#STEDDIE IS BONES LIKE EDDIE HIMSELF

[mikesmelodrama]

steddies/hellcheers look away pls 🤗 (a rant)

i genuinely don't get why steddies act like not shipping steddie automatically means shipping eddie and chrissy.

NEITHER SHIP HAS CHEMISTRY.

first of all: eddie is dealing chrissy drugs. there's nothing even REMOTELY romantic about that. drug dealer/person isn't a romantic dynamic... it's a sale. money and [item] switch owners.

him and chrissy weren't flirting.

now, steddie? what two words describe them the best? hmm... could it be-

NO CHEMISTRY

yeah. the stans are constantly fighting with each other, some steddies went as far as to harass grace van dien for saying she ships eddie and chrissy. (which is fucking stupid? get a life.)

the 'fandom war' between hellcheers and steddies is a mid-off. both of the ships are mid. lukewarm. mediocre.

just call it middie atp.

and i'm sick and tired of steddies taking over the stranger things tag on tumblr AND the byler, ronance and elmax tags on Ao3.

ronance and elmax especially don't have a lot of works on them anyways, so it's annoying having half of the fics be steddie. stop drowning out the sapphic ships with your gay-content-meant-for-straight-girls bs.

TLDR: CAN YOU PLEASE LEARN TO TAG YOUR BAD SMUT ???

another thing: a large chunk of the content in the steddie fandom is nsfw and probably most viewed by straight white women in their 20's! which is fucking weird!!!

i'm a broken record but just use the 'minor/background relationship(s)' tag if your fic is abt steddie.

now, was there "romantic tension" between steve and eddie? not in the slightest. steve is the straightest straight guy on the fucking show and considering he's a 'popular jock guy' i'd say he didn't even like eddie that much.

they were fighting monsters together. the 'don't ya big boy' line was improvised and imo most of the shit yall consider romantic fall on joe quinns acting style and the whole eddie character himself. (i sound mlvn-y saying that I KNOW but eddie is just a confident guy it's not that deep).

point being: hellcheers and steddies, i don't hate you but stop acting like you're better than each other when in all seriousness your ships are equally mediocre. and tag your fics correctly.

also eddie is cringe and annoying and i hope he stays dead

if you like steddie then my blog isn't the place for you! just don't look at it!

[stevebabey]

@scooprtroopr ur tags on this post inspired a lil something and well, here you go friend <3 / also omg this fits for @steddie-week’s prompt pining! tehe / you can also read it over on ao3 :)

Steve gets that this is how karma works.

You do something bad, you don’t have the best intentions, you trample on one or two people’s feelings selfishly, yadda yadda. Then what do you know? Next month, it’s happening to you. What goes around comes around, right?

That’s how karma works. Steve gets that.

And yet, the sting in the morning when another hookup has crept out in the night feels so goddamn unshakeable. It slices through his ego, hitting every feeling on the way, and cuts right down the bone, and it hurts.

But it’s karma though, Steve knows that. He’s left a girl more than once or twice, and snuck back out the window he had crept into. Stumbled back to his car in the early morning hours.

(Steve pointedly ignores the old part of him that was- is so hesitant to stay — after the iciness of his first ever hookup, who had wrinkled her nose at the thought of him staying the night.

Who had patted him on the cheek in a near condescending way, a girl the year above him, and said, “Don’t overstay your welcome, yeah?”)

So when the other side of the bed is empty when he wakes, he knows he’s lost another game of ‘who can sneak out on who?’

Which Steve hates — it’s why he stopped going over to his dates house and instead started bringing them back to his. Hoping they might read that his invitation to stay the night extended right out til breakfast. Hell, til lunch if they wanted.

No one has come close to overstaying their welcome in the Harrington house.

Empty sheets rip a new ache in Steve’s chest and he groans, a pitiful noise because— of course, he hasn’t stayed.

Karma has the biggest bone to pick with Steve Harrington and he was really hoping it would be done after all these years. Evidently not.

But… Steve can’t help how much more this one hurts because this one was Eddie.

Steve tries to not let regret coil in his gut. Rolling over he buries his face into his pillow, eyes scrunched shut as he tries to think it over logically. Rationally. Ignores the burning in his throat.

Maybe he’s a fool for thinking Eddie would be different from the past.

But the buildup — before there had been flirting, there had been friendship, proper company between the two of them where there were no expectations. That may very well be due to the fact both of them were dudes but… Steve was so sure. So much of him believed Eddie would still be here when he woke up.

Steve huffs a loud sigh into the pillow. Pretends his chest doesn’t hurt a little bit.

“It’s fine,” He murmurs to himself, voice thick with sleep. His fists clench into the sheets for a moment. “It’s fine.”

He drags himself up and out of bed. Tugs on some stray sweats hanging over the back of his desk chair and ducks into the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, hair tousled and eyes still sleepy, Steve eyes the shower through the reflection. He should, probably, but he might get stuck on a loop in there.

Where did he go wrong this time? Why didn’t he stay? Why didn’t any of them stay? Why did—

Steve splashes cold water on his face instead, rubbing probably a bit too forcefully at his eyes. He spies the faint pink shape of Eddie’s lips, a mark left on his neck. His fingers grace over it lightly, softly, like a lover would.

Memories hazed with lust remind him of how it had got there, Eddie’s body on his, Eddie’s hands in his hair, Eddie— without thinking, Steve scrubs at the skin harshly. He wishes it wasn’t there. Wishes there wasn’t any remnant of Eddie left behind.

Steve doesn’t need any mementos to remind him he’s been left behind again.

He needs food, needs to get on with his day, Steve decides. The bathroom door swings closed behind him and Steve tries his best to wrangle his thoughts as he wanders out to the top of the stairs.

A run. That’s what he needs to clear his head. A long run til his heart is pounding in his chest so hard it hurts, til his muscles start burning, breathes coming too fast and his head is finally fucking quiet. Yep, that’s precisely what he needs to shake the sting of last night.

Steve’s so enwrapped in his head, thoughts swirling, that he get manages to get halfway down the hall to the kitchen before he hears the radio. It’s not loud, just enough to carry out the kitchen. Strange. He doesn’t remember leaving it on last night.

His feet carry him into the kitchen, another yawn creeping up and he rubs at his eyes, blinking a bit blearily and— and stops in his tracks. There’s someone at the stove.

Eddie’s at the stove.

Standing in the morning sunlight, hair lighter than ever, puckered scars along his arms standing out. He’s clearly ransacked Steve’s drawers, a pair of Steve’s plaid pj pants hanging low on his hips, his own softened band tee from yesterday still on. It’s had its sleeves hacked off, the fabric curling up into little rolls. Steve feels his stomach rise halfway up his throat, his hopes going with it. His heart does a strange stumbling pitter-patter.

He must make a noise because suddenly Eddie’s peaking over his shoulder and smiling at him.

“Hey,” Eddie says, shifting a bit to turn more toward him. Steve can see that he’s cooking, something delicious wafting up from the sizzling pan. His chest tightens, pure surprise wrapping around his sternum and gripping - so much, he can’t control the expression on his face.

“Hi,” Steve breathes. He’s still frozen where he is. He stayed. Steve blinks, taking in the scene before him; Eddie has clearly been puttering around, putting together some sort of breakfast. He fucking stayed and he’s cooking.

Eddie takes it the wrong way. He skittishly looks over the benches, covered in his mess, and tugs on the ends of his hair nervously. “I- it’s a mess, I know, I’m real sorry. I was gonna clean it, I just thought you might like…”

He trails off, unable to get a read on Steve’s expression. Steve doesn’t blame him but he can’t fucking stop his chest from feeling like it’s being pulled open, his heart from feeling like it’s soaring. He huffs an awed laugh, a smile curling at his lips.

Eddie deflates a bit in his relief, giving his own smile. He turns back to the stove quickly, giving the skillet a bit of a shake to keep it from burning and Steve draws closer, feet finally moving. Eddie watches him from the corner of his eye, barely biting back his grin as Steve gets closer. He hovers, feels the heat of Eddie’s back they’re so close.

He tries to feel brave — he stayed — and keeps his closeness, peering over Eddie’s shoulder at the skillet on the stove. It’s the Munson Special that Eddie’s cooked a few times for him over at the trailer; eggs, potatoes, shit tons of cheese, maybe a vegetable if he’s feeling healthy.

“Was gonna bring it to you in bed, but,” Eddie laughs, still tinged in nervousness. He sets down the spatula to tuck his hair behind both ears, glancing sideways at Steve as if trying to understand his silence.

He stayed and he cooked and he’s nervous. Steve thinks he might be holding his breath in disbelief, head dizzy with relief. With affection.

Very slowly, Steve’s hands move and, like he’s waiting for Eddie to flinch away, settles then very gently onto Eddie’s waist. His fingers curl into the soft fabric and Eddie makes a little chirp of happiness and leans back.

Leans into Steve a bit, like he wants his touch the morning after everything and Steve releases a shuddering breath, hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder. His hands grow a little more bold, sliding around to hug him around the middle.

Eddie’s cheeks have turned pink and his grin hasn’t faltered.

“Made me—” Steve starts, but his voice is a bit raspy. He clears his throat, avoids Eddie’s burning stare. “Y’made me breakfast?”

Eddie nods, his curls brushing against Steve’s cheek as he does. His tummy is warm beneath Steve’s hand and his hair smells good and Steve just wants to burrow into him- he tucks himself closer and is rewarded with a content noise from Eddie.

“That’s not weird, is it?” Eddie asks suddenly, picking up the spatula again and beginning to fiddle needlessly with the food. He flips it once, then again, so it’s on the same side as it was before.

He sounds a bit sheepish when he says, “I’m not sure- I haven’t ever really— I’m actually just gonna shut the hell up before I say anything stupid.”

Steve laughs quietly. His hands tighten around Eddie’s middle, head tilting so he can bury his grin into his shoulder— his heart is going haywire, going a million miles an hour, because karma is finally through with Steve Harrington and he gets to have this.

“S’not weird,” Steve mumbles. He thinks about pressing a kiss into Eddie’s shoulder.

“Ha, you said snot,” Eddie retorts with a childish snort and Steve can’t help it, he laughs at that too, muffled laughter into his t-shirt. Then he presses a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, quick as lightning. Rests his chin back on it like nothing happened.

Eddie still stiffens just a bit- turns his head just a bit to glance at Steve and fuck, Steve can’t help the way his stomach swoops.

Because Eddie softens him unbearably with those nervous brown eyes, his pink lips twisted as he tries to hold back his grin. Steve’s beginning to understand that both of them seem equally surprised that this is happening.

Eddie’s free hand moves, pausing only briefly in a moment's hesitance, before it covers one of Steve’s on his tummy. It’s cold, much colder than Steve’s, and he covers it with one of his own instinctively.

Eddie’s trembling fingers give him a little squeeze. Steve thinks he must be able to feel how hard his heart is beating from where his chest is pressed against his back. It’s a lot to deal with; this perfect morning in the sun, the soft sound of the radio, the sweet boy in his arms.

They’re both grinning to themselves. Eddie focuses back on the food before him, doing all his work with one hand, and starts a little hum.

The radio switches to a love song.

[steddiehyperfixation]

accidental eavesdropping (steddie ficlet)

based on this post by @imjust-that-shy. i hope i did this vision justice <3

The doors to the bathroom burst open, and - on some pure, inexplicable instinct and with nearly inhuman speed - Eddie darts back into the stall he'd just been about to come out of and leaps to perch on top of the toilet seat, crouched there like some sort of creature. 

He hears the sound of retching and the stench of vomit fills the air. He holds his breath, wrinkling his nose and trying to imagine what possible context could be behind Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley bursting in here together to puke their guts out. Eddie knows the two of them work together, he’s seen them sharing shifts at Scoops Ahoy when he's walked by. (Not that he often intentionally passes by the ice cream parlor and slows down just to catch a glimpse of Steve or anything… Although who could really blame him if he did? Like, come on, Steve in that uniform? Hello, sailor.) His mind is busy spinning stories of possible explanations, ranging from spoiled ice cream to sneaking alcohol and getting too drunk during their break. 

Eddie's leaning towards the 'drinking on the job' explanation, especially when the retching finally ceases and Robin says something about the room no longer spinning. Those little rebels, Eddie thinks approvingly.

“When’s the last time you, uh…peed your pants,” Steve is asking Robin now, in response to her telling him in a Russian accent to interrogate her. 

Eddie curls over his knees, tilting his head to try to peer through the gap between the stalls and the floor to put an image to his eavesdropping. Might as well, he’s kind of stuck here and there’s really not much else he can do right now. He can see Steve’s legs, one bent and the other stretched out in front of him, and Robin in the stall past him laying on the floor with her legs up against the stall wall as she answers, “Today…” 

“What?” Steve questions.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw!” Robin says. 

Okay…what? Russian doctors and bone saws? Eddie’s now thoroughly intrigued, if a little (okay, a lot) confused. Maybe they’re talking about a movie they watched or something.

Steve’s legs shake with his laughter. “Oh my god.” 

“It was just a little bit, though.” Robin pinches her fingers together as she twists her body in Steve’s direction while he laughs again and mutters that whatever it is they took is still in her system. She pushes her feet off the stall and slides to sit against the opposite wall. Eddie can only see her legs now. “Okay, my turn. Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve answers that he has, with Nancy, and makes a sound mimicking an explosion. Eddie remembers that, remembers seeing Steve and Nancy being all touchy and cute in the hallways at school while he was trying his damndest to convince himself that he absolutely definitely did not wish he was in Nancy’s place. It didn’t work very well. And it’s not working very well now either as Steve starts to go on about some new girl he likes now instead - some girl who’s funny and smart and can crack secret Russian codes (okay, seriously, what is it with these two and Russians?) and oh shit, he’s talking about Robin. 

Eddie very suddenly feels like he should not be here listening to this, eavesdropping on Steve confessing his feelings for someone. Not only is that, like, a private and personal thing, but also what if Robin likes him back and they start kissing or something right here in this bathroom where Eddie has to sit here and listen to it and that would just be horrible for him for so many reasons and- Eddie’s getting ahead of himself. Robin hasn’t even said anything yet, and her knees are pulled up to her chest and her voice shakes when she confirms she’s still alive after Steve asks if she’s OD’d there in the silence and she uncurls with a deep sigh. All signs that she doesn’t actually like Steve back. 

Eddie watches as Steve shifts and slides under the stall into Robin’s, and catches sight of the nasty bruise marring nearly half of Steve’s otherwise beautiful face as he does so. Now concern has been added to the list of emotions this eavesdropping experience has rollercoastered him through so far. The bruise looks fairly fresh and Eddie can’t help but wonder what the hell gave Steve a black eye like that and if he’s okay. 

After a brief spiral of concern for Steve’s face, Eddie tunes back into reality to find himself staring at Steve’s ass as Steve now sits with his back against the stall wall opposite Robin. Eddie blinks, expands his tunnel vision to include Steve’s lower back and Robin’s legs which are also visible beneath the gap in the stalls. 

“It’s not because I had a crush on you,” Robin is saying. “It’s because…she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?” Steve sounds confused.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin clarifies. “I wanted her to look at me.”

Oh. Eddie should really not be listening to this. Robin is trying to come out to Steve, trying to share something deeply personal and vulnerable with him and only him, not knowing that she’s outing herself to an eavesdropping near-stranger as well. Eddie feels violating and intruding. He can’t imagine how he would feel if he found out someone he barely knew had been secretly listening in on him coming out - probably not great, probably terrified. This is something he shouldn’t know, not like this. 

“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl,” Steve says, his tone unreadable, and Eddie’s heart nearly stops, sure his own anticipatory anxiety is likely only just a fraction of what Robin must be feeling right now. 

“Steve…” 

“Yeah?” A pause. “Oh,” Steve’s voice goes soft. “Oh… Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Robin sighs. Eddie can see her hands nervously rubbing at her shins. “Holy shit.” 

Steve is silent for a few painfully long moments. Eddie’s hands curl nervously around his own shins. Is Steve going to be homophobic? Should Eddie be worried for Robin now? 

“Steve, did you OD over there?” Robin asks, trying to be light but Eddie can hear the anxiety in her voice. 

“No, I just, uh- just thinking,” Steve responds. 

“Okay…” Robin’s voice is barely audible. Eddie is holding his breath.

“I mean, yeah,” Steve says finally, “Tammy Thompson’s cute and all, but the only reason I never gave her the time of day was because I was too busy staring at Eddie Munson.” 

The aforementioned Eddie Munson releases the breath he’d been holding with an involuntary squeak and claps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, neither of them heard him over the sound of Robin shouting. “What?! Eddie Munson?! You liked Eddie Munson?” she squawks, voicing Eddie’s own stunned thoughts perfectly.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms casually, completely unaware that he's throwing an eavesdropping Eddie into an absolute crisis right now. There's a soft thudding sound like Steve's hitting the back of his head against the stall wall. His voice gets kind of wistful, almost dreamy, as he says, “His rings, man. Rings and tattoos…and that long hair and those chains he'd wear… Honestly just his whole punk aesthetic thing had me mesmerized.” 

“Pretty sure he's metal, not punk,” Robin corrects him. 

Thanks, Robin. Also, what the fuck is happening right now? 

“Whatever. Still hot as hell,” Steve says. 

Eddie squeaks again and practically shoves his whole fist in his mouth to keep himself from making any more noise, his teeth knocking against his rings. The rings Steve likes, apparently. He feels like he's going to pass out, his heart beating so erratically it's making him lightheaded. King Steve - the popular, preppy, stupid, gorgeous, dumb jock Eddie's been crushing on since forever - just called him hot????  

“Did you hear that?” Robin asks suddenly, voice low and cautious. 

Shit. 

“Is anyone else in here?” Steve calls out. 

Fuck. 

Eddie bites down hard on his knuckles and holds his breath, going impossibly still. If they get up and search the bathroom, then he’s about to be caught red handed, crouched on top of a toilet seat with his fist in his mouth and his face flushed scarlet, eavesdropping on their private conversation about secret Russians and gay crushes. Eddie contemplates falling into the toilet and attempting to flush himself down it. Every god imaginable is receiving a silent prayer from him right now as he watches apprehensively through the gaps in the stall. One of those gods must've heard and taken pity on this poor gay disaster of a man crouched like a goblin in a bathroom stall, because after a few horrible seconds of silence, all Steve does is lean down to peer beneath the stalls for a moment before sitting back up and saying, “Looks empty. I think the drugs are making us hear things.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Robin says. Then she giggles, knocking her leg against Steve’s. “I still can’t believe you were into Eddie.” 

Steve flicks Robin’s knee. “I can’t believe you were into Tammy.”

“What’s wrong with Tammy?!” Robin protests.

“What’s wrong with Eddie?” Steve counters. “At least he’s actually got talent. Tammy’s a total dud - she wants to be a singer and shit but she can’t even hold a tune.” 

Eddie is going to die. He is actually going to die right here, right now, because Steve Harrington thinks he’s hot and talented. And then Steve starts mimicking Tammy, singing Total Eclipse of the Heart in a ridiculously goofy voice, and now Eddie is going to die because he finds that so stupidly endearing and adorable. Maybe he should just flush himself down the toilet, save himself from this hopelessly pathetic crush of his. Instead, he’s saved by the bathroom doors bursting open again and a new voice shouting at them, “Okay. What the hell?!” 

Steve and Robin collapse into a fit of giggles before being dragged to their feet by the newcomers and led out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie alone and reeling and struggling to process literally everything he’s just overheard. He finally hops down from his toilet perch and exits the stall like he’s in a daze. He’s not sure how long he had been camped out in there - probably only about ten minutes - but it felt like hours, so long that the world outside of that single bathroom stall almost feels foreign and unfamiliar now. 

Eddie grips the bathroom sink and stares at his flustered reflection in the mirror and whispers to himself, “What the actual fuck?” 

---

Later, years later, only after he and Steve are already dating, Eddie tells him all about this experience, and Steve laughs so hard he nearly cries.

(ao3 link)

[slavicviking]

ok ok but Steddie Soulmate AU where you are physically incapable of lying to your soulmate

Eddie finding Steve with a busted face waiting for the kids in front of the arcade soon after Starcourt and Eddie’s already been having a bad day so he straight-up asks ‘what punched a hole in your face this time?’ and Steve’s like

‘Russian soldiers.’

And Eddie thinks, well, all right then, keep your secrets. That was weird but also fair, it wasn’t his place to ask that.

But then it turns out that the freshman kids Eddie knows are somehow friends with Steve Harrington. There’s this one very intense campaign session with demogorgons and Dustin, Lucas and Mike turn eerily quiet, get all twitchy in their seats. He asks Steve about it when he picks them up.

“We’re scared it’s going to come back.”

“Like, in a campaign?”

“No,” and the way Steve says this, through gritted teeth, looking mildly disgusted, makes Eddie think that, well, pretty as he may be, Steve Harrington is still King Steve, still an asshole.

They continue this strange dance of sorts for months, Eddie jabbing at Steve and the jock replying in the most bizarre ways - by now Eddie knows he’s surely (probably?) just snarking back. There is no way any of the outlandish shit Steve says can be true.

Right?

And then Chrissy dies. She dies in his trailer, high up in the ceiling, bones broken, and Eddie runs. He finds himself with a broken bottle held at Steve Harrington’s neck . And the weirdest thing? When Steve asks him what happened, strangely earnest and wide-eyed, he really wants to dismiss him, or lie. Except, he can’t.

Well fuck.

[hotluncheddie]

for @steddie-spooktober day 4 prompt : corn maze

rated: T | cw: hospitals | tags: post s4, getting together

🌽 🌽 🌽 🌽

Eddie wakes up blurry eyed and disorientated in his now very familiar hospital bed. He spend the end of spring dead to the world, in and out of induced comas while they reconstructed his skin, the multiple processes too painful for him to be awake for. Followed was a summer of twilight and half wakefulness. Barely sentient between medicines and sponge baths and too many doctors telling him too many things.

Sometimes he’s wake up with the phantom feeling of his hand being held. Often he'd wake up with Wayne dozing on the little plastic chair beside him.

And maybe a little more often than sometimes, Eddie would wake up with Steve Harrington by his bedside. First shepherding Dustin, then bracketing Eddie’s new favourite midwestern queer Robin Buckley. Then just, Steve. Reading car magazines and folding the corners of pages he thinks Eddie might like. Or filling endless water cups, and scavenging snack in from vending machines. Or, just, staring into space.

Steve always seemed to just be there.

And Eddie was afraid to admit, even to himself, how much he liked that.

Now autumn was finally here, just starting to turn the leaves outside his window. His time awake slowly overtaking his time asleep, finally. And Steve is still there. Most days. Many days.

And at some point Eddie had started reaching for that phantom hand holding his, but in real life. Confirmed secretly by Robin that Steve was in fact there doing so while Eddie was out of it. (Gripped with a needless sense of protection and guilt over getting Eddie to the hospital in the state he did. Carried out of hell in Steve’s strong hands. Though safe, heavily injured, and Steve seemed to take that upon his own shoulders.) But Eddie only wanted those hand to support him again, wanted to find a way to thank him with words he didn’t possess. Wanted anything Steve would give him as his feelings blossomed into something he was still too scared to really look at.

But he could hold Steve’s hand. Only just allowed to push himself on a walker to the bathroom. Only just able to sit up and eat without biting his lip in pain, stopping half way to lay prone again.

He can, could, does, and doesn’t want to stop, holding Steve’s hand. And Steve gives that willingly.

But still, Eddie wakes up in his bed disoriented. Not by the bed, or the room, or even by Steve who stands beside him.

No, Eddie’s disoriented by the two items Steve has just deposited on his little table.

Steve standing by, arms crossed and hip cocked like this is English class and he needs to be ready to detach or say something snarky if his idea gets called stupid. It tugs on Eddie’s heartstrings. Eddie blinks, clears his head.

‘Corn maze.’ Steve says. Thinly veiled in his dismissal. Achingly honest in his mask.

Eddie looks at his little hospital table. A bowl of hot corn, steaming and shining with the butter melting through it, plastic spoon standing straight up amongst the kernels. And a box of Candy Land, old, with the corners taped together, well used, well loved.

‘I love corn mazes.’ Eddie says, quietly because he just woke up from another damn nap. And it’s autumn. And Steve Harrington is everything and nothing like what Eddie ever could’ve hoped for.

Steve softens. Visibly. Eddie watches it happen. His shoulders untense and his face smooths out into the sweet glowing thing of a boy who cares too much, who loves so hard he leave claw marks on everything.

Eddie wants Steve’s claws. Eddie wants them attached to the bone. But Eddie’s doesn’t want to give Steve the space to scratch. Eddie wants him close. Eddie wants him always.

‘Next autumn we’ll go for real, deal?’ Steve says.

Eddie nods, heart in his throat, rib cage exposed, heart beating for Steve Harrington and Steve Harrington alone.

He eats a bite of corn.

They travel through a candy maze.

Eddie Munson holds Steve Harrington’s hand.

🌽 🌽 🌽 🌽

Tag list (message to be added/removed): @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m

@thecatkingsthrone @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Steddie soulmate drabble (shared pain) || 3.9k words || rating: E || tags: homophobic slurs, period-typical homophobia, physical and emotional distress, panic attacks, Canon-divergent soulmate AU, Eddie Munson Whump, Steve Harrington Whump, one brief sex scene (so so brief) between Steve and the girl he brought to the basketball game in S4

Eddie experienced his first soul pain at twelve years old. Younger than most, but not worryingly so. The concern was the intensity of the pain. His momma held him tight, shushed him as he cried about how he feels all alone, doing her best to reassure him that loneliness wasn’t his and that she would never hit him. She held the frozen bag of peas to the blossom of red on his soft, round cheek and rocked him until he fell asleep in her arms.

The pains continued, giving him headaches on and off for years. He always wondered what his Half was going through for Eddie to have this much soul pain before puberty, but he grew used to it, stashing tiny vials of aspirin in his backpack or jacket pocket. The intensity was never as bad as the first time, eventually decreasing to a dull ache when they cropped up. His momma told him stories about people who could temper their pain to spare their other half, a difficult feat for even adult souls who’d spent years bound together. It was more likely the pain for his other half was dulling over time. He hoped it was true, but couldn’t push away the uneasiness he felt lying in bed each night and knowing the feeling wasn’t his.

Eddie was fourteen the first time he felt his own pain connect to his Half. Daddy called him a fag and locked him in his room for the weekend with nothing but the snacks and water bottle in his backpack. Unlike a sharp slap or the break of a bone, the pain of hunger was slow to build. Eddie still felt the tell-tale pop in the back of his mind as his stomach cramped. Unexpectedly, he also felt something almost akin to surprise riding the coattails of the pain. When the surprise faded into a distant comfort, he couldn’t object. Eddie knew this wasn’t normal, and decided from then on out to keep his soul pains a secret.

After his momma died, and his daddy grew drunk and violent, Eddie couldn’t stop his pain from connecting like he knew his Half could. Even after he’d moved in with Wayne, everything from the smallest shove to hushed slurs passed through the invisible bond, and even though pain connections can’t be controlled, most people only sent their most intense pains. It felt like he sent everything. Any little thing that set him off, the signature crack followed by soft comfort settled in his mind. 

The only consolation was that he felt less and less of his Half’s pain. Eddie wished that’d meant his Half was happy, with no pain to speak of. Between the dullness of the sensations when he happened to notice, and the immediate comforting response he received at his own suffering, he doubted that was it.

At sixteen Eddie had started looking into what it meant to experience some sort of response after connections, but couldn’t find anything in the low budget collection of soulmate information at Hawkins’ Public Library. Most likely on the banned book list, he figures, since that’s something kids are supposed to learn at home. 

Eddie couldn’t help wondering if the stories about Empaths were real. Rare, with absolutely nothing to do with pairings, it’s rumored Empaths experience the emotions of anyone physically close to them, but more importantly, are able to control the intensity of their own emotions and pain as how it’s experienced through their bond. Eddie’s couldn’t find anything about actually sending feelings through the bond as some kind of response. But like with his Daddy, he knows what happens after asking too many questions, so he keeps it to himself.

Eddie’s almost eighteen when there’s an intense, piercing crack behind his eyes. He’d been on his way back from the picnic table out behind school when the sudden pain had him curled up on the forest floor completely out of breath. It took him a few moments to get his bearings back, but he managed to walk to the van and get home. 

Wayne made him soup that night, let him put whatever he wanted on TV as long as he held the bag of peas over his bruised eye. At least it was light in color, barely noticeable, and would most likely fade by morning. However it was only a few hours later when shot off like a bullet from the couch, falling to the carpet on his hands and knees. He could hear Wayne saying something to him, could feel the gentle circling of his uncle’s hand on his back. None of it mattered. 

Eddie was filled with adrenaline. He’d never had a panic attack before, but his heart pounded as his breaths came in short spurts, the pungent fear squeezing his stomach. His hands vibrated and he clutched the carpet in a white knuckle grip to stave the phantom sensation. After what felt like hours, entirely wrung-out, Wayne let him have two shots of whiskey before climbing into bed.

It was quiet for another year. Unless, of course, he counted his own soul pains that crossed over, which he tried not to. Eddie’s emotions felt more in control of him than the other way around. Pressed into lockers, a scuffle at the picnic table with Hagan, being roughly kissed and then immediately knocked to the ground by Hargrove. It all connected. He tried to temper it, to be strong like his Half, but he always failed. Eddie was a coward, too scared to handle his pain alone. Like clockwork, the warm reassurance of love was quick to follow.

It was November 1984 the first time Eddie thought he was going to die. The panic set in, but unlike a year ago, it didn’t go away. He paced the living room, violently wiping tears from his face because even though the pain wasn’t his, the distress was so palpable he broke into cold sweats. Eddie did everything he could to think of to stave off the adrenaline– jumping jacks, whipping his hands around like a mad-man, screaming his voice hoarse.

Uncle Wayne suggested exercise, reminding him most athletes’ Half’s were people with an abnormal intensity of emotions and chronic pain, since it helps them process the constant stream of excess energy. So for the first time in Eddie Munson’s life, he went for a run. 

They started out at a jog, but it wasn’t enough. It felt worse than curling into himself on the ground like a pillbug. The only relief he felt was at a dead sprint, able to focus on the burn of his underutilized muscles. They ran until the adrenaline trickled from his system, and as always, was followed with love and comfort.

Halfway through their third lap around the park, an intense dread hit Eddie so abruptly he fell to his knees and vomited. They’d just made it back inside when Eddie’s vision went white. He came to only a few moments later, as Wayne hauled him across the kitchen and dropped him onto his bed. He held his mouth closed tighter than a vise, keeping every sob and groan deep inside himself to stop it from exploding out of him. Worried he wouldn’t be able to stop sobbing once he started. Wayne watched in horror as purple bloomed across Eddie’s face in real time, like a dye spreading under the skin. He placed a cold, wet cloth over his nephew’s eyes. 

Early into the morning, once the crying stopped, the migraine leveled out, he followed his uncle out onto the front porch to share a joint. The swelling in both eyes went away after two days, and he went back to school as usual. 

He noticed Harrington looked pretty fucked up, definitely worse than Hargrove. A panicked, fleeting part of Eddie’s brain worried Hargrove could be his Half, but he knew better. There’s always at least some amount of chemistry and attraction between soulmates, and all he needed was the one, ill-fated kiss to remind him his Half was still out there. Kudos to The King’s Half, however. If The Hair himself wasn’t at the hospital, then his Half surely would be. With a face like that, he can only imagine the pain Harrington’s soulmate had to manage during that fight.

It’s the fourth of July, and it’d been almost eight months since the last time he experienced this level of pain. Not his own, of course. No it never seemed to be his own when he’s left gasping for air, nails clenched into Wayne’s hand in the back of an ambulance they can’t afford.

He felt the bruises explode across his face, on his sides, behind his eyes. A sharp stab of pain in his neck lit up every nerve in his body. The howl ripped from him was grotesque, animalistic. His back arched up from the bed, thrashing his limbs into the metal bars of the stretcher until the medics did their best to restrain him. A pinch on the back of his hand. The world started to slow until he was wrapped in heavy darkness. 

Four days later there were still yellow, mottled stains on the sides of his ribcage and dark bags under his eyes. A routine of Tylenol during the day and painkillers from his own stash at night helped. Every night, Eddie layed in bed and silently cried. Their pain mixed now and the thought haunted him as much as it comforted. He only wished he could help his Half the same way they always soothed him. 

The guilt of his failure to help ate away at him, so it connects. Of course Eddie couldn’t control his emotions enough to spare the person who’s actually hurting, injured with no pain meds to help them, if Eddie had to guess. To top it all off, the cherry on the shit cake was that there's still the warm comfort at the back of his mind. His Half was living in excruciating pain, yet used what little energy they had left to help him with his. 

Eventually, Eddie had asked Wayne about different types of connections between Halfs. Not surprisingly he knew a bit more about it than the library, and didn’t hit him for it like his Daddy. 

“Each Half is meant to balance out the whole. Most people live somewhere near the middle, mild pain and mild emotional distress.” Eddie nodded, rapt with attention as Wayne continued. “But there’s always gonna be people at the fringes, the extremes. Like how I told ya about athletes usually being paired to trauma survivors. Why d’ya think you’re always so damn depressed after your incidents?” When Eddie had mentioned the soothing presence, Wayne had replied, “yep, sounds like an Empath,” like it was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Wait,” Eddie interrupted, “so the only reason I’m so emotional is because my half is an Empath? Or is it because they get hurt all the time. And if I'm so emotional, does that mean they're athletic?” Questions flooded his mind before Wayne cut him off.

“Could be because you were so young for your first connection. Could be because the severity of their pain made you feel it more. Or, maybe you were born that way, made that way for each other– destiny and all that.”

The pain lessened. The comfort remained. And Eddie felt the whisper of love each morning he woke up and every night before he fell asleep.

~~~ ~~~

Hands underneath Brenda’s shirt, her tongue moving across his bottom lip, anticipation glistens across Steve’s open chest as he grinds down into her. She moans into the kiss and runs her finger tips over his shoulders, grazing her nails down his back. Goosebumps erupt over his skin. He’s panting into her open mouth when his thrusts turn erratic, desperate and rushed. Her legs wrap around him, she crosses her ankles to pull him in closer and a moan crawls from the depths of his chest. His abs clench, hurtling towards his climax when he’s interrupted by the signature pop of a soul pain behind his eyes.

A cold sweat travels down his spine, adrenaline punching him in the gut. Horror claws Steve’s throat, he can’t seem to catch his breath as he hurriedly pulls out of her and falls to the floor. She’s saying something he can’t make out through the screaming urge to leave, run, hide. With enough faculties to grab his clothes on the way out, he dashes into the night where the chilled March air cools his sweat soaked skin. Distress clouds his mind on the drive home, so he pushes comfort, pleading with them to relax, breathe. The pain fades, but only slightly. 

The next day, Steve parks outside of a boat house. He doesn’t know Eddie Munson well, outside of the table top tirades and the glowing accolades from Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. They’ve never been friendly, even sometimes slightly antagonistic when Munson’s not satisfied with ranting about the government and decides he needs an actual face to point the finger at. No one better than The King, apparently. 

Steve played the role of snotty royalty to appease his shitty friends, but Eddie’s rants were contagious and always left Steve buzzing and manic. Of course Steve had thought about it before. Let himself wonder if his Half was some nice, pretty suburban girl, or if his Half was actually a crazed super senior he had absolutely nothing in common with. It was easier to consider the residual energy just a side effect of being an Empath, and not because he could actually feel Eddie’s emotions in his own subconscious. 

Robin told him about a Zine where she’d read it was possible for Empaths to absorb emotions from people in the same physical space as him, but they would have to be very close by and the emotions much stronger than normal. Which, in Steve’s mind, explained Munson to a tee. The guy always made sure to wander across the jock’s table, where his emotions were highest, typically with annoyance and disdain. Did Eddie’s eyes linger a bit longer on Steve than Tommy or the other athletes? Maybe. Maybe not. Steve did his best not to think about it too much.

Right now, with the tip of a broken bottle grazing his neck, he’s failing miserably at not thinking about it. Panic seeps out of every pore in his body. Adrenaline chokes him like it had the night before, but this time it’s from both himself and his Half. It’s too much. Steve can’t focus, can’t hear anything Dustin’s saying. There’s a sharp poke, then a trail of wet on his neck, and Eddie gasps. His grip loosened just enough for Steve to tilt his head away, readjusting his hold on Eddie’s sleeve, where his fingers accidentally brush against cold, pale skin. 

The panic gives way to euphoria. Steve breaks out into a fit of giggles, and morphs into hysterical laughter. He sounds completely unhinged, now doubled-over and furiously wiping his misted eyes with his free hand. Because his other hand has clamped itself around Eddie’s small wrist. The fizzing sensation like tiny bubbles flows from where they’re joined. The tingles climb his arm, root into his chest, and sprout in the back of his mind. 

Steve’s overcome with the hiccups. Robin’s rubbing small circles into his back and he works towards matching his breaths to her counts. It’s enough to pull his focus back to reality. 

He is Steve Harrington. He’s in Reefer Rick’s boat house with Robin, Dustin, and Max. The Upside-Down is probably back. Something wet drips down his neck. The dock is rough beneath his knees, even through the denim. His back aches where it hit the wall. And Eddie Munson is his Half.

Eddie is crying. Steve registers the shock, the guilt, the despair at the back of his mind. Eddie’s guilt– iit’s always guilt. It dulls his own joy, but just a little. 

Tentatively, Steve pushes comfort. To his delight, Eddie gasps again. His big, dark eyes lock onto his, and Steve can’t help but smile. He knows now isn’t the time to talk, that there’s so much more happening to Eddie than just finding his soulmate in a rundown boathouse on the edge of town. But they’ve come so far, been through so much that Steve decides they can spare a moment, just for them. 

He cups the back of his hand behind Eddie’s neck before releasing his wrist, unwilling to lose contact, and guides his Half into his lap. The guilt spikes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t want to be here, with him, on some level. But Eddie crawls between his legs, pushes his face into Steve’s neck and inhales. The crush of Steve’s grip calms him, and panic eventually subsides. It’s quiet. Steve looks to find Robin corralling the kids towards the door. She throws him a thumbs up as she closes it behind her.

He pushes to her too, and he feels her relax in return.

Eddie mumbles something, but it’s muffled into his neck. Steve leans back as he scruffs his Half’s hair, pulling him away just far enough to make eye contact. The poor boy still hasn’t stopped crying. Steve’s still pushing, pushing love into him.

“I’m sorry. Steve, I’m so sorry,” Eddie sobs. Steve watches as Eddie rubs his dripping nose on the sleeve of his leather jacket, the snot smearing with the drag instead of absorbing into it. Steve uses his own free arm to wipe Eddie’s nose for him which earns him a pinched expression and a small, awkward chuckle. “That was disgusting.”

Steve smiles. “I’ve seen worse.”

Eddie’s eyes dart away, and guilt spikes again. Steve gently swipes his thumb under his eyes to catch the stray tears. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in there.” He taps on the back of Eddie’s head.

“You– you’ve been through so much. Like, so much awful shit, Steve, and I don’t even know. I just–” Eddie pauses, scrubs his hands over his face until Steve pulls one away, slowly guides it toward the side of his own neck–skin to skin– places the tip of Eddie’s thumb in the cradle of his jaw. Momentarily entranced, Steve squeezes the back of Eddie’s neck again to regain his focus.

“You just, what, Eddie? You’re going to be ok, just tell me.” He pushes. Eddie shudders, the effect intensified with proximity.

“See! That, exactly that. You always comfort me when I need it. When my dad kicked me out, anytime Wayne and I argued, every time I got shoved into someone’s locker. You were always there, just wrapping me up in love. Which is such fucking shit.” Eddie’s cold huff of laughter is wet and self-deprecating and Steve hates it. Doesn’t have to feel it in the back of his skull to know Eddie’s full of misery. “All I could ever give you back was shit. Just anger, frustration, depression and fucking teenage angst. I tried so hard to hold it back, like I knew you could. I tried so fucking hard, Steve, to send you anything good, like you always did for me. And all you got was my bullshit.”

Steve’s own eyes water as Eddie dissolves back into a fit of sobs. He tucks his Half’s head back into his neck as he rocks them back and forth. Struggling with his own thoughts, Steve chooses each word slowly and carefully. “Eddie, I felt everything. Your happy moments might not have been as strong as your bad, but they were still there. Like how I know Hellfire plays Friday nights, and I always thought I felt great on Friday nights because I finally got a break from the kids. Or how my best games were always after you’d do your little cafeteria table speeches, because it filled me with so much energy I would practically vibrate. Every single day, I’d feel little pops of bubbles that could only be you. You were always the best part of my bad days, Eddie.”

He feels raw, laid bare and exhausted as Eddie looks up to stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You knew? You knew it was me the whole time?” His voice croaks, and Steve makes a mental note to get him some water when they leave. 

Smiling, he grazes Eddie’s sweat and snot and tear-soaked bangs off his forehead. “I had a hunch. I just–”

“Just what?” The swell of heat behind Steve’s eyes pinpoints Eddie’s anger, rejection, and more guilt. Always guilt. “You were just hoping you could go as long as possible without mentioning it. Hoping maybe you were wrong, and your soulmate wasn’t the satan-worshiping, drug dealing Freak of Hawkins?”

With one hand still woven into the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, Steve uses his other hand to cover Eddie’s mouth, and he’s thrilled to discover his hands almost completely wrap around his head. He pushes hard again. Eddie squints, glaring at him over the ridge of Steve’s pinky finger, but Steve still feels him relax, so he counts it as a win. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my bullshit.” The pinprick sensation of curiosity heightens and he answers before Eddie can even ask. “You know exactly what bullshit. That’s why I’m the one who should be sorry. Fuck I can’t– I can’t imagine how all of that must’ve been for you. How painful it was, especially when you didn’t know what was happening, or why. You were forced to bear through all of my shit and just hope it would end.”

Eddie gently pried Steve’s hand from his mouth and eyed him warily before using Steve’s own sleeve to wipe at the boy’s tears. “Steve, what happened to you?”

Steve sniffles before he places a feather-light kiss to Eddie’s brow, reveling in a champagne pops of love and awe. “I’m sorry, baby, but probably the same thing that’s happening to you right now.”

A heavy silence settles between them. Steve feels a separate, more distant curl of anxiety in the back of his mind and knows they’re running out of time. Robin can only keep the kids distracted for so long. Steve pushes more comfort at her, receiving her expected impatience in return.

“Come on,” Steve says, rising to his feet and he reaches down to help Eddie up as well. “You can tell us what happened, and we’ll fill you in on the rest.” He takes Eddie’s hand as they walk towards the boathouse door. No use in forcing him to sleep here when Steve’s house is always empty. 

“What about us?” Eddie’s voice is timid, but still hopeful.

(Continue for one-sentence hurt/no comfort)

Steve smiles, squeezing his Half’s hand before softly kissing his knuckles, cool metal rings grazing his chin. “After this is over, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

~~~

The pain is Eddie’s, sharp and piercing in places that bleed the most. It’s agony and it’s death, but he only feels a surge of love as he falls to darkness.

[steddieasitgoes]

i wanna be close to you

written for @steddie-week Day 3 prompt: Longing/Mutual Pining Rating: T | wc: 1825 | no cw special thank you to @sidekickjoey for beta-ing this at the last minute (and my day 1 one too because I forgot to mention it on the post!) Read on ao3

The smell of chlorine lingers on their skin. 

Eddie’s hair is a tangled mess, partly from the hours spent horsing around in the pool with the kids and partly because that’s just its default state. He claims it’s for proper curl maintenance, but Steve has a sneaking suspicion he doesn’t like the way a brush or comb feels working through the tangles.  

They’re lying on the roof of Steve’s house. It’s not the smartest of ideas — what with the handful of beers and joint or two they’ve shared in the hours since the kids rode their bikes home — but he can’t deny that it’s nice. There’s an evening breeze chasing off the humid summer heat as the sun sets in the distance. Soon, they’ll be plunged into darkness, with nothing but the dim stars above them and the distant streetlights to keep them visible. 

Steve’s counting down the moments until the darkness overtakes them, until he doesn’t have to worry about Eddie rolling over and spotting the flush that’s spread from the tips of his ears all the way down to his newly pierced belly button (that’s the last time he makes an Uno bet with Robin, that cheater). Until the moment when Eddie won’t be bathed in warm yellows and oranges from the setting sun like some painting that belongs in a museum. 

It’s quiet up here, aside from Eddie’s restless fingers tapping on the tiles of the roof beside him.  Two short taps, another, then a drag, two short taps, three drags, three taps, and so on. It’s not steady like the usual beats he plucks out with his fingers, but he keeps repeating it over and over and over again. It’s a welcome noise, a nice distraction from Steve’s racing heart that he’s sure Eddie could hear if he wasn’t lost in his own thoughts. 

Steve’s never been in a situation like this before, lying so close to someone — thighs touching, hands practically pinned between their sides — and being unable to reach out and touch. 

Not in the way he wants to, at least. 

He wants his lips on Eddie’s. 

He wants to know what the slight stubble on his jaw would feel like against his cheek.

He wants to chart every scar, every imperfection, every tattoo with his hands and then his lips. Maybe even his tongue and teeth. 

He craves to know what it feels like to have Eddie’s weight on top of him and what his warm eyes will look like when he’s the one hovering over him. 

He wants other things, too. 

More moments like this for one, the two of them perfectly content in the stillness of the night. And more moments like earlier, where the noise reached questionable levels as they goofed around with the kids. 

He wants to cook Eddie breakfast, even if it takes him three tries to get the eggs right because he knows he’s picky about the consistency. He wants to hold his hand in public and not have to worry about what anyone is going to say about it. He wants Eddie to be the last person he sees when he goes to bed, and the first person when he wakes up.

He wants and wants and wants, and Steve is used to getting what he wants.

But, Eddie is a want he can’t have. 

It’s too risky. Maybe, if it was just their relationship at stake, Steve would be brave enough to curl his finger around Eddie’s tapping away beside him, give a little tentative touch to test the waters before he fully gives in to his desires. 

But it’s not just his relationship at stake. No, it’s the kids’ and Robin’s and Nance’s. Hell, even Joyce and Hopper’s relationship with Wayne would be muddled if Steve did something to make Eddie uncomfortable. 

He can’t risk it. 

They’ve lost too much over the years to risk losing a friend like Eddie, too. 

So, Steve resides himself to the longing deep in his bones and steals another quick glance at Eddie in all his glory beside him. 

He’s sitting up now, knees pulled up to his bare chest as he looks out into the darkness that’s spreading by the second. He wraps his restless arms around his legs, pillowing his head on the tops of his skinned knees. His eyelashes are long, fanning against his cheek with every slow blink. Eddie stays like that for a moment or two before he turns his head, squinting into the darkness of night until Steve comes into focus.

Steve watches as Eddie’s lips slowly twitch up into a smile that makes his entire body turn molten. It takes every muscle in Steve’s body to keep himself planted on the roof. Internally, he’s at war with himself — one side telling him to run, to dive inside the window to his bedroom and get as far away from Eddie as he can; the other side telling him to throw caution to the wind, close the distance, and go after what he wants just like he’s always done. 

He doesn’t do either. Instead, he pushes himself into a seated position until he’s mirroring Eddie, knees to his chest and his head turned in his direction, soaking in the quiet moment with his best friend. 

Steve’s gotten used to Eddie’s tapping on the roof, to the rustling of the trees in the evening breeze and the final chirps from the birds calling their flock to bed. To the occasional crackling of asphalt underneath worn tires as people come home from work.

Now, it’s quiet. 

Too quiet. 

Too still. 

Eddie doesn’t fidget. He barely even blinks, eyes too focused on Steve darting all around as if he’s trying to commit him to memory. He swears he notices Eddie’s cheeks turning pink — it’s subtle, but it’s there. He knows it is. 

Maybe he feels it too, Steve thinks, eyes closed as he muddles through the emotions swirling in his head. Maybe Eddie wants him, too.

When he opens them, Eddie’s still looking at him with those soft, warm eyes of his. Unwavering. He’s fully sitting up now, too, his head no longer buried in his folded arms over his knees.

His cheeks are still a rosy red color, and something inside Steve snaps at the little detail. His resolve weakens, his fingers itching to close the distance as his heart slows down for the first time since they clumsily climbed onto the roof. 

This is it, Steve thinks. If ever there was a moment to risk it all, it’s right now. 

“Hey, Ed—“ 

The words die on the tip of Steve’s tongue as Eddie kisses him. 

The world goes quiet; even his brain has hit the mute button, allowing him to focus on the press of his lips against Eddie’s. Unfortunately, that’s all it is. A chaste press of lips like middle school kids unsure of what the mechanics of a kiss look like beyond lip-to-lip contact.  

Just as Steve’s leaning in to deepen the kiss, Eddie pulls away. 

Steve watches as the moment registers in Eddie’s mind — his face going from a pleasant rosy red to scarlet in an instant. He fidgets beside him, desperately trying to get to his feet to make his great escape without rolling off the roof. 

It makes Steve nervous. 

So nervous, his hand moves on his own volition, wrapping around Eddie’s wrist to steady the man and his lanky limbs. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says in a rush. He shakes his head, tangled curls flying about haphazardly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t — fuck, I — I don’t know what I thought. I’m just —“ 

“Hey,” Steve calls, barely above a whisper because there’s no reason to yell. He reaches a tentative hand out and curls it underneath Eddie’s chin until he’s looking into those familiar brown eyes. “Don’t apologize. I wanted it, too. I want you.”

Steve's lips are on Eddie’s a moment later. It’s just as awkward, maybe even worse, and for a horrified second, he wonders if this is the universe’s way of saying that they don’t belong together. But then, Eddie’s kissing him back, and the world makes sense. 

It feels good — better than any kiss Steve’s ever had. The scratch of Eddie’s stubble against his cheek is perfect. Eddie’s lips are rougher than any girl he’s ever been with, sure, but Steve still loves it. It makes him feel less bad about grazing his bottom lip with his teeth until he’s pulling it, coaxing a gasp from Eddie that Steve takes advantage of immediately. 

They have to be careful —  way more careful than Steve wants to be right now — so they don’t go rolling off the roof, but they work with what they’ve got. Eddie’s hands settle on the backside of his neck, fingers curling into the strands at the base, pulling gently until Steve’s making his own embarrassing noises into the once quiet night. 

Steve never pulls away, breathing through his nose instead as his lips map the expanse of Eddie’s face — the curve of his lips, the dimple high on his cheekbone and down to the tender spot behind his ear. 

Eddie shifts, hands dropping until they’re resting on Steve’s bare thigh, dangerously close to the hem of his swim trunks. Steve feels himself twitch and as good as it feels, he really, really doesn’t want to do this on his roof where any one of his neighbors might see if they look out their windows. 

“Eddie,” Steve says, finally pulling his mouth away from his warm, inviting skin. “Fuck, Eddie. We can’t—“ Eddie’s face falls and Steve’s heart sinks to his feet as he starts rambling out an explanation. “We can. I mean, of course, we can. I want to. Just not here. Not on my roof—“ Pleased, Eddie resumes his touch, hands trailing closer and closer to the hem as his lips explore his neck now. Steve pants beside him, trying to control himself. “My room. Let’s move this to my room.” 

It’s not elegant in the slightest. The two of them push and shove their way through the small window, nearly getting stuck because they’re too impatient to take turns, but they manage to fall through the window and a second later onto Steve’s plush queen bed. And then they’re lost in each other, lips and hands, and it’s everything Steve thought it would be and somehow even better. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” Eddie whispers later when they’re settled in the sheets. He’s using Steve as a pillow, head rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. Steve’s got one hand in his hair, twirling a tangled lock between his fingers, the other wrapped around Eddie’s shoulder, holding him there just in case Eddie tries to run again. 

“Good.” Steve smiles, dipping his head down to press a kiss into the mess of curls. “I think I’m in love with you, too.” 

[imfinereallyy]

Spooky Spouse🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

happy spooky season :) this is for my mutuals @cranberrymoons @penny00dreadful @theheadlessphilosopher @vthx who when I asked about when we think steddie bday's was, it derailed into well...this. And it was too hard to resist.

v brief mention of nsfw

"You want to what?"

Eddie stares at Steve excitedly, practically vibrating in his spot across from Steve in the kitchen.

"We should get married on Halloween!" Eddie shouts.

Steve lets his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he looks at his very manic, albeit very cute, fiance. "Babe, I love you, and for that, I am going to hear you out—"

"Love you too." Eddie interrupts softly.

Steve's mouth curves at the edges; he's sure he has what Robin has claimed as his 'lovesick' smile on his face. "—but why would you want to get married on your birthday?"

Suddenly, Eddie's excitement switches into an embarrassed blush. Hiding behind a finger spun around a soft curl, he mumbles, "...about that..."

Steve sighs and leans back in his chair. He feels the familiar ache in the bottom of his back, scarred road rash that never quite healed right in 86'. If he sits too long in one spot, Steve finds himself fidgety and unsettled.

He wonders briefly if he can convince Eddie to give him a massage later.

Eddie's embarrassment shifts for a moment to concern, eyes wondering where Steve's back meets the base of the old wooden chair they found on 74th Street two years ago. Steve knows Eddie had liked the way the chair creaked like Steve's knee, and that was reason enough to bring it home. Now, though, with the way Eddie holds his breath to see if the familiar creak of the chair will mix with the sounds of Steve's young bones aging, Steve knows he won't have to do any convincing at all.

"I'm okay, Eds. You were saying."

Eddie's face blooms red again. "Okay, only if you promise not to be mad."

"That is never a good sign."

Eddie bites his lip, "What if I told you that my birthday isn't really on Halloween?"

Steve stares blankly, "I know I've had a few knocks on the head, Eds, but I'm pretty sure you can change your name, not your birthday. Having a wedding doesn't mean you get to move your birthday."

"Well!" Eddie jumps, this time with more anxious energy, "You see, that's what I mean; we wouldn't have to move my birthday if we got married on Halloween."

"Okay, you lost me. Am I concussed again? Did we go too hard last night? I know you said you were 'gonna fuck me so good I would forget my name,' but I'm pretty sure this isn't what you meant."

Eddie takes a deep breath before getting on his knees in front of Steve, taking his hand into his own. "Stevie, I mean that I lied. My birthday isn't Halloween. It's actually in February."

"What."

"You said you wouldn't be mad!"

Steve snorts but gives Eddie's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm pretty sure I actually said that 'wasn't a good sign'. I never agreed not to be mad."

"We both know it means the same thing to you." Eddie huffs.

Steve's lovesick smile is back again, despite knowing he should be mad. "You're telling me you've convinced everyone your birthday is on Halloween?"

"...well, everyone but Wayne." Eddie's smile turns sheepish.

"Jesus Christ Eds."

Eddie jumps up from his knees back to his feet. Steve can hear Eddie's ankle crack at the sudden change. He keeps a hold on Steve's hand. "Listen, I had good reason. I love Halloween; I should be a Halloween baby. My death was almost by bats; I mean, by that logic, it's almost full circle."

"I feel like you're D&D'ing me into logic that doesn't make sense. Eddie, are you trying to make it worse?"

Eddie throws his head back and groans, "No. I'm just—I love Halloween. It feels wrong not to have something important on that day."

"So you decided to change your birthday? Ed's that's not legal."

Eddie's excitement comes back tenfold, giving Steve whiplash. "Well, neither is our wedding! So it's perfect! Honestly, very metal of us to be fighting the law on such an amazing day." Eddie's arms flap around in excitement, making their conjoined hands move messily throughout the air.

Steve wants to be mad; he really does. But he can't help it; he just loves this idiot too much. "Fine, we can get married on Halloween."

"Really?!"

Steve stands, bringing his lips to Eddie's hand, then gently to his lips. He murmurs against his mouth, "On two conditions."

Eddie nips Steve's lip, "Anything, baby."

"One." Steve starts, sliding his tongue into Eddie's mouth, just to be a brat, before pulling back. Eddie groans but doesn't protest. He knows that this is the rare occasion it's his turn to be punished. "You have to tell everyone the truth about your birthday."

"Yep, fine. You got it." Eddie grabs Steve by the back of his neck and pulls him back. Consuming him greedily, Steve gives in to the distraction for a moment. Loving the feeling of Eddie's heat pressed against his own.

Steve pulls back reluctantly, a trail of spit connecting the two of them. Eddie whines and paws at Steve's hips, trying to draw him back. "Two, you have to tell me when your actual birthday is."

The heat clears from Eddie's eyes and the sheepish look returns. "Uh..."

Steve starts to remove himself from Eddie, but Eddie scrambles to bring him back against his chest. "Fine. Fine, I'll tell you."

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie's, patiently waiting for him to spill.

"It's February 14th."

Steve's eyes go wide, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ."

**

this spiraled form all of us being convinced eddie would lie and say his bday is on Halloween. to my mutals, sorry I didn't tag you all it got to long, but this was for you guys ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[puppy-steve]

@outpastthebrakers posted a thing about hospital security guard eddie and er nurse steve and @zerokrox-blog sent in a prompt for a steddie med school au, but despite working in a hospital, i don't know anything about med school other than it's 4 years of schooling and 4 years of residency, so i couldn't deliver on that part unfortunately. but i hope yall enjoy regardless!

"Are you gonna actually do something tonight, or are you just gonna sit there and look handsome like always?"

Steve pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks up from the computer and rolls his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing, you know," he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "This is the third time you've been down here in the last," Steve checks his watch, "hour. Don't you have a parking lot to patrol or something?"

Eddie only laughs and hooks his thumbs into his belt loops. "Bold of you to assume they let me drive the car, big boy. Nah, Preston drives and I get to be the passenger princess I was born to be."

Steve snorts. He definitely doesn't pay attention to the looks the other nurses are giving them.

"Besides," Eddie continues. He leans his elbows on the counter of the nurse's station. "It's your fault I'm down here so often in the first place."

"Oh really?" Steve raises an eyebrow and doesn't hide the fact that he's checking out the tattoos on Eddie's forearms that are showcased by the short sleeves of his uniform shirt framing his biceps. Hospital uniform policy says minimal jewelry but Eddie's never been one for conformity so his fingers are adorned with rings of different size.

(Hospital policy also says that security staff are, under no circumstances, to physically harm violent patients or visitors, but that policy doesn't say anything about Eddie threatening to dole out a knuckle sandwich or two.)

Eddie tracks Steve's gaze and smirks. He taps his fingers on the counter in a rolling rhythm, his black nail polish accenting the flashiness of his rings.

Eddie leans in a little more (which isn't necessary because the counter is a foot above the desk Steve is sitting at) and almost purrs, public decency be damned, "Because, princess, if it weren't for you, I'd be stuck up in my office doing something boring, like reading." He places a hand on his chest. "As much as I love my dragon hoard of books, seeing your pretty face for twelve hours is a much better option."

Steve blushes and tries to sputter out a response, but the radio clipped to Eddie's shoulder goes off.

Eddie confirms the call and groans, dropping his head.

The moment is all Steve needs to compose himself. "Oh no," he frowns, insincere but his tone teasing. "You have to actually do your job. How awful."

Eddie mouths wordlessly back at him, mocking, but then grins and raps his knuckles on the counter once more, giving him a wink. "Don't miss me too much, sweetheart."

Steve tries to not watch as Eddie walks down the hallway, but god those pants fit him so well. He's always had a thing for tiny, perky asses.

"Steve."

Steve jumps and does not yelp like a child. He turns to see his colleague Jen. Jen's been working in the ER for a few years and is a spitfire with a heart of gold.

"You've been flirting with him for months and neither of you have made a real move on each other. What the hell? The betting pool Trent and Brett have is getting shallow."

The tips of Steve's ears start to burn. "Betting pool?!" He turns his chair around to the guys mentioned and they're very much making an effort not to look at him. "You guys are betting on us hooking up? How old are you, twelve?"

"Stevie," Jen sighs in a dramatic way that reminds Steve of Robin and it makes his heart clench. "You have turned down every single person in the vicinity since you started. Eddie is obviously into you and you're into him. I'm going to say this as nicely as I can because you're my favorite out of all the graduates: Please jump this man's bones so I can get my $50."

"My love life is only worth $50 to you?"

"Steve."

Steve groans and hits his head on the desk.

xxxxxxxx

Eddie outright moans when 7am rolls around and he's finally able to take off his uniform. He shoves the bulletproof vest and his holster belt into his locker and his shirt and pants into his dufflebag to be washed later.

God, he doesn't even want to think about laundry.

After he got the call that pulled him away from Steve, it was like the floodgates opened. Two code violets, one report of a car circling the ASU parking lot suspiciously, and three code browns that ended up being patients sneaking outside for a smoke.

He didn't blame them. With the night he had, he's regretting his decision to quit.

Eddie walks through the automatic doors at the entrance of the hospital after he's changed back into his civvies, and those regrets immediately disappear and his mood brightens when he sees who's waiting for him.

Wayne's van is parked in the drop off zone and the sliding door is opened. A bright grin stretches across Eddie's tired face as he gets closer to his little girl, happily squirming in her car seat and drinking juice out of her bottle.

"Da-dee!"

Eddie lets his bag slide off his shoulder and onto the ground but Wayne picks it up and puts it next to Emma's diaper bag.

"Hi, baby!" Eddie coos as he unbuckles her. "Good morning!" He kisses her cheek and buries his nose in her hair, a chesnut brown like her dad's, and cuddles her close. "I missed you so much. Did you have fun with papaw last night?"

"She fussed a little after you left but I got her settled," Wayne says. He holds up a McDonald's bag. "Decided she was gonna get an early start this morning so I figured yall could use some breakfast."

Eddie's stomach chooses the right time to growl and his mouth waters. Last he ate was a TV dinner around one in the morning. Eddie tells Wayne to pick a spot in the visitor's parking lot and then takes Emma back inside the hospital with him.

He doesn't see Steve when he gets to the ER.

"Hey, Steve hasn't left yet, has he?"

A nurse, Jen, Eddie thinks her name is, looks at him and immediately starts cooing at the (admittedly adorable) baby in his arms that's looking around with curious eyes and drinking her juice.

"Steve's in the locker room getting changed, he's just about to clock out. Who is this little cutie?"

Eddie grins and bounces Emma lightly. "This is Emma, my little monster. She gets all her cuteness from her other dad."

Jen's face falls for a second but before Eddie can ask what's wrong, Emma squeals way too loudly for a hospital at 7:30 in the morning and almost throws her bottle in her excitement.

"Da! Da!"

Steve looks just about as tired as Eddie feels and he can practically hear their bed calling their names. But Steve's eyes light up when he hears who's calling for him and a sort of puppy-like grin takes over his face, dopey and happy.

Emma is already reaching for him and Steve quickly strides over and takes her in his arms.

"Good morning, lovebug," Steve says, enveloping her in the gentlest hug he can muster. He breathes in her natural baby smell and closes his eyes.

Eddie's hand goes to his waist to keep him awake and Steve hums, opening his eyes and leaning into give Eddie a peck on the cheek.

"Morning, baby," he murmurs, all traces of teasing and flirting from the night before gone and replaced with open affection.

Steve doesn’t need to look at Jen to know her jaw is probably on the floor.

Eddie returns the kiss on Steve's lips. "Morning, sweetheart. Wayne’s waiting with breakfast outside. Seems like little miss princess here decided she was gonna wake up early, early today." He tickles Emma's tummy as he says this, causing her to laugh around her binky and try to push his fingers away.

"Food sounds so good right now," Steve practically whines.

Jen is still staring between the three of them. Steve smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry you didn't win your money. I should’ve told you, Eddie and I have been together for years. Emma's our daughter." He shifts Emma in his arms and gives everyone a wave. "I'll see you guys later."

He and Eddie walk out of the hospital hand in hand. They eat their breakfast in the parking lot and Wayne follows them to their house to stay up with Emma while Steve and Eddie get some much needed sleep.

When they go back into work later that evening, they fess up to everyone and Eddie gives Jen $50 right from his own wallet.

[stevebabey]

totally didn’t expect the other part to do well at all but 😳 apparently i don’t know steddie fans. as such, have a part two <3 part one is here again, look out for the borrowed hunger games lines

“You’ve ruined your life, you know that, right?”

The kitchen had been basking in the lull of the quiet morning before Eddie had spoken up, breaking the silence. Steve blinks, realising he’s been zoned out staring at the swirling bubbles atop his mug of coffee and look up at Eddie across the table.

“Doing what you did.” Eddie continues. There’s this slight in his voice. Steve figures it’s not really aimed at him.

Chief Powell had agreed to not release the details of the case to the public for obvious reason. However, it went without saying that of the cops working the case, not all would be so free-thinking. There were plenty who deemed leaking the alibi and letting the town devour Steve’s reputation a more than fair consequence.

And, well, Eddie didn’t have any reputation left to tarnish or save.

Steve takes a sip of his coffee and lets the warm flavour coat his tastebuds as he tries to puts his thoughts in the right order.

He knows how Eddie sees this— sees it as this burden that he’s imposed on Steve’s life. That he had been able to accept it at first, the whispers of freedom tempting enough that he could be selfish enough to gasp them.

Then yesterday afternoon, Steve had come back from Bradley’s Big Buy with dried yolks splattered across the windscreen and regret howled through Eddie like a hurricane, fierce and wild. Realisation of what Steve had condemned himself to— no- what Eddie had condemned him to finally sunk in.

Steve can tell he’s been stewing on it all night. In the couple weeks he’s been here, staying in under the Harrington roof just down the hall from Steve, he’s surprised by how easily his brain has tacked on to Eddie’s habits. His little Eddie-ism’s. That’s what Steve calls them.

Like how Eddie’s nose will twitch if there’s something on his plate he doesn’t like, but he’s too polite to say it.

How he thumbs up and down the edge of a book when he’s reading, completely entranced. Doesn’t even notice his moving, twittering fingers.

How he’s always so much twitchier the morning after a sleep laced with terror after terror. It gives him away before Steve even see the bags under his eyes, the hollowness of his face.

Steve recognises that one from himself, from back when he’d gone through it all for the first time. The flinch is unshakeable when you’re convinced it’s all going to come back— that the world is going to tear itself up and spit out monsters you haven’t even dreamed of.

Today, Eddie isn’t twitchy like that. He’s tired, a sunken in face that comes from a bone-deep aching tiredness. He picks at his breakfast, bitterly avoiding the eggs on his plate.

And Steve can’t pretend to understand how Eddie grew up — can take his guesses but ultimately won’t get near the experiences he knows Eddie has lived through. Steve has only ever been on the other side. Stayed silent while someone else through snide comments and used the word fag like a jagged blade, to cut someone down.

So, he doesn’t know. Not even a year with Robin as his best friend and all her knowledge could’ve prepared Steve for the startling fear he’d felt when coming out of the store to the sight of a group of boys around his car, cartons of eggs in hand. One with a crowbar.

They would’ve smashed his windows if he had come out a minute later, he’s sure of it.

It had been like getting doused in icy water — the Letterman jackets on all of them, the sneers, still jeering taunts as they’d scattered across the parking lot. Steve had felt the bile rise in his throat as he got in the car and sat, staring at the steering wheel, his slimy fear melting and mixing with his anger.

Eddie’s point of view suddenly resounded within Steve in a way he hadn’t known before. Standing on tables, hollering about conformity, leaning in to every foul rumour about him— like a person drawing to full height, making himself as big as possible, to scare off a bear.

Steve gets that a little more now.

So, when Eddie tells him you’ve ruined your life he knows what he’s trying to tell him. Except, Steve doesn’t know how to say lightly that he’d gladly ruin his life to save Eddie’s. It’s too much — but Steve always is. Always loves in these big heavy ways that are too hard to handle.

So instead, he shrugs and says, “Consider it a trade.”

Eddie cocks his head, like a dog, just an inch.

“For following me into the lake and saving my life.”

Eddie scoffs and his head lolls back dramatically like what Steve’s said is ridiculous. “Jesus H Christ, dude, you saved yourself. I told you that I would’ve been too cowardly to come after you if Birdie and Wheeler hadn’t gone in first.”

He mutters the word cowardly with a hiss.

“Well then, a trade for drawing the bats away.”

“You mean the time I nearly became hamburger helper for the bats?”

“Christ, Eddie,” Steve scoffs. “I didn’t take you as someone who fished for compliments so hard.”

Eddie frowns, dropping his fork with a clatter on his plate. “I— what? I’m not- I don’t even—”

Steve cuts in. “You helped us and you saved my life, whether your horrible little brain can admit that or not. So,” He sits back in his chair with another little shrug and sips his coffee. “Equal trade.”

Eddie frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “No, not equal, Steve. You don’t get what you’ve done you— ugh, you just don’t—”

He huffs, cutting himself off, clearly unsure of how to voice his frustrations. He slumps back in his chair and eyes the eggs on his plate again with a glare this time.

Steve waits a moment and hopes he isn’t overstepping when he says, voice quiet, “I know, Eddie.”

Across the table, Eddie’s eyes raise to meet Steve’s and he doesn’t sound smug, he doesn’t sound angry, he just sounds defeated when he speaks.

“Do you?”

“Maybe not quite the extent of it until yesterday but, yes… I know.”

His words sink it and Eddie looks… affronted. His eyes get a little wide and a tremble finds his lips. Like the whole time he’d been convinced Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been getting into, that the reality hadn’t set in— that any moment he would rescind his alibi and throw Eddie to the cops and let them snap the cuffs back on him.

Steve hates that expression. Loathes that Eddie is so surprised that anyone would do this for him — something as important as keeping him alive and out of prison. Steve hates it because he knows it means that somewhere along the way, somebody had convinced Eddie that nobody would.

So, if he’s got to be the one to convince Eddie that someone will— that he will make the effort, will put his neck on the line because… well, isn’t that what Steve does best?

He’ll do it gladly.

Eddie picks up his fork and stabs his fork into the egg, the buttery yolk spilling onto the plate. Steve takes it as a truce, as him meeting him in the middle.

"So,” Steve swirls the mug in his hand and swills another sip back. Swallows it and takes a page out of Eddie’s book and goes the joke, leaning forward, forearms on the table. “If I’m gonna be your boyfriend for the foreseeable future I should probably know more stuff about you. Y’know, like, uh, the deep stuff.”

Eddie’s sunk back down in his seats but at Steve’s final sentence, he perks up. A smirking sort of grin crossing his face and Eddie twists a piece of his hair in front of his mouth. He hasn’t kept eating yet, too focused on the conversation.

"Uh-oh, the deep stuff.” He’s got that teasing tone in his voice. “Like what?"

"Like...” Steve scrambles to pull something from his brain. “Um, what’s your favourite colour?"

“Oh well, now you've stepped over the line."

Eddie’s sarcasm melts into a chuckle as Steve laughs, ducking his head instinctively. When he lifts his gaze, he’s relieved that Eddie looks a little lighter. Not much but a smidge of difference — Steve can see it if he squints. He’s sure it won’t be the last conversation they’ll have about this but for now, it’s settled.

Curiosity piques in Steve and he tries to sound casual when he says, “No, really, what is it?”

Eddie blinks and curls his hair around his finger once more, tugging it lightly. He seems to be considering his answer, eyes dropping to the sweater Steve’s donning.

“Yellow.” He finally says. “Not mustard but, y’know, lighter. Colour of the moon on Halloween or…”

“Cheese?” Steve suggests.

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, the right kind of cheese, sure. What about you? Favourite colour?”

Steve considers it — for the longest time, it had been red because Tommy had told him that red or blue were the coolest colours to like, way back in third grade. No one has asked him since then.

“Pink, actually.” Steve admits, hand coming up to brush across his nose, trying to hide behind the motion. He envies Eddie’s long curls suddenly. He feels the need to explain, more words rolling off his tongue. “Like, y’know, when the sun starts to set, like all dusky, it’s just… nice.”

Eddie’s staring at him peculiarly, his lips parted yet quirked up in this faint smile. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d call it awe. Breaking his stare, Eddie chuckles again, finally properly picking his fork up to finish his meal.

“Steve Harrington.” He murmurs warmly, more to himself. His lips twitch with a smile. “You just keep surprising me.”

—

some people wanted more 🤲 uh get tagged idiot - normally i don’t do taglists but u were all so kind as to reply to the post & i didn’t get a chance to say thank u for ur lovely words! this is my thank u! have sum more!

@friendlyorange @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @lostinadmiration @life-love-musicaltheatre @oldlovershippiemusic5 @phoeniceae @catateme9 @lolawonsstuff @justagaypanda @pluto-pepsi @whoopstie @scenesofobx @justforthedead89 @musical-theatre-gay @theperksofbeingstjimmy @ikilledabuginthewall @imauselessartist @fridgebaby @lingeringmirth and uhhh @corrodedcoughin cos i still do a little squeal when u rb my tings even tho we’re mewchies :D

[fuctacles]

The sound of a promise

For @stevieweek Day 6: Queer culture | M | 1997 | Steddie | some gender dysphoria (voice), cat lady stevie universe sequel, transfem Steve, age gap, pre-relationship, spice&fluff Stevie Week: Day 1 | Day 2 (art) | Day 3 (art) | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

!We dive straight into smut but it's not very descriptive!

Steph makes a few aborted sounds in her throat before slapping her hand against her mouth while Eddie pounds into her. Her muffled sounds make him look up and notice that she's silencing herself and his hips still. 

She blinks up at him, confused at his sudden stillness.

"Does it not feel good?" he asks with a slight pout to his lips.

She shakes her head immediately.

"It does," she croaks out before slapping the hand back over her mouth. Eddie frowns.

"Then I want to hear it. Please."

She shakes her head again, but it's small and hesitant this time. She spreads her fingers, not ready to take the hand away, but wanting to be heard.

"I can't control my voice, you know..." She makes a vague gesture to her mouth, her neck, and the vocal cords beneath. "Like this. There's only so much estrogen can do."

Eddie's heart breaks for her. He sits back, most of him slipping out, and caresses her thigh. 

"What do you mean?"

She sighs, but the soft touch on her skin helps her calm down and gather her thoughts. 

"Hormones don't just... change my voice. They kind of help expand my vocal range so that I can hit the higher notes, and sound the way I do every day. But I can still use the lower notes, and sometimes they just... slip out." She winces.

"Stevie." She looks up at him. "Stephanie, Steph." Eddie leans forward again, and she presses her lips together when his dick moves inside her too. "You're a woman, and your voice won't change that, not to me. I want to know I make you feel good. I want to hear it's so good you can forget yourself, and let loose. I want you to trust me that it won't change how I see you."

Despite his words and the blush on her cheeks, she doesn't seem convinced. So he adds, mercilessly:

"Please."

Stephanie nods and lets him take her hand away from her face. He presses his lips to her palm, watching her cheeks redden further.

"Thank you."

Wayne has taught him to be polite and respectful to women but he never knew such simple words would make someone squirm under him like that. It makes him want to bring her flowers and kiss her goodnight, knowing she'll eat it up and turn these beautiful shades of pink and crimson just for him.

He presses her hand to the mattress and resumes his movements. Slow at first, because his dick lost the plot for a second, but as soon as he felt himself get into full hardness again, he braced himself with the intent to bruise.

"Let me hear you," he said, slamming into the woman beneath him. 

She whimpered, at first, and Eddie let her ease into it, observing her slowly part her lips and let the music flow. The breathy little ohs and ahs, the whines that follow, and finally, when he hit the right spot, a choked-off moan.

"Like that," he praised immediately. "Shit, you sound so hot."

And when she looked into his eyes, moaning and whining unashamedly, her self-consciousness gone, Eddie lost it.

He dove down to bite into her mouth and she accepted it happily, sharing her moans, the high ones, and the low ones, directly into him. With her free arm, she grasped his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer, and he let go of her other hand so they could wrap around each other, pressing tight until their bones crushed, only their mouths and hips allowed to move freely.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Eddie chanted into the corner of her mouth. "Steph."

"Eddie. I'm gonna—"

It's all the warning he gets before her heels dig into his back to pull him impossibly deeper and she comes. Her blunt nails digging into his skin are the last straw for him. 

"Fuck!" he grits out, spilling into the condom, and his thrusts finally weaken, turning into a shallow sway until he stills, breathing heavily against her neck, where he presses his mouth because not touching her wherever he can right now would be torture. Slowly, as he regains control over his muscles, he starts pressing light kisses there. 

"You were perfect. So beautiful. So hot. And you sound divine."

Despite his body's protests, he pushes himself up, because he needs to look her in the eyes.

"So good I could record you and take you with me to Indy, for the lonely nights."

"Oh my god, stop." She turns her head away, face twisting with embarrassment. But Eddie presses on. 

"Those little moans you make, the ohs," he tries to imitate the breathy sounds she made and watches her cheeks bloom. "The ahs. Perfect. Thank you for letting me hear them."

"Uh, sure," she offers.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. 

"You sound like you don't believe me."

All she can give him to that is a shrug. So he moves his hips, making her hiss from how sensitive she is, and pulls out from her. He can feel her eyes following as he gets up to dispose of the condom and goes for the door, closed against the four-legged intruders. 

"Towel? Shower?" he asks, but she shakes her head, lifting herself on her hands to point towards the window.

"Just throw me this one. It's going into the laundry anyway."

Eddie grabs the towel, smelling faintly of hair conditioner, off the radiator. Instead of handing it over though, he sits on top of Stephanie's thighs to wipe the cum off her belly himself. 

"Such a gentleman," she comments, with amusement in her tone. 

"Well, I try to treat a lady how she deserves to be treated." He gives her his winning smile, the one he uses to charm his way out of trouble and get an extra cookie at the cafeteria. It must be working, because she finally softens, the lines on her forehead smoothing out as her expression opens up like she's starting to believe his words. 

"You saw my... you know."

"Sure did." Eddie nods with a cheeky grin. "And she's pretty like the rest of you." He grabs her dick to clean thoroughly around it and wipes gently at the tip to make his point. Steph's breath hitches at the way he addresses her genitals. 

"And you heard my voice."

"I hear It all the time," he points out, nudging her knees up to gently wipe the lube from around her rim.

"Yeah, but not like this," she says, lowering her voice on purpose. Her eyes are piercing and testing, and Eddie looks up to meet them.

"I'm a musician, I love a woman with a wide vocal range." He sits up though, his smile wilting. "Do you want to scare me off? Because it's not working, but if you want me to leave, just tell me," he says with a frown. He's been doing his best to be gentle and accommodating. True, he's not dealt with trans people before, but he thought he was doing well. "If I crossed a line somewhere, or did something wrong—"

"No, no, you're good," she cuts him off with a furious shake of her head. "I think I just need a moment."

Eddie gives her a puzzled look. He folds the towel in his hands nervously. 

"Okay. Do you want me to leave, or..."

"No, just come here."

Instead of being shunned out of her flat, he's being pulled down, chest against chest. He quickly gets the memo and straightens his legs until he's laying like a blanket on top of her, arms bent awkwardly to cradle her shoulders, head in the crook of her neck. 

Stephanie tries to be quiet, but eventually, she can't hold back the wet sniffle that alarms Eddie.

"Shit, are you crying?" He tries to look up, but she presses his head back into her neck so he can't move.

"Shut up," she says, but doesn't sound angry. So he settles back down, tries to wrap his arms around her to provide the comfort she clearly needs, and lets her feel whatever she's feeling, fingers gently tracing her skin. 

When he can feel her breath and heartbeat settle down, he asks without looking up:

"Were these good tears?"

She snorts.

"Of course they were, idiot."

He huffs out an amused breath against her neck, making her shoulder jump against the ticklish feeling. 

"I haven't been treated this nice in a long while. It's a lot."

Eddie hums against her skin. He doesn't have the words to help, but he understands the feeling so he hugs her tighter against him.

"I get it," is all he can offer. It's like the first time Wayne had praised him after years of living with his parents. He bawled his eyes out back then, not understanding why. "I'll treat you nice every time, I can't imagine doing it any other way."

Her breath quickens again.

"See?" she asks wetly, almost accusingly. "And now you're promising me more. You can't do that."

"Why not?" Eddie frowns. But he's still not allowed to look up. 

"You go to college. You don't even live here."

"I live here sometimes," he corrects. "And I have a feeling I'll be visiting more often now."

She huffs but doesn't say anything. 

"What? Long distance doesn't work for you?" he half-jokes.

"You make it sound like it's a relationship," she says and Eddie cannot decipher her tone. She sounds accusatory, hurt, and annoyed all at once. 

He finally breaks from her grasp but gives her the comfort of no eye contact. Just settles more comfortably against her collarbone, not crushing her to the bed anymore. He throws his leg and arm over her, wrapping Steph in a comforting touch she so clearly lacks. 

"It could be," he says. 

She doesn't say anything at first, but he senses another scoff on the tip of her tongue.

"Could it?" she counters eventually. Eddie hums.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it?"

"I'm older than you."

This time it's Eddie who scoffs. 

"You're beautiful and funny and have only one too many cats. I think you're fine. And if you have like, a deadly old-lady disease you haven't told me about, that's all the more reason to spend the time you have left being properly fucked and wooed and courted."

"I like how you set the priorities there."

He slaps her hip gently.

"Like you didn't like it."

"I did, I did." She reaches into his hair to gently scratch his scalp. "Can we come back to this?" she asks, but there's an almost pleading tone in her voice. "Next time you visit, we can talk about it."

He doesn't like the idea of waiting until his next break, but if she needs that space, he'll give it to her. 

"Of course."

The signals he's getting are confusing, but he hasn't been told a straightforward 'no' yet, and the hand in his hair is nice and gentle, so he thinks his odds are quite good. He understands the need to think things through even if he's a man of impulsive decisions himself. 

"When do you have to leave?"

Eddie turns to look at the Garfield clock on Steph's bedside table. If he doesn't leave right now, he'll run into traffic outside of the city later. But if he waits a few hours, he'll catch a nice view of the sunset and will be back in his flat shortly after sundown. He doesn't have classes until noon tomorrow anyway. 

"I have enough time for a nap and round two," he decides, looking back at her.

"Perfect." She smiles sweetly, craning her neck down to kiss him. Then she flips them until she's the one cuddling into him, and he positively shudders when he wraps his arms around the soft body pressed against him, cradling her to his chest. 

"Yeah, perfect," he agrees, closing his eyes.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 34

Part 1 Part 33

Steve wakes up to a deep, suffocating pressure on his ribs before he drifts back into darkness. Steve wakes up to a pinprick of pain from his hand being squeezed tightly, squeezes back before falling back to sleep. Steve wakes up to hair tickling his nose. He bats it away and falls back asleep. Steve wakes up. And wakes up. And wakes up. He wakes up long enough to squint his eyes open to a light so white that it doesn’t make sense. Where is all the red? Its red behind his closed eyelids when he falls back asleep. He wakes up to a kid laughing. Will? He falls backs asleep.

It’s bright when Steve wakes up, really wakes up. He doesn’t open his eyes, not at first. His mind scatters – fractals of Eddie’s eyes, up close, tears streaming from his face onto Steve’s. Of warm arms holding him close until he’s weightless. Of breaths that taste clean. But he knows, somewhere at the root of himself that if he opens his eyes, he’ll be alone.

Steve Harrington, big house, no parents, voted most likely to die alone.  

But then he hears it. It’s almost nothing. A whisper of a noise. Cloth brushing up against something. It’s barely anything at all. But it’s a noise. Someone or something is here, with him, right now. He opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is a white popcorn ceiling. The light shining off it is fluorescent, makes his eyes water and sting. It’s so white. He rocks his head sideways, feeling the tug of something beneath his nose. He reaches a hand up to pull it away, arm twinging somewhere deep enough to burrow into the marrow of his bone.

“I wouldn’t do that, son.”

Steve freezes, fingers hooked into the thing in his nose, unmoving. The voice is unfamiliar, deep and drawling. The face just as unfamiliar. His hair’s grey and receding, mustache and beard trimmed halfhazardly, wearing a working man’s clothes, all flannel and jean. Steve stares, and stares. He’s not alone.

The man leans closer, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Steve’s to pull his hand away from his nose, lowering their clasped hands to the bed Steve’s lying in. It’s warm. Steve squeezes and doesn’t let go.

“Who are you?” Steve asks, voice coming out as a croak.

“Wayne Munson,” the man replies.

Steve looks at the wrinkles in the corners of the man’s eyes, the laugh lines writ large across his face, and sees Eddie peeking out at his edges. “Uncle Wayne?” Steve asks.

That gets him a smile, “sure,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hand again. “I’m Uncle Wayne.”

The bed he’s in is firm, the lighting harsh. He wants to go back to sleep, can’t yet. “Eddie?”

“He’s just fine,” Uncle Wayne replies, squeezing his hand. “Him and Will both, thanks to you, from what I heard.”

Steve shakes his head, lethargic and slow, already drifting. “Said I’d see him at home.”

He falls back asleep holding Uncle Wayne’s hand.

Part 35

[unfinishedslurs]

bedsharing (future stobin lavender marriage) (steddie)

“Why do you have tampons in your bathroom?” Eddie asks, toweling off his hair. “Wouldn’t your mom just keep them in hers?”

“They’re Robin’s.”

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on the back of his neck, and turns around from where he’s hastily folding his clothes. He has another towel wrapped around his hips, and Steve’s gaze drifts there before snapping back up to his face. 

“What?” He asks.

“I thought you guys weren’t together.”

Steve sighs. “Just because I have tampons for when she stays over—“

“It’s just—why wouldn’t they be in the guest bathroom?”

“She stays in my room,” he says, and then realizes how that sounds. “Okay, yeah, but we’re not dating. That’s never gonna happen.”

“So you’re just hooking up?”

Steve instinctively makes a face, and Eddie’s eyebrows jut up. “No. I’m not her type, and even if I was, at this point that ball has left the court. I don’t like her like that, she definitely doesn’t like me like that, and next time Henderson tries to convince someone we’re soulmates I’m going to wring his little neck.”

“I thought you said you were soulmates.”

“Yeah, but not like that.”

“Just enough that she sleeps in your bed and has tampons in your bathroom, apparently.” Eddie bends over to wrap his hair in the towel, and Steve spends a long moment staring at the curve of his bare spine. 

“Hey, man,” he says belatedly. “We got caught off guard one time. I’m not doing that again.”

Two loads of laundry, and Robin had cried in anger and embarrassment. Steve of ‘83 would have found it disgusting. Steve of now was a little grossed out, but also had been bled on in ways much worse than a period, so he just took her out to milkshakes and stocked up on enough supplies to last for a lifetime. After that, all bets were off when it came to the few boundaries they had left. 

Eddie grimaces in acknowledgment, grabbing the pair of sweatpants on the bed. Steve turns around before the towel drops, because years of locker room experience can’t possibly prepare him for seeing Eddie Munson’s naked ass. 

“So no dreams of a white wedding and gaggles of grandchildren running around?”

“I mean, we’ll probably get married at some point,” Steve says absently, fiddling with his bedspread to keep from turning around. He can have self control. He’s capable of not ogling his friends. “It’ll be safer that way.” Shit, why did he say that? He might as well hang a neon sign that says QUEER over his head. “Easier,” he corrects himself, knowing damn well it’s useless. 

There’s a thud and a groan, and Steve whirls around to see Eddie on the ground, halfway into his pants. 

“Are you okay?”

“So you’re not together, and you’re not hooking up, but you’ll get married?” Eddie demands from the floor, wiggling into his sweats. “And…what? Have a loveless, sexless marriage? Because it’s easy?”

“Just because the love isn’t romantic doesn’t mean our marriage would be loveless,” he protests, mind whirling with excuses he can’t use. Why did he open his big mouth? Why couldn’t he have just said anything else?

“That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” he shrugs, trying to get his heartbeat under control. “We’re already going to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well get some legal benefits out of it.”

“Sure, sure,” Eddie laughs, disbelieving. “Getting married for legal benefits and safety. Harrington, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this sounds like—“

“Sounds like what?” Steve cuts through what Eddie was about to say. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s a bone-deep certainty that Eddie will end up on the truth if he keeps talking. “Are you coming to bed or not, man?”

Eddie falls silent in the middle of standing up, dark eyes pinning Steve to the spot. He knows, Steve thinks, and tries not to picture what Robin would say if he got another concussion. He hasn’t confirmed anything, and Eddie seems like a good guy, maybe even their kind of guy, but if he’s wrong then he’d better grab Robin fast and get the hell out of dodge. Dustin might forgive him eventually, if he knew the reason why.

The silence is getting unbearable. 

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie finally shrugs. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I want the left side.”

“You asshole,” Steve hisses, pretending the relief in his chest isn’t damn near killing him. “You know that’s the side I sleep on.”

[little-annie]

Catching up on my @strangerthingswritersguild prompts today

T (Mentions of blood and dying) | WC 711 | Steddie

Like wildfire above, the sky dances in the colour of flames between the blackened clouds. Bright and blinding with every flash of lightning and every strike of energy into the ground. The thunder rolls and the monsters roar and where flesh was ripped from bone, Eddie burns.

“Look at me.”

A voice comes faintly through the constant whorl in Eddie's ears. Bat wings, and screeching, screaming cries from Satan's own spawn.

The fuckers.

He'll die because of them.

“Eddie, god dammit look at me.”

That same voice breaks into his consciousness again, though with this time accompanied by a strong jerking grip to Eddie's jaw. With force his head is turned and his gaze is pulled away from the blackness it'd been staring into. 

Somehow, some time he was moved from the heap of gore that was himself and a pile of Demobats that surrounded him. No longer laying in a pool of his own blood, but now prompt upright with the bite of bark to his back and the dampness of a forest floor beneath him.

In front of him is the bruised, battered and bloody face of Steve Harrington.

Even in his dying moments Eddie thinks Steve's beautiful.

“You're going to be okay.”

And delusional apparently.

There's no way he's going to be okay. 

Eddie accepted as much, what felt like hours ago.

He'll die here in hell and they'll leave him here to rot. 

It'll be better that way.

Less dead-weight to lug around and drag through whatever portal they can manage to find.

At least Steve's hazel eyes are the last thing he'll see.

The grip on his jaw squeezes tighter and Steve repeats himself giving Eddie's head a small, sharp shake. “You're going to be okay.”

Eddie wheezes a breath and his lungs feel weak.

“You ever had stitches before?” Steve asks 

Furrowing his brow, Eddie nods, thinking of that time he was dicking around in the scrap yard and ended up catching his leg on a stray piece of metal.

“Good.” Steve nods, “Good. I'm going to stitch you up, okay?”

Eddie's about to protest, but thinks it's pointless, a waste breath just as the stitches will be a waste of perfectly good medical equipment.

They don't need to use it on him.

He's still looking at Steve. Watching the way his eyes roam and his nose scrunches and the gash above his brow continues to bleed. 

His eyes look glassy.

“Tell me.” Steve says, begs nearly, “Come on. Say it. Say, ‘I'll be okay.’”

Those beautiful hazel eyes search Eddie's with a sort of desperation. 

God he can't lie to Steve.

He can't bear to disappoint him either.

With a cough and a sputter, Eddie wheezes, tries his fucking hardest to do as Steve says.

“I-” he coughs up what he's sure is blood, reaching forward to brace himself holding Steve's wrist, “I'll… be okay.”

Staring at Eddie's lips for much longer than necessary, Steve grits his teeth and without so much as a breath of notice Eddie feels Steve's lips crashing into his.

It's fast and urgent. Tasting of copper and the spoils of war.

But it too gives Eddie a goddamn will to live.

He tries to lean into the sensation even more but quickly Steve pulls away, replacing his lips what to Eddie's tongue feels like a fucking stick.

What the fuck?

“Bite.” Steve instructs, harsh and demanding, digging in a backpack that's been thrown down by his side.

Soon enough there's what looks to be alcohol, and needle and thread in Steve's one hand.

*Bite* Eddie remembers, feeling the warmth of his own drool pool around the stick in his mouth. 

*Bite*

Responding to Eddie's silence Steve looks up. “Harder.” He instructs, “It's going to hurt and we don't need you screaming so loud that whatever the fuck is out there can find us.”

He wants to ask about the kiss. The there and gone press of Steve's lips to his own. Mostly he just wants to know why. Why now? Why him? Why in the hell here of all places?

But Eddie bites down harder instead.

He can ask those questions later.

He'll be okay.

Steve reminds him of as much again as the first stitch pierces his skin.

[katyawriteswhump]

Steddie microfic: I got you

Steve loves it when Eddie rubs his chest.

Written for the December @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pine,’ 508 words. Originally inspired by the ‘pining’ idea, then it evolved and some extra pine turned up elsewhere!

Rating: T. CW: A couple of sexual references. Tags: shameless hurt/comfort, sickfic, fluff.

***

Their first winter, Eddie got sick. Then Steve got sicker. He took to their bed with a cough that scoured his lungs, rattled his ribs. When Eddie arrived, Steve buried his damp face in the pillow. “I’m all gross. G-go away.”

“Sorry, Babe.” Eddie rolled Steve over, fingers skittering soothingly across his brow. “Kinda guilty here. You scored my germs.”

“Always g-got chest infections as a kid.” Steve shivered. “Ask my m-mom.”

“She won’t talk to me, remember?”

“Ugh. Why are my f-family shitheads?” The pang of irritation proved too much. Steve’s next breath jammed in his lungs. A coughing fit consumed him. Eddie helped him sit, rubbed his back till the worst passed. Then Eddie removed his rings—huh?—pulled the covers over them, and spooned Steve from behind.

His warm hand slid under Steve’s t-shirt. He rubbed Steve’s chest, so gently Steve hardly noticed at first.

“I gotcha, Sweetheart. I gothcha.”

Steve’s shuddering breaths fell in sync with Eddie’s caresses, beneath which painfully taut sinews softened. Steve’s chest still burned, his breaths wheezy, but… 

…Eddie’s touch got him, somewhere so deep it almost choked him again.

It became a regular thing, in sickness and health. Eddie’s guitar-string callused strokes across Steve’s chest—sometimes firm, sometimes soft—set Steve sighing, groaning, purring like a cat. He even adored the cool slide of Eddie’s rings, especially when they snagged in his hair.

One day, afterward, he littered Eddie’s agile fingers with kisses. “Wanna marry your hands.”

Eddie quirked a brow: “You got a mighty fine chest, Babe.”

Steve grinned, sent his own hands south on a far dirtier mission.

Next winter, Eddie scored a touring gig with a band who’d lost their guitarist. Steve missed him like crazy, ignored that tell-tale tickle in his throat, and went to work—peddling hotdogs in the snow. Eddie called daily around 3am, always losing track of time. Steve mainlined cough medicine and pretended so hard:

“I don’t miss your mess, man. I cleaned the shit out of this place—totally reeks of Pine-Sol.”

“Haha. Miss you too, Stevie.”

“Riiight. If you blow the drummer, I’ll repave the drive with your vinyl collection.”

Steve got sicker. The pine stench of the stupid polish caught on his chest. He coughed himself raw. That night, Eddie didn’t call.

Or, Steve didn’t hear.

When he woke, he tried to sit. Flopped back down. He was shivering, out of water, and coughed till tears streaked his face and blood spattered his hand. Scared now... He drifted, never quite sleeping, coughing less, instead struggling to drag whistling breaths. His bones ached. His head ached worse. Freakin’ terrified…

A gentle touch revived him: “Babe?”

He blinked. Eddie? 

“You didn’t answer last night. Caught the first flight home.” Seriously? “Do I need to take you to ER?”

“No,” wheezed Steve.

“Don’t be macho, dude.”

“Need c-cuddle.” That ‘not macho’ enough, Honeypie? 

Steve was too sick for decisions, so let Eddie make them. Much later, when Eddie slid into bed behind him and rested a warm hand on his chest, he knew he was mending already.

***

Thank you for reading :) Also posted on my AO3 here

[hitlikehammers]

'who did this to you?' established Steddie, post-S4 🖤💙💜

The bruising’s stark, like footprints on new-fallen snow punished through to the long-dead grass. It draws the eye, insistent; screams to be seen:

“Who did this to you?”

Steve’s eyes are bright, voice low even as he delicately moves Eddie’s stretched-low collar to follow the line of broken vessels near the surface, a few stray snags of already rusty red, lines that follow the trails of mottled purple-blue. Steve smoothes barely a touch from the pad of his thumb just below the marks to trace them where they color neck to chin, up to the silver-light scarring on his face.

And honestly: it’s a ritual almost, now. But, like, it’s so different from how it used to be. Or even how it was before that, before them at all.

Before things ever ended like this.

“Names, babydoll,” Steve coaxes, but demands all the same; he’s learned over time not to bring the full weight of his steel to the fore in every moment—the resolute promise in his bones to protect Eddie at all costs doesn’t disappear, maybe does the opposite even, maybe just grows strong as what they have has grown, too; but it doesn’t burn so bright when it’s expressed in Eddie’s vicinity. Maybe to spare him.

Maybe as a strategic move on Steve’s part, who’s maybe finally learned that if he’s going to go beat the shit out of anyone, he should one-hundred-percent not let his boyfriend or his platonic soulmate—or also Wayne—about it in advance. So:

“Sweetness,” he nuzzles carefully, where Eddie’s skin’s not water-colored in burst-blood; “give me names.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, so easily softened and lulled by Steve’s careful adoration, the way he rubs his nose, his cheek against Eddie and just breathes—it carries Eddie into a soft, comfortable space always, no matter what’s happened; no matter what’s been done.

“Don’t have to,” Eddie sighs out, kinda pathetically desperate in how he leans into Steve’s…just Steve. Steve-Steve-Steve. So he just kinda sighs, because…Steve.

“You know damn well who it was.”

“Don’t play coy,” Steve warns, though its airy, diaphanous, even though Steve doesn’t stop for a second from nuzzling into Eddie’s skin; even but Eddie knows better than to entangle Steve’s softness for Eddie with his broader intentions, the heat behind his words, and the ultimate question:

“Who,” and Steve’s breathe so hot, so close to Eddie’s ear as he whispers, sends fucking shivers down Eddie’s spine; “did this,” and then he’s leaning to run his mouth back along the bruising, the damning trail of damage: “to you?”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, can’t help but crane his neck to Steve’s careful attention, almost cataloging of the dark splotching, and Eddie can’t help it, it’s not like it even hurts, not really, Eddie knows hurting—

He’s not weird if he kinda feels like most hurting’s worth the high of Steve’s tender care like this, the buzzing flame-like licking across his skin.

Steve doesn’t even make contact with where it could even possibly sting, but fuck if it doesn’t make Eddie light up wild from the pit of his belly.

And fuck if Steve doesn’t know it.

“Mmm-nope,” Steve pulls himself back when Eddie’s reckless, lets out a full-ass fucking moan. “No distracting me,” Steve bites with a glare before he catches Eddie’s gaze and looks down pointedly, points so only the whisper of his touch follows the trail:

“Who did this,” and Eddie is weak, he’s weak because he shivers and when Steve draws his barely-a-touch back, away, he whines. Fuck, yes: he whines, Jesus.

Weak, you understand?

Also, if you don’t understand: fuck you. Eddie would like to see anyone—man, woman, or otherwise—do any better.

“You know,” Eddie keeps with the whining, Jesus fuck, seriously: “I said”

“I think mostly you’ve made noises.”

“Steve,” Eddie…does not break his whining streak. He’s tight in his thighs, and it’s not…he’s gonna need to address that soon.

He’s gonna need someone to address that for him, really.

“Hmm?” Steve leans in, and for the first time he does touch the bruises, tastes them on the flat of his tongue with barely any pressure like he’s collecting evidence, searing proof into his own flesh.

“What’s that now?”

“Steve.”

And he tilts his head at his name, which is less of a whine now—win—but breathy as fuck, still. It’s a process.

“Who did this to you, baby?” Steve asks, eyes wide, innocent and encouraging now as he pulls back and buries his hands in Eddie’s mess of curls, massages as his temples, his scalp.

Fucking dirty pool, right there.

“Steve,” Eddie bites out. Like literally bites his tongue as his head tips back, inescapable for the perfect circles being traced across his head; “Harrington.”

And yes: soon as he gets the words out, the name in full, he stops fighting how just Steve Harrington’s hands are deciding to undo him, this time.

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” Steve hums a little, clicks his tongue and bites a bit at his lip; “but you say it so soft, sweetheart, like maybe you’re hesitant or somethin’,” Steve shakes his head, and tips Eddie’s face toward him a little more full-on, thumb on Eddie’s subtly swollen lower lip:

“Are you one-hundred-percent sure?”

“Absotively posolutely,” Eddie enunciates carefully, never breaking eye contact as he lets his tongue flick out to Steve’s touch and watches those pupils dilate quick to drown that hazel gaze.

“No doubt in your mind?” Steve pushes, relentless, but leans in, leans to breath open mouthed against each bruise:

“Only one,” Eddie sighs, and maybe it sounds frustrated, over the interrogating but hell if he can be over any single goddamn thing about this man.

And it’s the truth. There’s no evidence but Eddie knows Steve leaves his trusty bat at a different angle against the wall the days after Eddie so much as mentions being hassled, or only just slipping the asshats looking to resurrect Jason’s pursuit—the coincidence of every single threat disappearing, suddenly keeping the eyes on the ground if they pass Eddie by, changing course overnight when the bat shifts ever so slightly?

Eddie’d be more concerned, if there was ever any real damage to Steve in response, but in reality he only ever went to put the fear of god in those assholes, he swears he’s never even let a single one of them move quick enough to even try to pull anything on him in return, and well.

Hop doesn’t condone it but he never works too hard to find evidence, and Steve never does anything the technically breaks any obvious laws, so. Eddie thinks it’s Hopper’s way of showing he cares.

But then there’s…this.

There are mornings, like this, when Eddie wakes with bruises around his neck like a chain, a heavy one in the center of his chest like a pendant, little red dashes here and there, barely visible but particular points of interest for Steve when he wakes Eddie up with gentle but unceasing kisses where the bruising doesn’t survive the night so bright, so tender, sucks the blood back up to Eddie lips and leaves them gorgeously numb before he inspect the purple marks: perfectly shaped to his lips.

The tiny red marks perfectly lined to ?i>his teeth.

All of them sucked and nipped so sweet, never hard enough to mark for force but only through persistence, dedication, painted with the single-minded kind of worship Eddie never even considered having focused on him.

So it’s kind of a wondering way that he reaches, reaches out and thumbs Steve lip in return, marveling a little when he tilts his head and takes Steve in for a breath, just basks in him:

“Only one man alive allowed to mark me up,” Eddie whispers, and there’s love in every syllable. Even that’s not really enough but.

They both know.

And Steve’s grin curve slow and satisfied, leaning in to presses his lips, open-mouthed to Eddie’s that he’d already kissed plump as he woke, long before the breaking light through the windows now, catching in Steve’s gaze, had dared fort with the horizon line; he leans right there and breathes hot into Eddie’s mouth:

“Damn fucking straight.”

For @cranberrymoons, who requested the quote 'Who did this to you?' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨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

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here