#steddie is infinite

[oatmilk-vampire]

Absolutely insane that Joe Keery and Joseph Quinn can be in entirely different franchises and I'll still find a way to ship their characters

[bmodiwrites]

So, @infinite-orangepeel made this post & I got immediate inspo. Here be the result. Check back soon for the next part ;)

Running sucks.

Eddie repeats that mantra every year he’s forced out onto the track for the dreaded mile run. Those that argue school isn’t organized torture absolutely overlook the utter humiliation of having to pant and sweat and die a little more with each step… in front of others.

As a firm rebellion against such a horrible organized event, Eddie takes his time walking around the track. He smokes enough weed to break a sweat doing just that, so that’s all he’s really capable of, anyway. No matter how much he’s heckled or how often the gym teacher yells in his direction, Eddie’s pace doesn’t increase, nor does he try to do anything but put one foot in front of the other.

There are others who are much more equipped to run that pass him by, lap by lap. As the years went on and Eddie starts to notice certain features of a certain someone, the leisurely pace becomes about more than flipping off the establishment.

So much more.

See, Hawkins is known for the ugly green and yellow of their school colors. It’s all over the walls and decorations, the cafeteria and every sign – even their gym clothes are representative of the horrid spirit of Tiger Pride. While Eddie’s always been of the opinion that no one looks good in the palate of vegetable medley, he’s yearly proven wrong by Steve Harrington’s ass.

Without fail, The King is one of the first to sprint off the line when the whistle is blown. His long legs propel him down the track like a gazelle. Eddie’s fond of the way his muscles stretch as he rounds the corners to take on the straightaways. There’s no denying that everything about Steve Harrington is attractive. His pretty boy looks become more deliciously combined with his steadily developing manliness.

Most of the Hawkins High population thinks so.

Eddie’s is more than certain, however, that no one has cracked the magic code like he has. While all the girls walk in a line and complain, Eddie minds his own business and waits for the perfect moment when Steve passes him on the left. He’s zoned in and focused enough to watch the most wonderful thing. It’s a treat to witness Steve’s glorious ass bounce in those green shorts. They are just short enough for the break between hamstring and glute to be visible with every forward step.

Eddie’s never been more grateful for the bunching of fabric.

The only downside to his nefarious plan is the last lap. Since Steve is the golden boy and gets his mile done quickly, Eddie is forced to complete the last lap without any worthwhile stimulus. His breathing is erratic, not from the arousal that he briefly allows, but from the lack of oxygen getting to his lungs. It’s a struggle, but more than worth it to spend brief moments ogling the finest ass that Eddie’s ever seen.

Eddie’s second attempt at a senior year, something changes. Steve isn’t out ahead of everyone else, anymore. He’s jogging, though it’s nothing like the all-out sprint he seemed to do before. In fact, he’s running just enough to be about 100 meters ahead of Eddie. He’s in the perfect spot for Eddie to enjoy the rhythmic shift of Steve’s ass without having to look away.

It’s the absolute best, until Eddie breaks out of his trance enough to see Steve peering back over his shoulder to look at Eddie, too. It’s surprising and exhilarating and more than enough confusing stimulus for his feet to get caught up.

Eddie trips over himself with his tongue out like some feral dog.

The situation’s only saving grace is a strong hand that grabs Eddie’s arm and helps him up from the pile he made of himself on the track. Eddie doesn’t need to hear the dulcet tones of Harrington’s voice to recognize who’s come to his rescue. The pervy boy that’s been watching Steve run for the last few years recognizes hairy calves and shapely quads in his peripheral vision.

“You okay, Munson?” Steve asks once Eddie is stable on his feet. His eyes are dark with amusement and something Eddie can’t quite place.

Unsurprisingly, the look makes Eddie want to eat him alive.

Pushing that thought aside, Eddie absently nods his head. “I’m good. I uh – lost my footing. There’s a wet spot on the track over there – or something.”

Embarrassment and the low thrumming arousal that always fills Eddie up whenever Steve’s around keep him from saying something that actually makes sense – his tongue is thick with a desire that’s hard to tamper down. Especially when Steve licks his lips and smiles at him.

What the hell did he ever do to deserve such teasing?

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going.” Steve leans in then, dropping his tone. “My ass trips everyone up.”

Gasping, Eddie lets Steve’s words wash over him. Blood and shame and adrenaline and lust flock to a bunch of different places all at once. Eddie suddenly doesn’t know up from down. He can’t think straight, so he shrugs in the least casual way and hums awkwardly. It’s too good to be true, anyway.

Steve is just an arrogant ass who knows he’s beautiful.

And fuck if that’s not even more attractive.

Eddie continues to gap like a fish, while words escape him. Steve, the gentleman that he is, tries to hide the laugh bubbling up inside of him. He really does. Eddie can’t blame him when he snorts adorably.

“It’s okay, Munson. I get it.” Steve, who never actually dropped Eddie’s hand after helping him up, squeezes their fingers together before backing away. The touch is broken so quickly, Eddie’s head spins. He didn’t know it was there just a moment ago and now it’s like he can’t live without it.

His pain is somewhat soothed when Steve leaves him with a wink and knowing grin. The gesture is new and exciting – more than enough fodder for the spank bank Steve is the main star off. It allows him, at least, to forget about the humiliation of tripping all over himself as he gets up to start walking his mile again.

This time, when it takes him twenty minutes, he actually has an excuse. The scrape on his knee and brand new memories of the Steve Harrington jiggle are still distracting him.

Eddie thinks about what just happened as he ignores the slack he’s going to be getting for months to come. The situation occupies his mind as he strips down to nothing and wraps a towel very quickly around his hips. It’s all his brain can toss around while the water heats up.

And there’s certainly no stopping it when all too familiar legs step into Eddie’s view.

check out part 2 here!

[discocandles]

Anytime I think about Steve, Eddie, Chrissy or Robin as famous musicians, I have to hold myself back from adding a shit ton of Lady Gaga references.

Like in the 2010s Lady Gaga appeared for an mtv music award show as this rugged, unkept greaser type character she made up named jo calderone. He's kinda known as "Lady Gaga's boyfriend that is also lady Gaga in drag". Steve Harrington, teen popstar trying to get away from his overbearing label would show up to the red carpet in drag as Amanda Miller, the girlfriend his label chose for him. She is dressed how they have their other popstar darling, Chrissy Cunningham dress. Amanda Miller later shows up in one of his music videos after he leaves the label. Both appearances of Amanda Miller cause mass bi panic online.

Speaking of fellow teen popstar Chrissy Cunningham, she starts openly thanking God and the Gays for the successes in her career. The label hates it, but they deal or else she's not gonna thank God either, causing problems with her religious fanbase(the impact of only letting her make ultra clean love songs for years). Also the idea of Chrissy disrespecting the interviewers who disrespect her is so healing. Think about it. Like yeah she ate that guy's script, and she'd do it again if he asks about her diet.

For rockstar eddie? So in Lady Gaga's song government hooker there's a spoken bit(not the jfk line the "back up and turn around" one). Those lines are spoken by Gaga's bodyguard Pete, who has a very thick Dutch accent after Lady gaga suddenly brought the idea that he be the "pervy robot voice" up during production.

Like Eddie would so do this, as I think creating songs gives him a lot of almost maniacal energy. Also for this one, the bodyguard is Italian Steve, but he's Jeff's bodyguard who Eddie's been constantly flirting with. That's perfectly fine by Eddie's actual bodyguard, who needs "a damn second to fucking breathe, you hyperactive bastard".

Indie rock vocalist Robin Buckley would have an album where she sings in like four different languages outside of English like lady Gaga did in born this way. And also sing in other languages fairly often. It's most often in French(like lady Gaga does), but every time Robin starts singing in a language that isn't English, the fans will scramble to figure out what tongue she's singing/speaking in now and what is she saying? What does google translate say she's saying?

There's paparazzi photos of vocalist Robin standing next to Jeff from Corroded Coffin but she's chatting in Italian with... his body guard? Apparently they met as teenagers on a trip abroad and became best friends then pen pals after. But we guess it evens out as robin's makeup artist/one woman glam team was best friends with Eddie in high school? And she won the prom queen tiara that CC wears in their iconic album cover. I dunno, just something that's been haunting my brain.

[arelliann]

Drawing fanart from references is so funny to me because oh? You're a regular cute couple taking regular cute couple pics? Get queered losers, you're now a bisexual man and his wet rat boyfriend, how'd you like them apples

[youarethedancingdean]

Day 2 of @steddie-week

Prompt: Fade to Black - Metallica

"Should I be worried about you?" Steve asked gently after Eddie had finished playing the song he'd recently been practicing for him. The lyrics were dark and Steve knew that Eddie struggled sometimes, especially after barely surviving the Upside Down.

"Worried? Was I that bad?" Eddie responded with a frown. He knew he wasn't perfect playing this song yet, but he'd worked hard on learning the sick guitar sequences and now Steve wasn't as impressed as he'd hoped he would be. Usually he would play for him and then be pounced before he could set his guitar aside. The face Steve pulled now was far from that and Eddie couldn't help but be disappointed. "Maybe I should've practiced more before showing you. Was it the singing or the guitar that had you worried?" he asked flatly, he supposed feedback would only help.

Steve didn't understand Eddie's reaction. Who said he was playing badly? How was that even the point? If anything, his emotional performance only added to the uneasy feeling in Steve's gut. "I didn't say you were bad. But, the lyrics... There is nothing more for me, need the end to set me free? I'm just wondering if you're okay or if we should talk about how much you felt this song. I mean, you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to. Just... why did you pick that song to practice?"

Eddie's eyes widened when he realized what Steve was getting at. "Oh... no, babe, I'm fine. Really! At least I'm not gonna off myself. I wanted to learn the guitar solos, that's why I picked it," he quickly explained and reached out to touch Steve's arm. "Sorry, that I scared you, but it's really just about the guitar parts for me. Be worried if I write something like that," he added with a soft smile.

"You're fine?" Steve asked again, just to make sure. Eddie smiled and nodded. Steve took a deep breath and nodded as well, "Okay, good. I would hate to lose you in any way." He leaned in to kiss Eddie, gently first and then with a bit more want behind it. After a few delicious moments he pulled away slightly, only leaving just enough space between them to talk, "Play it again then, couldn't even watch your sexy hands properly." That was more like what Eddie expected, so he didn't waste any time before he started playing again.

[no-context-nonsense]

Crying again this week, here are some of the reasons

[grandwretch]

the amount that i ship chitose and tomizawa is genuinely unreal

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (steddie fic)

saw this post and was inspired to write something angsty <3

The first thing Eddie is aware of when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes, is the dull, aching pain throbbing through pretty much his entire body. The second thing he’s aware of is that someone is holding his hand. 

“Eddie?” The hand in his tightens its grip as Eddie begins to stir; the voice it presumably belongs to sounds immeasurably relieved, yet only vaguely familiar. 

Eddie groans. His eyelids flutter, blinking awake, and he groggily rolls his head to the side to get a look at whoever had spoken. 

The voice sighs again, “Oh thank god-” 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s eyes fly open wide now as they land on the mystery man sitting beside him on the edge of the bed - a man he most definitely is not close enough with to be holding his hand, and a bed that is most definitely not his own. He snatches his hand away. “What the hell are you doing? Where am I?”

“Ed-” Another man’s voice, this one just as relieved and infinitely more familiar. It fills Eddie with relief too as he looks to his other side to find his uncle Wayne rising from a nearby chair to come up next to him. 

“Wayne, what-?” His surroundings are becoming more clear. “What happened? Why am I in a hospital? And why the fuck is King Steve at my bedside?” Eddie tries to sit up only to gasp and wince in pain as the dull ache in his sides sharpens to near agony at the movement. 

“Take it easy, son.” Wayne’s hand lands on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down onto the pillows. “You were hurt real bad.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Eddie grumbles out. He sucks in a deep, intentional breath and exhales slowly, the pain beginning to dull again now that he’s settled. His questions are still largely unanswered, though. Blank mind reaching desperately for any logical piece to this bizarre puzzle, he turns an accusing glare to Harrington. “Did you land me in here? Is that why you’re here, some sort of weird guilt thing?” 

Harrington’s looking at him like a kicked puppy. “What? No, I-” he falters, takes a shaky breath and swallows painfully like he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t remember?” 

“I don’t remember what? Will someone just tell me what happened?” Eddie’s confusion is rising more and more into agitation with every second he remains without an explanation. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Harrington asks quietly.

“I was driving home from school, just found out I wasn’t gonna graduate again.” Eddie frowns as he thinks back, still trying to put pieces together. “Did I crash my car? Is that it? I was emotional and not paying attention and got into an accident?” 

Yet again, he receives no answers. 

“Eddie, what month is it?” Wayne asks instead, his tone dangerously measured and serious. “What year?” 

“May…” Eddie says warily, “1985.”

His words hold a weight he doesn’t understand, landing heavy on the others in the room and thickening the air. It sends a chill of dread down his spine, the way his answer etches concern deep into the lines of Wayne’s face, the way Steve Harrington seems to take it like a blow to the chest. 

Harrington exhales sharply as if he’s been punched, standing abruptly and taking a few stumbling steps back. Wayne says, “It’s April of ‘86, Ed.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “No. No, it can’t be.” 

“I’m gonna go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Harrington mumbles, his voice strained and his eyes glassy with barely held-back tears. 

“I’ll go,” Wayne offers, pushing himself away from Eddie’s bed. He gives Harrington a meaningful look, though what that meaning is, Eddie can’t decipher. 

Harrington turns his devastated gaze to the older man. “But, Wayne, he doesn’t-” 

“I know, kid.” Wayne gives a sad smile and places a sympathetic hand on Harrington’s shoulder as he passes by. “Just talk to him.” 

Eddie is thrown off by this familiarity between them. Since when were those two close? He feels like he’s entered some sort of parallel universe where everything is just ever so slightly wrong. It leaves an itch beneath his skin, uncomfortable and out of place, like he no longer quite fits in his own body, in his own life. He’s lost 11 months, apparently, and this world is no longer his; he doesn’t know where he fits into it anymore. 

Wayne leaves the room, and Eddie wants to protest: Don’t leave me here with this guy I don’t know in this time I don’t know, please, you’re the only thing that feels safe and familiar! Anxiety is crawling through him like a thousand tiny bugs in his veins. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to run. Anything to shake this feeling loose. But he’s confined to this bed, trapped both by his pain and by all these machines he’s hooked up to, and he sure as shit isn’t going to have a breakdown in front of Steve goddamn Harrington. 

Instead, Eddie resigns himself to this situation and casts a sideways glance at Harrington who very much looks like he’s also trying not to have a breakdown. “I’m freaking out, man,” Eddie says finally, hating how shaky and pathetic his voice sounds. “I swear to god, Harrington, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on…” 

Harrington worries his lip between his teeth as he hesitates. “It’s a lot to explain.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie scoffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m missing nearly an entire year, of course it’s a lot to fill in. Unless I’ve been here this whole time?” 

“No.” Harrington shakes his head. “No, you’ve only been here about a week. I- I don’t know why you’re missing so much time, the whole Vecna thing only started like a week before that-” 

“Vecna?” Eddie interrupts to question. “What does any of this have to do with the D&D campaign I was planning? And, also, how the fuck do you know about that?” 

Harrington closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath, like having this conversation is the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. “I’m not talking about D&D, Ed. Vecna was a real-life monster from a real-life alternate dimension we called the Upside-Down. The kids only called him Vecna because we didn’t know who he was at the time and he, like, cursed people before he killed them, but he was actually Henry Creel, which is a whole other fucked up story.”

“Okay…” Eddie doesn’t know who ‘the kids’ are and he’s skeptical of the way Harrington talks so factually about monsters and dimensions and curses existing in the real world, but he does remember his uncle telling him stories about the demonic tragedy of the Creel family, which is the only thing that makes any of this even halfway believable. It still doesn’t explain how Eddie wound up in the hospital with his entire body feeling like it’d been run through a blender, though, or why the former king of Hawkin’s High was hovering over his sickbed. He gestures for Harrington to continue. 

“I never wanted you to get involved in all this Upside-Down shit,” Harrington’s voice breaks. He steps closer to Eddie’s bed again, and he looks so so sad as he stares down at him that it makes Eddie’s own heart ache, just a little bit. Harrington’s hand twitches at his side as if he means to reach out for Eddie but then thinks better of it, running the hand through his hair instead as he continues, “I tried to keep you from it for so long, I really did, but then Vecna killed Chrissy in your trailer and the whole town blamed you and you were just a part of things then, there was no getting around it. You helped us fight him - Vecna. You kept his army of bats off our ass while we weakened his body and El weakened his mind. If it weren’t for you we never would’ve defeated him and we certainly wouldn’t have all made it out alive.” Harrington’s gaze softens, as does his voice, his next words almost a whisper, “You were a hero, Eddie.” 

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Eddie says, like that’s the least plausible part of Harrington’s story. And, really, it is. He can wrap his mind around a lot of things: a murder in his trailer - sure, Forest Hills always was a shady place; the whole town accusing him of being a killer - yeah, of course, that tracks; even an evil wizard from another dimension with an army of bats - fine, okay, why the hell not. But Eddie Munson is no hero, and he’s definitely not any sort of fighter either.

“No, you never did think so, did you?” Harrington mutters with a sad sort of fondness and the barest trace of a wistful smile. “But it’s true. Dustin was in danger and you didn’t even think twice. You ran right into the fray without a second thought, sacrificed yourself so that the rest of us might survive. Those bats nearly killed you, b-” he breaks, choking on whatever word he was going to say. His eyes swim with yet more unshed tears. “I almost thought they had killed you, you know. I thought you were dead when I carried you out of the Upside-Down,” he admits shakily, choked up and barely managed, “and even when I brought you here and you were stable, I was still so scared you wouldn’t wake up…” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to react to any of that information or to such a display of emotion. His own hands twitch now with the urge to reach out and comfort him, but he too denies that instinct. He tries for humor instead, something lighter, cracking a grin and teasing, “Aw, Stevie, I didn’t know you cared.” 

Harrington makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, Ed, you have no idea.” 

“We were friends then, weren’t we?” Eddie guesses now, carefully. It’s rapidly becoming the only possible explanation for the guy’s behavior around him. “Before all the Vecna stuff?”

“Yeah,” Harrington manages, forcing a small, sad smile as his eyes finally overflow and streak his cheeks with tears. “Yeah, we were good friends.” 

~

Wayne reenters the room then with a nurse in tow, and Steve quickly turns away and rubs his hands over his face. He needs to pull himself together; he can’t break down right now, not yet, not here. 

He listens, distantly, as the nurse asks Eddie a bunch of questions and then tells the rest of them that she needs to take him in for some tests to determine the cause and prognosis of Eddie’s amnesia. He watches, numbly, as she wheels Eddie’s entire bed out of the room. 

Steve can barely hear, barely see, his emotion clouding his eyes and roaring in his ears. He stares blankly through the open doorway and struggles to swallow down the ever-rising lump in his throat. 

Wayne’s voice rumbles from somewhere beside him, but he can’t quite make out the words. “What?” 

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Wayne says, the sound reaching Steve’s ears a little clearer now. “I asked if you were alright.” 

Steve shakes his head. His voice comes out coarse and raw, “‘Course I’m not alright.” 

“Right, ‘course you’re not,” Wayne echoes. He follows Steve’s mournful gaze to the door Eddie had disappeared through. “What did you tell him?” 

“Told him he was a hero,” Steve croaks, “...and that we were good friends.”

“Ah…” Steve’s vision is so blurred behind a thick layer of tears he can’t see the sympathetic frown on the old man’s face, but he knows it’s there. “At least he’s alive, kid,” Wayne tries to be comforting. “You can always start over.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t- I don’t want to start over, I just want-” Steve chokes back a sob. He just wants Eddie.

It’s a horrible thought, but Steve almost thinks that this just might be worse than if Eddie really had died… Because how is Steve supposed to handle the fact that his boyfriend of 9 months no longer knows him? How is he supposed to cope now that the love of his life looks right at him and no longer sees him?

He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids, inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling an even shakier sigh. Steve whispers, “It feels like I’m losing him all over again.” 

(part two is here!)

(also on ao3)

[oatmilk-vampire]

Some people have their lovers as the last thing they see before they fall asleep

I have my steddie fics

[acowardinmordor]

Steve has powers, specifically of a Doesn’t Stay Dead variety. He knows theirs a limit on how many times he can come back. Let’s go with eight. Aka he has nine lives. He knows there’s a cap, and he has some kind of mark on his body that counts down. He lost one as a kid, doing something like riding his bike too fast, and crashing over a hill. Nothing nefarious, just a bad accident.

He drinks himself unconscious freshman year, and wakes up in vomit, missing a marker.

He survives the demogorgon.

Billy kills him though. So does the Russian beating.

The kids realize after Starcourt that Steve really was killed by the Russians, but don’t realize there’s a cap. It makes them feel safer if they think that Steve will always be there for him.

He doesn’t tell them that he died twice. The only reason he knows about the second is because he woke up the next day missing one of the marks. He never went to the hospital, so doesn’t know why or how, just that he’s used six of his eight chances.

Definitely drowns getting dragged through watergate, and barely revived before the others reached him. Only one left.

Eddie survives, barely. Steve learned his lesson from Starcourt and goes to the hospital, takes the antibiotics. Takes it easy, tells himself that it’s all over. So it’s fine. And he still has one spare.

Gets close with Eddie as they recover and wait on the Feds. And Eddie loves stories, knows fairytales and immediately declares that this infinite life glitch is fake. There’s no way it’s Infinite. He assumes that Steve doesn’t know that, and isn’t going to tell him. They get close enough that Eddie sees the marks on the back of Steve’s neck, sees seven faded, sees one left. He freaks out for a while. Tries to talk to Robin about it, but even she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know how to tell her this secret that doesn’t belong to him.

Steddie is not quite together, but everyone knows it’s an any day now thing. That’s when Vecna comes back.

Steve goes down protecting the kids. But he gets up a moment later. It’s the first time they ever saw it happen, and it cements Steve as the coolest dude ever. He’s invincible.

Something something, they have a plan that needs someone to take on a very dangerous bait role. Obviously, to the kids, Steve is the only possible choice. And since it doesn’t matter, Steve wouldn’t let anyone else do it anyway, there’s no reason to tell them. Either he’ll survive or he won’t.

Eddie though? Not having it. Informs the group that he’s going with Steve. No one likes this plan. Eddie has vivid, vicious scars from last time. Steve can come back to life. It’s just stupid for Eddie to risk himself.

They’re both self sacrificing idiots, and when shit goes down, they’re both determined that THEY will be the one to die and save the other.

Luckily, they cancel each other out. Neither dies during the fight, and the others find them fast enough to get them to the hospital. It’s not until Eddie wakes up from the surgical anasthesia, and frantically asks about Steve that the secret comes out. He’s drugged out of his mind, and rambles his fears and the marks and how he knows that Steve won’t survive another one.

Unluckily, the kids and Robin were clustered around Eddie’s bed - around the bed of the guy they thought was at risk of dying and staying dead, because they knew Steve would be okay no matter what - and they hear all of it.

So it’s a horrible thing as they look at the other bed in the room, at Steve, still not awake, still critical, and have to grapple with that fear, even as they try to count, and learn all the times and ways that Steve has died before. Praying that it won’t happen again

[libraryofgage]

Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Two

Part One

Have I already posted something today? Yes, yes I have but also I finally got through my block on this one hfjdks

I'll be working on Addams Family Steddie next but idk when that part might be coming out lol

anyway, as always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

---

Steve has taken over Eddie's large porcelain bathtub after it was moved to the main room of the captain's cabin. Steve is lounging in it now, a week into being on Eddie's ship, with his tail draped over the edge so he can submerge his head and breathe through his gills. It's infinitely more comfortable, even with the seaweed still wrapped along the length of his tail and reminding him of its presence with every twitch.

He sighs, bubbles rising from his gills in the "I'm beyond bored" pattern that Robin would light up at seeing. But she's not here, so Steve is left to once again turn Eddie's bat ring over in his hands, fingers brushing along the wings.

Eddie had shown him a drawing of an actual bat, and Steve still thinks they're freaks of nature. But he finds the ring itself a little endearing if only because it was Eddie's ring willingly given.

He smiles softly, the gesture only dampened by the sharp jab of worry over his guppies and Robin. They're probably losing their scales with worry themselves, scouring the sea and putting themselves at risk of being seen in their hunt for him. Steve can't even fault them, either; he would do the exact same thing if Robin or any of his guppies had been captured like that. He has done the exact same thing.

Steve sighs again, this time the bubble pattern expressing exhaustion and "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" He kind of misses having someone who actually understands what his bubble patterns mean, but he knows it wouldn't be fair to get frustrated with anyone for their inability to gain meaning from bubbles floating toward the surface.

He thinks, maybe, the worst part is being confined to the tub. Sure, it's infinitely better than the fucking bucket from the other ship, but Steve is still getting restless. He's like a guppy that's watching its siblings swim but still doesn't have the tail strength to swim itself. He feels trapped and has way too much energy with nowhere to spend it.

Steve hasn't mentioned this to Eddie, though. He'd been planning to, of course. In fact, he intended to tell Eddie that morning, but then they'd docked at some port city and Eddie had run off with the promise of being back soon. Steve had tried not to feel a little abandoned, left by himself with fucking nothing to do while Eddie prances around on land.

Before he can get too far into this line of thought (he's about three minutes from convincing himself that, really, Eddie shouldn't have left and could probably be taught the basics of bubble patterns as punishment), Eddie practically barrels into the room, vibrating with something Steve only recognizes as excitement when he sees Eddie's grin.

Steve surfaces, pushing his hair out of his eyes and leaning on the edge of the tub, twitching his tail slightly and exercising incredible control to keep from preening when Eddie's gaze lingers on it. "What happened?" he asks, slipping the bat ring onto his thumb, the only finger it fits.

Eddie drops to his knees, scooting closer to the tub until their noses are almost brushing. "I've got a surprise for you, sweetheart," he says, voice light and eager.

"Where is it?" Steve asks, returning Eddie's smile.

"It's on the deck! Do you trust me?"

For a brief moment, Steve thinks Eddie is about to throw him back into the ocean. Which, like, wouldn't be a bad thing, but Steve would be incredibly offended by the suddenness and wonder if he'd been imagining the draw between them.

But he's sure Eddie wouldn't do something like that without asking first, so he tucks it away as something only slightly possible. Steve nods and pulls back, bracing his hands on the edge of the tub before pushing himself up. He perches on the edge, his balance a little unsteady as he looks at Eddie.

Thankfully, Eddie catches on quickly. He scrambles to his feet and scoops Steve off the edge of the tub, one arm under his tail and the other wrapped around Steve's back. Steve holds onto Eddie's neck, still a little paranoid about being dropped despite Eddie's prior insistence that he wouldn't let anything happen to Steve.

"I think you're gonna love it," Eddie says, his voice soft and his breath warm against Steve's cheek.

Steve gets the urge to ask again, but he holds back as Eddie carries him up to the deck. The sky is covered in clouds, keeping the sun from blinding him when they emerge from the stairs. The deck is concerningly large for such a small crew, and Gareth is currently lounging against the mast, a hat pulled low over his eyes as he sleeps.

He's not very attention-grabbing, though. Not when there's a large...contraption in the middle of the deck. It has four wheels and is shaped like a boat, big enough for Steve to sit comfortably without his tail draping over the edge. There are cranks of some kind on the inside of the boat, and Steve realizes it's filled with water as Eddie carries him closer.

"What is this?" Steve asks, trying not to grimace at the discomfort of his scales beginning to dry out. They're starting to feel tight and itchy, a sensation he really hates, like they're going to split apart at any second.

Eddie grins wider and carefully sets Steve into the water, making sure he doesn't bump the tail or the seaweed wraps. He points at the crank to Steve's left and says, "That will make the back wheels turn. If you crank forward, you'll go forward, and back will make you go backward." He then points to the other crank by Steve's right. "This one controls the front wheels. Forward will make them turn left, and backward will make them turn right. You should be able to move around the deck with this."

Steve stares at the cranks for a moment before glancing up at Eddie. When he receives an encouraging nod in response, he slowly turns the left crank forward, lighting up when the boat does, in fact, move forward a few inches.

He's so overwhelmed with joy that he can't help the notes bubbling in his throat, rising and rising until he can't hold them back anymore. Steve doesn't even think before singing, a wordless tune that conveys just how truly happy he is, one that would leave Robin flabbergasted because she's never heard this tune before.

Because this tune is for courting gifts. Like, really fucking fantastic courting gifts. The kind of gifts that blow everything else clear out of the water and leave a merperson dazed and bubbly and floating without any direction from sheer happiness, bubbles bursting through their gills in joyous patterns.

Steve has never sung this tune before, but he's not at all surprised that Eddie is the person who managed to coax it out of him.

-----

Eddie knew the boat would be a good idea, but now he's thinking it was the best idea he's ever had and ever will. Even after hours have passed, after Steve has watched the sun drop below the water and asked Eddie to carry him back to the cabin, complaining about his arms being sore from turning cranks, Eddie is still reeling.

He's never heard a more beautiful sound. Eddie keeps replaying the tune Steve sang in his head, frustrated with his inability to recreate it just right and too flustered to ask Steve to sing it again. Because he gets the feeling it was special, something that Steve can't just do at the drop of a hat, but something he did because of Eddie.

Eddie twists his fingers in the sheet covering him, turning his head to glance at the tub where Steve is leaning against the edge. His eyes are closed, but Eddie knows he isn't sleeping yet. Steve submerges his head when he sleeps.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie whispers, almost like he doesn't want Steve to hear so the comfortable silence continues.

Steve hears him anyway, of course, the flare of fin along the edge of his ear twitching slightly. He tilts his head a bit more, squishing his cheek against his arm, and somewhat lazily says, "Yeah, Eddie?"

Eddie turns onto his side, meeting Steve's gaze. "How'd you become a caretaker?" he asks. It's not the question he actually wants to ask; he wants to ask Steve to sing again, to let him drift to sleep to beautiful notes and lingering melodies.

He watches as Steve tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax. He takes a deep breath, his gills fluttering slightly before slowly exhaling. "A while ago, my pod had an...altercation with a pod from the southern seas. They kidnapped one of the guppies, Will, and the other guppies decided to rescue him. They snuck off one night and I followed them when I discovered what happened and..."

Steve trails off, frowning as he tilts his head to look at the small window, staring at the moon through the glass. "Well, long story short, there were lots of fights, our pod lost its previous caretaker, and we gained a new guppy the southern pod had captured. After everything, I couldn't let the guppies out of my sight, and they kept coming to me and Robin whenever they had problems. So, eventually, I just convinced Robin to be my partner and raise the guppies."

There's a lot going unsaid in that explanation, but Eddie knows better than to pry right now. Steve will tell him when he wants, and if he never wants to, that's fine, too. Eddie won't fault him for that. "Did you have a job before that?" he asks.

Steve hums softly, still beautiful and soft, but not at all the melody Eddie really wants to hear. "I used to scout for the pod," he says, "I would swim ahead and make sure an area was safe or find spots to rest when the pod traveled. When we stopped for long periods, I'd help gather food for the pod."

"You like caring for the guppies more," Eddie says, and it's not at all a question.

"Yeah," Steve replies, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "The guppies are great."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, first is Dustin. He's a little sea urchin, always talking back and getting into trouble, but he's sweet. Will is usually pretty quiet, but he's got a great imagination. Mike always hangs around Will, and he's kind of a squid, but he's going through an awkward growth phase. Lucas is the most active of them, and he likes to shadow the scouters when he can. Erica is his little sister, and she doesn't let the others get away with anything. Max is daring and brash, she tends to dive head-first into stuff, but she's also really protective. El is quiet like Will, but she's really smart and really caring. They're such a handful. Robin and I never have a dull day."

His voice is trailing off toward the end, and Eddie knows he's just moments from falling asleep. "I'd like to meet them someday," Eddie says, his voice softer than before, the words spoken more to himself than Steve.

Of course, that doesn't stop Steve from hearing him anyway. He hums again, this one quieter, and groggily mumbles, "Of course you will, Eddie. That's part of the courting."

And then, like he hasn't essentially rocked Eddie's entire world, Steve slips down in the tub. He submerges his head in the water, and Eddie can hear the quiet murmur of bubbles rising to the surface and popping as Steve breathes.

Eddie stays frozen for a few minutes, staring at the tub, and suddenly wondering if, maybe, somebody somewhere happened to write a merperson courtship manual.

Tag List (there's still room, so let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense

[atimeofyourlife]

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round: bakery au rated: t | wc: 840 | cw: none | tags: pre-steddie Eddie never got involved in the upside down, he and Steve meet again a few years later in a bakery in Chicago

The bakery was Steve's pride and joy. It was something that he had accomplished and built up by himself, without the input from his parents. No financial assistance from them, no help in learning how to manage a business. It had been a lot of trial and error, and incredible support from his friends, but he had succeeded. He'd brought the small unit in Chicago using most of the hush money payment over the Upside Down. It needed a lot of work doing to it before he was ready to open it, but once it was open it just took off. Constantly selling out of most of the bakes by lunchtime each day, having to take on extra staff to keep up with demand.

After nearly two years, he had a number of very loyal regulars, the ones who would come in at the same times and same days each week, always ordering the same things. The local workers that would always come in before work or on a morning break for a sweet treat everyday. The older couples that would come in twice a week, once for a dessert for their weekly date nights, and once for treats for their grandchildren. The college students that were adamant that Steve's pastries were infinitely better than the ones they could get on campus.

But the newest regular, one his staff had nicknamed 'Mr Metal,' Steve had yet to meet. From the name, Steve assumed that he worked in the new record store that had opened across the street, but the man always managed to be in and out while Steve was still working in the kitchen, setting up the next batch for the oven or decorating what had just finished cooling.

One Friday morning, he was carrying out the boxes ready to restock the counter, when he heard the voice of Zara, one of the cashiers.

"Uh, I'm not sure. Give me a minute, I'll just have to ask the boss."

"Ask me what?" Steve asked as he rounded the counter, the stack of boxes obscuring most of his vision.

"Please tell me that those boxes have lemon cream cheese pastries and apple pie cookies in them." She replied, sounding a little stressed.

"Yeah, lemon are in the top box, apple in the bottom." Steve replied as he put the boxes down on the side, and started unstacking them. He glanced up at the customer, a vaguely familiar, handsome man, and from the long hair, piercings, and the Black Sabbath t-shirt, this had to be the Mr Metal that all the staff kept mentioning. "How many of each did you want?"

"Two of each." The man replied, staring hard at Steve.

"Uh huh." Steve worked quickly to box them up. "Are you aware of our Friday five for four offer? Five bakes for the price of four, so you could get another of your choice at no extra cost."

"I get them for me and my coworkers, theres four of us so I don't think we can split a fifth four ways without fighting over who gets what."

"I can always bag it separately, so you can slip it in your pocket. They don't have to know a thing about it." Steve offered with a wink.

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington. I'll take another apple pie cookie."

"I-" Steve looked at the man, confused. Unsure how he knew his name. "Did you go to Hawkins, then? I'm sorry, I don't think I remember you."

"You got a table round here? I could climb up and start talking about jocks and conformity." He looked Steve up and down. "Though, you don't seem to conform to the jock image any more, big boy."

It took another moment, but the name hit Steve as he was bagging the extra cookie. "Munson. Used to buy weed off you."

"I don't know if I should be honored that the king remembers me, or wounded that it took so long."

Steve rolled his eyes at the dramatics, it reminding him even more of high school. "I don't remember most people now, too many concussions."

"Shit. But now you're boss of a bakery. How life changes."

"Yeah. It only took three serious concussions, two major disasters in Hawkins, and one disownment after getting caught behind The Hideout with Matty P. But then I realized that this is what I want to be doing."

"What were you doing behind The Hideout with Matty P? Smoking weed or something? I know you never hid about that."

"We had been smoking, but at that point my mouth was, uh, otherwise occupied." Steve admitted.

"Oh, shit." Eddie choked back a laugh, then looked at his watch. "I'd love to hear more about that, but I've got to get back to work."

Steve quickly wrote his number on the bag with the extra cookie, before handing it over. "Call me sometime, maybe we could spend some time together outside of work."

"You're on, Harrington." Eddie winked at Steve, before leaving the bakery.

im not the happiest with the end of this bc it was rushed after my brain turned to mush from migraines

[myartsing]

This is my second attempt at drawing steddie and it is infinitely better! Yay!!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Congrats on 1k!!

for the ask game!

J: “dont touch me, get away from me”

in Someone who cares

hurt/comfort

book

and if I can make a special request that Eddie is the hurt party?

Thank you so much! 🥰 Always thrilled to write more about my favorite family.

Some dreams come true

Words: 954

Rated: G

Tags: Modern AU; No UD AU; Established relationship; Married Steddie; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Author Eddie; Hurt/comfort; Fluff

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares

“Eddie?” Dustin knocks on the door of the study. It’s slow and hesitant, and that alone is enough to tell Steve that the kid was not exaggerating when he called and told him to get home immediately. “It’s me. I’ve brought Dad. Please open the door?” 

There’s no answer. 

“Damn,” Steve murmurs. “What the hell happened?” 

Dustin scowls.

“No idea. He opened that package that arrived for him, and then he went all silent and weird and locked himself in there, like- … oh, do you think it’s a bomb?” 

“A what?” Steve squawks. “What the fuck, Dustin? Of course it’s not a- who’d even send us a bomb?” 

“Dunno, grandpa?” Dustin is wibbling in his spot, weirdly elated with the notion. “He must still be pretty damn pissed, right? I mean, last time you saw him, Eddie punched him in the-” 

Steve groans. “Jesus Christ, Dustin, I promise it's not a bomb. Go do your homework or whatever, I'll handle this.” 

Dustin deflates, but sulks off towards his room, grumbling under his breath. Steve sighs and turns back to the door.

“Eds? I'm not leaving, just so you know.” 

For a few seconds, everything stays silent. Then, something shuffles and footsteps approach. The lock clicks, but the door doesn't open. When Steve steps into the tiny room, Eddie is already back in his desk chair, elbows bracketed on his knees, head almost level with his hands. He's holding something. A book.

A familiar mix of feelings stirs in Steve's guts. Alarm. Worry. The overwhelming need to find out who hurt his husband and slowly tear them limb from limb.

“Eddie? What's-” 

“Don't touch me. Get away from me.” 

Eddie doesn't raise his voice. Steve catches himself wishing he had, because the quiet brokenness of the words is somehow infinitely more scary. His feet stop dead in their tracks, halfway between Eddie and the door. From where he's standing, he recognizes the book Eddie has in his hand. 

“Author's copies arrived,” Eddie says, almost as if he read his mind. His head jerks weakly at the package sitting by his feet, holding a stack of identical books, all bearing Eddie’s name on the cover. 

“But…” Steve mutters while his brain is still parsing through the situation. “But that's amazing, honey. You've been looking forward to this so long, why-” 

“I know,” Eddie groans. The book flops to the ground as he brings his hands up to cup his own face. “I was. I am. It's just that …” 

He exhales a long, shaky breath. 

“It's all real now, Stevie. It's here. And- … and next week, it's gonna be in stores, and everybody will be able to pick one up and what if it sucks? I've been dreaming of this for as long as I can think of, but that's all it was - a dream. But now … I dunno, I'm just … I'm scared.” 

“Hey,” Steve whispers, sinking to his knees to bring them face level. “Hey, look at me.” 

Eddie does, big brown eyes peering out from between long fingers. Steve chuckles, reaching for those hands to pull them down into Eddie’s lap. 

“Do you remember the pizza party?” 

Eddie blinks at him. “Huh? What are you-” 

“That was the first time I wanted to kiss you. I had only known you for a few weeks, but somehow, I was already falling in love with you.” Steve smiles, running his fingers over the familiar shape of Eddie's hands and arms, tracing the black ink of his tattoos. “I didn't do it then. Do you know why?” 

“Because Mike puked on your sofa?” 

“Yes,” Steve says automatically. Sputters. “I mean no. I mean- God, you're such an asshole.” 

Eddie’s mouth twitches. Steve sighs. 

“The reason I didn't do it,” he clarifies, “was because I was scared. Because I thought I'd rather spend a lifetime dreaming of having you than turning it into a reality and somehow messing it up. But you know what?” 

“Hm?” Eddie hums, melting into him as Steve leans in to touch their foreheads together. “What's that, love?” 

Steve smiles at the pet name, pressing a kiss to the dimple at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. 

“I'm so incredibly fucking glad we got our shit together in the end,” he says. “Because the reality of it is so much better than anything I ever could've imagined.”

“So much fucking better,” Eddie whispers against his lips, and then neither of them says anything for a while. When they pull out of the kiss, Steve presses the fallen book into Eddie’s hands. 

“This'll be fantastic,” he promises, smoothing over the wrinkle in Eddie’s brow with his lips before he can argue. “You just wait. Now, come down and help me with dinner? Dustin’s convinced you have a bomb in here.” 

Eddie snorts a laugh and stands from his chair, carefully putting the book back with the others before slipping his hand into Steve’s. “What, seriously? And here you are, wondering why I’m doubting myself. With the things that kid comes up with, he should be the author in this family, not me. A bomb, fucking hell!” 

Steve laughs softly as they make their way down the stairs. “You just wait until that book blows up and it turns out he was right.” 

“Yeah, as if,” Eddie says, but there’s no bitterness left in his voice. He smacks a noisy kiss to Steve’s temple, pulling him into the kitchen with a dorky spin and twirl. “Keep dreaming, honey.” 

He definitely will, Steve thinks as they get to work between a constant stream of bickering and kisses. His dreams have a habit of becoming true, after all, and he's no longer afraid of that. 

More celebration ficlets

[steviewashere]

Love Should Be Simple, It Should Be Kind

(also on ao3)

wc: 2,869, Steddie Tags: Post Season 4, Post-Canon, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington's Dad Is an Asshole, Fluff, Happy Ending (Full tags are on ao3, but there's no content warning).

---------

He has to break the news eventually. Steve knows this. As he looks at the plane of Eddie's bare back, flexing whenever he shifts, as it moves to accommodate him bending over to taste the pasta sauce at the stove.

Last night, Steve got off shift from Family Video, broke some minor traffic laws, and had dinner with the Munson's at their home. The excitement of not having to go home to a stale conversation over hastily put together food or a night in which he argues with his dad so fervently, that all he can do is go to his room and lock the door, food forgotten.

They do this every Friday night. And it always brings a flooding warmth to his chest.

But, this'll probably be the last time that they're going to have a late lunch, the day after an amazing dinner. Because Steve had to ruin it. Because he always ruins things. Because he had to run his mouth the morning before. And he ran away, like his dad told him not to.

Eddie turns away from the stove. His hair is pulled up. And his eyes are glowing, somehow, in the low amber light of the living space. They shine like fresh tree sap. And he has the softest smile adorning his features, forcing his smile lines by his nose to wrinkle deeper, his dimples making a faint appearance. He closes his eyes and tosses his head from side to side and chuckles. "Man," he drawls, "wasn't that movie last night amazing?" His head falls back. Features still relaxed. The line of his throat stretched, his Adam's apple ever present.

Truth be told, Steve doesn't remember the movie. Doesn't even know the title.

He was too worked up. He was afraid of what would happen if he was sent to his house.

"The way those special effects looked. Could'a told me it was real, and I'd believe—" Eddie now looks down from the ceiling. His eyes are open. Wide and bulging. Mouth forming a soft scowl. Whatever happiness, giddiness, relaxation, whatever—it's now missing. As he drinks in however Steve looks; he must taste like some cheap wine with the way Eddie's continuing to sour just at the sight. "What's wrong?" Eddie innocently asks, "Did you not like the movie?"

Steve shakes his head and sighs through his nose. Caught. He's been caught. "No," he murmurs, "it's not that." He rubs a hand over his eyebrows and leaves it there as his eyes catch on the worn tablecloth at the dining table. It has holes in places where Eddie probably picked at it. Pen stains from burst ink cartridges. A few tough crusted spots. Little scrapes in the fabric that tell Steve, People eat here. "It's not that," he whispers at the table.

He doesn't see it, but can hear Eddie pad towards the vacant dining chair just across, and plop down. As if the food doesn't even matter. As if he isn't actively cooking. As if he has all the time in the world and all the care in the world and all the sympathy in the world to listen to Steve. To listen to his...problems. All the things wrong with him. All his—

A hand settles on his free one. Eddie's fingers rubbing at veins and warm skin. "Stevie," he gently croons, "what's going on?" Those fingers are dancing over his skin they flip over the backside of his hand and they settle at the edge of his palm where it meets wrist. Steve thinks it's lovely. The way Eddie just dishes out love like it's free. Or like it's easy growing in some paradisal garden. Or like it's something infinite. Like, maybe, Steve is infinite.

He laughs. Steve laughs at that thought. At the hand on his. At Eddie's soft words. At his careful demeanor. At his failed life outside of Hawkins. At the tablecloth that shows what family should be—tastefully messy and worn from time. At his dad's silence. At himself, for asking yesterday morning, when his dad was angry and vengeful, "Did you ever love me?"

And he giggles at the absurdity. That somebody like his dad could love somebody like him. For all his failures and all his misfortunes and all his burdens—the hospital bills and spilled blood and scream-himself-hoarse nightmares. And laughs, again, at his dad's silence to the question.

Steve laughs until there are tears down his face. His hand falls away and his head is tipped back, hair brushing the top of his chair. He looks back at Eddie. And Eddie looks back, like Steve is some wild thing, like some devious thing, like some science experiment that came to life and doesn't know how to live.

He laughs even when his lip quivers and his chest tightens. And stops, finally, when the next sound is no longer jovial, but sad and pained. A sob that dug itself from miles of collateral damage in Steve's chest, rose through his throat like vomit procured from too many vodka shots, and burst open from his mouth as a hideous monster, even uglier than any of those that he's fought the last few years.

"Did you know that my dad doesn't love me?" he asks, reedy and weak. Wet and tinny. Childlike and lonely. "He doesn't love me," he says, as if he can conjure the will for his dad to speak. For the words—I love you—to fall from his mouth.

"Steve," Eddie breathes out.

"He never did. Said that I—Said that I wasn't his son," he spits. Sniffles between words. And almost becomes drunk from the sentiment of what he's admitting. "He—He wants me gone."

Eddie stands from his chair, drags it behind him, and sits impossibly closer. He places both his hands on Steve's shoulders and ducks down to look him in the eyes. And without another moment's thought, he tucks Steve into his bare chest. One arm slung over his bouncing shoulders and the other wrapped securely around his head. Protecting him, it feels like. Shielding him from the worst discovery of his life.

They don't move much at all. Just Eddie shifting his hips every now and then to accommodate the way Steve's body continues to slump downwards. And Steve's whole torso jerking with how hard he sobs. Right into bare skin, over Eddie's heart; and he isn't pulled away, isn't repositioned to make Eddie more comfortable, he just lets Steve do his thing; his heart performing an act of Kintsugi.

Because the softness of his palms meets the grittiness of Steve's hair. His cheek cushions on his skull and he doesn't complain when Steve jostles too much. He squeezes with all his might, keeping them both in the small space Eddie has created.

Because, "I love you," Eddie whispers. "It's not the same, but I love you. I love you, Steve. I love you," he continues to mutter.

At the quietest part of Steve's crying, when he whimpers and hiccups and can't move from the exhaustion, Eddie just whispers, "Be with me. Stay here."

"I can't." He pulls away, sitting up with the same amount of effort to lift a car with his bare hands. "I can't just be somebody else's burden. That wouldn't be fair to either of you."

And Eddie sighs. He takes Steve in. His bloodshot, half-lidded, glistening eyes. The splotchy skin of his cheeks. Moistened and bitten lips. His ruffled hair and slouch to his shoulders. How he picks at the skin around his thumbnails. Small. Defeated. Resigned.

Steve goes to say something when the silence stretches far too thin, but is immediately close-mouthed as soon as palms cool down his cheeks. Eddie's fingers are calloused. And thin. They barely rest. Moving to trace over an eyebrow, under an eye, the eyelid, forehead, smoothing wrinkles, hesitantly pushing in at the corners of Steve's mouth.

They lock eyes.

"Can I tell you something?" Eddie suddenly asks. Steve just hums. And Eddie takes a swift, courageous breath. "When we were in high school together, I used to spend a lot of my time just gazing at you. Not watching. Not glaring. Gazing.

"I'd see the way you shifted on your feet. Your little hand shakes when you were nervous, as if you were trying to get rid of the energy. I'd take in how tired you sometimes seemed—and I'd go to your locker and slip you a note with a little bit of cash for some coffee—"

"That was you?" Steve squawks.

Eddie chuckles. "Let me finish," he whispers. And is met with the smallest of Steve smiles, his little endearing one—not his confident or his bitchy or his won one over smile, just him being him. He sighs.

"I would overhear you talk about your dad. Sometimes to other people. Sometimes to just yourself, and I always could tell those were the toughest days. You know? You just seemed so...so sad. Restless." Eddie rubs his thumbs under Steve's eyes. "And your eyes wouldn't be as bright. I could always tell something was off. But you just went on.

"You went on believing that you were bullshit, when Nancy told you. You went on believing that you couldn't be anything more than your old self, even when you weren't the one reigning in school. You went on without your friends, graduating by the skin of your teeth, face bashed in sometimes, defeated and tired other times.

"Even when you worked at the mall. And then at Family Video. I was jealous of you, sure. But I was also worried for you. You seemed, and I know this whole thing I'm saying sounds really rude, but you seemed lifeless. Just drifting. Unbelieving that anything could stick, and if it did, not for long.

"But I—God, I just looked at you and thought, Who wouldn't love him? Because I did. I still do. And your father is just too horse shit to see what he's missing out on." He drags his hands downwards, resting them on either side of Steve's neck. "I think about if I ever got to love you, how I'd do it."

Eddie's gaze is set on Steve's. His eyes soft, thoughtful, enriching. His voice is gentle, "Like I would wake up next to you in the morning and swipe away the hair in your eyes. I'd count your moles and kiss my favorite one. I'd peck between your eyebrows and gently wake you." His fingers dot the places he mentions. Pressing long term between Steve's eyebrows.

He continues after a breath, "I would go into our kitchen and make you a cup of coffee. Teaspoon of milk, teaspoon of sugar, the way you like it. Butter some toast, fry up a piece of turkey bacon, and scramble eggs with cheese. Because you don't like French toast or pancakes for breakfast, too sweet. I'd bring you your food at the dining table. Pour you a cup of pulpless orange juice. Sit next to you and hold your free hand. I would kiss the back of it and you'd tell me something like, 'Ew, Eds. Your lips are greasy,' but your eyes would be fond.

"Send you off for work. Help cart around the party. Welcome you back home. Turn on a sports game, because you get excited and you get loud and you look younger and you become so vibrant. And I'm not gonna make fun of you for that, because you don't make fun of me when I go crazy over a new album or a new idea for one of my campaigns or when I explain all my nerdy shit to you."

"It's not shit," Steve interjects. Voice soft and enamored. So far away from what it had been just moments ago, hoarse and agitated and incredibly depressing.

Eddie just smiles and continues, "I'd wash your hair for you in the shower. Get on my knees and scrub at your skin like I was praying at an altar. Which—I know I haven't done in a while, but—I'd figure it out for you. And I would comb your hair and whisper soft things and kiss your shoulders. I'd guide you to bed after we have spaghetti for dinner. Blow you or something, I don't know. Sex isn't, like, something we need to do for me to love you.

"And afterwards, I'd clean you up again. Kiss your forehead. And tuck you under my arm. Because you're the kind of guy that wraps everybody else up, but you deserve to be wrapped every once in a while. Every night, if you'd like. Then, we'd wake up the next morning and do it all over again." Eddie sighs, rubs his thumbs in little circles over the part of Steve where his neck meets his shoulder. "I'd never get tired of that. Because I'm already halfway in love with you. And I never think about doing otherwise." He clears his throat.

"My point is, I'd love you. And also, you don't need love from shitty people. Especially when they don't make the effort to show you or even say it. I would happily do it anyway. There are so many people who'd love you better than what he could ever offer."

After all that, Steve is speechless. Can only sit and stare at Eddie. Feel his ever fidgety fingers against his skin. Hear his tiny puffs of breath, neither anxious nor frustrated. All he can do is look, take-in, digest.

But he knows how he feels.

He's been on some dangerous precept. Fall in love with Eddie, which he feels as though he's already jumped over ledge and started doing otherwise. Or fall back and let Eddie love him, however fleeting it may be. Because there's not an option where Steve is without some amount of love, in any form, when it comes to Eddie.

Him and his brash attitude. Thousands of stories. Hundreds of tiny quirks.

Like when Eddie sits on the couch and listens to any song, his fingers tapping out the bass line over his stomach. Or when he hones in on the guitar and is able to map in air where the chords would sit, as if the neck is right there in his other grip, strung across his body. There's the ting he does when writing a campaign idea; pencil resting on his chin, the eraser end running agist the jut of his lower lip. Tugging his hair over his face to hid how compliments wash over him. When he hears a slow song, something more acoustic or soft, he stands in place and just sways his hips—whereas in the car, when it's a metal tape, he's got one hand braced on the ceiling and one on the dashboard, head banging with the jump of the wind.

Eddie's offerings. Making meals. Playing certain songs. Humming when Steve has a nightmare, either over the phone or right under his ear. He acts begrudged by it, but he takes Dustin to the arcade when he asks, or Lucas to basketball practice, even Robin when she wants to go to the bookstore. Maybe it was the near death experience, but he acts first on a lot of his feelings. Apologizes more frequently, when he's done something especially dickish.

And how his love is branded from Wayne, Steve always notices. Because, though Wayne is a quiet and gentle man, he still gives what he can. Offers a space on the couch when Steve wants to join in on the football game he's watching. He hands out the beers, uncapped before he sits down. Serves guests and his nephew first, before himself. And his almost unnoticeable little thing, wrapping an arm around one of their necks, and dropping a chaste dry kiss to the top of their heads.

Steve had asked about it. Eddie just answered, "It's his way of making sure we're there."

And as Eddie hands over a plate of spaghetti, sprinkled with the amount of parmesan that Steve likes, and a cold glass of ice water—Steve finally realizes.

"Oh, you love me,' he whispers.

Eddie's head darts up from where it was looking down at his plate. And his gaze softens when it meets Steve's. "Yeah, Stevie. I love you a lot." Dimpled smile.

"And—And you want me to stay here?" Eddie nods in response. "Oh," Steve mutters. "Wow."

Steve appreciates that Eddie doesn't say anything in return. Just sets his fork down and offers out one of his hands, palm up. The other resting on the table.

He dances one of his hands over the tablecloth and gently places it in Eddie's.

Squeezes.

"I love you, too." He squeezes once more. "I'll find better words to say it."

"Not needed," Eddie murmurs, "stay here, though?"

And what is Steve to do, but nod? He'll have a hell of a time to pack up his bedroom, but at least where he's going, the meals are homemade and the lights are warm, and there's enough love to feel full. To feel, for the first time, like he doesn't have to beg for it.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | wc: 388 | tags: werewolf!steve, part of my ever growing werewolf!steve series, part 1 and part 2 | @steddiemicrofic prompt "pin")

Eddie was not a big fan of winter. Mostly because it seemed to go on forever, an infinite juxtaposition of cold and gloomy days.

He hadn't always disliked winter so much. As a little boy, he had loved it. The snow had provided him with endless entertainment, building snowmen or caves, playing hide-and-seek with his mom, or having snowball fights with his uncle. Wayne took Eddie with him when he went into the snowy woods for firewood, but never when he went hunting. Even then, Eddie hated the thought of hurting something innocent.

The animals of the forest were his friends, and his mother often remarked how strange it was that they seemed to trust Eddie in a way they did not other humans. Birds, rodents, and even larger species like deer would approach Eddie whenever he was alone, even eating out of his hands. It only strengthened his resolve to protect them as best he could, and his uncle had to promise to only hunt what they needed to survive.

His mother and he had spent many cold winter evenings in front of the fireplace, huddled together under the same thick blanket that Eddie had had for as long as he could remember. His mama would tell him stories, magical stories about men and women who could turn into wolves at will. He loved those stories, always begging her for more, and his mama always gave in. Sometimes even his Uncle Wayne would join in, adding his own stories, even if they sounded more factual than magical. His mama had been the storyteller, and Eddie had inherited that from her.

After his mom died, Eddie couldn't bring himself to love winter the way he once had. His uncle tried, Eddie knows, but it hadn't been the same since. Winter had become a time of death and loss, of loneliness and darkness.

Now, pinned under the heavy weight of his own magical wolf, the cold snow cushioning his fall as he was jumped during their own game of hide-and-seek, Eddie once again feels like that little boy.

Magic had come back into his life. It had hazel eyes, sharp teeth, and a soft heart.

As Steve licks his face, tail wagging, Eddie thinks maybe winter wasn't so bad as long as he had someone to share it with.