#Eddie gets taken care of

[hellcheerficdatabase]

you give me a fever when you kiss me

Author: @typhoidcandy

Rating/Warning: Teen and up audience

Chapter Count: 1/1

Description:

Dignity-shmigdity! Whoever was at the door could suck it.

He practically swung the front door open ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off.

Chrissy Cunningham was outside his front door. The Chrissy Cunningham.

His brain short-circuited and he just stared at her openly concerned face. She was holding what looked like a grocery bag. Then reality rushed back to him and he very clearly remembered that he was wrapped up in his blanket and he was sure he looked like absolute shit.

“Chrissy!” He finally wheezed out before a fit of coughs attacked him. Thankfully, he had the mind to cover his mouth with his blanket before he coughed his germs all over her.

--

or; the one where eddie gets sick, chrissy takes care of him, and maybe they have their first kiss.

Tags: Alternate universe- canon divergence, Chrissy lives, Eddie lives, sick fic, Eddie gets taken care of, Chrissy is a sweetie, first kiss, fluff, so so fluffy, Eddie is a sweetie, Eddie POV, one-shot, status: completed

[adverbally]

And If I Should Falter, Would You Open Your Arms Out to Me?

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘I thought we agreed it was over.’” | wc: 633 | rated: T | cw: n/a | tags: previous friends with benefits relationship, mutual pining (but mostly Steve), happy ending | title from “A Little Respect” by Erasure

———

Steve hasn’t heard from Eddie in three weeks.

It’s not that surprising. After Steve had called off their arrangement, Eddie didn't have another reason to stop by. What did they have in common beyond Upside Down shenanigans? Why would Eddie come over if he wasn’t ferrying the kids to Steve’s house for D&D or another Party gathering?

He keeps reminding himself of that. They hadn’t fought about it because there had been nothing to fight for. Whatever was between them was just physical. There was no way Eddie had fallen for him the way he had fallen for Eddie.

It doesn’t make it sting any less.

Steve still watches from a distance. Waves when Eddie’s van pulls away after dropping Dustin off, goes with Robin when she wants to see Corroded Coffin’s gig, makes polite conversation with Eddie when he arrives to set up for their campaign. He smiles like it doesn’t hurt more with every frenetic movement, every enthusiastic rant, every cackling laugh that’s not directed at him. Sometimes Eddie’s gaze meets his and he almost thinks there’s something there, something soft and affectionate swimming in those big brown eyes, but it’s gone when Steve blinks. Wishful thinking, he guesses.

It’s a Thursday night when Eddie shows up at Steve’s door out of the blue.

“Hey, man,” Steve greets him, still wearing his work clothes and holding the microwave burrito he was in the middle of scarfing down. “Did we have plans I forgot about?”

Eddie’s cheeks go pink. “No, no plans. I just…” He jams his hands into his pockets and hunches in on himself. “Sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you.”

“No!” Steve interrupts as Eddie turns to leave. “I mean, I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?” Eddie looks almost hopeful, the way he glances up at Steve through his too-long bangs.

“Yeah. I missed having you around,” he confesses.

The smile he gets in response is blinding. “I missed being around.”

Still, Steve is completely caught off guard when Eddie steps closer and pulls him in for a kiss. He wants to melt into it, relax into Eddie’s hand at the back of his neck and let him lick into his mouth. But he doesn’t think he can do this anymore, pretending to keep things casual while he’s secretly yearning for more.

Reluctantly, Steve pushes Eddie away with a gentle hand on his chest. “Wait. I thought we agreed it was over.”

“We did,” Eddie nods. “We did, yeah, but maybe we should, um.” He licks his lips and Steve can’t look away. “Maybe it should… not be? Over?”

It’s thrilling and devastating all at once. “Ed, come on.”

“Why not? If we’re both into each other—”

“But I’m not just into you,” Steve confesses, quiet but emphatic. “I think— I really like you, Eddie. And I don’t expect you to feel the same, but I can’t keep doing this while I’m feeling this way.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s eyes are huge as they stare back at him. “Really?”

Steve almost wants to throw his burrito at him. Eddie shouldn’t sound so surprised that someone would care about him like this. “Yeah,” he shrugs helplessly, “really.”

“Really,” Eddie whispers to himself, awestruck. “Steve Harrington really likes me.”

Wait. Does Eddie…? There’s no reason for him to sound like that unless…

Eddie laughs loudly, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Steve has ever heard. Delightedly, he announces, “I really like you, too, dumbass!”

Their next kiss is clumsy, both of them smiling too much and overeager to touch again. Three weeks felt like an eternity of lost time, and they’re trying to make up for it as fast as they can.

Steve’s burrito ends up forgotten on the floor of the foyer alongside the heap of their shoes and outer layers.

[shitouttabuck]

what if i wrote a twisters au……….

[italiansteebie]

also on ao3

Gareth has been watching Steve Harrington. 

It was almost surreal the way he fell from the hierarchy everyone put so much importance on. It was like he ruled the school, and as soon as someone stepped up to challenge it, he gave it up like he didn’t want it in the first place. Gareth begins to wonder if he chose it, or if it was thrust upon him.

He finds out how right he was when Eddie gets accused of murder. 

He’d been at home watching the news with his mom when Eddie’s face popped up on the screen. “Oh shit,” “Gareth!” His mother scolded. “Oh- Sorry mom, that’s Eddie!” He said, exasperated and a little nervous. He knew Eddie was strange, but what the hell did he do to get accused of murdering a cheerleader? “Your friend Eddie? He’s a sweet boy, he couldn't do that.” His mother soothed. And she was right, but for the next five days Eddie was radio silent while the earth split apart and ash rained from the sky. 

He paced every day by the phone waiting for Eddie to call and tell him something. Anything. Waiting for Wayne to call him and tell him the funeral date, or the court date to testify against the charges but it never came. Instead, he got a call from a guy sounding right around his age, and when he listened closer the voice identified itself as one Steve Harrington, who’d gotten his number off Dustin Henderson, one of Eddie’s “Sheep.” 

Eddie was in the hospital, he wasn’t okay, but he was alive, and as much as Gareth wanted to see Eddie, ask him what the hell happened, and slap him silly, he couldn’t help the morbid curiosity that came with Steve Harrington being mixed up in all of this. Was he the one who killed Chrissy? No. No way. Steve can’t even throw a punch, he’s seen him try. 

He got to the hospital, seeing Steve sitting in the lobby, head in his hands and a bright red ring around his neck. There was a girl next to him, rubbing his back, and when Gareth looked closer, he discovered that it was Robin from band. He snorted, he didn’t think Steve was anywhere near Robin’s type but… Well, he’s been wrong before. 

Dustin was sitting across from them, looking a bit more put together, and he wondered how long they’d been sitting in the lobby, and if Steve had gone home. Dustin’s eyes meet his, and he waves him over. “Hey, Gareth. Uh. I had Steve call you. I figured you’d want to see Eddie?” He posed it as if he was unsure, the more kid looked exhausted and wondered what possibly could have happened between the murder acquisition and the earthquake that got this odd group of people strung together. The three here seemed comfortable with each other, and the morbid curiosity returned. What was King Steve doing with these people? Not that there was anything wrong with them, it was just so… Different. Gareth realizes he’d been just kind of idling, so he shook himself from his thoughts, “Uhm, yeah. Is he okay? What happened?” He stuttered out nervously. The two boys made eye contact from their adjacent  plastic chairs, seemingly having a silent conversation. 

Steve gave him a sharp nod before standing, “Dust, stay here with Robs. Wayne should be here soon and you can bring him back to Eddie’s room, kay? Rob, feel free to go to Max or Eddie’s room.” He looked at Gareth, studying him, before waving a hand as to say “follow me.” 

Gareth followed hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at Robin and Dustin who were watching them right back. Steve led them silently to a room before stopping at the door. “Look, Gareth. We don't…  We don’t know each other and what I’m about to tell you is going to be hard to swallow, but per the request of Eddie, I will explain, please.” Steve’s voice wavered and broke before he continued. “Please, don’t ask any questions until I’m done and I am begging you, don’t share this with anyone who doesn't enter this room, okay?” Gareth swallowed thickly, no matter what, Steve was intimidating, so he nodded, and listened as the other boy launched into the story. Starting with little Will Byers, who came back from the dead.

By the end of it, Gareth was a little more than shell shocked, and the exhausted look on Steve’s face told him that he didn’t really have a choice except to believe him, somehow it made sense. He uttered a simple, “Okay.” And that was that. 

“Eddie’s in rough shape but he is okay, just so you know. I’ll… Wait out here til you guys are done…” Steve said before pushing the door open for him. “Gareth, my main man. Thanks for briefing him, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice came out croaking and dry, and out of the corner of his eye he could see a faint blush spreading across Steve’s face at the nickname. Huh. The door shut, “Stevie?” 

“Oh, shut up Gareth. That’s what you’re focused on? I'm in a hospital bed.”

Gareth rolled his eyes, “You’re sitting up and calling King Steve ‘Stevie.” He scoffed, to which Eddie rolled his eyes. “He’s… Not that bad anymore, in fact he might be… Really, really good.” The soft voice and the fond look on Eddie’s face made Gareth squeal. But y’know, a manly squeal. “EDDIE OH  MY GOD.” Eddie ducked his head, they both flinched at the door swinging open. “What’s wrong? I heard screaming. Is everything okay?” Steve rambled out, softening when he realized everything was still in order. “S-sorry, I’ll” He stuttered out, shoving his thumb back towards the door. “Stevie, c’mere sweetheart.” Eddie said, patting the side of his bed, scooching over to make room for him. 

Steve sat, grabbing Eddie’s hand, eyes flicking over to Gareths occasionally. “It’s okay, Stevie. He’s my best friend, he knows. Well, not about… He knows I like boys, kay?” Eddie raises their clasped hands, planting a soft kiss on Steve’s knuckles. He turns to Gareth, “It’s new. But… It’s good. Really good.” Gareth smiled at this, before fake gagging at the cuteness, they were going to be insufferable weren’t they? 

It wasn’t until a few months later that Gareth really found out the backstory behind King Steve. It was a more depressing story than he’d thought it would be. 

They’d been playing DnD in Steve’s basement, after he’d allowed them to set up shop there every week for their campaigns claiming “No one ever uses it anyways,” with a shrug. There was a twinkle of something sad in Steve’s eye but he didn’t pay much attention to it. It wasn’t until later in the game that it all came to a front.

Eddie introduced a new NPC, quite obviously based on Steve, and most of them took it well. They were happy for the two and their new found love, but Eric, apparently, had a grudge stronger than a demogorgon. 

“Knight Steviengton? Seriously? That lumps not a Knight. What’s he ever done?” Eric scoffed, Eddie began to reply before Eric cut him off, voice coming out sharp. “More like ‘Useless King Steve who’s only worth his parents money.’” Eddie’s head whipped around at the sound of the basement door closing, Steve disappearing from his spot on the couch where he watches the story unfold and takes notes so they remember where they left off. 

Eddie might as well have cast Eric out with the look in his eyes, everyone watched as the guy sunk back into his seat as Eddie sauntered over to him, a dark look in his eyes. “Tell me, Eric. Do you like having me as a DM?” Eric spluttered, a weak “yeah,” coming out eventually. “Okay. Good, good. Now tell me. If you like me so much, why would you curse the most important person in my life? The person who saved my life?” 

“He’s- He’s just… King Steve…” Was the meak answer that left Eric's lips. “Did he ever do anything to you?” It was silent. Eddie slammed his hands on the table, “No. He didn’t. Because he would NEVER stoop so low as to put his hands on another person. In fact, I explicitly remember him telling Tommy H. to back off, don’t you?” His voice was loud and aggressive. 

“You know, he tries so hard, to make up for the asshole he was in high school, and you fucking… TURDS, won’t accept anything! It’s not his fault he was basically bred specifically to be a reincarnation of his god awful father. And now that he’s finally out of their control, because they basically disowned him after the earthquake, leaving nothing but this god forsaken house!” Eddie paused, breathing heavily, “You can’t forgive him? He saved my life.” His voice was soft at that moment, before his eyes returned to their fiery state. “And I am in love with him, and if that’s not good enough for you? You can get the fuck out of HIS house, and find yourself a new goddamn DM.” 

There was no response from Eric, “Whatever, session over. Goodbye.” Eddie waved a hand before going upstairs, likely to check on Steve. 

Gareth looked at Eric, “Not cool, man. Steve’s a pretty good guy when you get to know him.” He shook his head before standing up, moving to grab his stuff and leave. Jeff nodded in agreement, “I mean, he lets us use his basement, and eat his food, and he keeps it clean for us…  Dick move, Eric.” 

“Well. Fine. I’ll just leave then! Since you guys are all up King Steve’s ass for NO REASON.” Gareth watched the outburst with his arms crossed, unimpressed, “Well. Go on then.” He said, motioning to the door. 

“This is ridiculous!” Eric threw his arms up and stormed out of the house. 

The rest of the group trickled out after that, leaving Gareth alone in the house. He crept up the stairs, finding Steve’s room before knocking gently. “Come in,” He heard Eddie say from the other side. Seeing Steve Harrington cry was something he’d never expected to see, and honestly it was kind of heart breaking. “Hey, Gare.” Eddie said, combing a hand through Steve’s hair. 

“I just… Wanted to say that what Eric said wasn’t cool… And the rest of us don’t agree with him at all, we all think you’re like super cool, and good for Eddie. I mean, you’re the only one who can get him to eat vegetables!” Gareth said, voice lifting at the end. This rendered a tearful laugh from Steve. “Thanks Gareth. I really try to be… better than I was.”

“You are,” The assure came from both Eddie and Gareth with such finality that it didn’t give him any room to argue. This rendered another soft laugh from Steve. Wiping his eyes “Feel free to crash here, we’ve got enough rooms, and food, o-or whatever.” It came out awkward, and hopeful. Gareth nodded, letting a smile spread across his face, “Thanks, Steve. I’ll take you up on that. Good night, guys.”

He shut the door softly behind him, venturing to one of the guest rooms that lined the halls.

Steve Harrington could use some more friends, Gareth decided at that moment, he was going to be one of them. 

[eddie-mylovely]

im sorry (not really) to tell u this but Steve is not a top nor a dom. he’s a pillow princess and a babygirl.

[deceptive-daydreams]

don’t know what the deal is but I’m hurting extra bad over Eddie tonight, I’m talking chest pains

[sheryl-lee]

I say this as kindly as I can. Sterek in crack would be whatever. But it fell into the type of mlm ship that cis girls obsess over and they blow it up to be bigger than it really ever is. Other examples sherlock/Watson, dean/that Angel guy, Steve/Eddie, and so many more. I’ve been on this site for so long.

so true!!!! it honestly annoys me so much, especially when people who ship crackships belittle the canon ships and harass people who ship canon ships when like... they're canon???? and the crackship will never be canon??? and idk what did they expected??? when that's quite literally what a CRACKship is???? dfjjvdfkjvdf

and you're so right, there's definitely a pattern of cishet yt women obsessing over two (canonically straight) men who've said barely two words to each other. and that's fine in isolation!!! ship what you want of course. but when you go to the extreme where you're shipping something pedophilic and/or you're deluding yourself into believing that you're being "queerbaited" and it's all some massive conspiracy that it isn't... that's when it's time to put the phone down and go for a walk or do yoga and reconnect with nature or whatever.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steve glances up to ask Eddie where he wants the box in his arms when his eye catches on something, frankly absurd, and he stops in his tracks.

Eddie has taken off his jacket, which was stupid to have on to begin with, and underneath is wearing a sleeveless tank top, the bottom of which is about three inches shorter than anything Steve has seen him in.

"What the fuck?"

Eddie glances up to see him staring. "What?"

Instead of answering, Steve sets the box down and marches over to him. He grabs the bottom of Eddie's shirt and lifts it up to his armpits.

"What is happening?" Eddie asks while trying to squirm out of Steve's reach.

"Are you hot? When the fuck did this happen? You have abs, Eddie. How long have you been hot under that stupid jacket?"

"What?!" He squirms some more, this time away from Steve's poking fingers.

"You have pecs. What is happening in the universe? You're supposed to be all noodle arms and Doritos gut. This isn't right."

Eddie finally manages to get away, yanking his shirt back down and then pointing a 'stay back' finger in Steve's face. "Hey, man, I'm not a piece of meat!"

"Piece of beefcake, apparently," Steve mutters.

Eddie chokes. "What do you care? You can't be jealous, you're as hot as you've ever been."

Why does Steve care? Thwarted expectations? It can't just be that, he's practically vibrating in place, skin all hyper aware of itself.

"You think I'm hot?" He asks instead of giving Eddie an answer he doesn't have.

He scoffs.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve puts both hands on his hips.

"It means I'm not getting reeled in by your fishing. Can we finish moving this shit now?"

Steve stares some more. His arms aren't as big as Steve's, but the way his bicep moves under his skin as he bends to lift the box Steve dropped, it's....uh...

Uh oh.

Eddie is hot, stamps itself into the fabric of Steve's universe.

Steve turns and marches back outside. "Robin!!!!"

[steddieprompts]

migraine Steve headcanon where Steve gets a migraine on his and Eddie's third date. either somehow Eddie has never seen Steve with a migraine or this is a no Upside down au (dealer's choice). Steve gets nervous, excusing himself to the bathroom to take some headache pills so Eddie doesn't ask questions. But they don't work. The headache gets worse throughout the date and Steve misses the point where he could have called it early and driven home without a problem. Now the headache is too much and he's too dizzy and he feels like he's gonna puke.

Eddie, obviously, notices something is wrong, asks Steve multiple times if he's OK, and Steve keeps deflecting. When he catches Steve squeezing his eyes shut he final breaks saying, "Sweetheart, something is obviously wrong. Let me take you home." They leave Steve's car wherever it is and Eddie carefully drives Steve home, eventually getting Steve to admit that he has a migraine.

They get Steve home and on the couch and Steve has never had a better migraine buddy. Eddie is turning down the lights, getting Steve's ice pack and the blanket off his bed upstairs. He talks quietly and moves slowly and brings Steve some ice tea from the fridge. Steve could cry... he might cry... he gets more emotional when he has a migraine. He's never felt so taken care of. Other than Robin, no other person, let alone someone he was dating, has ever spent this much time making sure Steve was ok.

They fall asleep in the livingroom and in the morning, when the migraine is gone, Steve makes Eddie breakfast and tries his best not to propose to him right then.

[azrielhours]

Domestic

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1530

Synopsis: Az watches you get ready for an event. He's never seen the process before and is extremely taken by it. It feels so personal to him and he can’t explain it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d never known an intimacy so sweet. It’d likely become an injury he’d carry afterwards when it came to an end.

A taste of domesticity he didn’t even realize he’d been missing out on.

Hours left for the gala they’d be attending, and you were getting ready. The sweetness of watching it unfold was meditative. A window to your most private hours, so glaringly personal that it felt like a sampling of commitment.

He looked forward to this—it quickly became Azriel’s favourite part of the day. All his to savour.

He’d known yearning, he’d known the sex. Had pined over Mor for centuries, pictured a life with her, ached for the void he felt. Coveted pretty females, kept lovers to satiate himself. He was well versed in admiration from afar, but never been privy to the process where a female sat in front of a vanity and readied herself.

And somehow, this felt more intimate than all the rest.

You’d been hesitant about attending the long-haul mission when you learned it would just be you and the guys, but Azriel and his brothers consciously accommodated you right from the start. Before the various dinners and galas, Cassian would train until the very last moment to avoid making you feel rushed. He’d come in 15 minutes before the time to leave, throw on a suit and make some snippy joke about his exhaustive beautifying process. Rhys would be in and out of the room, ensuring all arrangements were taken care of, then savour his time getting ready which actually was exhaustive.

Azriel? He always had reports to go over that kept him strictly in the room. Kept him where he could sink into the luxury of watching your routine unfold.

Fools envied those who found mates for the companionship, the physical intimacy, the assurance of partnership. That’d been what Azriel ruminated on when he watched Rhys love Feyre, Cassian love Nesta. A fool indeed, because he’d never even considered this side of things.

It put entire fantasies in his head. How it would feel to have this routine with you—where you were his. He’d be watching it all happen from his bed. You’d be this comfortable in his room. Take up space in his life. A life where this was his to claim.

Even Mor—all his years of aching for her—any overlapping missions, and she’d kept him from seeing this side of her. There was truly no instance where he’d been let in this way. No relationship or lover where he got to see and learn it.

He’d been memorizing it. It was always a bath first that you’d come out of smelling intoxicating. Gleaming skin beneath a thin dressing robe that ended above your knees. It took a while for you to feel comfortable sitting in the shared room in just your robe, but it took Azriel even longer to be normal about it. To rid himself of thoughts about what stayed on underneath it, or what wasn’t on at all. He didn’t miss the blush that coloured your cheeks when you’d come out, from the heat of the bath or the awareness of your undress. A blush that Azriel matched when he’d look elsewhere, trying to avoid discomforting you, to avoid letting Cassian or Rhys notice his attentiveness.

Next was the dressing table component, where you were currently seated. Your robe sinfully inched up your legs when you lifted your arms to fuss over your hair. Arranging pins into various places. The focus in your eyes he’d catch in the mirror made the thoughts eddy out of Azriel’s brain.

So, so pretty.

A pinch between your brows as it slowly fell into place right. It took a week before you began comfortably playing your symphonia during the routine. Quietly, even though Rhys insisted it didn’t bother anyone. Azriel shuffled his papers, listening to the music that you faintly hummed along to. A breath of feminine exasperation left you that drew his eyes up—you were done with the hair. Tired from the effort.

Azriel bit back a smile at the labour of it all.

His favourite part was next—the cosmetics. Face creams first. A little perfume oil roller down the length of your pretty throat. Intention behind every brushstroke on your skin. Precision in shading beneath cheekbones. He shamelessly looked up to catch the part where you smiled at your reflection to set the rouge on the apples of your cheeks. Looked away again.

Kohl smudged into your lash line. Smaller brushes to sweep pigment on your eyelids. You didn’t notice his glimpses, too focused on the accuracy. A miniature comb you applied to your lashes, brushing upward and coating them black.

Your most beautiful feature, those hypnotic eyes.

He listened carefully for the click when you opened your lip rouge. He glutinously watched you apply colour to your sensuous mouth.

What he’d give to feel that motion he witnessed, the drag forward and back across your lips beneath the pressure of the rouge. The plush he could see—could practically feel. Colour he could envision smudging prettily with his thumb.

He cast his gaze down again. A composing deep breath, nearly shuddering.

Rhys cleared his throat, making Azriel’s head snap to him where he was sitting at the desk. He’d been getting dressed. Azriel didn’t even notice he’d sat down. A hateful smirk pulled the corners of Rhys’s mouth up. Azriel glared, returning his focus to his reports.

You admired your completed work, checking the presentation from various angles. Azriel would stare at the angel in the vanity too if it weren’t for his bastard brother making silent insinuations to his side.

He was spared when Cassian entered the room, looking at you, and releasing an inflated sigh of relief. “Thank God. We can let you out into the public again.”

You laughed mirthfully. “I’d say the same about you, Cass, but you could use a little work.”

He only approached you, crowding your space. “Can I get some of that?” he nodded to your products.

You laughed again, scooting for him to unceremoniously squish at your side on the tiny bench. You dolloped something onto your fingers, twisting to smear it onto his face, grinning.

“Azriel wants some too,” Rhys chimed in.

His heart faltered.

You glanced back, meeting Azriel’s gaze, brows high. He had to clench his jaw to keep down any reaction. Your beauty stunned him, and whatever Rhys was playing at, whatever you were going to do—

He was too startled by the suggestion to think to deny it. Too late, he realized, his silence implied agreement.

Somewhat bashfully, you rose in answer, product in hand.

Azriel remained frozen as you approached him. Both his brothers watched, but all he could care about was the homecoming he felt when you sat next to him on the bed.

Did you have any idea how profoundly personal it felt?

That feeling of Déjà vu befell him again—whatever version of this domesticity existed in another life where this was his. You were indeed on his bed, more bare than not. About to touch him like he was all yours.

That part bore the most truth, in this life and whatever other lives he was getting visions of.

You sat close enough that the skin of your knee tested his focus. It was just moisturizer that you’d squeezed onto your fingertips, but God did it feel like something precious, or maybe it was the sense of reverence you put into anything you touched. He held his breath as you raised your hand and gently smudged the cream across his cheekbones.  

Azriel felt like a teenager all over again, heart soaring at the tenderness.

Eyes focused, you leaned closer. Your other hand came up to gently cradle his face, thumbs stroking the product more intently into his skin. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heart as you stroked across his cheek a third time. Warm and soft. Azriel savoured the proximity. How even more devastating you looked up close.

“There,” he felt your breath softly puff onto his cheek. You retracted your hands, bracing yourself on his bed.

“Thank you,” he muttered lowly. The two of you remained for a beat. This time, Azriel didn’t try to hide his stare.

You finally broke it, seeming to recall the intrusive observation of your viewers. You rose, heading to the bathroom.

He couldn’t care less about his brothers’ prying eyes. Not with your warmth still sinking into his skin.

So, so familiar.

When the bathroom door finally opened, he snapped out of his thoughts. You’d changed into your gown. Your eyes found his immediately, chin marginally dipping under his gaze. He noted your slight shiver, and he allowed himself to wonder if you too felt the strange air. Charged with false nostalgia.

You only shook it off, smiling at him.

He felt it prickling again as he drank in the sight of you. Like flashbacks from another future. Something in his chest tightened. Likely the injury of tasting this domesticity already setting in, it seemed.

He only smiled back.

He’d figure it out later.

~  

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @riddlesb1tch @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @lilah-asteria @bakananya @deep-forest-creature @itsswritten

[freetreasures]

we all love the shooting arc but i’m genuinely never getting over “are you hurt?”… you mean to tell me eddie diaz was shot, bleeding out, barely conscious, and he saw some blood on buck and only cared if buck’s okay? and don’t even get me started on buck and the fact that he actually had to look down on himself to see if he’s hurt because he didn’t even think about himself for a second. he only cared about one thing and it was almost taken from him on the street in broad daylight

[ghwosty]

Sooo. I made Chris Cornell in the sims, does anyone wanna see?

Not waiting for an answer

him

[italiansteebie]

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

also on ao3

TW// TW// Steve gets drugged in this story, there's attempted rape, nothing explicit but the themes are present. Please protect yourself and do not read if this is going to trigger or upset you in anyway.

Eddie had been sitting at the bar, mindlessly tapping his fingers along with the song that played over the speakers. Robin had told him about the bar a few weeks ago, a safe place y'know? And he finally worked up the courage to go. 

He was playing it cool, came alone to check out the scene. 

He’d just gotten a refill when he spotted him. There on the dance floor, in all his glory, was Steve Harrington, just, going to town. He was swaying his hips, and he was actually… Good. 

Eddie would look like a total idiot if he tried to go out there like that but with Steve, it looked beautiful, natural almost. And the outfit he was wearing just accentuated it all. Short, tight cutoffs and a flowy crop top that looked like it came out of Nancy’s closet. Honestly, he wouldn’t be that surprised if it did come out of her closet. 

The song was over almost as quick as it started and the sensual movements were over, Eddie felt disappointed, almost. Based on the cheering from the bartender and the other patrons, this dance moment was a regular occurrence. 

“He’s good isn’t he?” The voice startled him out of his trance, “Uh, what?” He said, ever so eloquent. The bartender smirked, “He’s a good dancer, right? He comes almost every Friday night and just… Lets loose. It’s kind of admirable.” She smiled in Steve’s direction. They watched as the patrons surrounded Steve, a few being more aggressive with their grabs and cheers, and Eddie darkened. He turned back to the bartender who also had a sour look on her face, “Yeah. That’s been happening a lot. We’ve had to walk him out to his car on more than one occasion. We’ve even banned a few people for the way they treat him. I feel bad. I don’t even know his name.” 

Eddie sighed, “It’s Steve,” The bartender raised her eyebrow, “You’re not some kind of stalker are you?” Eddie laughed, “No, no. We’ve got mutual friends, and we’re… acquaintances.” The bartender laughed, “So, that means you guys are dancing around the feelings y’all have for each other, right?” Eddie blushed at that, she got it just by talking to him for five minutes, was he really that obvious? 

Steve caught his eye and waved excitedly, “Eddie! Hey!” He cheered, walking his way towards the bar, “Your usual honey?” The bartender asked to which Steve nodded enthusiastically. Steve got his drink, and they talked for a minute, small talk, nothing of substance. “I’m gonna go mingle, see ya later Eds!” 

And then Eddie didn’t see him for a while, but when he did… Something was very, very wrong. 

He watched carefully as a guy draped Steve’s languid body over him, as he got closer, Eddie could see the way his pupils were blown wide, and the lazy smile on his face. He tensed as the guy practically carried Steve out the front door. He followed them quickly, making it to the parking lot just as the guy reached his car. Steve seemed to recognize him in his haze, slumped against the car, “Eddieeeee, heyyyy.” It was dragged out and weak. The guy glared at him, “Look pal, I don’t care if you guys talked earlier, he’s mine, so move along.” The guy made a shoo-ing motion, hushing Steve harshly when he let out a whimper. “You’re holding my arm too tight, it hurts,” He weakly pushed the guy's hand away, Eddie got closer, and the guy puffed up at him. “Steve. Do you want to go with this douche?” Steve shook his head, “I don’t feel good, I wanna go home Eds.” The guy shoved at Eddie’s shoulder, making him stumble “I’m taking him home, so back off ‘Eds’.” 

Oh, so this guy wanted a fight. He pushed Eddie around, postured up, and obviously slipped something in Steve’s drink, so yeah. He was gonna get a fight. The douchebag released his grip on Steve, causing him to fall against the asphalt, groaning at the impact. 

After the upside down, Eddie took it upon himself to learn how to fight, and the guy being drunk off his ass, would go down like a sack of potatoes with one punch. So they postured, Eddie let the guy get comfortable, land a few hits, before he reared back and punched him square in the jaw. The guy hit the ground, knocking his head on the curb as he fell. He was out cold, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to care. 

He picked Steve up from his spot on the ground, “You okay, baby?” Steve whimpered but nodded, Eddie pressed a kiss to his temple, and set him in his van. He locked Steve inside, before heading back into the bar to let the bartender know what happened. “He’s out front passed out on the curb so you know who to look for.” The bartender sighed sadly, and nodded, “Looks like another ban, go take care of Stevie, okay?” Eddie nodded curtly and jogged back to his van.

By the time he got there Steve was asleep, leaning against the window, curled up in the seat. Eddie sighed as he got into the van, staring at Steve for a minute before starting it up and making his way home. 

He carried Steve bridal style into the trailer, Wayne casting a glance at him before sighing, “Oh, Eddie.” Eddie scoffed, “I didn’t do anything, Wayne, I saved him from some asshole who drugged him, okay?” Wayne shook his head. “I have no doubts that you did, son. Always had a soft spot for the strays.” He hummed, turning back to the flickering TV. “Make sure to keep him on his side, son.” Wayne called as Eddie walked back into his bedroom. 

Eddie laughed softly, “And I’m the one with the soft spot, huh, old man?” He asked quietly, more to himself than anyone else. 

—--

When Steve woke up, he didn’t know where he was, he thrashed about in the bed before finding his bearings and prepared to sneak out of whoever’s house he was in. He sat up and took in his surroundings, he knows this place, Eddie’s trailer. He remembers seeing Eddie at the bar last night… Did he? No. Eddie wouldn’t do that. Just then Eddie walked into the room, Steve failing to hold back a flinch. “Oh, Stevie.” “Uh, what. How did I get here?” Eddie smiled sadly, “Someone dropped something in your drink last night, baby.” He said softly, watching as Steve’s eyes cast downwards and well up with tears, “Not again,” He whimpered. “This has happened before?” Eddie asked, keeping his tone soft, Steve nodded, “Usually the bartender finds me before anything happens.” Eddie sighed, brushing the hair off Steve’s forehead. 

“Thanks for taking care of me last night, Eddie.”

“Always, Stevie. Now that I’m here, I’ll always take care of you.”

And he kept his promise, attending every dance session, walking out with him, arms wrapped around each other's waists, always holding his drink, never letting him out of his sight. They took care of each other, until it involved into something a little bit more, something a little softer. It was good for them, and soon Steve’s solo dance sessions turned into couples dance sessions. Maybe Eddie was a little awkward and floppy, but Steve wouldn’t haven’t any other way. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

My Darling

"Who even is that guy?"

"That's my darling"

----

It starts with a post.

Eddie had posted a photo on Instagram holding his acoustic guitar, cross legged on a chair.

Recently he had been front cover of a magazine of 'him' wrapped around a young woman. Living the Rockstar life.

His agent had suggested he show a more domestic side to him, a softer side.

Hence the acoustic.

It was summer so Steve was off of work and sleeping on the couch behind him, blankets up to his ears. The only thing visible was his hair peeking out and his arm hanging over the side of the couch. A sleeve of tattoos running down it all the way to his knuckles. Eddie loved that arm. He loved the way the tattoo curved around his knuckles like water. His nice, big. veiny hand that-

WOAH off topic.

He had done half the tattoos himself and made sure he payed for it all.It was the least he could do for all Steve has done for him.

They met eight and a half years ago, Steve had seen Eddie play at shitty clubs and recognized his mop of hair getting hit in the alleyway.

Eddie thought he was a goner for sure until Steve ripped the guy off him.

Steve just shot him a smile and complimented his guitar skills.

Eddie fell to his knees. He was gone for him.

He invited Steve to band practice as a thank you since he didn't have much to offer.

Two weeks later they were dating and Steve has been their number one fan since.

When Eddie got the record deal he dedicated everything to Steve.

Everything always was for him. As it should be.

Anyways,

Eddie posted the photo excited to promote the acoustic cover of his hit song 'My Hero, My Darling'.

The comments instantly went ballistic asking who the random man behind him was. He definitely wasn't in the band and why would notorious lady killer Eddie Munson have a man in his house...he couldn't possibly have friends.

Eddie responded to one comment only, knowing the rest would sort itself out.

"That's my darling ❤️"

----

"Eddie," Steve was frowning at him, poking his side with his foot.

"Eddie look at me this is serious."

"Yes my love?"

"You outed yourself. You were doing such a good job keeping this a secret. This will change everything."

Eddie turns over until his holding Steve close to him, his face in his hands.

"Good. I'm tired of hiding you my darling. I'm tired of the accusations."

"But Eddie you OUTED yourself."

"I won't say anything about you, I'd never out you Stevie. But I'm done hiding that I'm a simple man in love."

"...me too. I'm done too."

"Darling are you sure? This is a big deal. What about your school? Your principal?"

"I don't care. Everyone important to me knows. My family, my real family, know and don't care. They do wonder why I've been single for eight years but they'll get over it."

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me oh my god that's the hottest thing I've ever heard. I love you so much please I can't live another moment not having you mine. Besides, if you get fired that's definitely a lawsuit and you know I've been pleasing for you to quit so I can take care of you, but you love those damn kids. Just...be mine...please."

"I've been yours. Since the start. Since always." They both have tears in their eyes.

"Yes?"

"YES OF COURSE YES!"

They're giggling through their kisses.

---

"Heeeeyyy everyone thanks for joining my live. I have something super important to inform you on! I'm getting married!!!!!"

The comments instantly flood in questioning him on moving too fast, asking if he's on drugs. The usual.

"Oooooh you guys have no idea."

----

The photo goes up an hour after the live ends.

It's Steve sitting on the couch, glasses on, red pen in his mouth. He's wearing a thick sweater and grumbling grading papers.

He looks so soft, so smooth, it's Eddie's favorite picture. The next picture in the carousel is Steve backstage at his concert. They're holding onto each other like they need each other to breathe.

The last picture is a selfie taken minutes after. Eddie with his stage makeup sweating off his face smiling brightly at the camera. and Steve kissing his cheek. Eyes squinted shut and eyeliner thick, he had worn it as a treat for Eddie.

It was well received.

The caption reads:

"I'm so happy to announce I'm marrying my best friend and partner of eight years! Everyone meet my darling. Steve is a local middle school teacher who has literally saved my life more than once. He saved my heart. God, I love him so much.

P.s. yes the tours are in the summer so Stevie can travel with us. I'd never leave him."

---

Bonus engagement edition:

"YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED TO EDDIE MUNSON?!"

"Yes. We've been over this."

Eddie stuck out his hand to shake, "hi, Eddie Munson, nice to meet you."

"YOU HID THIS FOR EIGHT YEARS?!"

"Yes."

"I'M BASICALLY YOUR BROTHER! HE'S MY FAVORITE CELEBRITY!"

"Yes Dustin and you can't keep a secret."

"...fair...welcome to the family."

*inspired by my friend only learning her cousin was marrying someone famous when he showed up to Thanksgiving and she lost her mind

[911bts]

Eddie’s Season 8 mustache, which showrunner Tim Minear confirms to TVLine is a “manifestation of something that’s going on within him,” has taken social media by storm — but we’re sad to report that, like all good things, it won’t last forever. Minear says the emotional reason behind the ‘stache will be explored “in an episode where he shaves it off.” Speaking of mustaches, Buck has an especially difficult time bowing to Gerrard as the 118’s new captain. (“He’s awful, and he’s an awfully fun character to have in the mix.”) On the bright side, Buck’s relationship with Tommy is going strong (“They’re still getting to know each other a little better”), so at least he’ll have someone to complain to after a long day of putting up with his racist, sexist, homophobic boss. Meanwhile, Bobby becomes a technical advisor on a “ridiculous firefighter show that’s nothing like reality”; Councilwoman Ortiz will remain a thorn in Hen and Karen’s sides as they fight to get their foster care license reinstated; newlyweds Maddie and Chimney weigh the pros and cons of growing their own family; and the return of a familiar face from Athena’s past will force her to “deal with a seminal event in her canonical life.”

BONUS SPOILER!: The two recurring villains of Season 8, Captain Gerrard and Councilwoman Ortiz, are “connected in many ways,” Minear hints.