[sphynxratedr]

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

[sphynxratedr]

PART TWO: famous!Steve/regular-guy!Eddie ✨after✨ History’s Most Perfect Hookup™

'if you save something to your phone, it’s like, on the phone, right?' 🥞💛

<<< back to the bar // part one

Eddie wakes the next morning to the smell of something delicious inside his apartment. Which is not…like, if Eddie is here, by himself?

Delicious is a level of cooking sorcery he’s not exactly capable of.

He looks to the side of his bed, wondering if Chrissy dropped by because she uses the charger on the other side of the bed, her glittery case a dead giveaway, and—

There is a phone plugged in, yeah. But the case is just black, sleek. Maybe actual leather.

Eddie blinks, doesn’t think he knows anyone who’d shell out for leather on a phone, because why, except he kinda feels like he saw it being pulled out at some point, remembers strong fingers wrapped around it, and Eddie knows the fingers were strong, knows it in his bones because they were wrapped around that phone just before they wrapped around—

The night before floods his mind only seconds before he moves and feels the night before in his limbs, and that’s…Eddie hasn’t woken up with the strain in his body like this in ages, maybe not ever, not like this: he’d never shy from admitting that he’s definitely someone who classes fucking as the height of physical activity, and playing a show as the next-most-strenuous thing he engages in, but Steve had not just pushed his buttons, he’d found a few Eddie didn’t even know he had—which, fuck, that’s saying something—and coaxed Eddie in blissfully moving in ways he’d never tried, scratching itches from angles he’d never imagined, and fuck yes, he’s feeling it in his goddamn marrow, still, and he can’t help but stretch and savor the burn in his muscles as he shoots a slow-spreading grin up at the ceiling because: goddamn.

Eddie didn’t really think there was anything left for him to learn about sex. He’s honestly still kinda reeling.

He stands slow and finds the boxers he’d presumably thrown blind the night before hanging off the knob of his closet door, shucking them on and shaking out his arms as he starts to make his way from his room toward the source of the heavenly smells as much as the source of his gorgeouslysore body. He clocks the way his heart’s starting to pump deeper, harder the closer he gets, the nearer he inches toward the sounds of something sizzling, a low mindless kind of humming along to a song Eddie vaguely knows, because…Eddie doesn’t hook up with the types of guys who stay, even just to say good morning. His one night stands aren’t…leaving their phone to charge next to the bed while letting Eddie sleep in a little. He doesn’t know what to do with this.

He pauses in the doorway and watches the leisurely sway of hips he was intimately familiar with just hours before, now sadly hidden by a pair of jeans Eddie didn’t appreciate enough the night before, so maybe not sadly entirely because damn they fit well, but Eddie does very much want to see if he left bruises, he wants to have left bruises, he thought that in the moment too, wanted to have left something with this man who—

Who railed him six ways to Sunday. Who…stayed this morning. Who’s flittering around Eddie’s kitchen like he belon—

Nope. Nope, not gonna do that. Eddie…Eddie’s gotta keep this all in check because that’s why his heart started thumping the closer he got to the kitchen in the first place. Because…

Because no one stays.

And Eddie hasn’t had a relationship where someone stays in years. And Eddie…really wants to find someone who stays but has also been really fucking scared of looking and hoping and getting his fucking heart smashed for the foolishness of it, and then this gorgeous fucking man who just so happens to also be kind of a sex god is in his kitchen, apparently cooking something fucking incredible, because he stayed, he chose to stay—

It’s why his heart shifts to fluttering like a fucking bluebird high on speed when said perfect specimen turns, hair a little tousled, bare chest as tempting in its spectacular hairiness as Eddie thoroughly appreciated the night before, eyes widening when they land on Eddie: they’re amber. Amber…agate, like the little stones Eddie used to collect for his campaigns in high school, translucent enough to catch the light and speckled in sage and gold, sparkling and warming by the second as they take Eddie in, which trips in his bird-beating pulse fucking painfully but, like, in the same way his muscles ached when he stood up in the first place.

It hurts beautifully.

“Hey,” Steve greets him, low and warm and still a little scratchy, like however long he’s been up his voice is still sleep-rough and Eddie…Eddie is so weak for it, it’s unreal.

“Umm,” Steve runs a hand through his hair, color blooming high on his cheeks—and Eddie, again: he’s so fucking weak; “so, I’m super sorry,” and Eddie maybe should be concerned, because those words have never meant good things in his life, especially in the context of someone he just slept with, but…this guy. This guy is blushing and grinning a little bashful but so bright and Eddie’s kinda entranced, okay, don’t fucking judge him.

“I kinda took over your kitchen?” Steve gestures toward the stove; “I didn’t ask, I’m,” he looks at Eddie plaintively; “I’m really sorry, I—”

And Eddie, like: he doesn’t really do this. Ever. The domestic shit. The morning after. The…initiative of making a first move in more ways, in general. But…

He’s wanted it. He’s wanted to make the move. To be that guy. He’s wanted.

And it’s the impulsive side of him who acts before he thinks, as much as it’s the bone-deep weak side of him that couldn’t resist the pull of this man if he tried and he has no fucking reason or desire to try even a little bit, so.

He’s crossing to Steve in an instant, making no secret out of how he reaches, needy as fuck, but Steve doesn’t take the bare moments Eddie spends closing the distance to move away, to dodge how Eddie cups his face and pulls him in, kisses him with a conscious thoroughness that they’d both been a little too ravenous to relish the night before, and holy fucking hell.

This; this taste right here

“Hey,” Eddie thinks the motion of his lips against Steve’s does more of the work in greeting this angel in his kitchen than any power of speech he’s retained because, like, he’s kinda raspy.

And not just because he just woke up. Much more for what he’s woken up to.

Namely the blinding fucking smile that stretches warm and sap-slow across the lips he gently pulls back from, to take in the full expanse of it, let it sink warm into his blood like a, like a…holy fucking comfort or some shit.

Jesus Christ, how is he this fucked up after one exceptionally mind blowing night?

“Hey.”

Oh. That voice. Those lips. That just, just…softness in this glorious human across from him. Like, seriously though.

How’s he supposed to be anything but this fucked up?

“What’s all this?” Eddie nods to the stovetop, his own grin spreading as a little flush rises on Steve’s cheekbones, even as he raises a brow almost…daringly.

He’s a walking wet dream, holy shit.

“Pancakes?” Steve answers teasingly, because it’s pretty obvious if you look, Eddie’s just too distracted by the all of Steve, so.

He’s got to give himself some grace, here.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs low, blinks as dumbstruck as he damn well is as Steve reaches, tears of a little edge of one off the waiting flapjacks, swirling it in some syrup before lifting it to Eddie’s lips.

Had it been nearly any other scenario, Eddie would have felt a least some degree of…maybe not shame, but probably like, awkwardness, at the moan he makes around that mouthful?

But he’d just spent a substantial amount of time getting turned upside down by this man’s body, under him and on top of him and surrounding him and inside of him so, like—

It just feels kinda silly to be concerned about such trivialities as shame, now.

“You sure you’re real, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, nothing short of marveling for more than just the flavor—though also, importantly, the flavor because again: delicious cooking sorcery—once he’s chewed and swallowed and can reach for Steve’s waist pull him in closer, flush to the hips.

Can receive Steve’s unabashed lean in to claim Eddie’s lips, to pull an even deeper not-at-all awkward moan from down low in Eddie chest as he kisses sweeter into Eddie’s mouth than the syrup could dream of rivaling.

“Did I feel real last night?” Steve downright fucking purrs into Eddie’s parted mouth with a tangible grin, and holy fuck if it doesn’t light up something primal and blissfully woven in his cells to feel the vibrations run riot through him, head to toe.

“You cook for all your hookups?” Eddie asks, a little breathless, a little torn for even asking—pulled between a possessive desire for one answer and a resigned sort of fear for another—but entire and wholeheartedly unwilling to so much as lean away, to permit even a hairsbreadth of space to sneak in between them.

“No,” Eddie blinks, slow to put the pieces together—it’s such a wondering, featherlight kind of sound, that word that’s usually shaped so different, and—oh.

No, he doesn’t cook for—

“I,” and Steve’s voice is the breathy one now, and he does lean back a little, and Eddie tries to chase him on instinct alone but there’s a…a weight to the gaze he bathes Eddie in, soft and all-consuming somehow, something a little wondering in it in a way that Eddie wants to shy from because it doesn’t feel quite deserved, he hasn’t earned or merited that kind of look but, much like its comforting weight: Eddie cannot turn from it.

Definitely will not turn from Steve.

“I really don’t.”

And Steve sounds, just…pleased at coming to the realization, or speaking the words aloud: whatever it is. Steve’s happy for it.

For…making Eddie somehow some kind of exception.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Eddie asks, probably should let them shuffle toward the pancakes, show appropriate appreciation for the culinary magic just a reach beyond where they stand, but.

But.

“Honestly?” Steve huffs a little almost-laugh; “I had one thing this morning,” and he darts in to peck Eddie’s lips so fucking casual, well-worn somehow across hours alone where there’s no justification for it as Steve glances up through his lashes and murmurs:

“I cancelled.”

And if the whole exception-of-Eddie wasn’t enough to melt and destroy him one time through?

This time Eddie can feel his insides melt like honey and spill to gild the whole of his fucking skeleton in gold.

He reels Steve in for a kiss and gets to drink his laughter, which feels more like a privilege than Eddie thinks he’s ever known, and the sway inefficiently but absolutely fucking perfectly to the stove, to the pancakes, where they feed each other bites from each flat little disc of deliciousness, syrup dripped between them only encouraging both to clean it with their tongues, their lips, and like…

Eddie doesn’t believe in love at first sight, okay? Lust, sure. Infatuation even.

But: this isn’t first sight, is it, so…

“You just passing through, and I was lucky to catch you, or,” Eddie asks when they’ve eaten their fill and are just exchanging slow, syrup-sticky kisses and indulging in a little friction at the groin: languid. Comfortable.

Like home.

“My flight leaves this afternoon.”

Oh. Right.

Too much to ask for him to be local, for Eddie to have even a shot to make a move.

“Oh, right,” and Eddie fucking hates how his voice sounds, fucking forlorn like a grieving maiden bidding her betrothed farewell in the goddamn war, and he can tell himself as much as he wants that it’s because they had arguably the best fucking sex of Eddie’s life last night, and that’s it. He can tell himself that. Jesus. Fucking embarrassing, is what it is.

He clears his throat; tries again through a too-tight smile:

“Safe travels.”

But then he makes himself look at Steve, and makes himself be honest about what he sees on that beautiful face, which is undeniably regret, he can’t even talk himself into thinking he’s projecting; and then he makes himself play back the way Steve spoke: he said his flight left in mere hours, and sounded…kinda fucking gutted.

Eddie’s pulse jumps at the hope that sparks in him, foolish maybe but not wholly unwarranted, like the case could be made and it wouldn’t be thrown out immediately on grounds of being entirely fucking unsubstantiated by evidence of any kind—

But then Steve’s eyes are darting and he’s pulling away and Eddie’s whole chest drops, like his heart just goes ahead and crushes his lungs and he only just holds back a whimper—which would be shameful, good fucking god—when Steve darts for the counter on the other side of the room, grabs Eddie’s phone from where he must have tossed it in a haze last night, checks that it’s got enough juice to turn on then starts flipping through it, tapping as he walks back to Eddie, types one handed as soon as he’s close enough to reel Eddie back into him.

“Here,” Steve flips the screen and holds it until Eddie’s eyes focus in.

“Don’t lose touch, okay?” Steve breathes against Eddie’s parted lips as he presses one hand to return the phone, and the other open-palmed straight to Eddie sternum, a calming pressure to his jackrabbiting heartbeat, and, and—

Umm, so, right. A number. A number that Eddie has. And instructions to…not lose touch. Which means to keep in touch.

He leans in and kisses Steve so fucking hard, because he means it so fucking much, and he hopes what he’s feeling, whether he’s able to put it in words—whether he should even consider putting it in words—he just mostly hopes Steve feels it even a little from him, even if he can’t share it, and like, just, knows.

But then Steve’s kissing him back just as hard, and reaching to put the phone on the countertop before he uses the leverage of his palm of Eddie’s chest to push him back, and takes his newly-freed hand to wrap Eddie into him, caught in his orbit like Eddie would ever want to be anywhere else, and right. It kinda feels, tastes, like not…not having a shot.

So: maybe not too much to ask, then.

—

Eddie manages a total of six hours before he breaks and goes to text Steve.

Because, like, sure. There’s that age-old stupid ass rule or three days or whatever but one, that seems childish as fuck actually and two, Eddie is fucking vibrating out of his skin. He tried to play it cool, a little, once Steve left. He was supposed to meet Chrissy for a late lunch, they need to iron out the details for the charity event for the new client that signed with them—and Eddie’s talents lie in executing the plans, the niche little promo gig he’s fallen into that gives him enough taste of fame to make playing dives with his friends a life that makes him happy, but a planner he is not, that’s all on the marvelous Miss Cunningham—but yeah. Eddie had made himself shower. Get dressed. Stare at his skin for more minutes than he wants to admit just enjoying the color of the bruises left by the most capable fucking hands Eddie’s had the privilege to be touched by in his life…

Whatever. Point is, he tries. Maybe he refuses to change his sheets just yet no matter how filthy they left them, just so he can test come bedtime if any part of his linen set is salvageable to just retain the scent of Steve in his bed, but he doesn’t try to rewear the outfit from the bar last night to recapture Steve’s cologne. He does the dishes, but maybe he very lovingly takes the three leftover pancakes and packages them as carefully and airtight as possible, so as to preserve them as long as he can to recall this morning, this perfect beautiful morning—

He gets out of the house and doesn’t stand up one of his dearest friends and the best coworker he could ask for instead of lying in bed sighing to the ceiling like a Disney princess as he stretches and catalogs all the perfect aches in his limbs, remembering how he earned each one.

He doesn’t do that. So. Yeah. Look at him. Functioning adult. He deserves a goddamn medal.

Which is also why he thinks he’s waited long enough when, while, Chrissy’s studying a menu that hasn’t changed once in the whole five years they’ve been coming here, he’s daydreaming a little, staring out the window, and sure as fuck sees Steve’s hair—not luscious enough, but—on some guy crossing the street. Steve’s scent on some fancy business fucker who brushes past their table—same fragrance, but none of the underlying Steve to make it magical.

When he sees Steve’s fucking face in an advertisement for a movie in the side of a bus going past—hot, obviously, because movie star, but nothing on how fucking mesmerizing Steve is, so it’s almost insulting to be that close and yet so fucking far—but by that point Eddie gives up the ghost and flicks to bring up the contact that he remembers clearly as being ‘Steve 💛’ because it’d been a whole ass piece of hard evidence that Eddie wasn’t wholly insane and he just, it’s been long enough that while Eddie didn’t ask where Steve was headed, it’s not likely an afternoon flight out of Indianapolis wasn’t domestic, or at least pointed toward a layover, and he can totally justify asking how the journey is going, that’s really only polite so he’s gonna—

Have no contacts named Steve. At all. Zero. None.

He thinks he fast-tracks the stages of grief, lingering in denial as he turns his phone on and off, discreetly lifts his sleeve to see handprint marks on his skin from someone gripping so fucking hard as proof he didn’t imagine everything, and then he—

“Eddie?”

He must make a noise, or do something with his face or his posture or his something, that catches Chrissy’s attention. Eddie feels like he might actually throw up.

“Hey, Chris,” he half-gasps, his throat so, so tight; “if you save something to your phone, it’s like, on the phone, right?”

Because yes, of course it is. That’s how they work, that’s why he had to pay extra for a bigger one with more storage. The fact that his phone was almost dead when Steve got to it, after being unplugged all night, wouldn’t matter; he saved his number, and yeah Eddie had to plug it in wholly drained once Steve was gone so he’d have a charge now but, like.

He paid for the bigger phone.

“Sometimes?” Chrissy asks, clearly confused at Eddie’s distress over his phone. “Maybe not in your case,” which is not what he wants to hear at all, thank you very much; “your actual storage is all taken up by dumb apps and your meme collection. You’ve gotta make sure you’re connected so your cloud storage can sync.”

Eddie’s mouth is suddenly very fucking dry.

“If, say, the phone was almost dead,” he asks carefully, his voice hatefully small; “would that make it not sync?”

Chrissy watches for a long string of seconds before she frowns a little, leaning in with her endlessly kind eyes and reaching for his hand across the table: a hand he didn’t realize was shaking until she wraps her fingers around his wrist.

“What did you lose, babe?” she asks so gently, and it kind of tears Eddie apart all the more for it when he rasps:

“Oh, just the probable love of my whole goddamn life.”

He’s never saving another stupid meme again.

Ever.

💛💛💛

<<< back to the bar // part one

for @pearynice 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts @bumblebeecuttlefishes @shrimply-a-menace @wheneverfeasible @1-tehe-1 @themoonagainstmers @dreamercec @ravenfrog @live-laugh-love-dietrich @stealthysteveharrington

divider credits here and here

[sphynxratedr]

We'll Meet Again

written for ‘shopping’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: g | cw: no warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, part two of "Need a Ride?"

Part One

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t mind the mall around Christmas.

Yeah, the tinny music through the building’s speakers might grate his nerves after a few hours, but Eddie made it a point not to be there that long in the first place. And with everyone so busy from Black Friday to New Year’s, he could slip through the crowds with little to no dirty looks in his direction.

Which meant shopping for Wayne’s Christmas present in peace.

He’d noticed it around Halloween, coming home after Wayne to find him passed out on the couch. His coat hung on one of the kitchen chairs, and Eddie had stared at it while eating a midnight cereal. The old man had the thing since before Eddie started staying with him, and the wear was starting to show.

The inner lining had started to come away, and the corduory fabric on the outside was a few patches from unsalvagable. Not to mention the ratty state of the fur collar.

It had taken until now, two weeks into December, to save up enough for a coat—after his half of the rent and gas money. At least for the good ones at Bloomingdale’s.

He’d planned to be in and out in under an hour. It took the longest just to get into the store, and then to the men’s section at the back. Eddie found the style he wanted immediately, and went to searching the rack for the right size.

“Branching out?”

He may have been overly confident about flying under the radar.

Eddie’s eyes shot to the other side of the rack to find himself across from Steve Harrington. Again.

It had only been a week since the night Eddie still wasn’t sure he hadn’t hallucinated—where Steve had given Eddie a ride home without asking anything in return. Eddie had lived in terror for two days at school thinking Steve would pop up behind him and demand repayment.

“How’s the van?” Steve asked.

Because Eddie hadn’t said anything. And for some reason Steve was waiting there until he did.

“Waiting to go to the shop,” Eddie finally managed, swallowing hard. “Sharing the truck with my uncle.”

Steve nodded, standing with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Eddie peered around the rack and noticed that Steve didn’t have any shopping bags. Or any clothes laid over his arms, ready to buy.

Eddie raised a brow. “Something catch your eye over here?”

“Uh.” Steve blinked, like he’d been caught. He frantically scanned the clothing rack, plucking out a jacket that looked nearly identical to the one he was wearing. “This one.”

“Very you, Harrington.”

Steve held it up to his chest. “You think?”

It was ridiculous that that made Eddie chuckle. He spent twenty minutes with the guy, and he was already laughing at his charming, jock personality. Because Steve had been pleasant during that ride, even when Eddie tested the limits by changing the radio to a metal station.

Then Steve held the jacket out to him.

“Try it on.”

Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed. Then at the jacket, and back. “I can barely afford the buttons on that thing. I shouldn’t even touch it.”

Steve gave him a flat look, and shook the jacket. Eddie set his hands on his hips, and they remained that way until Eddie was sure Steve’s arm was going to fall off before he gave in.

He rolled his eyes, and went to strip off his own leather jacket, leaving Steve to join him. Eddie expected to be handed the garment, but when Eddie was just in his long-sleeve, Steve was holding the jacket for Eddie to slide his arms into.

Holding his breath, Eddie turned his back to Steve and eased into it.

It didn’t have the give of Eddie’s well-worn jackets, but it was warm. He examined the fit against his body, and definitely not what he thought were Steve’s eyes trailing over his torso.

“Alright, it’s nice,” Eddie admitted, glancing at Steve from under his lashes. “One tip for you, though,”

Steve set his hands on his hips, raising his chin. “Oh yeah?”

Eddie put on his stage smile, wide and bold.

“Black. Always.”

“Can I, uh, get you a pretzel or something from the food court?”

Eddie thought he was surprised that they’d walked out of the store together. And then Steve asked him that.

He stared at Steve, the question echoing around in his skull like a ping-pong ball. And Steve…looked almost nervous, pink tongue darting out along his bottom lip. Between the good will of that snowfall drive and the easy way Steve had stayed at his side this whole time, Eddie didn’t have an answer as quick as he usually would.

He almost wanted to say yes.

But it was less his decision to actually make.

“I really have to get the truck back. My uncle’s shift is starting soon, and I don’t want to make him late…” Eddie turned his shoulder toward the exit.

 Steve nodded, lowering his head. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? He’d never promised anything. He and Steve barely knew each other.

But maybe it was the somber way he’d made Steve say that same thing he had in his car in that knowing way—when now it was quite the opposite.

Steve recovered quickly, getting his hair out of his face with a quick movement. He put on that subtle smirk of his in the face of the rejection.

“It was nice to see you again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, hearing the vapid state of his reply too late. “I mean, you too.”

Not better, Edward.

But Steve visibly held back a larger smile, rocking on his heels. Apparently, if Eddie wanted Steve not to think he was an utter waste case, he had to interact like a normal human.

“See you around?” Steve asked, pivoting like Eddie had never denied him.

And the mental whiplash had to be the only explanation for his answer.

“Sure.”

[sphynxratedr]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[sphynxratedr]

Something about not-everyone-has soulmate words and Steve’s say ‘Mr Harrington’ on his collarbone and he hears that a thousand times a day now that he’s touring as a pop star. Eddie, who comes in as a replacement guitar guy - not playing, just swapping Steve’s guitars, tuning, restringing - and on their first meeting, Steve is exhausted, pissy, and his bodyguard let him get ambushed by three different fake-soulword fans.

“Mr Harrington”

“You better not say you’re my soulmate, I think I’d actually throw myself into traffic”

And even if Steve has managed to hold onto a bit of romantic optimism, Eddie has had those words on his ribs all his life, so he’s always known his soulmate didn’t want him.

[sphynxratedr]

Been having Secretly Smart Steve thoughts except it's less that his intellect is a secret and more that nobody ever noticed lmao

The initial thought for this is based on my mom's stories about acting like a ditzy airhead in high school but then graduating with honors

Within five minutes of walking into high school Steve definitely clocked that being cool was more important than being smart right? So he didn't really let on that he was good at class stuff and just let people think he was a simple jock

And Steve graduating isn't a huge thing cuz it happens during UD stuff which means they all miss graduation ceremony and just get their degrees later, so it's not like anyone saw the honors tassels that steve was given to wear with his grad gown

And the first real hint is Lucas trying to make a basket and getting frustrated. And Steve is like "here I'll show you" and proceeds to make every throw he makes from anywhere on the court and when Lucas asks how the fuck he does that Steve shrugs and is like "well, i mean, its all angles man"

Later Mike and Will are working on an egg drop project (you know the ones) and getting worked up cuz the eggs keep cracking. Steve has been watching TV or something the whole time and outta nowhere is like "yall are missing shock absorption and proper wind resistance, duh"

Nancy is trying to decode some number based cipher for fun but it's becoming rapidly Not Fun and Steve looks over her shoulder for like two seconds and goes "group the numbers into twos, subtract 18 from each, and then it's the alphabet letter based on the number" and then just walks off

Dustin is taking an engineering class and is having trouble building a bridge cuz it keeps collapsing when he sends a hot wheels car over it. Steve tells him he needs more load-bearing beams and to distribute the weight evenly and Dustin is surprised when it works

And, of course, Eddie sees all of this so one day when Max or Erica ask for help with some geometry homework he takes the worksheet they give him and immediately passes it along to Steve, waves off their disbelief, and sits all smug while Steve explains concepts they'd been missing entirely

[sphynxratedr]

I just noticed that in this clip Steve picks up the receiver with his right hand, tosses it to his left… and then passes it back to his right to clock the guy

I just know that if Steve had a sword or something he would be doing so much extra fancy twirly shit

[sphynxratedr]

Steve hosting game night for the kids and always up and out of his seat, getting drinks and snacks and wiping away crumbs because he feels awkward if he doesn’t have something to do.

And Eddie just watching him bounce around until he’s finally had it up to here, so he pushes Steve down to the couch by the shoulders, softly scolding

“You know what? Just, Sit Down and Stay.”

And Steve, bitchy not-so-retired mean boy, rolls his eyes so hard and slouches down with a sarcastic and infuriated “woof.”

And Eddie fucking glitches before skedaddling to the kitchen for the drinks but also to just take a breather cuz??!!

What tf was that??!!

He looks down at his crotch betrayed and bewildered.

‘Jesus fucking Christ’

[sphynxratedr]

shift

rating: explicit tw: impact play, dom drop

Steve could feel the heat in the room. Today had started out as a scorcher, so of course, there was still residual heat in the room, but it was also from the fact that he had this stunning creature splayed out in front of him, begging him for more.

Steve's not sure he's ever seen anything more stunning than Eddie when he's almost slipping into subspace, just a hairs breadth from that moany headspace where he can just float. Steve knows how much Eddie struggles to get there, to let go.

But he's got him there, almost. Eddie clings to the sheets, face turned to the side to look up at Steve, his eyes are half mast, teasing, calling to Steve. His bare back is an intricate pattern of crisscrossed lines in the prettiest reds and pinks.

Steve's hand traces along them.

"So beautiful," he says, in awe.

With a crack he brings down the leather flogger on pale sweaty skin once more.

Only this time Eddie yelps in pain. Steve's head whips up so fast, so attuned to all Eddie's sounds.

"Ouf ow," his pretty sub groans.

"Eddie? Baby? Was that a bad spot?" Steve asks, dropping the flogger immediately. Eddie shakes his head, eyes half hazy half sober now, a bit of shine coming back.

There's a stone in Steve's stomach.

"I'm okay Steve, it's okay, I can still take a few more,"

"Are you sure baby? That didn't sound good," Steve tries, voice unsteady, equilibrium thrown off by such a tiny sound.

"Steeeve, yeah, i'm okay, please, so close,"

Steve takes a deep breath. It's okay. He's okay, Eddie's okay, he can do this. They've done this a million times.

He goes through the next three floggings almost mechanically. Something has faded inside him, he can't put a finger on it. Like the spark of something leaving him. He finishes the set, places the flogger down and grabs the lotion for Eddie's back.

He's running on nothing.

There's no buzz left in his body, just the low hum of disappointment. In himself?

His hand is shaking as he presses lotion to Eddie's back but his hearts not in it, nothing is in right then.

He's so fuzzed that all of a sudden Eddie's up and he's got his arms around Steve.

Steve can't hear him, can't hear anything over the pounding in his head. Can barely feel Eddie slide the lotion out of his hand. Can only hear the voice screaming in his head.

I hurt him

I hurt him

I hurt him

He feels himself pulled down, into the curl of Eddie's arms, strong though his sub likes to be made weak in play. They hold him, solid and grounding.

I hurt him I hurt him I hurt him

"Baby, Stevie, hey baby, it's okay, it's alright, I'm okay,"

Eddie's voice gets louder, soft as it is, it seeps into the cracks and silences the voice inside him.

Eddie is here, Eddie is holding him, Eddie's okay.

Steve tucks his face into the nook of his throat, a small space to reconnect, find where his body is tethered to this world.

"Eddie," he whispers against his skin. His hands searching, holding, gripping any part of Eddie he can.

"I'm right here baby, it's okay, I've got you, shhhh, you did so good, you've done so well," Eddie says, brushing hair away from Steve's forehead.

When did he get so sweaty.

It's a few more minutes before Steve feels just that bit more human. He looks up at Eddie who just smiles down at him.

"Eddie,"

"I'm right here baby, I'm okay," Eddie says, voice just that bit shaky.

"M' sorry, I hurt you Eddie, m' sorry," Steve says.

"No, oh no baby, you didn't. I'm okay, really, you just caught a weird spot. I'm not hurt, I'm okay, baby you only gave me what I asked for and it was so good. I shouldn't have pushed you for more,"

"B-m the dom. Should know better," Steve says forehead to Eddie's jaw.

"I'm a sub, Steve, not a child. I know better too and you're going into a drop. How about we cuddle for a bit, you can hold me? I'll climb onto you like a koala and you get to hold me as long as you want, that okay baby?"

Steve can only nod because he doesn't want to let go.

Eddie brings his hand up to his face and presses it into his cheek, splaying Steve's palm open.

"I'm here baby. And I'm okay. And I've got you. You were so good baby,"

Steve lets the words wash over him.

"I'm going to put on some Whitney Houston for you, and we're going to read the rest of The Hobbit and you can hold me as long as you want okay?"

Steve breathes out shakily, anger at himself still bubbly in his belly like a rock.

"Okay, m'sorry Eddie,"

"There is nothing that you have to apologise for. I am fully capable of telling you when I can and can't take something. I shouldn't have pushed you to finish though. That's okay, we'll talk it out later. Right now, we just decompress,"

"C'mon, we've got a dragon in the mountain and the dwarves are going to do something stupid,"

Steve cups his face, pulling his head down and Eddie lets him, leans down to press his lips to Steve's.

Sweet and salty, just like Eddie.

"I love you,"

Eddie hums "Love you too,"

[sphynxratedr]

Best RPF Ship - FINAL!

[sphynxratedr]

Best RPF Ship - FINAL!

[sphynxratedr]

Modern AU in which a very famous Corroded Coffin does the hear me out cake thing, and Eddie's final turn is a vague "Sailor Stephan" marked by a paper crown of all things.

Amid groans and jeers, Jeff explains that Sailor Stephan was a D&D NPC Eddie made that's become a running joke in all his campaigns.

Its also a poorly disguised caricature of one Steven Harrington that over time grew into a beloved character by sheer accident.

Which the real Steve knows--because the kids made it a point to update him on all of his NPCs shenanigans when they played with Hellfire.

He even started making suggestions to them regarding Sailor Stephan that they in turn, took back to Eddie.

Robin's face when she sees the video is almost as good as Steve's own when he finally sees it--but Eddie's face trumps both of theirs when he sees the video Steve posts in response.

In it, Steve, under a new account happily labeled The Real Sailor Stephan, sits in front of a cake. He puts a printed version of Eddie's long time character, Eddie the Banished (as drawn by Will, all the way back in high school and gifted to Steve for the gag) is placed on top of a cake.

"Here me out..." Steve starts, staring dead at the camera, "Eddie the Banished, though that could have happened thirteen years ago if he'd just listened to Henderson and hosted the stupid Vecna finale at my house."

This proceeds to break Eddie's entire brain (and the comment section of Steve's video, which is overwhelmed so fast it crashes half the app it's hosted on.)

[sphynxratedr]

Helloooo tits of tumblr !!! Just coming to share that I’m dropping a few dipnpip keychains on my kofi XD

[sphynxratedr]

steve always brings a backpack to the hideout to hold eddie's things and a comfy set of clothes for him to change into after their shows, and one night after a gig eddie goes to get something out of it, but steve is capital D Drunk so when he sees eddie going through it he starts smacking his shoulder yelling "THATS MY PURSE I DONT KNOW YOU"