fuuuckwhoknows - Tumblr blog

fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

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Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

it won't go in words (but i know that it's real)

"Take a break," Steve says, stepping out of his BMW, looking up at Eddie from the dead patch of grass in front of their government-issued replacement trailer. Eddie grips the porch railing, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Steve just got here. He doesn't know if Eddie needs a break or not. It doesn't matter if he does or doesn't.

He can't. He can't stop now. He has places to be. People to see. A town to get the fuck out of, pronto.

And to do that he's gotta fucking re-learn to walk.

"No," Eddie says, and Steve tilts his head, hands finding his hips.

That look won't work on Eddie. He's not Henderson.

Eddie's been subjected to too many days of Steve Harrington showing up here, bossing him around like they're friends.

Hell, maybe they are. Eddie doesn't know. He can't worry about what Steve Harrington does, or thinks. He can't let himself. He can only fixate on one thing at a time, and right now?

He's gotta figure out how to walk again.

Gripping the wooden railing tighter, he takes another step. It's hard, and his leg shakes so bad Eddie wants to scream.

Trying for another, his thigh locks up, and he pitches forward. Steve catches him, and hauls him inside the new trailer, sitting him on the couch.

"Be still," Steve says, and Eddie scoffs.

"I can't be still. That won't gain me shit. I gotta work for it, I gotta move," Eddie answers as Steve walks to the fridge, getting him a glass of tea. Eddie can hear the ice hit the glass, the door slam. They've done this enough times, over enough days and months that he recognizes the sounds of Steve Harrington moving through his life like he belongs here.

Like he may never leave.

It's a little disconcerting.

Steve appears, pressing the glass into his hand, grabbing the other, covering it with both. It's humiliating. But Steve knows he can't always make his hands work right. Two hands are better than one, even for something as goddamn simple as holding a glass.

"I don't know, still is still moving to me," Steve says with a shrug.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Eddie asks, because he doesn't know what the fuck Steve's saying. He's not sure Steve knows what Steve's saying. Still isn't moving. Like, fundamentally. They are opposites.

Steve Harrington never makes any sense, and is constantly saying stupid shit that he only gets away with by being King Steve. It frustrates Eddie to no end.

Unfortunately, Steve isn't cowed by Eddie, or his outbursts.

"You gotta be still to heal. You're still making progress when you rest. The rest is important, too. You can't just go, go, go."

"The hell I can't!" Eddie snaps, leaning forward, slamming the glass on the coffee table. It's a little overdramatic.

But Steve doesn't jump. Doesn't even turn to look at him. The asshole.

"You're a stubborn asshole," Steve says, back to Eddie, thumbing through the tape collection on the rack near the TV. Lots of them were destroyed by the gate, taken with the trailer, but his collection has been building up again. Gifts, garage sales, his friends digging through their own collections. Making copies, handwritten labels that Eddie appreciates more than the originals.

"Yeah, well, it takes one to know one. You don't have to be here," Eddie spits, snippy. He damn well didn't ask him to come babysit him.

"Told Wayne I would be," Steve answers, still pawing through the cases. Finally pulling one out, and shoving it into the stereo. The one Steve drug over from his basement, with big box speakers, insisting none of it would be missed.

It's the nicest stereo Eddie's ever had.

Still. He hates that Wayne's in cahoots with Steve Harrington. Taking turns tending to him like he can't be alone for a second of any day. He doesn't need to be watched twenty-four hours a day.

"I'm an adult, I don't need you babysitting me."

"That implies I get paid. I'm just here out of the goodness of my heart."

Eddie knows that's bullshit. He doesn't get paid to watch the kids, and he says he's their babysitter, too.

"Maybe I want some time alone. Maybe I want to jerk off," Eddie says.

Steve does look over his shoulder at that, "Nothing's stopping you."

Eddie huffs petulantly, slumping back against the cushions.

"At least you wouldn't be trying to push yourself past your capabilities for two whole minutes if you did," Steve adds. "Go for it."

Eddie glowers at the two minute comment. "Fine, you gonna watch that, too?"

Steve smiles. Eddie can't see it, can't see his face at all, but he sees the change in his shoulders, somehow.

When Steve turns, he's grinning. Ear to ear. He braces both of his hands behind him against the heavy, stereo cabinet. Fingers gripping wood as he kicks his leg out, crossing it at the ankle, "I guess if you want me to."

Eddie hates him. Hates that Steve somehow knows how to get his goat, when that's Eddie's thing. He's supposed to be the unflappable one. The holy terror. The menace.

But he can't hold a candle to Steve Harrington, and it makes his blood boil.

He hates it, and he loves it.

Moving his hands to the button of his jeans, he has momentarily forgotten that his hands still don't work right. He fumbles with the button, one, twice, three times before he clenches his eyes shut, tight. Head hitting the cushions. Defeated. It'd taken everything he had to get them on, sick and tired of not feeling like himself in the easier to pull on sweatpants and gym shorts that Steve had stocked his dresser with.

Now he can't get them off.

Steve wins this round. Of course he does.

Eddie jumps when he hears the scraping sound, and Eddie's eyes snap open, searching. Steve's tugging the coffee table away, before kneeling at his feet. Eddie watches as Steve scoots between his legs. Eyes locked on Eddie's as his hands run up both of Eddie's thighs, fingernails scraping denim.

"Steve?" Eddie questions.

"I'll take care of you, if you just promise to sit still for an hour. Maybe two," Steve says, squeezing his thighs. It hurts the right one, just a little, but Eddie says nothing.

He feels crazy, his whole body pulled taut. Kinda like his scars feel, but all over. Steve Harrington's gonna, what? Get him off? That's absurd.

But Steve's hands slide up further, gripping both of Eddie's hips, squeezing. Pressing down.

"We got a deal?" Steve asks, looking right in his eyes, as if he's preparing to call his bluff.

Eddie nods, just a little. Still unsure if he's about to be ridiculed for agreeing to whatever Steve is playing at here.

He isn't.

Steve's hand slides over his crotch, over his hard cock, Steve's unscarred, perfectly working fingers easily opening the button of Eddie's jeans. Eddie lifts his hips, and Steve pulls them down. Tugging them all the way off, in a way that makes Eddie feel exposed.

The pink, puckered scars, standing out against skin that hasn't seen daylight in a while.

"Over or under?" Steve asks, and Eddie isn't following. His eyes are just glued to Steve's hands on his boxer-clad thighs.

Steve shifts, running the edge of his finger just under the elastic band of his boxers, asking permission.

"Under," Eddie says, finally getting what he's being asked. Steve could just work him through his boxers, if that's what Eddie wanted. Would leave room for this to just be an impersonal favor, a helping hand, nothing more.

It's more. Eddie knows it's more.

He lifts his ass and Steve tugs them down, and Eddie feels even more self-conscious. He's healing, slowly, but it's not pretty. The infection he got in his wounds made everything look, and hurt, so much worse.

Steve's hands press into his hips again, this time skin to skin, covering the carnage there. His warm palms pressing against the uneven divots where he's missing skin, and muscle, and fuck, he thinks some bone.

Hiding the tattoo that is fucked up, totally.

"It's," Eddie starts, and then can't finish. Steve knows what it is. He was there.

Has been here ever since, for some reason.

Steve nods, and then tugs his polo over his head, dropping it to the carpet. His sides are scarred, his neck, his shoulders and back. Eddie knows. He also knows they aren't nearly as bad as Eddie's ended up.

He doesn't know if it was better care, or just better luck, that made Steve come out of the other side far better off.

But he accepts it for what it is. Appreciates Steve trying to even the playing field for him, even if that's not exactly possible.

Steve gets a hand on him, and that's what Eddie expects. A handjob.

But then, Steve lowers his head.

Eddie's knee jerks, stunned as the heat of Steve's mouth envelopes the head of his cock. Tongue sliding against him.

Steve Harrington's sucking his dick, and Eddie fists both hands into Steve's hair, pulling just a little. He's never felt anything like it.

It's, fuck. Yeah. Even with Steve being tentative, as if he's unsure of what he's doing. Maybe he is. Either way, Eddie loves it. He gives it a big thumbs up.

"Oh fuck, that's good," Eddie says, and Steve smiles around his cock, then slides lower, hand wrapped around the base, clearly making sure he doesn't go too deep. Eddie won't. He'll let Steve be in total control here.

It's the best head Eddie's ever gotten.

It's the only head Eddie's ever gotten.

But that changes nothing.

Two minutes might have been an overestimate, honestly.

It feels too good, being touched in a way that isn't clinical, isn't just someone feeling sorry for him.

Steve's bobbing his head, and Eddie wishes he could last longer. Could feel this, and watch him doing it, forever.

He can't. He feels the tugging, the familiar pull, and he knows it's not gonna last much longer.

"Gonna come," Eddie says, and he expects Steve to pull off.

Steve doesn't.

There's nobody braver than Steve Harrington. That's just a fact Eddie's learned.

Eddie comes right in Steve's mouth, back arching, his tight sore muscles tensing in ways that hurt, but is balanced out by the pleasure of it all.

He groans and just feels it, rides the wave, and then lets his whole body relax.

Pulling back, lips red and shiny, cheeks flushed, Steve is searching Eddie's face, like he's about to be beat down for what he just did.

Eddie can't even walk, and even if he could. This was amazing, a gift, and Eddie's not about to turn on him for something he fucking loved. So, he stretches forward, cupping both of Steve's cheeks with his hands, and Steve's eyes slide closed.

Then, he covers Eddie's hands with his own, both of them holding Steve's cheeks.

"Be still," Steve says, opening his eyes again, "get better. Because I have plans for you, for us, if you're interested in listening to what I have to say for once."

Eddie laughs, and meets Steve's eyes, "Oh yeah, I think you've got me thoroughly convinced."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🤠

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

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Steve Harrington on a bike. Eddie, Nancy & Robin are there too.

#his fucking hair blowing in the wind #I CANTTTTT

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

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wc: 1.2K+ | rated: M | tags: Gareth POV, pre-steddie, Gareth and Jeff don't get paid enough to be Eddie's besties, talk about awkward sexual experiences a/n: no one asked but here's part two from Gareth's POV of the silly ficlet I posted yesterday. You can read part 1 here but this can be read by itself if you want.

“Was that…” Jeff does a double-take, watching as Steve’s usually perfectly combed hair flops around as he races for his Beamer parked across the street.

“God damn Eddie,” Gareth snorts, continuing on his path to their front door. “Five bucks says Eddie did something embarrassing.”

“I’m not betting against that,” Jeff scoffs.

Gareth expects to find his best friend curled up on the sofa, throwing a one-man pity party, given how fast Steve was fleeing their apartment. What he finds, instead, is Eddie hunched over the kitchen sink, groaning like he’s been kicked in the balls.

Gareth looks at Jeff; he’s no Eddie way longer than Gareth has. Maybe this is some weird Eddie ritual he’s never witnessed. The confused look on Jeff’s face says otherwise. Gareth shakes his head and approaches Eddie with caution.

“Eddie, man, uh, what are you doing?”

Eddie startles, his head whipping back so hard and so fast, Gareth’s pretty sure he’s going to give himself whiplash along. “What are you guys doing here?”

Gareth doesn’t bother answering Eddie’s stupid question, jumping straight to the point instead. “Dude, what the fuck did you do to your eye?” It’s squinted and red. Puffy in a way that resembles a black eye, but Eddie knows that ice is the best medicine for those, not flushing it out under the sink.

Eddie shakes his head, cheeks turning a pale pink color as he turns away from them. He shoves his head back under the faucet, letting the cool water run through his eyes for a moment before finally shutting the faucet off. Jeff passes Eddie a paper towel and guides him to the janky barstool they got off the side of the road years ago. Gareth probably should help, but he’s too busy trying to figure out what the fuck he’s walked into.

Steve fleeing…

Eddie’s red eye…

It’s all connected, he knows it. He just doesn’t know how.

“What happened?” Jeff tries, much less hostile than Gareth’s attempt.

Eddie groans, letting his head thunk against the kitchen counter. “If I say you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even Freak. This is blood oath levels of serious.” Jeff nods, always giving in to Eddie’s nonsense. Gareth, on the other hand, looks at him skeptically. “I’m fucking serious, Gareth. This doesn’t leave this room, or else you’ll be on the next plane back to fucking Hawkins, Indiana, and out of my will.”

Gareth snorts, “You don’t have a will. You don’t even have a fucking death napkin.”

“Gareth Emerson!” Eddie snaps.

Gareth shoots his hands up in surrender. If Eddie’s full naming him, he means business. Gareth knows better than to challenge him on this — he learned that lesson years ago.

“Okay,” Eddie says, rubbing a hand down the side of his face that isn’t hidden behind the damp paper towel. “So, Steve was here—“

“Yeah, we saw him running for the hills before we came in.”

Eddie glares at Gareth. Right, this is probably the time he should shut up.

“Steve was here,” Eddie starts again. “And we were, well, I’m going to be totally straight with you guys, we were heavily making out. There was a vibe, you know, so I slunk down on my knees and started undoing that stupid belt he always wears and—“

“Eddie, man, spare us the details, please,” Gareth gags.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Steve finished… in my eye.”

“Why the fuck was your eye near his dick?” Jeff asks, voice almost too calm for the absurd question he’s proposed.

“Yeah, man, I mean, I’ve never given a dude a blowjob before, but I’m pretty sure that’s poor technique on your part.”

“You guys are assholes, you know that,” Eddie rages, shoving himself and the chair away from the counter. He gets to his feet and flips both of them off.

“We’re just trying to understand,” Jeff says, trying his best to placate Eddie.

“It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t even get my mouth on him,” Eddie whines, then stops. His rosy face turns ashen in an instant, eyes bugging back out. “Shit, fuck, pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Huh, I didn’t peg Harrington for a two pump chump.”

“Gareth, I swear I will make sure every girl you so much as glance at hears that you have a terrible case of genital warts if you repeat this story to anyone.”

“Well, then I’ll—“

“Wait,” Jeff says, interrupting Gareth’s half-baked threat. “If Steve’s the one who…finished… then why was he running away like you scared him off?”

“I told you that guy was a fucking douchebag, but no one ever listens to Gareth.”

“Maybe it’s because you refer to yourself in the third person,” Eddie deadpans. He ignores Gareth’s outburst, focusing on Jeff instead. “His fleeing might have, uh, been my fault.”

“Did you ask him to cum in your eye?”

“No, of course not, I’m a freak but not like that!”

“Well, then, how was it your fault?” Gareth asks.

“After it happened, I yelled, ‘Oh my god, get out,’ and I think Steve took that literally,” Eddie says, rubbing his hand down his face again. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant like “oh my god,” I can’t believe I made Steve “the Hair” Harrington” cum without even touching him, not get out of my house, you know?”

Gareth is not high or drunk enough for this conversation. In fact, he’s stone-fucking-cold sober. He needs to recitfit that ASAP if he’s going to make it to the end of this conversation, so he heads straight for the fridge and grabs a bear. He doesn’t even bother with the bottle opener, opening it on the edge of the counter instead before taking a long swig.

“He’s never going to want to see me ever again,” Eddie groans, burying his face in his hands as he throws himself back down on the barstool. Jeff has to steady it to keep it from toppling over.

Gareth can’t believe he’s about to defend fucking Harrington. Jesus Christ, what is the world coming to? “Come on, man, put yourself in his shoes. He’s got this legendary reputation, right, and then he blows it—“ His choice of words gets a laugh out of Eddie, and Gareth considers that a win. “— in the span of two seconds in front of the former freak of Hawkins High? That’s pretty fucking embarrassing.”

“I thought it was hot,” Eddie admits, not even pretending to be embarrassed.

“We’re not the ones who need to hear that!” Gareth shouts, covering his ears with his hands like a petulant child.

Jeff shoots him a look. “What Gareth means is, you need to tell Steve that.”

“You think he’ll listen?”

“If he’s as good a dude as you claim he is now, then yeah,” Gareth adds.

“Alright, fine. You two have convinced me. I’ll go over there, but if this blows up in my face, you owe me beer and weed for two weeks.”

“But if it doesn’t, you can’t fuck Steve in our kitchen again.”

“Oh, we weren’t in the kitchen,” Eddie says, collecting his keys from the cookie tin they use as a catch-all bowl. “We were doing it on the couch.”

“Eddie!”

“Man, what the fuck is that’s so much worse!”

Eddie’s manic laughter carries him out the door. Gareth slinks against the kitchen counter when the door slams shut. He turns to Jeff, “We’re going to regret this, you know.”

“Five bucks says I walk in on them going at it in a week,” Jeff says.

“A week? Try three days.”

“You’re on.”

If he’s going to play fucking wingman for Steve fucking Harrington, he should at least get some money out of it.

#this made my laugh so hard

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

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that wasn’t eddie checking out steve it was joseph checking out joe the entire time

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

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don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love

Oh look, another Ethel Cain-inspired oneshot. Title from Strangers.

Also on AO3.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating/WC: Teen, 2.5k

Tags: No Upside Down, Injured Steve, Steve has bad parents, Corroded Coffin, First Meeting, pre-relationship Steddie, Runaway Steve, Eddie takes care of Steve, Implied/Referenced homophobia

Summary: Corroded Coffin is heading to their next venue when they come across an injured boy on the side of the highway. Naturally, Eddie takes him under his wing.

___

They’re in the middle of nowhere, somewhere well outside of Bloomington when they come across the man on the side of the highway.

He’s got a bag slung across his back, and he’s walking with a pained hitch in his gait.

“Hey, slow down.” Eddie slaps at Jeff’s arm, pointing out the window.

“We’re not stopping man, he could be some psycho,” Gareth grumbles from the backseat. “It’s the middle of the night, no one normal would be all the way out here.”

“He looks like he’s gonna fall over, someone’ll hit him,” Eddie says, peering out the window. “Dude, stop the van.”

Sighing, Jeff slows, steering the van into the grass in front of the man.

Eddie opens the door.

“Don’t blame me if he fucking murders you!” Gareth calls after him.

Eddie flips him the bird and steps outside.

Maybe Gareth’s right, maybe this guy’s dangerous, maybe Eddie will regret doing this, but…

He’s run away from home before, too. Years ago, before Wayne, back when his dad used to leave him for days on end with no food and no supervision.

And something about the way the man’s got a hand clutched to his ribs, his limp, the way he lowered his head and looked away when they drove past…

Something’s wrong.

And Eddie had always had a habit of collecting lost sheep.

“Hey man, you ok?” Eddie calls out, keeping some distance.

The man’s step falters. He looks up, messy bangs falling across his face. “M’fine,” he answers.

“What’re you doing out here?” Eddie persists. “Long way from anywhere.”

“Just walking.”

“Where to?”

The man shrugs. Blinks slow, sluggish. His face is in shadow.

Eddie frowns.

Something’s seriously wrong.

“Where do you live?” Eddie asks, taking a step towards him.

The man laughs. It’s a hacking, damaged sort of noise. “I dunno anymore, man.”

Cogs turn in Eddie’s head. “You ran away?”

“S’not really running if they don’t want me there, right?”

Eddie’s close enough now to the man to see the state of his face in the red glow of the van’s taillights.

It’s a mess.

There’s blood below his nose, dried on his lips and chin, one eye blackened and nearly swollen shut.

He’s not as old as Eddie first thought, either – there’s no way he’s over eighteen.

“Holy shit, you need a hospital,” Eddie blurts out, which is apparently the wrong thing to say because the boy freezes.

“No, no hospitals,” he says immediately, shaking his head, then wincing at the pain it must cause.

“Ok, ok, well…at least let me give you a ride somewhere?”

The boy glances between the van and Eddie. Jeff waves tentatively from the driver’s window.

Sensing hesitation, Eddie continues to talk, rambling away. “I’m Eddie. That’s Jeff driving, and Gareth and Freak are in the back, we’re a band, Corroded Coffin, maybe you’ve heard of us…well, probably not, actually, most people haven’t, but we’re just heading to our next venue in Chicago so we can take you in that direction?”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” the boy mumbles.

Eddie’s heart clenches. “Come with us, then? Until we figure it out?”

The boy looks ahead to the dark highway, stretching on and on into the distance. Shoulders slumping, he sighs, appearing to have made his choice.

He nods.

With every step, he winces, his hand still pressed to his ribs. Eddie tugs the back door to the van open and jerks his head at Gareth, who needs no further invitation to climb into the front seat away from the strange, beat-up boy Eddie’s found on the side of the road.

“Your chariot awaits,” Eddie says, forcing a smile as he gestures to the open door of the van.

The boy glances inside warily before stepping in, taking a seat and clutching his bag in his lap.

“What’s your name?” Eddie asks as Jeff pulls back out onto the road.

“Steve.”

Eddie nods. “How old are you, Steve?”

“Twenty-one,” he replies quickly. Too quickly.

Eddie looks closely at him for a moment, takes in big brown eyes, soft lips caked in dried blood, hands nervously gripping the strap of his bag. “How old are you really?” he asks again.

The boy sighs. “Seventeen. I’m almost eighteen, though.”

“Something happen at home, Steve?” Eddie doesn’t miss the way the boy blinks back tears.

Steve looks away, eyes running over the equipment piled up everywhere – guitar cases wedged between seats, amps stacked up in the back, Gareth’s drums squashed in wherever they could fit.

“You’re really a band?” Steve asks, voice sluggish, words stringing together.

Eddie allows the change of conversation, for now. “Yeah. What, you think I was just trying to lure you into my van?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I wasn’t. Yeah, we’re a band. So you’re getting a real behind the scenes look, lucky you. Lotta people would kill for this chance.”

“Seriously?”

“No, Steve. We’re not exactly famous, not yet anyway.”

“Oh.”

“So uh…where are we taking you?” Jeff asks from the driver’s seat.

Steve’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip, and he looks to Eddie.

“Just keep driving, man,” Eddie tells him.

Jeff raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.

Gareth lacks his tact. “What the hell happened to you?” He stares at Steve from the passenger seat.

“Nothing,” Steve mumbles.

“Yeah, sure looks it.”

“Shut up,” Eddie snaps at him, then turns back to Steve, softening. “Are you, like…dizzy or anything?”

Steve shrugs. “Kinda.”

“What about…oh shit, you’re shivering, here, lemme just get you something…” Eddie clambers towards the back of the van, leaning over Freak who’s doing his best to nap despite the stranger they’d picked up, and rifles through his bag for a hoody. After a cursory sniff, he holds it out for Steve.

“Sit down Eddie, if we crash you’ll be fucking dead,” Jeff tells him.

“Well don’t crash then,” Eddie snarks back at him, then returns his attention to Steve. “Here, careful, watch your face.” He pulls the collar of the hoody out wide, helping Steve ease it over his battered face. “Better?”

Steve nods, tucked away in Eddie’s baggy black hoody.

“Jeff, pull into the next gas station we see, ok? I’ll get Steve cleaned up in the restroom.”

“We’re gonna be late to -” Gareth starts to whine, but Eddie rolls his eyes and cuts him off.

“We won’t be late, we’ve got all fucking night and half of tomorrow to get there.”

“I don’t wanna make you guys late, you can just leave me at the gas station,” Steve croaks. The cut on his lip reopens as he talks, blood dribbling down his chin.

“Gareth’s talking shit, as usual, just ignore him sweetheart,” Eddie soothes, letting the pet name slip without really even thinking about it.

Steve’s cheeks flush, and he turns his attention out the window.

The cogs continue to turn in Eddie’s head.

“Where are you from?” Eddie tries again, wording his earlier question slightly differently.

“Hawkins,” Steve replies, glum.

The name means nothing to Eddie, but he files the information away anyway. “And…did you walk from there?”

“Uh huh.”

“But you didn’t know where you were going?”

“No. Just…away.”

“From…your parents, or…?” Eddie asks gingerly, carefully, watches the boy’s eyes mist up again.

“Yeah,” he chokes out.

“They do this to you?” Eddie’s words are soft. He inches closer to Steve, knees almost brushing.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Well…my dad. Mom just let him.”

Eddie closes his eyes for a moment, then reaches across, slow, and rests his hand on Steve’s arm. The boy flinches minutely, but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. S’not the first time, just…I think it might be the last.”

“What happened?”

“They, ah…they caught me with someone. Someone I shouldn’t have been with. My friend. And…dad, well. He did this.” Steve gestures to his face. “And then told me I had ten minutes to pack my shit and get out, he took the keys to my car from me, they paid for it so I guess it’s not really mine.”

“Your friend…” Eddie trails off, leaves the question in the air between them, thumb rubbing circles on Steve’s wrist.

It’s safe here, Steve. In this van, with us.

“Tommy,” Steve whispers, eyes downcast, freezing under Eddie’s hand, waiting.

Eddie nods. “You’re safe here, ok?”

Steve’s eyes flick to Gareth, where the man’s been giving him dubious looks from the front seat.

“Yes, even he’s safe,” Eddie says with a small smile. “He’s just grumpy as hell.”

Gareth’s expression softens. “S’all good, man,” he tells Steve.

Jeff guides the van into the parking lot of a gas station, and Eddie notices the way Steve sucks in a breath and grunts as he’s jostled by the lurching motion of the van.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Eddie says, hands hovering close as Steve stands, itching to loop an arm around his waist and help him step down from the van but he doesn’t.

At the door, he hesitates, still holding his bag.

“You can leave that there,” Eddie tells him.

Steve side-eyes Freak in the backseat. “Don’t touch my shit,” he says, with more vitriol than Eddie’s heard from him so far.

Freak raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head.

“He’ll guard it with his life, won’t you Freak?” Eddie gestures to him.

“Sure thing, man,” Freak replies.

“No one will touch your stuff, I promise,” Eddie assures Steve, and slowly the boy lowers his bag onto the seat and half-stumbles out of the van.

Eddie catches him.

A pained noise escapes Steve as Eddie keeps him upright, hand coming up to clutch his ribs again.

“Lemme go, let go,” Steve pants, and Eddie does.

But he follows close behind as they make their way slowly across the forecourt and into the restroom. The bored-looking man behind the counter barely bats an eye at them – Eddie figures he’s seen some serious shit on his night shifts before.

Eddie closes the door, locks it behind them.

Steve slumps heavily against the wall, head tipping back to rest against it.

In the harsh yellow light he looks even worse, one side of his face mottled blue and black, blood vessels burst in his left eye.

Eddie wets a wad of paper towels with warm water. “Here, just let me clean you up? Or…would you rather do it yourself?”

Steve shakes his head, and Eddie’s not entirely sure which question he’s responding to but he goes with the latter and starts to gently dab at Steve’s broken face. Steve closes his eyes and hisses.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, and there he goes again with the damn pet names but he can’t help it. Something had stirred in him the second he’d first stepped out of the van and locked eyes on this boy, something that needed to look after and protect.

They go through half the paper towel dispenser before Eddie’s satisfied he’s cleaned up his face as best he can. There’s nothing he can do about the bruising, but maybe the next town they pass through will have a drugstore or something.

Steve sways a little on his feet.

“Hey, easy, I’ve gotcha.” Eddie steadies him, hands on Steve’s shoulders. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He sticks two up in front of Steve’s face, because that’s what you’re supposed to ask in this situation, right?

“Two,” Steve mumbles, but he’s blinking blearily again. “I think.”

“Ok, good, that’s so good,” Eddie tells him, and Steve’s cheeks flush again. “Can I see your ribs?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re hurting, aren’t they?”

“Mmmm.”

“Show me?”

Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s gonna do about it, but at least he can look and see if anything’s really obviously wrong, right?

Steve’s fingers grasp at the hem of his tee below Eddie’s hoody, and he lifts it up, groan escaping his lips.

His side is painted purple and blue.

Eddie’s lips part. “Jesus H Christ,” he whispers.

“Bad?” Steve pants.

“It’s not good, Stevie.”

“I don’t think they’re broken,” Steve adds, looking down. “Just bruised.”

Eddie’s concerned as to just how Steve knows that, but he doesn’t mention it, only nods. “You’re sure you don’t want to go the hospital?”

Steve pales even further. “No, I hate them, and they’ll want to get police involved, they’ll ask too many questions and it’ll get back to my dad and I just…I just want to get away.”

“Ok. If you’re sure. But we’ll get you some ice packs or something, and some painkillers in the next town. Do you want any food? I can get you something from here.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Ok, well you at least need to drink, so I’ll grab you some water.”

“I barely have any money.”

“I’ll pay.”

“M’guessing you don’t have much money either, if your band’s shit,” Steve retorts, and there’s a hint of a smile there.

Eddie clings to that image. Wants to see more of Steve’s smiles, wants them to come easily, wants them not hidden behind split lips and bloodied teeth.

“Oh, we’re not shit, sweetheart,” Eddie replies, tongue between his teeth. “We’re just…getting started.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re kinda bitchy, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

“Come on, then, let’s grab you that water.”

“Eddie?” Steve grabs his sleeve, face serious again.

“Yeah?”

“I really don’t have anywhere to go, you know? So…I don’t want to bother you guys, hold you up or anything, but as soon as we get to Chicago I can, like, find a cheap hotel or something.”

“Good luck doing that when you’re only seventeen and beat to hell, Steve,” Eddie points out. Sure, some places will let him book a room. Somewhere seedy, somewhere dangerous, somewhere Eddie never wants to imagine this boy being.

Steve deflates, eyeing his blood-stained Nikes and the filthy restroom floor.

“You can stay with us, ok? As long as you need. I mean, the places we stay aren’t exactly the Ritz, and half the time we sleep in the van but…it’s safe. And my friends are good guys, even if Gareth didn’t give you the warmest welcome, he’ll thaw out quick.”

“Really?” Steve asks, looking up through long lashes.

Eddie’s heart thumps. “Yeah. You could be…” He snaps his fingers. “Our roadie!”

“What’s that?”

“You help carry our equipment around, set everything up, and take everything off stage after we perform.”

Steve’s face lights up. “Yeah, I could do that.”

“Then welcome to Corroded Coffin, Steve.” Eddie does a sweeping gesture, which makes Steve laugh weakly. Eddie’s heart sings. “We’re kind of a motley crew, so I think you’ll fit right in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know it.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“My pleasure, Steve.”

___

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

Text

unkissed by queer_we_are

@their-we-go

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

2,876 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington

Tags: Fluff, Kisses, Kisses on the Cheek, Kisses on the Hand, lighthearted fluff

Summary:

Eddie keeps kissing Steve—on the hand, on the head, on the cheek—and Steve is determined to find out why.

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

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fuuuckwhoknows · 2 days ago

Text

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Death Banging at His Door

"Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve doesn't have time to banter right now. His fingers are pressing hard, covered in the blood still coming out of the gaping wounds in Eddie's neck.

He's losing it fast.

Too fast.

It's bad all over, but it's his neck that Steve is most concerned about. The thing that seems most likely to kill him before they can get him out of here. Before they can get help, any kind of help. He knows sometimes people can't be saved, that every life ends in one way or another, but not like this.

Not on his watch.

Eddie lets out a ragged breath, a wet gurgle that sounds awful.

It's a death rattle.

"Hey. Listen. Stay with me," Steve tells him, "Just breathe."

Eddie nods, and Steve really needs him not to move. Nancy and Robin are rushing around, trying to figure out which gate they can get him out of. The trailer is obviously closer. But it's up in the air.

Freddie's gate is another option. The only other gate nearby, and Dustin and Nancy are arguing on how it would work, with Nancy screaming that they'll never make it there. That they don't have the time to cut through it, even if they did. That the trailer gate is already open.

Steve thinks they're chasing their tails. It's still a vertical gate, and what they really need is a horizontal one, one they can just walk Eddie through, but they aren't that lucky. They have to work with what they have.

Nancy says it's gotta be the trailer.

And if she says so, then Steve believes her.

Steve just doesn't know how they'll ever get Eddie off the ground without him bleeding out.

Dustin is limping around, screaming into the void for Erica, for Lucas, but there's no answer. They're on their own.

Getting Eddie up and then down without killing him seems an impossible task. Steve feels like he needs to be on both sides of the gate, and that's just not possible.

"It's okay, you tried. Thank you," Eddie says, and no way. No fucking way. They aren't giving up yet.

"Stop it."

"I'll love you 'til I die for trying, which seems soon. Not a big commitment," Eddie says, doing that fake flirting thing he likes to do, trying to make Steve uncomfortable. But when he grins, his teeth are covered in blood.

It's a little less effective with death banging at his door.

Steve rolls his eyes, and Eddie turns his head, which makes another rush of blood fight against the pressure Steve's applying.

"Stop moving."

"Make me," Eddie says, and he coughs, more red staining his teeth, "There's handcuffs in my room."

Steve laughs. He'd noticed.

"Now's not the time," Steve tells him, looking around, hoping that a plan is coming together. Soon.

"If not now, then when, big boy?" Eddie teases, breath catching on an awful wet wheeze, and Steve doesn't get it. What does he get out of acting like he's flirting with Steve? Does he hope to see him squirm? Steve's the one applying pressure to his gaping wounds, maybe he shouldn't be trying to scare him away.

Honestly. Steve's just confused, and a little amused, but not offended.

Steve's about to ask when Dustin's voice rings out.

"Hey!" Dustin screams from the trailer porch, "I got us some help!"

They all get a hold of Eddie, and Steve keeps the firm pressure against his neck.

"One, two, three," Robin counts, and then they lift. Eddie cries out.

They bang through the door, and there's Wayne Munson looking down at them, as if he's shocked to be seeing what he's seeing. He probably is. That's fair.

"It flips!" Steve yells, "You're looking up at us, but we're also looking up at you! Physics will change!"

"What do you know about physics?" Dustin snarks, and now is not the time.

"Henderson," Steve warns.

"Relax, I explained it already," Dustin says, and Steve can only hope that it was understood that Eddie's gonna come through fast, and hard. That he's gonna be falling.

Nancy and Robin are moving furniture, giving Steve something to stand on to make the pass through the gate easier.

Dustin goes through first, to hopefully help.

"His neck," Steve says, looking at Wayne through the gate, "Get your hands on his neck as soon as you've got him. Pressure. Lots of pressure. Okay?"

Wayne Munson nods, even if he looks terrified by the hole ripped right into the fabric of his home.

"Okay, you ready?" Steve asks Eddie, meeting Eddie's eyes.

"Meet you on the other side," Eddie says, and as Steve's lifting, shoving him through the gate, right into hands that are stretching through, Eddie goes limp in Steve's grasp.

Steve hopes that by other side he meant the other side of the gate. Not the other side of the grave.

Eddie falls, complete dead weight, taking Wayne down with him.

"Boost me up!" Steve screams, and the girls do just that. Steve swinging through the gate, landing on his feet, even if his arms and legs are shaking more than they did when they came through the first time.

He hears Robin and Nancy working to get each other through the gate, and he tosses his jacket through. It's not as long as the sheet rope, but it'll be an anchor they can work with to pull themselves up and out.

"Eddie, c'mon now," Wayne is demanding, patting him on the cheek with his free hand, and Steve knows they need to get to a vehicle, to the hospital. Now. He drops to his knees, pressing his ear to Eddie's chest.

Still breathing. Heart still beating.

By the time Wayne and him have Eddie loaded in the back of Wayne's pickup, Dustin is limping into the cab of the truck, and Robin and Nancy are crawling in the back of the pickup to help Steve with Eddie.

Steve pounds his fists against the cab, the metal clanging, "Let's go!"

He keeps applying the pressure, but Eddie's not moving. Not teasing. Not flirting. Not anything. Just breathing shallow, ragged breaths, with a pulse Steve can hardly feel anymore.

Moving him may have been too much.

They might have been too late.

It might have been too bad.

Steve leans down, pressing his nose into Eddie's bloody hair. He's not sure Eddie can hear him; is pretty sure he can't. But he wants to tell him anyway. He wasn't supposed to be a hero. He'd promised.

But he did what he thought he needed to do to save Henderson, and Steve knows he'd have done the same damn thing. He can't fault him for that.

He's thankful for it.

"Everything you gave," Steve says, and he's crying. He can feel his eyes burning, and he's pretty sure it's not just sweat now. They're so close, yet so far.

The hospital food actually is bad, it's not just getting an unfair bad rap, and Steve pushes it around the plastic tray with his fork. They released him a week ago, but here he still sits, acting as a guard dog in Eddie's room. Keeping out the press and the town assholes.

Anybody with ill intention has wilted when they've seen Steve sitting there, arms crossed. It has worked as needed.

So, here he sits when Wayne can't. Or Henderson. Or Eddie's other friends. Guys he doesn't really know, and who definitely don't like or trust him. They only tolerate him because Wayne said to play nice.

Steve knows he needs a shower. His hair is greasy, and as soon as somebody else turns up, he'll take care of it.

He stirs the peas, and they are an unappetizing shade of muted green. Shower, and real food, in that order.

"Is Steve Harrington too good for Salisbury steak?"

Steve's head pops up at the sound of Eddie's voice. It's scratchy and low, barely above a whisper, but it's the best sound Steve's heard in forever.

"You're awake."

"Looks like," Eddie says, struggling to sit up.

Steve puts down his plate, and moves to help him. Adjusting the bed, raising it up, sorting the pillows behind his head. He should call the nurse's station. Let them know that Eddie's finally come around.

That they were wrong, just like he knew they'd be.

Eddie's hands find his neck, and it's still bandaged.

"You're okay," Steve says, and he's not sure that's totally true. But he is alive, and awake. That's more than anyone thought Eddie'd be, honestly. "You're okay, right?"

Eddie nods. Good. That's good.

"C'mere," Eddie says.

And Steve leans closer.

"Closer," Eddie demands. Steve moves closer.

"Did I say that I want you?" Eddie asks, "If I didn't, I'm a fool."

Steve rolls his eyes. Right back to teasing. Well, that's a good sign Steve supposes, "Good to see you're back to form, Munson."

Eddie shakes his head. He isn't grinning, or goading, not like Steve would have expected. He looks serious for once. Just staring at Steve. It's an odd look.

"What? Do I have something on my face? Gravy?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"Thanks for the save, Harrington. I didn't think I was getting out of that one."

Steve just shrugs. It's no big deal. He did what he could and they got lucky. That's all.

Eddie opens his mouth, and Steve isn't sure what's coming next, can't predict Eddie Munson, nobody can.

But the room explodes with voices, and Steve takes an instinctive step towards the noise. It's just Eddie's friends.

"He's awake! And you didn't call?!" Gareth snaps, and Steve wants to wring his little neck.

"Just happened," Eddie answers, and Steve moves aside. Letting Gareth and Jeff and Goodie all crowd around Eddie's bed. He'll stop by the nurse's station. Let them know Eddie's awake, and then he'll go get that shower and something to eat.

His job here is done. Eddie's actual friends can take it from here, he supposes. Eddie's awake, so he's no longer needed.

Steve's nearly to the door when he hears Eddie's voice, "Harrington. I held up my end. We're on the other side. Does that come with pizza or something? When you come back?"

Steve smiles to himself, then turns back, "What? Is Eddie Munson too good for Salisbury steak?"

Eddie laughs. It's rough, and scratchy, but sounds fantastic.

Yeah. He can bring a pizza when he comes back.

Steve walks back to the bed, and squeezes Eddie's foot through the blanket, "What kind of pizza do you want?"

Eddie's nearly drowned out by the others not being shy about giving their own suggestions, Gareth and Goodie fighting over the inclusion of mushrooms.

Steve tunes them out. He doesn't care what they want. He cares what Eddie wants.

"You pick," Eddie says, and Steve squeezes his foot one more time, then nods.

"Be back soon," Steve assures, and Eddie's eyes are locked on him.

"Counting on it."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🤠

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