#literally one is steve and eddie

[sleepyandwitchy]

just tried to write my fic whilst a little…not sober and i kept writing steve’s name as stede so uh stranger things/our flag means death crossover when???

[kaleidoskuls]

Dustin: are any of you straight ?

Robin:

Nancy:

Jonathan:

Argyle:

Steve:

Eddie:

Lucas:

El:

Max:

Will:

Mike: *raises hand slowly*

Will: *grabs Mike's hand, interlocks their fingers and brings it back down*

OR

Mike: *raises hand slowly*

Will: *walks in* hey, everyone

Mike: *lowers hand slowly*

[stevebabey]

Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

[delta-piscium]

steddie where both of them flirt like it’s a competition and they’re going to win but neither can handle the intensity of the other so it’s just an endless back and forth of the most out-of-pocket come-ons and entire brain shutdowns

[morganbritton132]

Eddie responds to a comment on one of his videos making a joke about Steve divorcing him with a video asking Steve what it would take for them to get a divorce. Steve with absolutely no hesitation answers with, “Three in one shampoo.”

<- Last Post | Next Post ->

[imfinereallyy]

“Who was your first kiss?”

“Depends what you mean.” Steve hits the joint Eddie passed to him. They are sitting on the roof of the trailer, stargazing. It is the first clear night of summer. Steve feels lighter than he has in months.

“I'm not really sure if there is another way to ask that, Harrington.” Eddie laughs around the tip of the joint. “It's a pretty simple question. Besides, I thought this was secret time. No need to get shy on me now.” Eddie spins to his side dramatically, tucking his hands beneath his face. He stares at Steve with joy in his eyes.

Steve takes the joint, pulls, and huff smoke into Eddie’s face. A soft laugh escapes him. “Well, I mean, do you mean like the first real kiss? Or, like, when did I start practicing?”

“Practicing?”

“Yea like, figure out how to, and what its like before the real deal? So it doesn't count.”

“I'm sorry—” Eddie scrunches his eyebrows “—I’m confused. Why wouldn't it count?”

“Cause it was with a guy.” Steve shrugs because he doesn't think it's a big deal. He doesn't understand why Eddie is hung up on it.

But then, Eddie's face does this thing for a second. Like he isn't sure whether to be angry or sad, but then it relaxes. Instead, a look of puzzlement takes over his face. “Steve, it counts. Like—even though you're not attracted to guys, that still counts as a first kiss. It’s like—kinda hurtful you think it doesn't.”

Steve tilts his head and goes over what he said in his mind. He can't recall saying anything ridiculous like he does when he is high. “Okay, now I'm confused.”

Eddie stares and says nothing.

“No! Not like confused as in I don't get why your upset, but more like confused who said I was straight?”

In shock Eddie manages, “What now?”

“Never said I was straight. I just meant that if we're talking about first kisses, usually people mean a girl. So the guy doesn't count. Especially because I didn't know I liked guys then. Think even if I was straight this right here—” Steve waves a hand between the two of them “—is pretty homoerotic so I think straight went out the window.”

Eddie swallows, looks down at Steve’s lips, and looks back into his eyes. “There is so much to unpack there. But first, thank you for telling me. Second, Steve. That is like not how it works. Just cause a kiss is practice doesn't mean you didn't kiss. Like just cause you're hitting balls at practice instead of the game, doesn't mean you're not hitting them.”

Something settles in Steve. “Huh, I guess I never thought of it that way.”

Eddie grabs Steve by the shoulders. “I'm glad you understand, but onto more pressing matters. Who was this boy you practiced with?”

“Oh, it was Tommy Hagan.”

Eddie drops his hands in shock. “Hagan?! C’mon Stevie, I thought you had better taste.”

Steve giggles at Eddie’s antics. He can't help but take in how pretty Eddie is when he gets all worked up. It is unfair in Steve’s eyes. How someone can be so wonderful even when they are losing their mind.

Steve can't resist the urge to finally flirt a little. “He wasn't my type Munson. Like I said, just practice. Wasn't really into it. Pretty sure he liked it more than me. I think if I liked him, I would have figured out the whole bisexual thing a lot sooner. No, my type is definitely more in the dark curly hair nerd department.”

Eddie swallows nervously, “Nancy?”

Steve isn't offended by Eddie’s question. Steve knows he's scrambling, can tell by the blush on his face. Steve feels hope spark within his chest. “No, she's great and all, but I was thinking more masculine. With pretty doe eyes, a deep laugh, a kind soul, and horrible taste in music.”

Eddie sputters, and Steve watches his blush spread, “My music is great!”

“Hmmm, sure.”

“Hey Stevie? Do you feel like you need more practice?” Eddie leans in close brushing his nose against Steve’s with a sudden rush of bravery.

“No, i’ve had enough practice. Think I want the real thing.”

“Okay I want to be smooth but I have to google d response to that so I am going to kiss you now.” Eddie rushes out.

“Sounds perfect.” Eddie closes the gap before Steve can say anything else. Eddie tastes like salted chocolate and weed. It's sweet and musky and so very Eddie. It starts soft, the softest kiss Steve’s had, just plush lips pushed against each other.

It slowly builds to more. Steve’s hands travel up Eddie’s sides and into his hair. He wonders how a wild thing could be so, so soft. Steve gives a gentle tug, and Eddie moans deeply into him. Eddie’s hands grab Steve’s waist and yank him forward. His hands are to cause bruises surely, and the thought leaves Steve giddy. The sounds Eddie makes are getting desperate, which causes Steve to release his own moan.

Eddie doesn't waste a second taking advantage and shoving his tongue inside Steve’s mouth. He’s warm and wet, and oh God, Steve wants more, more, more.

After a few minutes, Eddie pulls back. “Wait, who did you really think was your first kiss?”

Steve rests his forehead on Eddie’s. He can't help but think his answer is a little funny. “Carol Perkins.”

“Wait, wasn't she dating Tommy?”

“Oh yeah. He was there actually. Kinda encouraged it to happen.”

Eddie looks torn between laughing and being disgusted. “Again, so much to unpack, but I don't think I want to touch that with a ten-foot pole. At least not tonight. Can we go back to making out?”

“Yes please.” Steve all but begs, a while releasing into the space between them.

They don't pull apart until their lips are swollen and their throats are raw from moaning. It’s Steve’s best first kiss yet.

---

originally this was more angsty and going to be more reflective on my personally experience of the very popular thought of “if my first kiss is with a girl it doesn't count” that I see a lot of bisexuals like myself (and other sexually fluid people...honestly an experience the whole LGBTQ+ community has) have. Like having that realization made me re-evaluate myself. But it ended up being more light hearted and using another experience of mine which is being out but refusing to count the first kiss because of who it was with. Steve and I...we have regrets. I still might write the other one, we shall see :)

[eldritch-thrumming]

imagine: it’s been years since Eddie and Steve have seen each other. Eddie still keeps in touch with the Party, with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle, but for whatever reason, neither him nor Steve have made a massive effort to stay in touch. Eddie can’t help but feel like he maybe had missed out on something, that he’d been too quick to leave, too quick to write it off as unimportant, meaningless, a fleeting crush. It’s okay. It’s fine now.

Because Eddie has the life he’s always dreamed of. He travels the world, gets paid to play his guitar in front of crowds that scream his lyrics back at him, dates celebrities, and sees things he couldn’t have even imagined back in that Hawkins trailer park. He doesn’t regret much. He can’t, when everything has led him here.

He’s just released his third studio album and it’s been a commercial and critical success. He’d tried something a little different with this project, something a little outside his comfort zone. He’s never been known for his love songs, but he couldn’t help himself this time. He just had so much he’d never had the chance to say until now.

Eddie loves the Grammys. It’s a fun night, full of fellow musicians who care deeply about what they do. He’ll never get used to being in the same place as his idols, the voices he used to listen to when he’d dream of getting the hell out of small-time, small town Indiana.

He’s got a date on his arm this year, a handsome actor who’d just had a film premier in Venice. Eddie loves the attention, knows the fans are speculating about which songs on the new album are about Rob and their relationship. It’s not hard to act like they’re in love; Rob is beautiful, tanned and golden and smiling big for the cameras. It’s easy to fuel the rumors, to make eyes at each other like they think no one is looking. Eddie lives for this kind of thing, loves to put on a show. He kisses Rob right there on the red carpet, like he doesn’t care who’s watching them, like he just can’t help himself.

He’s up for a whole bunch of awards tonight. Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Best Metal Performance…. Eddie’s skin is buzzing, a dull thrum of excitement just under the surface.

Halfway through the ceremony, Eddie wins his first award for his performance in Las Vegas earlier in the year on tour promoting the new album. He doesn’t have a speech prepared, hadn’t wanted to jinx anything by over-preparing, and now he’s nervous he’ll forget someone and not have another chance to tell the world how he’s gotten here.

Eddie’s smiling big when he takes the stage. His face feels stretched, his cheeks hurting. He feels like his body can’t hold all his excitement inside him, all the feelings of love and amazement that threaten to burst through his skin.

He thanks Wayne and the Party first, clutching his trophy in his sweaty fist. They’re the ones that really got him here, the ones that made him believe he was worth saving. The ones that made all this possible.

Then he thanks his management. His agents and producers and tour managers, all the people that make the logistics of touring possible, that give him the ability to do what he loves.

There’s one last person to thank. His PR team had told both him and Rob to lean into the relationship, to embrace the spectacle, and there was nothing Eddie loved more than performing for a captive audience. He looks out into the crowd and finds Rob smiling up at him from his seat. He looks perfect, tan and beautiful, and it reminds Eddie of someone he used to know.

“And to the man who’s inspired every song on this album,” he feels his lips spread into another smile, sees the camera from the corner of his eye and imagines how goofy he must look on screen. He wonders who might be watching, if the person he’s been thinking about for the last ten years even knows he’s winning an award right now. “Stevie baby, thank you, darling.”

There are confused grumbles from the crowd and for just a second, Eddie doesn’t understand. But then he glances at where Rob sits in the crowd, his smile plastic and forced, and he realizes what he’s said. The wrong name. The name of a ghost. The name of a person who only exists for him in his memories.

Eddie’s legs feel numb. His chest starts to ache and his hands feel hollow. Horror spreads through him as he hears the music start to play. The presenters gently usher him backstage, push him toward the darkness, away from the cameras. He stands there out of sight for several moments, frozen, rooted to the spot he’s been left in, before a familiar figure steps into his eye-line.

“Eddie,” Rob says, sounding both surprised and irritated. “What the fuck?”

the question pounds my head, what’s a lifetime of achievement if i pushed you to the edge but you were too polite to leave me? do you miss the rogue that coaxed you into paradise and left you there? will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me but too old to care?

part one

[pizzaqueen]

Another pre-slash bit of fluff, this time with hand holding (and more)! 556 words, rated T

Tap tap tap.

Steve’s hand twitches at the three light touches, but when he looks down, Eddie’s hand is resting on his own thigh and Eddie’s looking straight forward. Hm. Maybe he imagined it?

Tap tap tap.

Steve ignores it this time, focusing on the television. He definitely didn’t imagine it, and he readies himself.

Tap tap tap.

He quickly turns his hand over, capturing Eddie’s fingers in his folded palm.

“Aw,” Eddie says, “if you wanted to hold hands, you just had to say,” sliding his fingers between Steve’s.

Steve huffs. “What are you doing, man?”

“What am I doing?”

“Yeah, this”—Steve reaches over and taps Eddie’s hand—“business.”

Eddie lifts his shoulders.

���You’re weird,” Steve says, and tries to slide his hand out of Eddie’s. But Eddie holds tight.

“Nope, mine now.” Eddie pulls their entwined hands to his chest. “Sorry.”

Steve tugs, but Eddie won’t let go. “Fine. Whatever.” He sighs, twitching again when Eddie runs a finger from the heel of Steve’s palm, to the tip of his middle finger.

A frisson of pleasure runs through Steve, but it soon settles into a soft hum beneath his skin. It’s all over, making Steve feel sleepy and relaxed.

The calluses on Eddie’s fingers are only a little rough on the soft skin of Steve’s palm, tracing the lines, running up and down his fingers, tracing the calluses on his own skin, building up again, now that he’s taken baseball back up.

“I know you were being kind of a shit, for whatever reason, but that feels really nice.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah.”

A smile tugs at Eddie’s lips and he brings Steve’s hand closer to him; he looks Steve dead in the eye as he runs his tongue up the back of Steve’s hand.

“Ugh, gross.” Steve jerks away, but Eddie’s still holding tight. “No licking.”

“No licking,” Eddie repeats, a gleam in his eye that Steve doesn’t like, and the next moment he bites Steve’s hand.

“Or biting!” Steve whacks Eddie with his free hand. “Jesus.”

“Okay. I promise,” Eddie says around a grin. He brings Steve’s hand to his mouth again, and Steve struggles—“You promised”—but Eddie doesn’t lick him, or bite him. He presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand, making an exaggerated mwah sound.

“What—”

And then Eddie kisses Steve’s hand again, softly this time, looking at Steve from under the dark sweep of his lashes.

Heat shoots through Steve and his heart beats hard. “Um.”

Eddie starts to pull his hand away, but it’s Steve who holds on tight this time. He brings their clasped hands to his mouth, gently brushing his lips over Eddie’s knuckles, watching Eddie as he does.

A faint, satisfying blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and Steve bites back a smirk. He presses his lips more firmly to Eddie’s knuckles, not missing the sharp intake of Eddie’s breath. Then he moves his mouth to the juncture of Eddie’s thumb. Then the middle of his hand, still watching Eddie watching him.

“Steve…”

Steve presses one last kiss to Eddie’s skin—at the side of his wrist, not far from his pulse—and then he brings their hands down to rest on their touching knees, and they watch TV holding hands, Eddie’s thumb swiping over Steve’s skin and Steve squeezing Eddie’s hand tight.

[fuctacles]

Unusual, but maybe not in a bad way

Eddie's shoes might look good, but they were never a good choice for summer rains. He kept forgetting that and letting the reality of his fashion choices hit him hard in the face. Or knees.

The bus had a moving plate in the middle that usually wasn't a problem but today wasn't usual. Today the rain was pouring and Eddie's phone was at 15% because he had been too lazy to plug it in before falling asleep. So today he had to switch seats to one next to a charging port and as he was making the short voyage, a few things aligned perfectly to make today unusual, and in a bad way.

The rotating plate was wet from the rain.

The soles of his shoes had no grip.

The bus turned left.

"Shit."

Eddie gathered himself off the wet floor, cursing his shoes, the weather, and the throbbing pain in his knee. Without looking up he fell heavily into the seat that was his destination, afraid of the amused stares he might catch. His dignity? Gone. His pants? Well, they were torn already anyway so one new hole didn't make much difference. His knee? Bleeding, apparently. As he rubbed his knees, one of his hands came out red. He groaned.

"Of fucking course." He just had to hit something sharp on the usually safe and relatively smooth surface. 

When he was reaching to plug in his phone, someone grabbed the pipe just above the USB port. Eddie looked up and found a man looking down at him. He also realized the golden frames of his glasses complimented his hazelnut eyes beautifully.

"You should clean this up," the man said instead of making fun of him or asking if he was okay. No, he was holding out a packet of wet wipes like some kind of saint.

Eddie hesitated for a moment but while his dignity might be gone, the gorgeous man in front of him wasn't. He took the offered wipe.

"Thanks," he murmured, wiping the cut and the surrounding skin, cleaning off sand and blood.

The man dropped a backpack on the vacant seat next to him. Eddie eyed the pins attached to it; a couple of dinosaurs, a Hufflepuff crest, ‘protect trans kids’, and… a bisexual flag. Score.

"Pirates, Hello Kitty or dinosaurs?"

"Huh?"

"Band-aid," the man clarified, shaking a small tin can he fished out of his backpack. "I work with kids," he added like it explained everything. Well, it kind of did. Upon opening, the tin revealed an assortment of colourful band-aids.

Eddie hummed in thought, considering his choices.

"Dinosaurs."

"Good choice," the man praised with a smile, probably the same one he showed to the kids. Was he a teacher? Because suddenly all the teacher-student porn scenarios gained a new appeal. Where skimpy pencil skirts didn’t work on Eddie, a soft green jumper just might, apparently.

The man handed him a dino band-aid, apparently expecting him to apply it himself. Well, of course. They were two strangers on a bus, after all.

Disappointed, he put it on the cut, missing the amused tilt of the teacher's lips.

"Do you need anything else? I have some candy; lollipops, gummies…" The man flipped through the contents of his bag.

"Gummies?" Eddie's interest was piqued.

"They have colourful fillings and a tiny dragon on each wrapper," he advertised, offering him a small baggie to choose from. Again, his tone reminded him of an adult talking to a kid. This shouldn't be working on him as well as it was.

"Can I have two?" he asked, looking up into these stunning brown eyes. The level difference was not helping. Has he not sat down on purpose? To tower over poor Eddie's tiny metal heart?

The man smiled as he took a quick conspiratorial look around.

"You can even have three, just don't tell my kids," he whispered

"I ain't a snitch!" he assured and picked up two green candies and an orange one. Because red flavours belonged in the trash.

Or apparently in the plush mouth of a handsome stranger, since he picked one of those for himself. Maybe Eddie didn't hate them that much, after all. He could make an exception. Especially if he could taste them the fun way.

"You sure you don't want a lollipop? Water? Extra band-aid?"

Eddie shook his head adamantly but had a nagging feeling the man was stalling. His gaze dropped to the flag badge, giving him an instant shot of courage.

"Your number?"

The soft teacher's smile turned sly, and he knew he took the right step. His metal heart thumped in his chest, the sound resonating against his ribs. What a fun feeling.

"Better hurry up, my stop is next."

Eddie nearly dropped his phone in his haste to put in the string of numbers.

"What do I…?" he asked when the empty ‘name’ box stared at him from the screen.

"Steve," the man offered, just in time for the bus to stop. The doors swung open, and he was gone, but while the physical distance between them grew, Eddie now had the comfort of having him in the palm of his hand, hidden behind a number.

>> Thanks for the candy! 🖤 - Eddie 

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[livwritesstuff]

this is inspired by a reply @bebopbabyy left on this post about Steve getting a kick out of his daughters' post-shopping fashion shows. I thought about it literally all weekend, so thank you <3

Steve absolutely loves a good fashion show. I can't decide how much his own taste in clothing has changed since high school (probably not that much, but he did go to a liberal arts college annnnd that shit changes the wiring of your brain I'm pretty sure so who knows), but he definitely has *opinions* on clothing and updates his own wardrobe accordingly. He loves dressing the girls up all cute when they’re little, and he’s completely thrilled when they start forming their own sense of style.

The one thing he doesn’t usually do is go shopping with them – purely because his migraines really don’t improve as he gets older (if anything, they’re getting worse) and the mall is a surefire trigger ( and he’s overjoyed when they lose interest in Justice because the colors alone weren’t helping his headaches one bit). This means that when Eddie and their daughters return home still riding the high of a day of shopping, Steve gets to sit on the couch and watch a fashion show, complete with music and commentary.

Eddie: And here’s Miss Robbie, modeling a jacket that nearly caused actual bloodshed in the fitting room. 

Steve: Why?

Eddie: Hazy wanted it too.

Steve: And they couldn’t each get one?

Eddie: Don’t even get me started, Steve.

Like most spontaneous and child-facilitated events, it starts out strong and crashes almost immediately.

Moe, so loud they can hear her from the "dressing room" (downstairs bathroom): Robbie, that's mine!

Steve: Christ, here we go.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

light hair bf x dark hair bf ships are always s-tier

[xoxogabriella]

more ST as That 70s Show by (un)popular demand

Previous shitpost here

[grandwretch]

fully believe that if the party could discord chat, steve and eddie would have really dramatic fights in the group chat about idk steve flirting with jonathan (in the chat. nancy was there. they were joking) or something else stupid and then someone would ping robin and she would be like "they are curled up on the couch together with the straightest faces I've ever seen"

[sideblogofthcentury]

Steve had blacked out. All of his senses had dwindled to nothing but blind rage. He was lost in a sea of darkness, and all he could do was breathe. And with each breath he took, he began to return to himself, began filling in the missing puzzle pieces of what had just happened.

Steve breathed in and smelled the crisp cold air, shortly before snow or a cold rain, and Steve breathed out.

Steve breathed in and tasted the quickly souring aftertaste of the strawberry milkshake he’d shared with Robin, and Steve breathed out.

Steve breathed in and heard the high pitched ringing in his ears, the echoes of a spat “freak” reverberating in his head, and Steve breathed out.

Steve breathed in and felt the stinging of his knuckles, the weakness after a heavy exertion traveling up his arm, and Steve breathed out.

Steve breathed in and saw the beautiful angry red trickle down Jason Carver’s face, soaking the front of his white shirt, and Steve breathed out.

Ah. Steve was caught up now.

Jason’s eyes flashed with what Steve first mistook as anger. Steve breathed in and braced himself for another big drawn-out fight that would end with him unconscious.

And Steve breathed out and only then recognized that flash in Jason’s eyes as fear.

Steve smiled, a big toothy grin, and let himself chuckle at the broken little sound Jason made as he backed away.

“Don’t you ever. fucking let me see your face again, Jason. I will break it in two.”

And just like that, Steve saw Jason walk away.

Steve turned around to see Eddie, Robin, and Dustin standing in a semicircle, not a single closed mouth among them.

It was a long moment before anyone said anything, but it was Dustin who piped up first, with nothing but a simple “dude.”

Steve let Eddie drive the Beemer, Robin excitedly rambling instant replays as Dustin wrapped Steve’s hand in the backseat.

Dustin was dropped off first, with a “See you in the morning, badass.”

Robin was dropped off second, with a “Remind me not to piss you off.”

And then Steve moved to the front seat and stared at his hand, clenching and unclenching it, feeling the pain shoot up his wrist, the pressure of the bandage feeling good, like it was holding him together.

Eddie drove them to Steve’s empty house, neither boy breaking the silence that was so loud, the trilling guitar and shouted lyrics couldn’t even drown it out.

Eddie put the car in park in Steve’s driveway, staring ahead for a long moment before pivoting in his seat to look at Steve’s hand.

“Steve?”

“yeah?”

“You good?”

Steve breathed in.

Steve breathed out.

And Steve told the truth.

“No. Honestly, no. I can’t fucking stand it anymore, Eddie, I don’t know how you do it.”

Eddie knew what he was referring to. “You uh, get used to it?”

“No. I refuse.”

“Well damn Steve you can’t go punching the entire town. What will you do when the next person is an 80 year old woman? You gonna hit an old lady, Steve?”

“If she deserves it.”

Eddie shook his head and barked out a laugh that was definitely not a laugh. “So you’re really looking forward to that prison time, huh?”

“If I deserve it.”

Eddie threw his hands up into the air like the exasperated mother of an impossible child. “Steve!! you’re not getting it. It’s never going to stop. People are going to talk and say things and think whatever the fuck they want to think! And you can’t ever change their minds because they’re right. I don’t belong. I’m the freak.”

It lingered in the air again and for a moment Steve thought he was going to black out again.

Steve breathed in.

Steve breathed out.

“No.”

Eddie gaped at him. “Steve-

“No. Goddamn fucking no, Eddie. There is nothing wrong with you. No. Not a thing. You care about people, and you’re kind, and you’re smart and funny and they’re… they’re-“ Steve sputtered, unable to come up with a word deserving of association with them, finally settling for a disgusted face and a sigh.

“People don’t like you because you don’t check their boxes. You don’t, and you don’t care to, and they don’t like that. It makes them think. Every time they see you they’re forced to think; to wonder why they work so hard to fit in when you seem so defiantly happy refusing. People don’t understand, and it scares them. People don’t like what they can’t understand. And you’re so boldly you, you’re-“

Steve breathed in.

Steve breathed out.

“You’re terrifying.”

Part Two

[morganbritton132]

Eddie stitches Dustin’s Tiktok about Steve texting him with a video where the background is his own text conversation with Steve.

Steve sent him the ‘I’m going to destroy you’ text. Eddie asks if he means that in a sexy way and gets an angry face back. He asks what he did and Steve says, “You know what you did!”

Eddie just gestures at the whole text convo like, “This could be anything. I’ve done so much wacky shit lately.”

[steddiesucker]

After some Purple Palm Tree Delight’s

Argyle: What if people had food names and food had people names?

Robin, giggling: Hey, spaghetti, we're having Steve for dinner.

Eddie, smirks: Damn, Steve’s my favorite food. I looove to have Steve for dinner.

Jonathan: Well, that escalated quickly…

Steve: Jealous much, pb&j?

Nancy, shaking her head: What is wrong with you people?

Eddie, snorting: Shut up, chocolate.