#ficlet: listen

[elvensorceress]

listen

buck/eddie | rated: T | 3.5K | ao3 

Death isn’t usually loud. 

The things around it can be. Gunshots. Bombs. The screaming. Buildings collapsing. Wells collapsing. 

Thunder. 

But death itself is quiet. Final words, final breath, last goodbye, everything ending fading disappearing. 

He’s seen plenty of death. He’s watched someone he once loved more than anything die right in front of him, her body too broken to function any longer. 

He’s had panic attacks and breakdowns, and he’s been devastated and terrified, and he’s been certain with absolute clarity that he was in his own final moments. 

None of it feels like this. 

The others are loud. Frantic. Buck told him there are glass doors and they aren’t supposed to go beyond them, that he was taught they weren’t supposed to. But Buck has always been one to break all the rules. 

His sister is here. With their team, their family. Everyone is here now. There’s nothing more they can do but wait. But they’re loud anyway. They’re worried, crying, praying. 

Maybe he should be praying. 

Eddie often stays quiet, see. He’s not a man of many words. The ones he does say— he’d like to think he chooses them well. He’d like to think they have meaning and impact. Even if it’s just silly, playful, nonsensical, teasing. 

He hasn’t said enough words. 

He knew it when he was bleeding and dying and staring frozen at the man who was his only wish when he knew he would get nothing else from this life. He wanted Buck’s arms around him when he died. That was all he wanted. All he could possibly ask for at the end. 

Buck isn’t in his arms. He can’t die because Eddie couldn’t hold him. He can’t die because Eddie needs him and can’t reach him. He can never reach. Buck was tethered to life by a single safety line. 

Maybe Eddie is, too. Because he’s quiet now. He can inhale, and exhale, and somewhere his heart is still beating. He’s still alive somewhere. Eddie can feel it like the magnitude of an ocean cut down to a single wave. But the wave is still washing through him. It’s still pulsing in his chest. 

His hands are trembling. In a way they never do. He’s steady and level. Expertly trainedbrainwashedtaught not to react in situations like this. Maybe his body doesn’t remember. Maybe it never knew exactly how to react to death, to a life with Ana, to his son’s fear, to losing everyone he served with. 

It doesn’t know how to react to Buck. 

It never has. 

His blood pours and it covers him. His skin craves but it burns, too. His hands ache to comfort, support, caress, feel. His body wants to feel. His whole entire being wants to feel. And then he thinks about the hand that pulled him from death being the thing that molds to his own flesh muscle bones and brings him back to life. He thinks of the way a smile lights up Buck’s whole face and how his mouth would feel, how his lips would feel pressed to Eddie’s. 

People say love can be physical through touch. Through embraces and kisses and reminders of connection. Through the heat of friction, the taste of someone else’s breath, the fluids of the body, the shared need and wash of happy chemicals that trigger pleasure. 

He never really thinks about the physicality of love. Not in that way. Eddie thinks of how he’d break and bleed and sacrifice and take any pain, any recovery to keep him safe. To keep him alive. 

How it’s reciprocal, synchronized. His heart beats a matching rhythm. The contraction, the release, the rushing, the flooding. 

It’s the only thing that’s loud. It’s the only thing he can hear. 

He’s alone. Somewhere in a hospital. Because Buck is in this hospital. But his heart is still beating. It hasn’t been strangled. It hasn’t been shocked out of synchronicity. 

When they tell him he’s sleeping, he’s knows it’s not really sleeping. 

He’s very still and pale. Pink lips are blue and pink skin is purple. But he breathes. 

Eddie rests a hand on his chest and he can feel it. The slow movement of air, the oxygen that will keep his body alive. The beat of his own heart echoing within Buck’s chest. It’s loud and it should be. Nothing should ever be quiet again. 

There are words he needs to say. He’s screamed all of them in a desperate exclamation, in his chosen name, but Eddie needs to scream them all over again. 

He needs the whole universe to listen. And give him back. 

(read ch 2 on ao3)

[artiststarme]

Steve and Eddie have a fight and give each other the silent treatment for eight days. Within the week, Eddie is arrested on a multitude of bullshit charges and Uncle Wayne has to pick him up from the sheriff’s department every other day, each time progressively more confused and exasperated. Who the fuck could get arrested for disturbing the peace four times in the same week and why was it apparently Eddie?

Eddie has no idea what he did to warrant all the arrests and assumes that Officer Callahan is on some sort of weird power-trip for that entire week. He doesn’t notice that it stops as soon as he makes up with Steve.

It’s only when he sees Officer Callahan, Officer Asshole as he lovingly refers to him, at Steve’s Christmas dinner that he discovers that they’re brothers. In hindsight, it makes all of Callahan’s hatred make a lot more sense.

Even after he finds out though, Phil still arrests him for various charges whenever he hears that Eddie pissed off Steve. Disturbing the peace, gross negligence, making Phil’s life harder; all reasons that Eddie has been arrested for but never charged with. And yet, the Munson idiot that Phil’s brother is in love with hasn’t yet learned his lesson. Luckily for him, Phil will keep it up until he does.

[steddielations]

Eddie’s having lunch with Wayne at a restaurant, but he’s distracted while swiping through Tinder, getting hung up on this one guy.

He's unfairly attractive, Steve, 20, a total jock with too many shirtless pictures that Eddie won't admit make him blush down at his phone. There's also pics of 'Steve' with a cute service dog, which is always a plus. His bio actually makes Eddie snort, 'Yeah I'm a single dad of seven, don't cream your pants,' it's funny, confident in a charming way. He's hot, but still looks like a sweetheart in group photos with his friends at Pride, so it all balances out, gives him substance.

But, the last few times Eddie swiped right, he didn't get any matches. He already knows the guy is out of his league and he doesn’t want to bother anymore.

Wayne catches him moping, and as pathetic as it is to involve his uncle in his nonexistent lovelife, he shows him the pictures. Wayne totally disagrees that 'Steve' is too good a catch for Eddie, but Eddie brushes it off as Wayne buttering him up like any good parent would. Then Wayne pulls the Ultimate Supportive Dad move and completely humiliates Eddie by asking the guy sitting alone at the table next to theirs to weigh in.

“Help me out and tell my nephew that this boy here on the Tinder ain't outta his league, would you?"

Eddie's mortified by his Uncle's lack of social media knowledge and the fact that he's involving a stranger in Eddie's pathetic lovelife now too. He doesn't even get a good look at the guy, wearing a hat and sunglasses and besides, Eddie's just glaring at his uncle with his cheeks burning the entire time.

"I think you should listen to your uncle. If anything, you're out of this guy's league, it's his loss if he didn't already swipe right on you," the stranger says, making Eddie's blush spread, "I mean, he seems totally full of himself with all those shirtless pics, right?"

"I would be too if I was that hot," Eddie mutters, taking his phone back, "Fine, I'm almost embarrassed to death, I might as well just swipe right, get rejected and finish the job."

Eddie swipes the screen and he almost drops it when the little notification bell for a new match goes off.

Because it didn't come from his phone.

He looks up as the stranger checks his own phone, taking off his hat and sliding his sunglasses up, revealing the same perfect hair and pretty face that Eddie just swiped right on.

“See there," Wayne is oblivious while Eddie's close to bursting into actual fucking flames from embarrassment, "Told you I was right."

"Look at that, I just got a new match too," Steve says, winking at Eddie, "I have a good feeling about this one."

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie, two weeks after getting with Steve, coupled with erratic hand gestures: Okay, so like imagine that your highschool prom king saves your life right? Like full on drags you from hell whilst on the brink of death. And then he helps you beat a murder charge with his connection to a dirty cop. And then he like, sticks around. Like playing full on nursemaid free of charge. And now you got the basketball starter, certified heart throb at your beck and call. And it turns out he’s sweet, and funny, and even prettier up close. Like, how do you not fall in love with that? And then imagine that you do, and some fucking how he loves you back. And your first kiss makes you feel like your dying and getting reborn all over again. Just insane shit. And you expect me not to talk about it? Like this will not be the only thing I am capable of discussing for the next ten years?

Dustin, head in his hands, wishing for death: All I asked was if you could pass the salt.

[starrystevie]

thinking about steve as a radio show host. he's pretty, clean cut, charming with the guests and surprisingly invested in the interviews he does with them. he listens to all of their albums no matter what and uses it as a way to expand his music taste and loves breaking down his favorites with the artists themselves. he's a beloved household name from his radio show to his talk show to his product endorsements and he's known as one of the nicer celebrities out there.

thinking about steve being out and proud, dating whoever he wants, whenever he wants, and not shying away from the publicity it gets him. he waves at the cameras that are flashing as he leaves clubs with someone new on his arm, smiles at the people who stare when he walks down the street holding hands with a new boyfriend, laughs along with the interviewers when he has a girlfriend the following week for a red carpet event.

thinking about steve going to work one day after staying up all night to listen to this new metal band on the scene trying to bring back "real rock and roll" as their lead singer puts it. he has a latte in one hand, corroded coffin cd booklet with annotated sticky notes poking out between the pages in the other as he slams open the door. he jumps when he finds the band already in the studio, the back of a curly head he almost recognizes sitting in his chair.

thinking about steve dropping his overpriced latte on the carpet when he realizes just who is sitting in his chair. his mind flashes back to months ago where he met some rockstar in some club who had a fiery smirk and wonderfully smart fingers. he still has the shirt the guy left behind at his place in the back of a drawer as a memento from a very successful one night stand that he tried to find again for weeks.

thinking about steve wrapping up the interview as easily as he can while staring at the singer who still pops up in his dreams late a night. he's out of his chair the second he can be and excuses himself to the bathroom with a not so subtle nod for a certain member to follow and counts the tiles in the ceiling as he waits for him to show up. he grins all wide and cat like when the door opens and pulls him into the stall to get his hands on him as fast as he can.

thinking about steve getting eddie munson's phone number as he buttons his pants up, both of them breathless and sated as they lean against the stall door. he learns he loves the taste of eddie's smile even more in the day time and makes a promise to himself to call him as soon as he gets home. he's not going to let him get away again, he still has a shirt to return after all.

[pyjamacryptid]

I’m not sure how I got here but I’ve been thinking about the intimacy and devotion of washing another’s hair, the hair of someone you care for (how unconditional a gesture it is) and I then thought of Merlin doing it for Arthur.

It’s not in the job description (a lot of what Merlin does for Arthur is not in the job description) and it’s unlikely something that started his first day as Arthur’s servant. Nor the second or the 20th or by the 6th month. Arthur may be a prince, a prattish one at that, but when it comes to his baths he only expects of Merlin what he expects of any manservant - call for the tub, draw the water, lay out a towel, place fresh clothes close by and so on. But, naturally, he’s also a prince that commands the knights and with training comes injuries. Perhaps an arm was dislocated and he’s on strict orders from Gaius not to utilise it, and definitely not to reach above his head. Later that same day Arthur sits in the bath and realises too late he can’t tend to his own hair. But he doesn’t call Merlin over from where he’s making the bed. He tries to do it himself. He’s still got one working arm, after all.

Arthur only knows how to command things be done. He doesn’t know how to ask for things. He doesn’t yet know that asking isn’t weakness.

But he can’t hide his struggling from Merlin, who’s more mother hen than manservant.

“Here, let me,” he says, suddenly behind Arthur, “before you lose all the bathwater and your arm, both.”

“I don’t need your help, Merlin.”

“Of course not, sire. Now, pass me the hair oil.”

“Excuse me, who is it that gives the orders here?”

“You, sire. The hair oil.”

“…”

“Thank you. Right, hold still. I said hold still—“

After, Arthur will wonder why he ever thought Merlin would be anything but gentle. After, Arthur will wonder when his eyes closed and why they feel a little wet, especially as Merlin took great care to catch anything before it fell in Arthur’s face.

Over time, a stool begins to sit beside the bath, whenever it’s drawn. Over time, Arthur will notice Merlin’s fingers never grow any less gentle (even when he knows his manservant is angry with him). Over time, Arthur will want to ask why Merlin added washing his hair to his list of jobs indefinitely, long after his arm healed, but is afraid he’ll only prompt Merlin to stop because it’s not a job at all. Over time, Arthur will wonder what oils Merlin uses on his own hair, if he has access to hair oil at all, and how his cropped hair might feel to touch.

[yournowheregirl]

thinking about italian steve today

thinking about steve, who loves to cook and wants to get better at it, so he starts digging through the many, many cabinets in the harrington home until he finds an old recipe book written by his great-grandma. it’s filled with recipes he remembers his mom and nonna making when he was little, only problem is that it’s all written in italian

thinking about robin offering to translate it for him but instead, steve asks her to help him learn the language instead. it’s hard at first - the language is so different from what he’s used to - but robin is patient (surprisingly so) and helps him with the pronunciation and sentence structures until it gets easier and easier.

thinking about steve finally getting the hang of the language and inviting everyone over for a big italian dinner once he translates his great-grandma’s recipe book and basking in everyone’s praise and incessant begging to bring his tiramisu to every hellfire meeting and movie night from now on.

thinking about steve and robin taking advantage of speaking a language no one else knows to talk shit about everyone behind their backs. they bitch all about that one guy who takes forever choosing between two very similar movies at family video. they whisper about robin’s love life, for once not being scared of someone overhearing them. they joke about the party being little shits whenever steve so graciously drives them around town. this, of course, drives dustin nuts - he can’t handle not being in the know about everything that happens around him - which only makes steve and robin cackle even louder.

thinking about eddie somehow never catching steve speaking italian until he shows up unannounced at the harrington home one day (steve had given all of them spare keys to use whenever they needed). eddie’s daydreaming as he walks into the foyer but he stops dead in his tracks when he hears steve talking on the phone. in rapid italian. he stays there, flushed and frozen in the middle of the foyer, until he hears steve laughing and saying a quick “ciao nonna, ti voglio bene” and he has to scramble himself together to look somewhat presentable. steve goes to greet eddie but all eddie can blurt out is “what the fuck was that” as he tries to get his brain back online. steve just shrugs and replies “italian. you want a beer?”

thinking about steve noticing how flustered eddie seems to get whenever he speaks italian and using this to his advantage since eddie’s been having the upper hand in this whole will-they-won’t-they-situation they’ve got going on for the past few months.

thinking about eddie just melting into a puddle of goo whenever steve casually speaks italian and not knowing that steve’s just talking about the weather today or that he’s actually joking about loving eddie’s twenty-minute monologue about the history of metal.

thinking of steve becoming a little more brave every time and starting to slip little compliments in here and there because he’s still too chicken to confess his feelings in english. one time it’s a casual “tesoro mio” when eddie brings him lunch and another time it’s a “sono pazzo di te” when eddie makes him laugh so hard his stomach hurts. one day, when he’s feeling particularly confident and eddie’s looking particularly gorgeous, he leans over the counter at family video and plays with one of eddie’s stray curls as he tells him “mi sono perso nei tuoi occhi”. the rush of seeing eddie’s face turn bright pink stays with steve for the rest of that day.

thinking about eddie falling asleep against steve’s side on the couch one night and steve feel so warm and happy inside, that he whispers a soft “mi sono innamorato di te" against eddie’s hair. that particular phrase - i’m in love with you - had been buzzing inside his brain for weeks now but he couldn’t get himself to say it out loud. it’s too obvious, too revealing. but he figures it’s safe now that eddie’s softly snoring beside him.

thinking about eddie suddenly jumping up, wide-eyed and frantic, his voice a few octaves higher than usual as he says “wait, you’re in love with me?”

special thanks to @legitcookie @sidekick-hero & @cheatghost for cheering me on about this silly little idea. the things steve says in italian are as follows (my apologies to the actual italians, i tried my best!): - ciao nonna, ti voglio bene - bye grandma, i love you (familial) - tesoro mio - my darling - sono pazzo di te - i’m crazy about you - mi sono perso nei tuoi occhi - i’m lost in your eyes

[gayhoediaz]

“It’s too late,” Eddie says - a look on his face so simultaneously soft and heartbroken that Buck can feel his own shatter right along with it. “I blew it - I should have been… more… brave. When I told you about the will, or when you asked about the shooting - or any time in between - or since, and I wasn’t-“

“It’s not your fault-“ Buck tries, throat thick as he clutches a hand into a fist to keep from reaching out.

“Maybe,” Eddie admits, shrugging, gently adjusting Buck’s bowtie. The faint brush of his index finger against his pulse point feels like a lit match. “But it’s not yours, either - maybe it’s just… timing.”

“Eddie…” Buck breathes. feeling a tear escape his waterline.

“Tommy’s a good guy. He’s nice to you, right? Treats you well?”

“Uh…” Buck clears his throat, looking down at his naked ring finger - the one soon to be adorned with a golden band. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Then everything worked out.”

[daffi-990]

What if …

Buck and Eddie got together days before the lightning strike and hadn’t told anyone yet (not even Chris), and when Buck wakes up he’s fine .. except he doesn’t remember that he and Eddie finally kissed and had the talk and promised each other forever.

But Eddie remembers.

Eddie remembers but Buck doesn’t and Eddie just .. he just doesn’t tell him. He’s scared and has all these feelings about the lightening and the memory loss and he talks it all out with Frank for weeks and when he’s finally ready to talk to Buck about it .. the graveyard scene happens.

So Eddie stays quiet and tries to move on. He tries with Marisol but his heart isn’t in it and so they break up and he decides to not date. To be alone because he loves Buck and will always love him. He’s his forever, even if he can’t have him the way he wants .. the way he briefly got a taste of.

And Buck is dating Natalia and things are .. fine. They get a couch and she stays over every now and then and things are fine. Except they’re not because something feels like it’s missing, and Eddie has this sadness in his eyes and Buck doesn’t know what’s wrong, and of course Eddie doesn’t want to talk about it.

And then one day Buck just remembers. He remembers everything and oh my god how could he forget?! How could he forget what Eddie tastes like? The way his eyes shone with tears of utter happiness and joy after their first kiss, their first “I love you”. How could he forget?

Cue Buck knocking on the Diaz front door at 11pm on a random Tuesday and of course it’s raining and Eddie opens the door and he looks tired but so soft and warm and like home and he says “Buck?” and Buck just starts crying.

“I remember”

And then they’re kissing and holding each other and crying but it’s okay. It’s better than okay because Buck remembers and he’s here. He’s home.

EDIT

I ended up writing this and it’s now a fully completed fic on AO3.

You can read it here 💛

[writer-in-theory]

A Cat Named Eddie — part one

part one part two part three

--

Steve didn't mean to adopt a cat.

The little guy was sitting on the back patio by the pool, just staring. He was a black cat, perched on the ledge of the pool.

"Where did you come from?" Steve asked when the cat didn't spook. It just watched him, head tilting to the side a little when he got closer. There was no collar on it, nothing to signify that he belonged to anyone. He was dirty enough to suggest he was a stray and too thin around his middle. "Do you have anyone to take care of you?"

The cat blinked.

"Yeah, me either," Steve chuckled gently, reaching out to pet his head. The cat was apprehensive at first, pulling his head back and staring at Steve with wide yellow eyes. "Right, we gotta get to know each other first. Well come on, it's warmer inside, and I have food."

Steve wasn't sure if the cat would listen, but he seemed okay enough with the idea to follow Steve inside the house after all. He stayed close by Steve's ankles, not quite touching. "Food, food," Steve hissed, beginning to open up every cabinet for something that might be cat-friendly. "Oh! Cats eat fish, right? You want some tuna?"

Another blink.

"That looks like a yes to me, big guy," Steve laughed, decided to plate up a portion of a can of tuna.

The cat dug in immediately, even being so enthusiastic about the food that he let Steve sit down beside him and pet along his back. After the food was gone, the cat walked over and plopped down on the ground beside Steve, paw reaching out to grab onto his hand.

"Oh, more love?" Steve obliged, scratching at the cat's ear until he heard a gentle purr coming from it. "See, it's not so bad. You can trust me."

This was silly. What he should be doing is taking it to the nearest shelter, letting them know that it was sitting outside without any sign of belonging to anyone. He shouldn't be feeding it, petting it, oh, letting its sweet little head rest on his thigh while it slept—

"Guess I better get some supplies tomorrow, huh? You wanna stick around here?" Steve sighed, a smile worming its way onto his face as the cat relaxed against him. "You can stay. We'll take care of each other. Now you just need a name."

--

Eddie's pretty sure he's going crazy.

It starts with pretty innocuous questions from the kids when Steve comes to pick them up from D&D night. "Hey, how's Eddie doing?" Max asked when Steve got out of his car, standing by the open driver's side door as if to signal he needed to take off quickly.

It's odd that Max would ask Steve that when Eddie was standing right there, but he doesn't question it.

"Steve! Is Eddie settling in okay?" That's Dustin. It's been weird after the Upside Down, having been cleared of the murder charges but still not welcomed back into the hearts of the Hawkins people (though he's not sure he ever really had a spot there to begin with). It's nice for the kids to be worried about him, but again, Steve Harrington doesn't really seem like the most knowledgeable party in the room. Sometimes, though, it's easier not to ask questions and go with it, especially with this band of hooligans.

"Did you see Steve with Eddie yesterday? He was dancing around with him, it was the sweetest thing."

Eddie didn't know if Nancy saw something that he didn't, but he's fairly certain he did not get to dance with Steve yesterday. The thought alone had him curling a bit of his hair around his finger, eyes staring at the table distractedly. The thought of having that strong body pressed against his, so close he could feel Steve's heart beating as quickly as his own, hands wrapped up in each other as they swung to whatever gentle music Steve liked to play when everyone was around.

He wished.

But it's the day he walks into Family Video and overhears Robin's conversation with Steve that does it.

"Have you gotten Eddie to sit in your lap yet?"

What.

Eddie ducks behind one of the shelves before they can see him, determined to hear what Steve has to say about it. He wouldn't call it eavesdropping, per say, especially since the conversation is about him. He has a right to hear!

"No, he'll always sit right next to me instead," Steve sighs dramatically, and Eddie can practically envision the way Steve must be draped over the center counter. "I tried to pick him up yesterday and the little fucker bit me."

Now there's a thought. Eddie could think of a few things he'd like to bite o—

"But he did sleep in bed with me! Slept right on my chest until I fell asleep. I call that progress."

Now that's just cruel. Did Steve know how many nights he'd idly thought about the same thing? How many times he'd laid on his thin pillow and wished it was Steve's fucking ex-jock pecs holding him up? Was it all some joke, a way to tease Eddie after finding out about his crush on him?

Shit, that was it. Steve wouldn't do that, right?

Except.

Except Eddie can vividly remember the day when Carol Perkins and Tommy Hagan got together, and Steve had been so relentless in his teasing that even Eddie felt some amount of sympathy for the pair. That ended the second the two turned their anger toward the freaks and geeks of the school, of course, but it had existed for a brief moment if only because of Steve Harrington's ability to hurt when he wanted to.

Well two could play at that game. If Steve thought this was funny, spreading rumors and rubbing it in Eddie's face that he couldn't have him, well, he'd show him just what he was missing.

Eddie's heart races as he grabs the nearest movie case, sidling up to the counter and trying to act like he wasn't bothered by anything he'd heard.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie smirks, dropping the case onto the counter in a move that he hopes screamed cool, cool, cool.

Steve raises an eyebrow, grabbing the movie and beginning to process of letting him rent it. "Can't Buy Me Love? Didn't think you were the RomCom kind of guy."

"I'm not," Eddie laughs. This could not be more perfect. He hasn't seen the movie, but he's overheard Nancy telling the plot of it to Robin in an attempt to get a date out of her. The universe must be on his side for once, urging him to remind Steve that he wasn't the only person who knew how to hurt. "My date insisted. I don't really get it though. Why Dempsey would give up everything for the pretty popular one is above me."

"It's a cheesy movie, but the plot has some p—"

"I mean they're all the same anyway. Perfect little airheads using daddy's money to make friends. Sure Amanda Peterson's character has the looks, but what else does she have, really?"

Steve stands stock-still, hazel eyes focused intently on the movie case. He seems so unbothered by the whole thing, carrying on with grabbing the cash Eddie'd slid over the counter.

"I mean, she's a perfect representation of all those sporty types, isn't she? She expects any freak out there to just want her because she's cool, like we can't all see right through the bullshit." That one felt like shards on Eddie's tongue, remembering the night Steve had told him about the Halloween party, about the public humiliation he's suffered and all the heartbreak that came after. Still, nothing could hurt quite so bad as hearing Steve mocking him, telling everyone they knew that Eddie was doing all of these things he could only dream of doing. It was a sick joke, one that deserved only the best retaliation.

Eddie could only relish in the shocked look on Steve's face, one he's sure matched his own when he heard Eddie and lap in the same sentence. "I'm sure it'll still be a decent movie though," Eddie finishes with a little smile, picking the case back up.

Steve hadn't stopped staring. His lips finally close back together, eyebrows drawn tightly as he considers Eddie. "Have a fun date then, Munson," Steve says, and Eddie nods his agreeance.

"Have a fun night too, Harrington."

He doesn't stop at Robin's loud shout of indignation. He doesn't stop for anything, continuing to his van until he can no longer see Steve's face.

--

( i'm so sorry part two coming soon )

[starry-bi-sky]

realizing i have. a lot of untapped trauma potential for clone^2 danny because i just Fully Processed Four Months Late the fact that his parents were capturing and torturing ghosts in the basement before he became Phantom. and the fact that he was on house rest for 2 weeks. during that time period. and he wasn't really leaving the house. he could hear their screaming through the floorboards

*points at clone danny* i can give you suuuuuuch a bad time babe ahaha. i've got two untouched years before you meet damian what fucks you up before then

[lighthouseas]

begging you guys to reblog art & fic & gifs & analysis & like. posts. i mean this especially applies to creations but i like. guys. likes don't do shit. how many times do we have to say this for it to get through your head. it makes me so sad when i look at a piece of beautiful art , or a fic, only to see that it has like. 5 reblogs and 60 likes.

REBLOG. SHIT. even if it's from creatives you don't know. THAT is how we keep this fandom alive while we have no new content due to the strikes.

[steddio]

Eddie finding Steve asleep sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn in the microwave, while the party are playing D&D. Eddie gently waking him up, accidentally letting some of his endearment show when he calls him angel and tells him to go get some sleep, that Eddie got it from here.

(I wrote a short little ficlet for this, I hope that's ok!)

“Alright! Enough!” Eddie tries and fails to be heard over the ruckus of seven teenagers each trying to get out of doing a task.

“Shut up!!!” he finally gets out at a register that demands attention. He is the DM after all, and a part of him preens at the way their startled, open-mouthed faces all turn toward him expectantly.

“I, your benevolent leader, will go refill the snacks,” he offers magnanimously. “While you all,” and this he punctuates with a sweeping gesture, “figure out how you’re going to get out of this dungeon without attracting the attention of Ezrog the Goblin King.”

There’s a new round of squabbling at that, Mike and Dustin convinced that they should take the west stairwell (a trap) while Gareth and Lucas arguing that they should swim out through the underground river (a good idea, Eddie begrudgingly admits).

He grabs the candy wrappers and empty soda cans within his reach and ascends the stairs from the Wheelers’ basement. He follows the scent of popcorn and a profoundly irritating beeping noise to the kitchen where he finds Steve perched on a barstool, slumped over the kitchen counter, fast asleep.

Eddie suddenly feels breathless. He’s never seen Steve so peaceful, so vulnerable. His hair is sticking up at all angles, he’s snoring slightly, and is that— it certainly is, there’s a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth. The permanent furrow between his brows is relaxed in sleep, although the dark circles under his eyes are still noticeable. Eddie knows Steve hasn’t been sleeping well. None of them have, still unable to feel truly safe.

Eddie tiptoes around Steve, careful not to wake him, and finds a cooling bag of popcorn in the microwave. Something clenches in Eddie’s chest. He hadn’t even heard Steve arrive, but here he is preparing snacks, taking care of them like always.

As quietly as possible, he takes the popcorn out of the microwave to stop that infernal beeping (how Steve is able to sleep through it is beyond him) and pours the popcorn into a bowl, grabs a few other things from the cabinet, and organizes them on the counter. He leans over toward Steve, as close as he dares, fingers ghosting over Steve’s hair, his cheek, admiring his long lashes and the freckles that dust his skin. He settles for gently grasping Steve’s shoulder.

“Steve, wake up,” he whispers. Steve mumbles something and then buries his face in the crook of his arm. Eddie can’t stop himself from reaching out and touching Steve’s hair, his heart bursting with fondness.

“Angel, you can’t sleep here, you’ll hurt your back,” he whispers slightly louder. Immediately he realizes what he let slip and waits, frozen, for Steve’s reaction. But Steve just grunts, and doesn’t move.

“Steve, man, c’mon,” Eddie tries again, and this time Steve lifts his head and looks at Eddie blearily.

“Wha-“ he gets out, looking adorably confused.

“You fell asleep in the kitchen,” Eddie can’t help but smile. “Come on, let’s get you over to the couch. You can nap there. The heathens and I still have quite a bit longer in the campaign, plenty of time for you to get some rest.”

Eddie helps (well, more like manhandles) Steve over to the living room couch, thrilling at the way Steve’s body is pressed to his side, loose-limbed and uncareful. Steve drops to the couch and is immediately asleep again, sprawled on his back, looking every bit the teenager he is. Eddie forgets that Steve is only 19, with how much he’s seen and done. But here, at rest, he is young, pure, holy. Eddie’s savior in more ways than one. He grabs a blanket off the armchair and spreads it over Steve, tucking it in on the sides. Stoops down in a semblance of a forehead kiss, just breathing in the scent of Steve’s hair, relishing a stolen moment of closeness.

“Sleep tight, angel.”

-

Three days later, Eddie finds himself in the passenger seat of Steve’s BMW, bickering, as usual, about music. He finds a sick sense of joy in being able to go toe-to-toe against Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, even if it’s about something innocuous, like the merits (or complete lack thereof) of Steve’s favorite band.

“Listen, Harrington, listen!” Eddie is getting into it now, feeling himself metaphorically jumping on top of his cafeteria table pedestal. “Wham! is the devil’s music! It’s demonic, only hellspawn can listen to that shit without their ears bleeding.”

Steve glares at him for a brief moment, before his expression fades into a cocky smirk. “Hellspawn?” He meets Eddie’s eyes. “I thought I was an angel.”

[stevethehairington]

Steve sits in his car, parked outside of the Hawkins High theater room as he waits for his begrudgingly favorite group of gremlins to come spilling out of the building and pile into his backseat (and argue about the front seat too) so he can drive them home after their Dorks & Doofuses, or whatever it's called, club.

It, technically, ends at six, but it usually takes them a while to pack up all their shit (and who knew a nerd game could have more equipment than most sports?). Plus they love to linger after to try and weasel hints about future sessions out of their Nerd King or whatever he's called and start strategizing for next time. Steve always tells them not to dawdle, they've got curfews and he's got parents to keep happy, but they never listen.

He glances down at his watch right as the little hands ticks past the three. Any minute now. At least that's what he hopes, anyways.

ABBA's playing through the tape deck, and Steve absentmindedly taps along as the opening bars of Gimme Gimme Gimme fill the car. He hums the tune through the first verse and turns it up just as it starts to gear up for the chorus.

And then, as if on cue, right as that chorus hits, right as Agnetha and Anni-Frid start to ask for their man after midnight, the doors of the theater room go flying open.

And out walks — nay, saunters — the prettiest boy that Steve has ever laid eyes on. Dressed in a tantalizing mix of leather and denim, he's got his head thrown back in a bright, beautiful laugh (loud enough to hear even over the music, and jesus, it sounds even better than the song), his long, wild curls fanning out around his face and shoulders, and the most gorgeous, easy smile pulling at his mouth and baring all of his teeth.

There's not a soul out there, ABBA sings, no one to hear my prayer.

But boy oh boy are they wrong. Steve didn't send out any prayers, but there sure as shit is a soul out there. Traipsing through the Hawkins High parking lot like he owns the place, throwing his arms and hands around in erratic, enthusiastic gestures, walking backwards towards a beat up old van in the back.

And Steve can't look away.

It's almost embarrassing how caught up he gets in staring at this boy, because he doesn't even register the kids trailing out behind him, or how they've finally made it to his car until the doors are wrenched open none too carefully and their raucous bickering bursts through the bubble.

Dustin slides into the front seat and slams the door behind him, and Steve's attention is momentarily stolen from the pretty boy as he slips into the familiar song and dance that is chastising Dustin for his lack of respect for Steve's things and volleying back at the snarky remarks he gets in return.

"Later dweebs!" Interrupts a smooth, lilting voice from outside and every pair of eyes in the car (including Steve's, especially Steve's) snap towards the source. The pretty boy stands in the open door of his van with a broad smirk and a hand stuck up in a sedentary wave.

The kids all chorus their goodbyes and wave back, and Steve — ingloriously, embarrassingly, mortifyingly — gives a wave of his own.

The pretty boy notices, because of course he does, and his grin sharpens. He adds an extra flutter of his fingertips as he meets Steve's eyes directly.

Steve flushes all the way up to his roots and immediately tears his gaze away, drops his hand to the wheel, and clears his throat. "Alright," he says, sounding a bit pinched. "Buckle up shitheads," he adds and hopes that none of the excruciatingly nosy children in his car noticed any of that.

He doesn't even know how to begin explaining any of that to the kids. He doesn't even know how to being explaining any of this to himself.

Steve waits for the sound of three distinct clicks, then shifts the car into drive and eases off of the break. As he heads towards the parking lot exit, Steve spares one last fleeting glance to the pretty boy getting smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror.

Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight, take me through the darkness to the break of the day.

The song — which Steve is absolutely going to have stuck in his head for days now, just like a certain boy that will absolutely be stuck in his head for days (and weeks, and months, and—) — fades to it's end, but this? This is only just the beginning.

This is the beginning of Steve Harrington's big huge crush on one Eddie Munson.

[starrystevie]

it’s a horribly normal sunday afternoon when everything changes between steve and eddie.

they’re in eddie’s van, windows down and hair flying, rays of a new spring sun warming their winter chilled skin as their arms dangle outside the open windows. some band that steve is sure he’s never heard of is playing loudly though the speakers and eddie looks over at steve with a grin.

the sun gives him a halo like it belongs there, the wind in his curls breaking up the beams to make it look like he’s flying, like hermes or apollo or some other greek god steve cant name while he’s enraptured with the view. eddie's smile crooks up, something mischievous, and he reaches down to grab a tape out of his collection.

“you know what we need?” eddie asks and steve holds his tongue to stop from saying something stupid like 'you'.

the music changes and it’s familiar and loud and, oh no. the crooning first notes of 'somebody to love' cuts into his heart in a way he never expected queen to. he feels like he’s bleeding out, watching eddie’s smile shift and change, playful and wide, and it breaks him. his face crumbles and morphs into something mean, trying to protect the remnants of his guard from crumbling along with it like ancient remains.

"turn that shit off." and steve’s always been a bit of a bitch, eager to fight with bared teeth and bleeding knuckles, but it's never been towards eddie. eddie with his halo of sun and eyes full of warmth and that smile that makes steve feel like he can fly. "now."

eddie scrambles. his hand darts out and fiddles with the volume knob, his smile cracking along the edges and getting soft and worried and steve is made only of anger, boiling over in a tirade. he keeps talking, barely processing what he's saying, but he sees it hurt eddie and that feels right and so fucking wrong all at the same time.

"who told you," he seethes out, hisses through his teeth like a goddamn snake. "it's all just a rumor so don't think for one second that it's true-''

the only person steve has even told is robin, one drunken night with their friends jack and captain morgan, secrets spilling out from them faster than they can make a new drink. he let it slip that he likes queen, relates to queen, and robin cocked her head in that sickeningly endearing way she does, cartoon lightbulb clicking on above her head.

"steve," she whispered, hand reaching out to cover his knee. it was a moment of surprising sobriety when their eyes met and steve felt something click into place for him, too.

"it's okay to be like freddie, right?" his voice was soft, broken and strained, watery smile covering up what little vulnerability he had left.

they danced until sunrise with queen blasting through the way too extravagant speaker system in the living room, screaming lyrics about not wanting to be born at all and asking for someone to find them somebody. they fell into a pile all breathless and dizzy and the relief that flooded steve's system was enough that he could drift into a deep sleep for the first time in a long time.

but now that memory feels tainted, destroyed, because he only told robin and that means she must have told eddie about being like freddie because no one else knew and he thought that robin was the one person he could trust but that seems not real anymore but it's robin and that is the only person who has stuck around but now there's eddie in the back of his mind grinning and that bleeds into him laughing which bleeds into him laughing at steve, turning on a song to let him know he's laughing at him for being like freddie, for being wrong, being wrong, being wrong-

"steve..."

"-it's not even true, anyone can like queen without being a fucking queer, you know? plenty of people like them and are happily married with their 2.5 kids and a goddamn picket fence-"

steve's still ranting when eddie pulls to the side of the road, gravel crunching under the tires, eyes soft and careful as they look over steve. his face feels hot and pinched with his vision blurred from unshed tears that he'll be damned to let fall. his hands are flying around aimlessly in the air as he spits out lie after lie, watching eddie sit and take it unflinchingly.

"steve," he says after a minute of listening, a gentle hand on his knee that steve wants to throw off of him, eager for something tangible to destroy. "stop for a second, please."

he wishes he could but his brain won't let him, so he pauses for a second and catches his breath before starting again and ignoring the way eddie rolls his eyes in disappointment. he rants and he vents and hurls harsh word after word until he can see that eddie's had enough. he wants to keep going, yelling until his throat is as raw as his heart feels, but there are arms wrapping around him and holding him intact so he doesn't fall apart all over the floormats.

"you're okay," steve registers what eddie's saying after a beat or two. he's whispering low into his ear in a repetitive mantra, over and over and over. "you're okay, it's okay. breathe."

it's only after they're both breathing normally that he pulls away.

"what was that about," eddie asks, and it's not accusatory but steve can't help but shy away from the easy way he's looking at him. the tears he had been so good about holding back fall down his cheeks, disloyal soldiers admitting defeat.

"i just-," he breathes out as he keeps his eyes trained to the gear shift. "i thought you knew something about... me."

he hears eddie sigh and steve latches onto it like it's a ray of sun in and of itself. "i know a lot of things about you, steve."

"yeah, but you can't know this one. not yet"

there's fingers tangling into his own and they feel nothing like nancy's or robin's or tracy's or melissa's or heather's and he relishes the calluses that bump into his own. steve doesn't want to look up, he can't look up, but he's a vine and eddie's the sun and he has to face him like it's his life's purpose to do so.

the halo is back around eddie's head again when he finally looks.

"i can wait, if you want me to."

[ghosttotheparty]

love me softly p2

tags from @otteranha in response to this post that reminded no one can see what’s in my head and i need to Use My Words (also tagging @legitcookie <3)

It’s high school Steve. Preppy, douchey, scared high school Steve, who uses more hair product in a day than Eddie’s ever used in his life, with his collared, tucked in shirts and expensive watch. Steve who sneers and stares and stays quiet when Tommy H talks shit, when he trips people in the cafeteria for his own amusement.

Steve, who’s never worried about running out of hot water during showers, who eats bagel sandwiches in Click’s class every day and leaves crumbs on the floor. Steve, who asks all the questions in class that Eddie doesn’t bother asking, who seems to struggle just as much as Eddie, but nobody would know it, because Steve doesn’t look the type to fail classes.

Steve, who always looks a little tense when he thinks no one’s looking, a little too wide-eyed, a little too sad. Like he’s worried about someone seeing him, seeing through him. Like he’s not really Steve Harrington at all.

Eddie’s crush starts as curiosity. He wonders about him more than he admires him, why there are walls around him, why he almost glares at Tommy H when he isn’t looking.

Steve isn’t like the other ones. He isn’t loud and obnoxious, doesn’t call people names or throw fries at them just for fun. He picks up his trash in the cafeteria, smiles at the cleaning ladies.

He’s quiet when no one’s around. When he’s alone in class, he just works silently, doing something in his notebook that doesn’t really look like writing. And Eddie’s curiosity turns from just wanting to know who Steve Harrington is, to who Steve Harrington is and what he draws in his notebook when he’s not taking notes.

Then he notices how pretty his eyes are, and Eddie wants to slam his head in his locker until he collapses on the floor, because this was never supposed to happen. He has fucking butterflies. Christ.

He still doesn’t know who Steve Harrington is. He still doesn’t know why he tenses a little every time he mentions his dad. (Though Eddie can guess.) He still doesn’t know if Steve really even likes Tommy H. He still doesn’t know why Steve lingers one day when Tommy knocks some freshman’s books out of his hands, why he helps the kid sort his papers back out before he runs to catch up with Tommy. He still doesn’t know what he draws in his notebook.

And Eddie doesn’t want to know the king. He wants to know Steve.

Steve, who stares at Eddie across the classroom one day as Eddie is chewing on his pencil, who looks away sharply when Eddie’s eyes meet his.

Steve, whose cheeks flush pink.

part three

read the whole thing in ao3