#pearynice

[penny00dreadful]

Surprise! I drew another lil something 🥰 this time for @pearynice from her fic I Want To Hold Your Hand

This moment was burned into my brain ever since I first read it. I love this fic.

But Eddie’s walking a half step faster than him, Steve’s own tipsy legs unable to carry him as quickly. So he reaches, and hooks two of his fingers through Eddie’s belt loop.

Eddie starts, arms jerking, and Steve pulls him close, knocking them gently together. “You’re too fast.” Steve complains, softly, and the blush returns to Eddie’s cheeks at the words, his dimples, too, and Steve grins, the pop rocks in his chest fizzling at the sight.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week's writer's spotlight feature is: @pearynice! With twenty-eight Stranger Things works, they've written twenty-seven fics tagged with Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson!

Nominated by @hotluncheddie, they recommend the following works by peachesandpears:

Talk to Me

Personally

Starched Collars

In your eyes

they are so lovely and so talented!! so many short and sweet pieces - that so often seem to touch and soft squishy part hidden away within me, put a little bandaid on it <3 - @hotluncheddie

Below the cut, @pearynice answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I’ve always loved the “opposites attract” trope. While Steddie is the first ship I’ve ever seriously written for, in the past this dynamic has always been my go to (ie: destiel lol) but Steddie specifically because I think Stranger Things is a great show with compelling characters, and that Eddie and Steve deserve a happy ending. And for me that happy ending will always have them with each other.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love AUs. Love seeing the little blorbos in as many situations as possible. I love being able to see how writers take what we know about these characters and make it into a whole new story. (But especially a soulmate AU. I loveeee a soulmate AU.)

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I think anyone who follows me can probably guess hurt/ comfort and fluff. I LOVE making these boys suffer and then smooch about it. 

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

AH okay I will scream about this fic until I’m blue in the face (I actually submitted an ask to this blog about it because I think it’s criminally under-viewed!) it’s As the World Falls Down by daeneryske on Ao3. I read this MONTHS ago and I still think about it all the time. It’s long but god I wish it would never end. I want to tattoo it on the inside of my eyelids.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Yes!! I can’t say much because it’s for my Reverse Big Bang but they both contain tropes I’ve never worked with before and I’m so so excited to be writing both of them!!! I’m already having so much fun! And a goal of mine for 2024 is to broaden my writing horizons a little and explore tropes and topics that I haven’t yet, so I don’t really have any specifically in mind but that is my general plan!

What is your writing process like?

Very chaotic. I almost never write an outline. It’s pure vibes baby. And when I DO write an outline I almost never follow it (whoopsie) I feel like as I write the plot comes to me, and outlines tend to pigeon hole me so I can’t get myself out of writing slumps.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Maybe my overuse of italics?  I also don’t really know how to describe it but sometimes when I’m writing heavy action scenes/ emotional scenes I’ll start and stop sentences before they’re complete sentences. Like: “Steve says nothing. Sits down next to his father and looks over his shoulder.” I don’t know if that’s a writing quirk or not lol but that tends to be how I structure my sentences.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely after I’ve finished. Once I’m on a deadline I psych myself out.

Which fic are you most proud of?

That’s such a hard one, because I think I’m proud of a lot of my fics but for very different reasons. I think if I had to choose, I’d pick Blood of the Covenant. It’s one of my more recent fics, and I had toyed around with a Wayne POV fic for such a long time before writing because I wanted to get it right. It was hard to find his voice but I think in the end I executed it well.  

How did you get the idea for Talk to Me?

Well besties I dunno how personal we want to get here, but the inspo for this fic (and tbh a lot of my hurt/ comfort fics) is just based on my own experiences. Growing up my mom did not have the capacity to tend to the thoughts and emotions of her kids, ergo me pushing that shit into a Steddie fic. Obviously what I wrote as Steve’s experience and mine are not directly parallel, but that is how I got the idea.

When writing Starched Collars, what was something you didn’t expect?

That was my first heavy hurt/comfort fic that I wrote, and I remember being really blown away that people could relate so heavily to Steve’s experiences. I remember I had some comments saying that they felt really comforted seeing their own experiences reflected within Steve, and I just never expected my writing to be able provide that for someone. 

What inspired Personally?

Well, again, we’re getting a little personal (babum tss)- but how I wrote Steve’s mom reacting to him mentioning the sunglasses is definitely how my own mom tends to react when I express any kind of negative emotion around her. In this case it was a lost parking stub instead of sunglasses.

What was your favorite part to write from Talk to Me?

The COMFORT- that’s always my favorite part. Making it better! (Although it is also a little fun leaving the angsty cliffhanger- but I will ALWAYS make my fics have a happy ending.) But also I’m a little in love with the idea I had that Eddie likes to rub on Steve’s stomach until he falls asleep. I thought that wrapped up the story very nicely.

How do/did you feel writing Personally?

It was honestly very therapeutic. I don’t think I’ve ever word-vomited out a fic more rapidly than I did for that one. I wrote that in my notes app in one afternoon, read through it once or twice, and posted. It was a relief to get all of that out in writing, and then even better to see that other people found comfort in what I had written. 

What was the most difficult part of writing Starched Collars?

When I was first drafting the fic I was going to have Starched Collars and In Your Eyes (the kinda sorta sequel) be one in the same. I spent a long time trying to balance the two narratives, before I realized it was just too much to fit into one fic. Having both detracted from the other’s story too much, and eventually I had it just focusing on Steve. I think this was the best move but I spent so long trying to strike that balance before I scrapped it.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I don’t know if I can name any one scene or line as explicitly my favorite, but the final scene of Because it’s Steve it’s absolutely a favorite. That whole fic is very special to me because it reflects a lot of my own thoughts/feelings/experiences on being demi, and that final scene is just exactly how I experience my demisexuality. (I’m not sure how long this can be, but I’ll insert the passage here): 

And they’re still in this disgusting bathroom. There’s still a toilet behind Eddie’s knees, but when Steve’s mouth meets his, it doesn’t matter. Because one of Steve’s arms wraps around his middle, his fingers dip into the spaces between his ribs, their chests touch, and it all feels so good. Because it’s Steve. And it’s still Steve who kisses him, still Steve who licks into his mouth, still Steve who nearly sends them both stumbling into the disgusting toilet. And because it’s Steve it’s so funny that Eddie can’t stop laughing, and there’s a blush high on Steve’s cheeks as he tells Eddie to stop it. But then Steve kisses him again. Asks if he wants to go and find Robin and Nancy. If he wants to dance. With him. 

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

YES. So Because it’s Steve is now a series: Demi/Virgin!Eddie, with all of Eddie’s firsts with Steve. This is very smutty but it’s also like, the sappiest, most disgustingly fluffy smut I’ve ever written. I would say it’s “schmoopy” but I was outed as an Old Lady on Discord because apparently no one uses that word anymore. ALSO- and maybe this is still too far away BUT I am working on TWO Reverse Big Bang pieces and… you guys… my artists are so talented and kind and their brains are so big and so far I’ve gotten along with each of them so well and I am already so excited to post these and we’ve only just begun. I cannot wait until we can make our visions into an entire fic!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add? 

YES- whoever nominated me for this (I don’t know if that’s something they’ll tell me??) THANK YOU- this is so sweet. I feel so honored that someone thought of me as deserving of this. There are so, so many authors you could've chosen and you chose ME! That’s just- insane. Thank you.  And to anyone who has said they found my hurt/ comfort fics relatable in any way, I rain all of the platonic hugs/ forehead kisses/ handshakes/ high fives/ nods of the head upon you. ❤️✨

Thank you to our author, @pearynice, and our nominator, @hotluncheddie! See more of @pearynice's work featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer's Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[scoops-aboy86]

Last Sentence Tag Game!

rules: in a rb or separate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc), and tag as many people as there are words.

I got tagged a couple times (thanks @steviewashere and @pearynice), so here are several sentences of Hopper explaining why he decided to learn to cook. It is not because he tried Joyce's cooking.

Now, I’m not saying I actually expected to get out of there alive… but first thing I promised to myself once I did was that I would learn. Forget restaurants, those close. No way was I going to have access to a real grocery store and not know how to make something good for myself at any time of the day or night ever again. Or for my kids.”

Tagging, without regard for who's already done this recently... @hotluncheddie @chersteddie2 @steviewashere @pearynice @tangerinesteve, and also if you want to be tagged consider it done.

[momotonescreaming]

Ok I am LOOKING at Stommy Jogging 👀 for WIP Weekend? 🤲

well look away! here you go, some stommy just for you~ (ignore the fact that this is super late 😅)

snip one | snip two

They basically run the same route every time they go jogging, either together or alone — born out of the fact that Hawkins really isn’t that big of a town — and over time it’s turned into routine. Their route. They don’t need to ask, don’t need to talk directions and location, they just go. Lets him focus more. On the pounding of his feet against the pavement, the dirt trails through the woods. On the boy next to him. The way their arms brush, the sound of their mirrored breathing. The presence of him. His everything. Starting in the suburbs, on the outskirts of Loch Nora at the Harrington house, looping straight through to Tommy’s, and then looping and wiggling through the suburbs and side streets. Making their way to the main drag, along the shops of main street, before heading down the long stretches of empty road on the outskirts like the one Steve would take on the way to school. No nosy people out there watching them. No worries about missing turns or going down the wrong street. They can just continue down the road, and run.

Make me write for WIP Weekend!

[starryeyedjanai]

Hi!!! 2, 5, and 49 for the questions thingy??? 🤲✨

hiii! thanks for the ask💕💕💕

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

the first 5 are: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (23), Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (16), Blow Jobs (14), Anal Sex (13), and Established Relationship (11) it's actually kind of hilarious that the sex act i tag the most is blow jobs considering in the past i have been wringing my hair out trying to write a bj scene

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

i can't really think of a specific question i'd want to be asked, so here are some fun facts about some of my fics: All things end and all things change. is the first fic i've written fully following an outline i made bad boys do it better started out as a different idea, but when i downloaded tinder to do research, i found a guy with a profile so great i had to change my fic idea my stomarol 5+1 that i'm currently posting had been like 90% done since the summer, but I could not figure out how to write the threesome scene until like two days ago catch the embers on my tongue is one of my favorite fics because it turned out almost exactly as i first imagined it

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

i have 7 fics in my "currently working on" folder in scrivener, which is less than it was last week since i finished a few things recently! i've got my RBB, my summer exchange fic, camboy alpha steve pt 3, my oc/steve fic chapter 2, a secret gift that i am soooo close to finishing, a microfic, and chapter 2 of the chronance vampire fic

here's a snippet from my summer exchange fic:

He wakes up with Eddie pressed against his back, his arm wrapped around his waist. He doesn't want to get up. He wants to stay here, wrapped up in this warmth, feeling relaxed and safe for the first time in a long while. But the alarm on the side table goes off a few minutes after he wakes up and Eddie groans. Steve can feel the moment he realizes how close they’re pressed together. He feels how Eddie freezes a little before slapping a hand out to turn the alarm off and then he detangles himself from Steve gently, like he’s hoping Steve is still somehow asleep. When Eddie's out of the bed, Steve rolls on his back and Eddie doesn't meet his eyes as he makes his way to the bathroom.

ask me things!

[transvampireboyfriend]

did you write the steddie diner au where eddies actual name is theodore but they call him teddy??? its literally likr one of my favorite fics

I did not! but that sounds wonderful <3 if anyone has the link pls send it our way!

[paperbackribs]

✨Last Sentence Tag Game✨

thank you @pearynice 🥰

“That’s sad, Steve,” Eddie says more seriously, straightening up, “Just because your Aunt Margaret nearly drowned when she went face down in potato mash doesn’t mean that Christmas isn’t a time of delight.”

✨tags!✨ (as always, no pressure)

@finntheehumaneater @epiclazershark @tartarusknight

[hotluncheddie]

ur writing brain is so big so I wanted to ask..... do u have any recommendations for your fav Steve-focused fics? 🙈 can be steddie too!

omg hello lovely 2jug2head!!! i have some recommendations yeah!

a few are gonna be from my ao3 bookmarks, if that’s okay and they're all gonna be steddie lmao sry - but steve centric still!

one of my absolute fave depictions of steve is: things to come by birthdaycandles on ao3 - its got how caring he is and how much of a martyr he can be and that conversation he has with hopper where he feels trapped is like, just the BEST

and I've reread: the only way to my heart is with an axe by Themoondogs on ao3 so many times its one of my cozy faves - its very sweet with steve just very slowly comes to terms with his feeling for eddie, very nice confusing bi feelings and fluffy tropes

also: took you for a working boy by pukner is very good. i read it quite a while ago so don't remember exactly what happen but i know there just lovely gender and big feelings and it made me cry. its good and silly and steve and robin are so so besties and eddie is a sweetheart

finally im gonna give u a shorter tumblr rec with @pearynice bc some of their steve centric stuff hits very close to home, very lovely real depictions of how he might react to certain scenarios and like becoming healed and better slowly, with eddie. gonna recommend a hurt/comfort one and oop, what's that? oh, that's right, its another hurt/comfort one :)

hope this is what u asked for kinda? hehe let me know if you liked any of them!!! ❤️

[paradimeshifts7]

Another piece for @pearynice’s incredible bb

Beekeeper Steve, recovering rockstar Eddie, the tenderness of summer in a small town….

Find it all in: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 🐝

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part seven

322 words

one two three four five six

By the time eleven rolls around Steve is coming to terms with the fact that Eddie isn’t gonna show up. It’s a bit disappointing but that’s fine. 

He’d only had a beer or two before then, but he starts shooting back shots left and right. He also shows people why he’s called The King. As in, The Keg King. 

Steve really has to pee. The stairs seem like a bad idea, though, and there’s a line outside of the downstairs bathroom (and Steve doesn’t have it in him to argue with people for skipping it even though it’s his fucking house) so he stumbles his way outside and to the side of his house to relieve himself.  

Afterwards, he slumps into one of the pool chairs, not wanting to get back to the party just yet. He dozes off there. 

In the morning, he nurses himself through a hangover and only vaguely remembers Tommy and Carol dragging him upstairs to his room before leaving together. Seems like they worked it out just fine. 

By Monday, Steve’s feeling better.

Eddie i really like your smile, even when you’re being a little shit how was your weekend? anything fun? i missed you at the party  i don’t think you showed but i was really fucked up so who knows that’s ok though, i didn’t really wanna be there either  -H 

As much as he doesn’t want to, Steve skips the sunglasses today. He doesn’t want to be known as that guy. 

This means that when he looks over to Eddie’s table only to find the boy already looking in his direction, he has to act natural when they make eye contact before letting his gaze move on like he was just taking a quick look around the room.

He waits a few minutes before trying again. Eddie’s still looking.

Okay, what the fuck. 

Steve tries one last time about ten minutes later. He’s still looking. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

eight

tag list (closed)

@sofadofax @noodle-shenaniganery @queenie-ofthe-void @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @devondespresso

@dreamingtheimpossibe @plutoshelm @jaywhohasthegay @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie

@dreamy-jeans137 @justdrugsformethanks @estrellami-1 @travelingtwentysomething @sleepy-steve

@wheneverfeasible @bisexual-and-broke @lil-gremlin-things @n0-1-important @xxbottlecapx

@tinyplanet95 @dannys-guilt-ridden-cockroach @theohohmoment @corvus-perplexus @hippieg1rl420

@blurryjoji @bookbinderbitch @arthurianace @dragonmama76 @thesuninyaface

@tillystealeaves @p0lybl4nkk @sageclipse @mugloversonly @chameleonhair

@thedragonsaunt @yesdangerpls @sanctumdemunson @slv-333 @loguine-linguine

@resident-gay-bitch @anaibis @moomkin77 @thrashbatx @salchica

@flustratedcas @ajeff855 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @pearynice @imaginary-maggie-waggie

sorry if i missed anyone!!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🧠🪱

Happy hump day, let's unleash those brainworms!

Recent high school graduate Steve, freshly disowned, moving into his first very own apartment. The place is dark and smells funny, the wallpaper is peeling off in places, and the property management firm has a shitty reputation, but beggars can’t be choosers. Anything’s preferable to sticking his feet under his dad’s stupid mahogany table and listening to his bigoted bullshit for another day, right? 

After a long and tiresome moving day involving a broken elevator and lugging all of his boxes up three flights of stairs, Steve has just hit the shower to wash off the sweat when a pipe bursts, cutting off his hot water supply and flooding his ugly, puke-colored floor tiles. Cursing, naked and soapy-haired, Steve slips his way over to the telephone to call the landlord's office. A bored-sounding lady tells him that they’ll send someone over, then hangs up without waiting for a reply. 

Steve has barely even slipped a pair of boxers over his wet ass when the doorbell rings. He opens, only find himself face to face with a long-haired, tattooed guy about his own age. He's clad in a tank top and overalls, carrying a toolbox in one hand and holding a burning cigarette in the other. 

“Hi,” says the guy, dark eyes raking up and down Steve's bare chest. ‘I'm here about the leaky pipe?” 

“Oh,” Steve says, surprised, because damn, that's a swift response time. “Sure, come on in.” 

The guy does, shuffling into the apartment and on to the bathroom without waiting for directions. Steve is left loitering uncertainly in his own hallway. He doesn't need to loiter long, fortunately, because not five minutes later, the guy shuffles back out, drying his hands on one of Steve’s towels, cigarette now dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

“There you go,” he grins, tossing the towel at Steve. “Enjoy your shower.” 

“Thanks,” says Steve, patting his back pocket for his wallet until he remembers that, one, he's not wearing pants, and two, he spent the last of his cash on a vending machine drink earlier because he was fucking parched from carrying all those boxes. “Erm, I'd tip you, but-” 

“Nah, leave it,” says the guy, and wiggles his eyebrows. “The view is more than enough for compensation.” 

Several hours later, Steve is just on his way to bed, the door rings again. It's a grumpy older dude who says he's come to fix the shower. 

“No, it's okay,” Steve says. “Your colleague was here earlier and took care of it.” 

The man laughs. “Colleague? Ha, I wish. There's just me, why d’you think it took me so long?” 

He trudges off, grumbling something under his breath about wasted time, leaving behind a dumbstruck Steve. 

If that was the repair guy … who fixed his shower?

(His name is Eddie. He's a mechanic and lives in the apartment under Steve’s. He's well familiar with the leaky pipes, and when he saw the water running down from his own bathroom ceiling, he immediately knew what the problem was. He also now knows what Steve looks like half naked. They're off to a great start.) 

Tagging some friends to share their own:

@postmodernau @steddie-island @sparkle-fiend @sidekick-hero @slippy-slip

@xgumiho @stevesbipanic @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @pearynice @thefreakandthehair

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when your boyfriend accidentally overhears you spilling all your (very misplaced) insecurities about him leaving you for the white-picket-fence love he ‘deserves’

aka: CONCLUSION ☄️ hold me oh so close (you’re the sanctuary) 2/2 (and still 100% for @pearynice on her birthday🎉)

✨previously: “I just gotta believe that loving, even for just a short time’s worth it, when it feels like this,” and Eddie does believe that. Deep down, even if it’s alongside doubting and hurting. Eddie believes it, else he’d have run ages ago. Loving Steve Harrington is worth it. “Ed,” Wayne starts his tone a little off, a little…probably tied up in the something Eddie doesn’t have a clue as to what he nudging at, still, but whatever it’s— Eddie thinks he about shoots his head up through the ceiling of the trailer—which would be a goddamn shame because again: new trailer, still a draft, doesn’t need a hole—when he hears the clatter of something heavy not more than ten paces behind him. Which places it still in the kitchen, where he is but only just. Eddie whirls, heart pounding, ready for the worst— And his eyes lock with Steve’s. Steve, who it appears has placed one of his mother’s fancy-ass pie plates covered in aluminum foil near the phone in the corner by the door. Which he’d have opened, y’know, with his key. Because they lock the doors now, still, just in case. But Steve has his own key, and— Oh. Oh, that might have been what Wayne was nudging toward.

“You,” Eddie barely breathes out, and if his heart was pounding for fear a second ago it’s…it’s doing a thing he’s pretty sure isn’t normal, maybe is wholly unprecedented in all of human history of some shit, and he, he—

“Unintentional,” Steve grins a little sheepish at the plate he’d set on the counter, clocking that’s how he’d given himself away, why Eddie was panting a little for the adrenaline rush and the also not just or even primarily about the adrenaline rush; “but like—“

But like then Wayne’s scraping his chair against the linoleum instead of his spoon against his mug, standing up and dropping both into the sink before he clasps Eddie’s shoulder, squeezes, then crosses over toward Steve, does the same and asks low don’t eat it all without me, yeah? and Steve laughs, matches the fondness Wayne aims at him as he lobs back like we’d start without you and Wayne hums his approval before grabbing his truck keys, muttering something about needing cigs—which Eddie’s knows damn well he doesn’t—and then he glances at Eddie with that look, and, and…

Oh, Jesus.

The door’s barely closed behind Wayne before Eddie turns in his chair, knows his knees aren’t gonna hold him just now if he stands, there’s this under-the-skin kinda trembling he can feel that might be his heartbeat or might be his bones quaking apart because, like, Wayne had been looking at him the whole time like that and—

“How long have you been standing there?” Eddie barely squeaks out, it’d be a weirdly humiliating sound either way but it’s not because Eddie can barely process anything over the raucous thunder of his own goddamn pulse because how long has Steve been standing there and, and—

How much did Steve hear?

“Long enough,” Steve finally answers after spending a little time playing with his lips between his teeth in a way that normally drives Eddie a little crazy, but right now he’s a little too nauseated for it to hit.

“Longer than I’d have liked, because the things I heard,” Steve’s voice cracks as he shakes his head, and he looks so crushed, so pained and Eddie feels both sensations wash over him and settle in deep and at ten times the intensity, the weight because Eddie’s caused it. Eddie’s own words fucking made this and he—

“But it was at least as long as I needed, so that I could hear ‘em,” and Steve’s crossing to him, now, crouching a little so grip Eddie at the forearms; “because I needed to hear them.”

Eddie turns, hides his face which makes him feel sick because this is Steve, there are no moments he doesn’t want to see him, to drink him in, to refresh the permanent etching of the whole of him on the insides of Eddie’s eyelids, the ephemeral tangle of Eddie soul so he’ll remember for always what this felt like, what love can be.

For when it’s gone.

“Eddie,” Steve reaches, gathers Eddie’s hands so strong, but sure and so gentle, like he wants to…preserve. So as to keep.

Eddie barely keeps down the seizing tremble to sob, but the cost of doing so cuddles in his stomach to the point where it settles even worse.

“Babe, I needed to hear it,” Steve’s hands tighten on him, thumb stroking back and forth against the pulse in Eddie's wrist; “but now I need you to hear this, okay? Really hear it, please,” he brings Eddie’s hands closer so one of his own can hold both of Eddie’s so he has one free to grasp Eddie’s chin and lift it up, catch his eyes:

“Can you do that for me?”

And that’s the silver bullet: there’s nothing Eddie wouldn’t do for this man.

So he nods. And if a tear he didn’t notice falls when he blinks, Steve’s hand darts immediately to wipe it clear.

“You still think I want a Nancy,” Steve breathes, a lament and a realization rolled into one, that clenches tight in Eddie’s chest.

“You still think it, don’t you, still have this idea of what that was and what that meant, when the real-life Nancy wasn’t even this idea you have of a Nancy and, and then fuck, then the reality of it, like when me and her were anything?” Steve huffs something…bitter out, not toward Eddie and that’s the thing, isn’t it: Steve and Eddie aren’t perfect, and they fight loud and hard sometimes but they’re never bitter, they don’t swipe dirty.

They love—

“God, we were stupid,” Steve shakes his head and oh, well, yeah, maybe Eddie was stupid to fall so far and so deep fucking knowing the lines and limits and flipping them all off nonetheless but—

Then he looks, and Steve’s regretful. Nostalgic in that way where you think of a thing from the past for the lessons you learned for it, the ones you’re grateful for.

And oh.

Oh, Steve didn’t mean them, he meant himself, and…and her.

“You still think that,” Steve bends his chin to press lips where his thumbs have been, and to hold, and to speak against the delicate skin: “after everything.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not disappointment. Eddie feels both, though: from himself, toward himself.

“Steve,” Eddie doesn’t mean it to come out like a moan. He swears. He swears he doesn’t mean it.

And yet.

“Come here,” Steve’s springing to his height and drawing Eddie first against his middle, tight to the low-center of his chest where the pulse of him echoes like a bell to toll and the he sinks into the comfort in that sound runs through him like cool rain for just an instant before hands are lifting, guiding him to stand and he stumbles a little but he goes nowhere, because Steve won’t let him, won’t ever let him.

All that perfectly placed trust in this man, never proven wrong.

“Will you come here?” Steve murmurs, watches Eddie’s feet and glances up through his lashes to his eyes, down and back, down and back as he leads them to the couch; knows this space like his own, like his home and that shivers through Eddie’s body—it feels right. Like it could’ve been forever, in another world.

But in this world? Steve asks if Eddie will come with him.

“Always.”

Forever the answer. And so he does.

Steve pulls him close, so close, almost in his lap as he curls against Eddie and gathers his hands again, squeezes to conduct his attention—like it could ever stray.

“I need you to listen to me,” Steve breathes so close to Eddie’s ear, hit on his neck; “I need you to listen, and believe me when I say it.”

All Eddie has in him just that moment is to nod, but fuck, does he nod, nods until Steve kisses the side of his head and tucks him under his chin, where Eddie can feel his blood move along by accident.

But it doesn’t feel like an accident.

“I used to think I fucked up with Nancy,” Steve’s saying, and Eddie can hear it as a whisper as well as he can feel it rumble under Steve’s throat; “and I did, but it was like,” he swallows hard, and Eddie feels that too; “it felt like I was the only guilty one, like I had take to all the blame, that it meant,” and Steve’s breath catches, he tenses, his heart trips a little, speeds a little and Eddie can’t not kills at the swell of his Adams’s apple, then the bump of his pulse, to nuzzle the tip of his nose in between, and Steve’s hand threads in Eddie hair: holds him near.

So fucking near.

“That it meant I was the problem, that I was built wrong,” and Eddie sucks in a breath that hurts but not nearly as much as those words, the implication that Steve ever; “that I was like my parents,” and no, fucking no: Steve is ten times most people in the whole world but in comparison to his fucking parents? Jesus fuck, numbers don’t go high enough to compare how much he outstrips them—

“That my love was only ever gonna be bullshit.”

And Eddie can’t help it. He whimpers when he wants to be still, be quiet and let Steve say what he needs to, let him ease Eddie down gently and make the end of this feel softer than it should, than it will with time but with a kindness no one in the world would ever show Eddie Munson—he wants to respect Steve’s space to say his piece but bullshit—Eddie’s come to trust and care for Nancy Wheeler, wonder of wonders, but fuck if he isn’t tempted to slash her tires and shred her drafts right before her deadlines for at least…ever. For fucking ever, because that’s not even in the same reality of enough of a punishment for saying, for doing what she did to this man’s precious fucking heart and if anyone here is bullshit, she’s—

He doesn’t realize how heavy his breathing has gotten, or how tunneled his vision, until Steve reaches a palm out and cradles his neck: an anchor. He’s quiet, and breathes like a light in the dark to follow home until Eddie can see straighter.

He is such…such goodness that it’s hard to do anything but reorientate the whole of him just…just to Steve.

“And I wondered, for a little while, if I put Nancy on this pedestal?” Steve speaks so soft, pressed now against Eddie’s brow, forehead to forehead. “Like she was something better, above me, and could…balance me out. Make the wrongness better. Worthwhile.”

Impossible. Impossible because she couldn’t, she’s not sufficient. Impossible because there’s no wrongness in Steve Harrington. Impossible because Steve’s more often than not the most, if not the only, worthwhile anything Eddie sometimes knows at all.

“But the reality,” and Steve’s tone, it’s…it’s different now. More…sure, maybe; “the real truth,” and yes, yeah, more sure, it’s a certain thing: “is we were stupid kids who saw horrible things, and we were hurting,” and Steve’s head turns just enough to brush lips against Eddie’s temple before bowing back against Eddie’s forehead, both of them breathing the other’s breath now.

Unbearably intimate. It always is but…but like this—

“Sometimes you lash out when you’re hurting,” Steve says simply, leans trusting into Eddie as he does, so forgiving of things that scarred him so deep; “sometimes hurting back, whatever way you can, is the only thing you’ve got.”

Eddie almost can’t comprehend it; is almost infuriated by its dismissal. But there’s…finality that feels like comfort.

Eddie doesn’t understand why, though, or, or how.

“And she was never, above me,” there’s this almost-smile in Steve’s voice then; “her love wasn’t better than my love,” and that’s the true thing, the most true thing maybe, the thing Eddie knew all along without a single shred of doubt:

“And my love didn’t need to be evened out. It was fine. I was fine.”

Then the pièce de résistance:

“My love’s enough just as it is.”

And Eddie wants simultaneous contractions, so deep and so much he can feel them tearing apart something vital in his chest: because he wants to rail, wants to push back on it because that’s not true, that’s too small: Steve’s love is perfection. Steve’s love is the only evidence Eddie’s ever seen that there might be a benevolent god in the universe somewhere, to allow for the tingly giddy joy that floods him under the warm beat of Steve’s love and if Eddie gets that from this love, limited-time-only though it’s offer might be, then Jesus H. Christ, Steve’s love? Enough?

That’s a fucking insult of the kinds Eddie’ll go account a hill tall enough to die on in defense of that love’s—this man’s—impossible, ineffable worth.

“Especially now,” Steve’s easing Eddie’s grip on him finger by finger—he must have grasped hard, squeezed so so tight when Steve shortchanged anything about himself as only just enough but it s a soft loosening, and he’s not letting go in the slightest, and his lips are set soft with a curve at the corners like maybe he knows that underneath Eddie’s indignation, he’s fucking proud of Steve for getting this far, for making progress that big: the know it clear enough to say it like the foundation fact it is when it took so long to unwrite the lies of a lifetime: yes.

Fuck yes, Eddie is proud of the man he loves who is more than fucking enough, who deserves the whole world.

And Eddie’s not the whole fucking world; Steve deserve so much mo—

“Because now,” Steve’s speaking again, and Eddie promised to listen, to believe like either was ever in question, like the cells in Eddie’s body don’t reorient themselves specifically to be near Steve, to cluster closer to Steve to soak in all of Steve—

“Now, this time, it’s this, this totally sincere thing, it’s this wholly honest, this absolutely genuine, like, timed in the rhythm of your heartbeat kinda thing I’ve never felt before and,” Steve rambles a little but it’s so earnest, so heartfelt where Eddie, or Robin—often their ramblings are just tangled-up tangents but this, from Steve: this is intention atop intention, a mountain of certainties vying for dominance to get the first foot out his mouth and into the world to make itself known.

“My love was always enough, but,” Eddie doesn’t like the ‘but’ on instinct, must scrunch his face or fail to catch a little whine for it because Steve’s hand in his own—still there, still there—but Steve’s still-there hand knows immediately to strokes Eddie’s knuckles, to soothe and to ground because Steve does love him in his way for as long as he’s willing, as long as he wants and it’s perfection, so far exceeding enough.

“But this is different from that other love,” Steve’s speaking it low, like the sound waves at that pitch will sync with something elemental inside Eddie’s DNA, inside the cadence of his blood—like he’d want that for some reason, like he does want that, here and now:

“Because it’s so much bigger, and stronger, and real in this whole new way,” and Steve’s lifting Eddie’s hand to his lips, doesn’t have to look to know the way anymore, presses them dead center to the middle and oh, oh it’s everything, Eddie melts a little and his heart’s still pounding almost painfully but it’s singing a little, forever weak and willfully so for Steve, Steve’s touch, Steve’s love—whatever kind, for however long, this real and tangible thing Eddie can see and feel that’s more than he never dared to conceive of, to think he could hold and—

“I love you, Eds.”

And Eddie’s brain does him the courtesy of stopping before his heart does. Y’know: undercuts the capacity to panic where your blood stops pumping and it’s all just white noise inside the whole of you. Because your brain’s already offline anyway.

Helpful little trick of timing, really.

“I thought maybe it was too soon, and I was waiting to say it until you were ready, maybe,” Steve’s looking at him with this potent swirling mixture of apprehension and hope but all of it bundled up in that patent resolve of his, the thing that slays the monsters and corrals the children and reached that first time cup Eddie’s jaw and draw him all the way in; “maybe in case it ended up that you never were ready, but fuck,” and Steve’s breath huffs out of him like something pushes it, like something’s swelling up inside and squeezing on his organs, making the basic necessities of living a struggle and Eddie feels included to reach, to help and soothe but Steve might still look a little hesitant, but, but—

More than anything, the hope’s shining bright enough in the cracks to start winning out.

“Fuck,” Steve exhales with maybe the last of what’s left of his oxygen before he lifts his gaze and goddamn if those eyes are big enough, golden enough and swimming full enough to drown Eddie by default in something so much bigger than what he understand even the concept of love to be but it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, Eddie isn’t the dream, he’s not what’s Steve waiting on, but Steve’s hands aren’t just on his anymore, Steve’s hands are tangling with his hands and drawing Eddie’s up under his chin and Eddie can feel him breathing, thinks maybe he can feel his pulse against the skin but it’s hard to tell when Eddie’s own is such a riotous thing, and—

“If I was ever waiting for love, the real thing, the thing right here,” and he squeezes Eddie’s hands tighter, almost nonsensical; “right here,” and he kisses the pads of Eddie’s fingers and holds there close, long and warm like there’s something magnetic there, something worth staying to savor before he leans, holds eddies hands in the bare space between them as his gaze meets Eddie’s and locks there: Eddie couldn’t look away if he tries and then Steve breathes—

“It’s you.”

And Eddie must have heard wrong, same as his lungs, which tighten up to stalling, to causing real goddamn pain behind his bounding heart now because that’s not right, that’s not right—

“Up and down, through and through, forever and,” and Steve’s breath catches, and his eyes fly to Eddie’s, wide not like he surprises himself but like he’s unsure of something, when Eddie’s unsure he’s not fucking dreaming, or maybe goddamn dead and this is his afterlife, his undeserved reward; “umm,” and Steve licks his lips, but never wavers from looking at Eddie like hes the center of the universe, and more than that: some universe Steve wants:

“Always,” he breathes; “forever and always.”

Then he cups both of Eddie’s cheeks and and frames his face, cradles him like he’s dear beyond reason, like every word he said is law and love and light:

“It’s you.”

Eddie cannot fucking breathe.

“So, yeah,” Steve huffs, breathless himself; “that’s, umm,” and he pulls back a little, enough to run a shaky hand through his hair for nerves, and Eddie’s wants to stop him, wants to catch him and bring that hand to his lips but he’s frozen, he’s shaken, he’s stunned because he’s been so sure, he’d been so sure there was an expiration date but Steve had never spoken of one before, then here he’s said always and forever, over and again and both words, every time, were truths where Eddie’s knows Steve’s tells for anything less—these were truths but Eddie’d been sure—

“Guess that’s me pulling my heart out, too,” and Steve gestures between them, chest to chest and Eddie shudders, feels the motion move in his blood somehow: facts. Truths. This man, right here, being brave—having heard Eddie’s words he thought were confessions aimed elsewhere and not shying from them, put handing them back, offering his heart now and how, fucking, fucking how—

“And you can do whatever with it,” Steve sounds sure of that too, almost resigned but mostly resolute; “but Eddie?”

And then he smiles. Soft. Warm. With so much love.

“That’s been true from the start.”

That—

You can do whatever with it.

Like…as if Eddie’s had that heart from—

“Because it took like a second to know it was yours,” Steve spells it out plain, like he knows Eddie will struggle to take it it; he grabs Eddie’s hand and flattens it to his chest, lets him feel the frantic flutter as he exhales fierce:

“That I was yours.”

And between the words, and the certitude; the passion and the pulsing heart under his palm—all of Eddie’s conviction that that this was slowly creeping toward and end, it just…it’s like he held it in that hand.

And the steadfast pump of Steve’s heart breaks it to dust, banished far to nothing.

Eddie’s breath comes back in an incredulous laugh that’s no without tears.

“Mine?” he breathes, hand still on Steve’s heart, eyes trained on Steve’s own, unblinking. Still so close to disbelief.

“Yours,” Steve nods, covers his hand again and presses in. “All of it. Long as you want it.”

“Always,” Eddie answers almost before the last word fades; “always,” and it’s in claiming forever on offer beyond all imagining that it starts to register, to bleed into him full as he chokes out: “I never could have,” then he shakes his head, stacks another hand to Steve’s chest, needs the grounding. The assurance.

And then—

“Mine?”

Steve’s voice is small, but he’s leaning to Eddie’s pulse at his jaw, just the brush of his lips and Eddie shivers, but he turns a hand to drag Steve’s own to his heart, too, because good fucking god—

“Oh fuck,” Eddie breathes, arranges Steve’s fingers to every points around the beating so it’s complete, and fucking proprietary:

“Only yours,” he vows, wholly and complete; “past the day I goddamn die, Stevie,” and he means it, he means it: “only ever been yours.”

And it’s true, and not only because Eddie didn’t really understand love before loving Steve taught him. It’s that, but then: somehow beyond the size of words—it’s also more.

And when Steve leans to kiss him full on the lips, nothing they haven’t spent these last months doing every goddamn day, more chaste even than they’ve been for ages: it doesn’t shift the plates of the planet, or the motions of the tides.

It shifts the way the solar system rotates, the way the universe expands.

Steve tastes like what it means to be alive.

And they stay that way, they lower onto the cushions of the sofa and hold so fucking close, kiss so fucking sure like promises and their celebrations, their renewals and their rebirthings all in one. They kiss until air becomes meaningless, until their lungs burn as much as their eyes, until kisses tears away is commonplace and then spent entire, the moment held close and ushered through as a softness, a commitment to come another unwavering, and then they’re getting the, their breathing is calm and their bodies are pressed like they were made to mould into one perfect shape. They smile stupid at one another, the relief eclipsed in pure fucking joy, now, as Steve nips around Eddie’s face, down how next, to his collarbones: playful. As Eddie twists the soft strands of Steve’s hair and caresses beneath where they fall when he lets go, they start again.

“What kinda pie did you bring?” Eddie asks idly after minutes, probably not hours—they’re still alone and yeah, Wayne knew what he was doing when he left but it’s his day off. And he does love Steve’s baking.

Gets to love Steve’s baking now forever, and Eddie’s not settled enough to resist burying the full width of his grin in Steve’s shoulder for it: another forever-privilege he’s still acclimating to the marvel of.

“Apple,” Steve answers, stretching his neck back so Eddie can fit more fully, more close. “Wayne just said pie, but, I know the deer got your tree,” which they definitely did, the cute little woodland-terrorists, Eddie bought them a salt lick and everything to try and sway their violence. No dice.

“We should look at what it takes for a fence, man,” Steve muses before he reaches, grabs Eddie’s hand to pull it to his lips for a kiss so he can keep Eddie’s face burrowed safe in his neck but still love on him this way all the same as he adds with a knowing grin in his tone, tangible where Eddie’s hand lingers on his lips:

“Plus I know apple’s your favorite.”

And Eddie, he can’t help it, it’s all so fucking much so he, he kinda has to—

He giggles. He giggles, and he tucks himself a little lower, straight to Steve’s chest so tight and he wraps his arms around this man he gets to love, and love with everything, with no end in the cards at all, not ever: he laughs as Steve wraps his arms around him in kind without hesitation, fits around him with no intention of sifting anytime soon, because, because…

An apple pie life. A picket fence love.

Eddie’s heart cartwheels in his chest and he pulls Steve closer, wills him to feel it too, to know what it holds.

All that it holds.

Steve’s arms find some magic way to hold him tighter in kind, like he wants his chest pressed into Eddie’s to share permanent real estate, to meld into one single beating-breathing symphony and…yeah.

Yeah: Steve fucking knows how far this goes, can’t see the end either.

And he somehow wants that, relishes it, smiles so fucking blinding when the lift their heads again and kisses even fucking deeper right up until they hear the gravel rumble and the engine cut and it’s time to slice the goddamn pie, and brew another pot of coffee to go with it, and, and…

And talk about how hard it might be—or how amazing, maybe, even—to put up a fucking fence around an apple tree for the long haul.

also on ao3 🖤

✨permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

[steddieunderdogfics]

Personally by Peachesandpears

@pearynice

Rating: General Audiences

1,257 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Are Best Friends, Established Relationship, Steve Harrington Has PTSD, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Soft Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart

Summary:

“What won’t happen again?” And Eddie’s not shouting, hasn’t even raised his voice, but Steve can feel pins and needles in his fingertips because he doesn’t know what to do. He stayed neutral. He doesn’t know how to swallow this. How to soak in Eddie’s anger until it goes away. “The-” Steve flounders, “the- the cleaning. It won’t.” He swallows thickly. “That’s what won’t.”

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @pearynice. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[scoops-aboy86]

Nine People I'd Like to Get to Know Better

Thanks for the tag @pearynice!

Last song I listened to: One Night Alone by Vixen, because I'm seriously contemplating doing Steddie Week in July.

Currently Watching: Hotel season of AHS.

Sweet/Savory/Spicy?: Last time I just said yes because I like them all depending on what I'm in the mood for, but I think a combo of sweet and spicy is probably my favorite.

Relationship Status: Taken.

Current Obsession: (the crowd starts to chant) steddie stedDIE STEDDIE STEDDIE STEDDIE STEDDIE STEDDIE!! \o/

No tags unless you wanna, then consider yourself tagged. ❤️

[momotonescreaming]

Hihihi!!!! I would like to humbly request r & v talk about kids 🤲

howdy!! of course!

She absently hears the TV turn on in the background — Vickie, using it to cover the sound of Robin on the phone, give her a little bit of privacy — as she knows that Vickie isn’t a fan of Saturday morning TV. Cartoons were more her brother’s thing, she joked once. Robin can’t remember the context, what they were talking about, it was so long ago, but she remembered what Vickie’s voice sounded like as she talked, her laugh — tinkling like a bell. Robin dreamed about that sound. Yearned to hear it again, to have Vickie laugh at something she said. Robin hears it all the time now, and a part of her still can’t quite believe it.

Make me write for wip weekend!

[penny00dreadful]

Wiggly Wednesday 🧠🪱

I've been being tagged in wiggly Wednesdays for like the last MONTH and keep forgetting to do them I am SORRY

Thank you to these lovely people for tagging me 🥰 and this is a TAG BACK AS WELL

@pearynice @hbyrde36 @medusapelagia @arelliann @kikidoesfanfic @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

Today I'm thinking about:

Steve at the dentist or the doctors for a routine procedure, waking up a lot loopy from the anesthesia and loopy Steve is just The Softest Boy™

He's lying there, high as balls (no trauma here, we're in fluff land) and he looks over and sees the most beautiful man he's ever seen in his life.

Like hardly able to believe his eyes, and the guy is just sitting there and oh shit he's looking at him, he's looking in Steve's direction omg. And he's smiling. This is such a good day.

Steve reaches up to tug on the nurses scrubs and when she leans down to see what he wants, he very loudly whispers to her, "Can you buy him a drink for me? Like get him a drink and tell him it's from me? I'll give you the money."

She just pats him on the hand and reminds him that they don't serve alcohol, this is a hospital, there is no bar.

He lets out a dejected little "oh" but the beautiful man is laughing a little now so it's not all bad.

But then Steve sees the guy has a ring on his left ring finger and Steve's super loopy but he's not loopy enough not to understand what that means.

So he's sad, OF COURSE he's sad.

"He's married." He pouts up to the nurse.

"I am married, sweetheart. Sorry about that." The guy says and fuck, even his voice is beautiful.

Steve sulks to himself for a moment before asking "I hope they're good to you."

The guy smiles at him again and all is right in the world

"They are. They're the best."

"Good " Steve tries to cross his arms but his coordination is off. "You deserve the best."

"Thank you." The guy leans forward a little. "I have it."

Steve nods and tries to make peace with his new reality but it's hard because this guy can't be his.

"Hey, Stevie?"

Steve is completely powerless, he has to look up at the sound of his name falling from those lips, it's glorious.

"You know my name."

"I do." The guy smiles again, his beautiful megawatt smile. "Guess who I'm married to."

"I dunno." Steve shrugs. "Probably like Beyoncé or someone."

Steve's hand is taken by warm, gentle fingers

"I'm married to you, baby."

Steve's heart explodes into glitter and fireworks and he's nearly crying, wide eyed and wondrous.

"Me?" He asks, disbelieving but the guy just nods and presses a kiss his ringed left finger.

So yeah those are the worms atm

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@augustjustice @dreamwatch @fuctacles @hornedqueenofhell @klausinamarink @shares-a-vest @wynnyfryd @wormdebut