#steve glasses fic

[marvins-linguinie]

i have never cried as much as i did while reading this. don't do it. im serious, and i know you won't listen, but please, don't. i can't stop crying and i finished reading 20 minutes ago. this has been engraved into my brain for the rest of my life.

[strawberryspence]

Wayne’s trying his best to get the picture hung as straight as possible.

There are kids screaming at the yard, he can hear Hopper arguing with Jonathan from the backyard, something about the movers or something, Eddie’s in the kitchen trying to hang his mug collection in display, Dustin and Mike are trying to carry more boxes to the house and the others are scattered everywhere in the new house, trying to do their own thing to help him out.

There’s a box full of framed pictures just beside his legs. Wayne’s still trying to level the frames. He was never one for pictures, until Eddie came home to him.

The first framed picture, he remembers buying the frame from a dollar store. No glass, just a flimsy plastic and plastic frame. Eddie was 12 in the picture, teeth crooked, hair growing, with the acoustic guitar Wayne bought for him. It’s secondhand but, Wayne still had to work double time for it. Every minute of it was worth with how big Eddie’s smile on the picture was. He just finished learning his first song and just finished playing it for Wayne. It’s Stand By Me by Ben E. King.

There’s more in pictures taken, more pictures developed and slipped into an album he bought from Melvald’s. But the second picture to be framed was when he was 15. It’s a picture that would make any person stop and think, “Who would frame a picture like that?” Eddie’s 15 in the picture, curly hair long and frenzied, but the highlight is his beaten up face. He has a growing black eye, there’s is crusty blood on his nose and Eddie Munson is beaming. He got into a fight, his first fist fight, and Wayne shouldn’t have framed it. But it’s also the same day Eddie came out to Wayne and Wayne will forever keep it close to his heart.

The next picture framed is when he’s 18. It’s the day Eddie’s supposed to be graduating High School, but didn’t. Eddie thinks he hides it well, the stress and disappointment that he’s not graduating, hiding it in sarcasm and witty jokes but Wayne can see through him even blind. He takes him out for the day to Indiana, they walk around, going to stores Eddie would love and ending it in a diner. Wayne asks the waitress to take a picture of them. Eddie breaks down that night, telling Wayne he didn’t deserve this and that he should be more disappointed, more angry before shutting himself to his room. He wakes up the next morning with Wayne trying to hang another framed picture in the trailer, Wayne tells him, “School’s not everything. You’re a good person, Ed. That’ll always be the most important thing to me.”

The first three framed pictures and album full of pictures are gone, eaten by the four fault lines that swallowed Hawkins whole in 1986. Wayne doesn’t care, not really, not when his son was being chased down by the whole town. His kind, weird, loud Eddie, who doesn’t even want to hurt bugs or spiders, always opting with setting them free rather than squashing them.

Eddie comes out alive, and free at the end of it. Because beyond everything, beyond being kind, generous, loud, funny, Eddie has always been a fighter. Between fighting real life monsters, signing NDAs and recovering from literal feral bat bites, Eddie gains a family. It’s weirdly shape, contains an actual 15 year old with super powers, the Mayfield girl who rose from the dead, those two comes with a gaggle of children, Chief Hopper who also rose from the dead, Joyce Byers, the Buckley kid, the reporter, two potheads. It’s a weird family, and still the weirdest part is Steve Harrington. Harrington. Still it was a family, held together with tape, trauma and love.

Wayne’s not Steve’s biggest fan. Not until Wayne gets the full story of how Eddie survived, he doesn’t get it until three months later. Only because Eddie wasn’t ready to talk about it. Eddie tells him that it was all Steve. Steve who gave him CPR, wrapped his wounds properly and carried him out of the hell hole with his own injuries. Wayne was kinda mad at Eddie for not telling him immediately, especially because he’s been giving Harrington the stinky eye for three months now, when in truth Wayne is forever in debt with him.

Eddie’s also babble mouth who told Harrington that more than anything Wayne was devastated to learn that the “Upside Down” goo washed up all of the pictures. For his birthday, Wayne’s not even sure how he knows, Steve buys him a secondhand camera, an empty album and a stack of empty frames. That starts a tradition that spread all throughout the family. It somehow culminated to them taking pictures of Eddie, and when they think it’s special enough, they frame it and give it to Wayne. Eddie hates the tradition, because why do you guys keep framing my picture???

That’s how he ended up here, in his brand new house, the one Eddie bought for him just after his second successful tour, with a big box full of pictures.

Wayne backs up from the wall full of frames, it’s accumulated so many different pictures now, now it’s not just Eddie. Now, it’s a burst of different pictures. Somewhere in the left, you will find the framed picture of when Eddie finally graduated, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan beside him with the same graduation gown. Beside it is a picture of the Party in their own graduation, beside it is a big collage frame with a picture of each kid when they also finally graduate college, there’s a picture of all of them when Joyce and Hop finally got married, a picture of when Robin, Steve and Nancy all graduated college, all separately. Pictures of weddings, and birthdays, and kids from the kids who he watched grow up, who now call him Grandpa Wayne.

Eddie’s pictures are still there, Eddie will always be there. Eddie in his first apartment, Eddie and his band when they first open a concert, Eddie signing his first contract, Eddie on his first radio interview, Eddie and his band on their first magazine cover. Just Eddie, living his dream.

“I think that one’s a little crooked.” A voice tells him. He turns to see Steve, a little older now, hair shorter, glasses thicker, a hearing aid always on his ear.

“Which one?” Steve points at the large picture. It’s a little bigger than the other frames.

Wayne smiles, moving closer to adjust the picture. In the picture, it’s with Steve and Eddie, both in their tuxes, Wayne in the middle as Eddie’s arms is hooked around Wayne’s shoulders and as Steve is laughing at something Eddie has said. Wayne’s just smiling at the two of them, the sun bright, brand new rings sparkling in the sun.

When satisfied, he moves back just as Eddie enters the room, a box in his hand, “I got you some new pictures.” He gives Steve a knowing smile, as Wayne accepts the box.

“I don’t remember the pictures very well, but I tried my best to describe them to Will.” Wayne’s hand flies to his mouth as he sees the framed pictures. They’re drawings, and they’re not the exact same, but it looks so similar to the pictures he lost in the earthquake, the pictures he long accepted he’ll never see again. It’s Eddie as a kid again, and it’s enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“This isn’t fair, Ed. You can’t just make me cry.” Eddie laughs as he gives his uncle a hug, a whisper of thank you’s exchanged.

They watch as Wayne hammers a new nail on the wall, placing it just beside the picture of Wayne standing beside Eddie as he holds his first award.

He straightens the pictures.

Takes a step back to look at it all.

Some of the frames fraying from the age, some pictures fading on the edges, some of it are crooked.

All of it filled with pictures, radiating a life lived with joy and happiness.

It’s perfect.

[cerise-angel]

+18 glasses!steve harrington blurb

steve hated to wear his glasses. untill one night you two decided to watch a french movie with subtitles and he needed them to read the subtitles. as usual, the movie ended up playing for no one, because your attention was on steve and his attention was on you. he kissed you slowly, aiming for your neck and collarbones where he placed soft bites, making sure they would bruise. your dress and bra were long forgotten on the floor, and his hands, mouth and eyes kept going south while kissing you. steve pulled your panties down your legs, dangling in one of your ankles. he kneeled in front of you, his hands pushinf your legs apart. the glasses were still on and he was hypnotized by the way your pussy looked on HD. feeling a little shy with his sudden demeanor, you tried to close your legs, only fuelling him to keep them open and devour you. his glasses kinda bumped on your clit everytime he dived on you, making your eyes roll back. he grabbed your thigh, wanting you to look at him. the image of your perfect pretty steve with his mouth latched on you and his glasses fogged up was now engraved on your brain. the pleasure he was giving to you, the moaning and now the sight of him on his knees, foggedd glasses between your legs were enough to break you. he kept licking and kissing you, completely focused, his brows scrunched. when he got up to kiss you, the most smug grin was on his face. the glasses stayed on since then.

[cadiebug]

Eddie finds out Steve wears glasses and asks him to move in after he catches Steve puttering around outside of his trailer at 3 in the morning.

When Eddie opens the door, sticking his head out and shivering at the bite of the air around him, he sees Steve, wearing a simple sweater and sweatpants, hair flatter than normal, cold looking skin, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

Eddie doesn't even pay attention to the glasses at first, because he just barely avoided shrieking at Steve to, "Get in the fucking trailer," which he ends up saying anyways, just in a mostly normal calm voice.

When the trailer door closes the first thing Steve says is, "I'm sorry," and the first -second- thing Eddie says is, "you're wearing glasses."

Steve stops mid explanation, "um yeah, I guess," and Eddie blinks at him.

"I didn't know that," Still blinking.

Steve just shuffles his feet, "I only wear them at night." He looks back at Eddie, "aren't you supposed to be wondering why I'm here at three in the morning?"

Eddie nods slow then fast, "Yep, sorry, got distracted. Why are you here Steve."

Steve's face scrunches up and Eddie has an urge to reach out and smooth away the lines in his skin.

He does.

It's a bold move, but at this point he knows Steve won't mind. They're a hop skip and jump away from something completely different than what they have now.

Steve looks surprised for two seconds before his features half even out and he's leaning into Eddie's space.

"i didn't mean to," Steve reasons, "just started driving and," he shrugs, "I ended up here."

"You should just move in," Eddie mutters, mostly without thinking. Cause he means it but he didn't mean to just blurt it out.

Steve moves a little closer, "I don't-" He starts, but Eddie knows already that it's a pointless argument.

He gets distracted again by the glasses Steve scrunches his nose for, so they stay on his face. "Cute," he whispers, again, distracted. He looks back at Steve in full, "I'm telling you it makes things easier."

"Cute?"

Eddie hums, "Yep, move in with me," he says, fingers still roaming Steve skin.

Steve raises his eyebrows and yawns. "Maybe," he mutters, but his eyes betray him.

That night Eddie falls asleep holding Steve and Steve accidentally falls asleep wearing his glasses.

He shows up at Eddie's with a duffle bag six days later.

[bcyhoods]

can I request steve taking care of a sick shy!reader?

the universe knew i needed inspiration and they said BAM, now ur sick :P so essentially……..this is self-indulgent, i apologize in advance | 1k fluff, fem!reader

You’d first assumed that the itch in the back of your throat was trivial. The cold morning air had irritated your lungs before and it would usually go away within the first hour of being awake. But something about this particular itch could not be satisfied, no matter how many times you’d cleared your throat or how much water you drank. Then your nose started running.

A few harsh, involuntary coughs and an empty tissue box later, you’d reluctantly accepted your fate. You were sick.

When you called to tell Steve, you didn’t expect him to make a big deal about it. You severely underestimated just how tight you had him wrapped around your finger. Not even half an hour later, he was at your doorstep with a giant paper bag full of cough syrups and other remedies. He sported a cute frown upon seeing you answer the door with a chapped nose and a blanket draped over your shoulders.

He was here to bear witness to your sickness in all its raw glory. You’d feel more embarrassed if it wasn’t Steve. Nonetheless, you shrink into your pillows as he dotes on you.

“Hmm.” He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. He’s sitting on the edge of your bed, right beside your legs as you sit up against the headboard. His nose scrunches and makes his wire frames slip slightly down his nose.

“You feel a little warm, but I don’t think you have a fever,” he deduces. He hauls the paper bag off the floor to sit in his lap while he digs through to find the proper medicine bottle.

You see, Steve had no idea how sick you felt when he was speeding over to the general store. He didn’t want to get you something that’d be completely useless. So with the help of Joyce Byers, he practically raided the aisles and purchased as many daily capsules and herbal teas that he could get his hands on. Your medicine cabinet will be stocked for at least the next couple years.

A sound of satisfaction pulls your attention to the bottle of cough syrup in his hand. The bright orange liquid taunts you as it sloshes against the plastic when he pushes it your way.

“Do I have to?” You whine, lips beginning to curl at the mere memory of its offensive taste, “It’s gross, Steve.”

“I know, honey, but it’s just one spoonful. You can do a spoonful,” he tells you so confidently that it makes you hiccup.

Upon seeing the twist in your expression, he sweetens the deal with the promise of homemade chicken noodle soup and a few kisses — the latter you begrudgingly refuse so as to not pass the cold.

He pours the syrup into the shallow bowl of a spoon, chuckling at the grimace that’s still present on your face. You push yourself to sit up straighter and sniffle as he moves the spoon closer to you. Your stomach dips when you see him smile and nod in simple assurance before you’re opening your mouth.

Your lips wrap around the metal and you’re immediately recoiling at the foul flavour.

“See? I told you, you could do it. Look how easy that was.”

It makes your chest flutter. He’s reaching down into the bag again to grab a water bottle and your arms spring for it. Steve chuckles at your eagerness as he watches you quickly unscrew the cap and chug. The remnants of the medicine burn the back of your throat and your eyes briefly water at the sting.

“You okay?” He caresses your calf over the thick comforter when he asks. It makes your shoulders droop — you ache to feel his cold hands in your warm skin. You nod sheepishly and avert your eyes from his stare.

“Thank you, doctor,” you say without much thought.

Steve perks up. There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he hums and takes the bottle from your hands.

“Doctor, huh? Are you into that? Doctor Harrington?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

A cough of surprise pushes out past your lips and you can feel your heart beating wildly against your rib cage. Your leg burns where his hand rests and the sensation rushes right to the top of your head. His taunting gaze makes your hands fly to your cheeks and a shy grin fights its way onto your face.

“What? No, I…” Steve’s brow jumps up to challenge you. You attempt to steel yourself, but eyes dart everywhere but his face. “I’m into being healthy,” you reply, voice shaky.

“Right, yeah. Totally. But you’re also into me, right?” He scoots closer to you as his hand slowly inches up toward your thigh.

“Steve,” you scold him and shut your eyes.

“Oh. You’re so into me, it’s making you sick, my poor girl,” he teases before leaning over to kiss your jaw down to your throat. You giggle as tufts of his hair tickle your cheeks and then you’re pulling him back. His lips drag up the column of your neck until he’s reaching your lips. It’s feather-light before you’re pulling back.

“I’m gross right now,” you mutter with a frown, referring to your cold. But Steve takes great offense. He pouts.

“This bug got you good. Making you delirious.” He dives back in for your lips. It’s firm this time, like he’s proving a point. It makes you sigh and grab at his biceps as he’s pushing you up against your headboard. When his hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer, you start pushing at his shoulders.

“Steve,” you whine into his mouth, “I’m gonna get you sick.”

“Come on, I have a solid immune system,” he insists, “I’m basically superhuman. I think I can handle a few kisses.”

Steve thinks he’s just about the luckiest person in the world when you smile and laugh. And also because he’s got you to take care of him when he inevitably gets sick the following week.

[onewaywardwitch]

“you talk about me like i’m worth writing poetry for.”

“love, you are the reason poetry was created.”

[trashpocket]

steddie sketches 💖 (mostly fluff) but here! i offer increments of what if steve and eddie were dancers from two different styles??? or what if steve was a professional basketball player and eddie, the rockstar, was his boyfriend??

[re-bec-ca-ann]

Seeing You

(Through New Eyes) - Read on AO3.

Incredible art by @sachart​. 

Eddie only catches a glimpse because instead of being inside surrounded by the likes of Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, and the rest of the Hellfire Club, he’s outside having a cigarette when Steve arrives for pick-up duty. The former jock parks his well-known burgundy BMW against the curb adjacent to the Wheeler’s driveway and turns off the ignition. Eddie watches from under his lashes and takes another drag, hoping the nicotine will calm the flame inside his belly that seems to grow whenever he and Steve come into one another’s orbit. A piece of Eddie is screaming at him to either take his smoke break to the side of the two-story house near the hedges or deem it a lost cause and retreat to the basement before he gets spotted staring and potentially labeled a creep. Sure, they’ve been through hell and back together, Steve quite literally carrying him back to the land of the living all those months ago, and Dustin is a solid judge of character, but who can really blame Eddie for having the urge to hide certain things from the once king of Hawkins High? He’s still a freak and Steve’s still from a royal bloodline.

The Metalhead lingers long enough for his curiosity to win out though when he gets a closer look at Steve’s face as he sits in the driver’s seat for longer than necessary and notices something unfamiliar adorning the other man’s face: glasses.

The frames are dark brown or maybe even black and somewhat square. Steve’s chestnut hair hides the parts that curl around his ears. When Steve turns, rummaging around in the compartments on the side of the driver’s side door with a frustrated scowl, Eddie takes note of how the frames all but disappear when they reach the apples of the man’s cheeks and the sides of his nose. His already prominent nose looks even sharper and more defined, drawing attention to the strong bridge and angular slope. And his eyes, even with the distance limiting Eddie’s visual appraisal, appear both bigger and deeper set. Unfortunately for Eddie, the flame burning in his gut seems to be fueled by the sight. His insides churn with regret, suspecting,  knowing, his affections are futile and so he shakes himself from his stupor, stubs out the forgotten cigarette, and makes a calculated dash for the door.  

When Steve enters the Wheeler’s basement about two minutes later, alerting Dustin that it’s time to pack up his nerd shit and go, his face is bare.

Eddie wonders sourly if he wears them only to drive, but all but debunks that theory when he spots Steve squinting at the character sheet Dustin is shoving in his face as he vents his frustrations about how Eddie is simultaneously pure evil and mad genius with his riddle-laden campaigns.

When Steve throws a look at him, Eddie knows he should grin wide or let out a devilish cackle, but his expression remains focused as he studies the jock’s face and tries not to think too hard about how much he appreciates the other man's jaw, eyes, and nose both with and without the glasses.

-------

It’s Friday night and Eddie’s plans are bordering on lame, still, he does have some. Wayne is working the overnight shift which means he’ll have the government-refurbished trailer to himself. He doesn’t like being alone per se, but he does bask in the glory of having the small space all to himself. So tonight it’ll include one or two freshly rolled blunts, some dollar snacks, Labyrinth on VHS, and a six-pack of beer that’s cheap but decent—a favorite combination of the Munsons. The last two things, the movie and the beer, unfortunately, hang in balance, depending on who’s manning Family Video and the corner gas station. He hopes for friends or at least friendly acquaintances to be found at each establishment.  

As the metalhead pulls into Family Video, van lurching to a halt when he slams on the breaks and puts the vehicle into park, he spots that burgundy Beemer he’s grown to associate with good things rather than annoyance and rage.

At this point, he considers Steve to be a friend, but he isn’t above buttering him up with an offer or two of taking over chauffeuring duties for a week. He won’t show his hand right away though. Maybe Steve will be in a giving mood. Maybe he’s got a date on the horizon and won’t give a shit about Eddie’s late fees, more focused on making it through the day and clocking out. And doesn’t that possibility just twist at Eddie’s insides a tad too much to be acceptable.

The door of the van creaks open, noise interrupting what appears to be a rather dull evening in Hawkins. And sure, it makes sense—more than half of the town left after the “earthquake”—but it still causes the metalhead to flinch at the possibility of drawing attention to himself. He’d been cleared of the murders, some guy named Owens had pulled a few strings on behalf of Jim Hopper, but an accusation like murder didn’t leave even the innocent unscathed, especially not an outcast.

When he reaches the glass door to the store, Eddie peers inside and finds Steve behind the counter entering data into the computer. He’s in his usual uniform, vest and all, but the suave-haired, broad-shouldered man is wearing the glasses again. Eddie feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. The retired king resembles more of a nerd with spectacles on—or at least that’s what his former friends, fans, and followers would categorize him as in this state. Eddie, however, is enamored more than usual. He’s surprised that a string of drool hasn't made its way out of his mouth yet, insides boiling with attraction and frustration.

The retired jock has yet to notice Eddie, leaving him to gaze freely for a bit longer at the endearing display of Steve Harrington appearing more human and flawed than god-like. But Eddie has enough sense to realize that he’s got about twenty more seconds before this crosses the line into weird and invasive territory. Reluctantly, he shoves the door in with his shoulder, and the bell above clangs violently against the frame.

Eddie’s just about to greet Steve when the other man’s eyes flash up in a panic at the presence of another soul, another set of eyes. He hears him mutter out a “shit” before he spins on his heels, rips the glasses from his face, and shoves them somewhere behind the counter. Eddie hopes he didn’t scratch or crack them in his haste—for self-indulgent and considerate reasons. Steve obviously needs them more than he’s willing to let on.

“Uh, hey, Munson.”

Eddie waves, trying to play it cool. He wants to tell Steve to put the glasses back on, reassure him that they don’t look bad and that there’s nothing wrong with needing a little help to function. But he notes the scarlet blush that’s gaining traction on the man’s face and pities him.

Don’t push, Munson. Don’t push.

“Just you here?” he asks plainly.

Steve nods and swallows, face morphing into a somewhat relieved expression.

“So you won’t mind turning a blind eye to some temporarily missing late rentals for a friend?”

Steve scoffs but it comes out more merry. “Friend, huh?”

Eddie tries but fails to keep his face from falling at the implication that Steve doesn’t consider them friends. His heart aches and his brain threatens to spiral even at the chance he’s still just a blip on Harrington’s radar.

Steve must catch on because he shakes his head and elaborates with an eager tone, “I mean, we are friends. How can we not be after everything? But, uh…”

Eddie’s head and heart need to know how that sentence is intended to end, so he presses forward. “But what?”

Steve cocks his head and sighs, shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and shrugs. “Friends hang out, don’t they?”

Although he’s internally wondering if this is all a joke, Eddie’s responding grin is feral and thrilled. “Shit, Steve. If you wanted to spend quality time with me, all you had to do was ask.”

He expects the jock to scoff and tell him to fuck off, but he does the opposite, leaving Eddie once again surprised by the man who’s worming his way into the metalhead’s heart at an alarming rate.

“Consider this me asking then.”

Jesus H Christ. He’s for real. Steve wants to spend time with me. This isn’t Gareth or Jeff or Dustin. It’s Steve Harrington requesting my time and attention.

Eddie wants to throw up and scream in victory at the absurdity of it all.

“All right,” he comments, schooling his voice into nonchalance as his hands twitch at his sides. “Tonight then. You, me, and Bowie.”

“Bowie?”

“Oh, right!” Eddie exclaims, dashing toward the new rentals and snatching Labyrinth from the shelf. He returns to his spot in front of Steve and shakes the case for him to see. “Bowie!”

Steve hums. Eddie can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad hum—or maybe a confused hum as he realizes that the jock is scrunching his eyes at the cover. He quells the urge to bring up the glasses and decides to tease Steve for his taste instead, not wanting to chance ruining their hang out before it’s even happened. 

“Wait, don’t—don’t tell me you don’t like Bowie?” he cries like a wounded animal, clutching the tape to his chest.

“I didn’t say that!” Steve retorts.

And while that’s true, Eddie is having far too much fun being the catalyst for Steve’s blossoming flustered state.

“Don’t say another word, Harrington,” Eddie counters. “I really don’t want to have to renege on our plans.”

“Well, sorry if I’m just too cool to—”

“Nope. Not listening. Zip it, Steve,” he sing-songs heading toward the exit. “I’ll grab drinks and snacks. Although I’m sure my selections won’t be ‘cool enough’ for you. But former kings can’t be picky, now can they?”

“Wait, Eddie! The movie, you can’t just take it before I scan—”

Eddie wiggles his fingers in Steve’s direction and darts toward his van. Before he hops in and slams the door shut, he yells out, “Bye, Stevie! See you at 8.”

As Eddie heads down the road toward Lou’s corner store and gas station, his gut churns in excitement and disbelief. He thinks about the two of them sitting on the worn couch, maybe side by side, watching Bowie in all his glory on the TV. The TV. The small and already hard-to-see TV. Shit.

-------

Eddie is all but pacing the short space of the trailer’s living room as he waits for Steve’s arrival. Steve Harrington is coming to his house because he wants to spend time with Eddie and like an already lovesick fool, he’s got beer in the fridge and a plethora of snacks on the dented and scratched kitchen counter. At the gas station, he had to talk himself down from having an all-out panic attack because instead of just asking Steve what he liked to eat, he chose to go the playful, put-on careless route which led him to entertaining two stressful guessing games down both the candy and chip aisles. So now he’s got more bags and boxes of sugary, salty, crunchy, and sour treats than his or Steve’s teeth and stomachs can handle. There are Twizzlers, Milk Duds, sour gum drops, plain potato chips, BBQ potato chips, Doritos, nonpareils, Gobstoppers, and those gross waxy rootbeer bottles that are filled with liquid that no one like—but maybe Steve does? Fortunately for Eddie’s pinballing mind, headlights shine through the window and the metalhead strides toward the door to confirm who it is.

Eddie can’t help the smile that forms on his face as Steve extracts himself from the car and brushes out the imaginary wrinkles in his shirt. His grin, however, falls into a frown rather quickly at the sight of the jock pulling the infamous glasses from the bridge of his nose, shoving them into a soft case, and pocketing them in his Members Only jacket. Eddie sighs at the humanizing display of Steve’s obvious discomfort at needing and wearing something not up to the standards of Hawkins’ royalty. It irks Eddie and he isn’t sure if he wants to shake Steve to knock some sense into him or dismantle all of society’s beauty standards with his chaotic energy and rage.

Steve raps his knuckles against the aluminum door before Eddie can decide which option to dedicate his life to.

“Welcome, my liege!” he says as he swings the door open and bows before the other man.

Steve’s responding scoff is littered with a lightheartedness that makes Eddie want to beam with delight.

“What? Isn’t that how all of the mere and mortal peasants greet Steve ‘The King’ Harrington?” Eddie questions with feigned shock.

The laugh the other man releases is amused. “Nah, just the freaks, it seems.” The supposed dig is becoming a tender nickname lately—especially when Steve uses it. No longer a weaponized or venomous word but an endearing term that Eddie has always worn with a hint of pride that has now doubled in size and continues to grow. It feels good to find people who see and accept him for who he truly is. And Eddie yearns to do the same.  

Eddie snags two beers from the fridge and tells Steve to grab whatever snacks tickle his fancy. When he turns back to face the counter, the Milk Duds and wax bottles are missing. He shakes his head, curls bouncing, and snatches the Gobstoppers and nonpareils. And they say I’m the freak?

They’re thirty minutes into the film, Steve’s arm draped across the back of the couch in an attempt to appear casual, while Eddie taps his fingers against the cardboard candy box where only half of the Gobstoppers remain. Eddie is trying to relax, he really is, but the way Steve is straining and rubbing at his temples every minute or so with his free hand is distracting. His instinct is to yell and go on an oddball rant about how glasses are actually metal as all heck and mainstream’s definition of style is a boring, capitalistic agenda, but he veers into the realm of soft deliveries in hopes of not scaring Steve away. “Hey, man,” Eddie starts, tone low and shaky. He waits until Steve acknowledges him to continue. “C-can you, uh, see the screen?”

“W-what do you mean?” Steve stammers and pinches his brow together. “I mean, of course. It’s right there,” he jokes, fingers pointing at the TV set.

Steve…” Eddie tries.

“Eddie,” Steve parrots back.

So much for the soft delivery, he thinks, standing up and leaning over the former jock to grab his discarded jacket and pull the case from the left-side pocket. He holds it up and declares, “I’m talking about these—” But the look on the other man’s face is embarrassed, maybe even petrified.  

Shit, no.

Eddie sits back down and tries again, setting the glasses still in the case between their thighs. “I saw you wearing them when you came to pick up Dustin from Wheeler’s house, and then again at Family Video. I wasn’t spying or anything…”

Steve’s exasperated chuckle is dark and quiet but there. “Liked what you saw? The cool kid isn’t so cool anymore, huh?” Steve flops back against the couch and squeezes his eyes shut. “Go ahead, take your shot, Munson. I deserve it.”

“What? You think I’m going to make fun of you?” It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Man, you really don’t trust people, do you?”

Eddie’s verbal attacks are reserved for bullies and authority figures on power trips. And sure, Steve might have fallen into one of those categories in years past, but he no longer does. The metalhead wouldn’t have opened his space to him otherwise.

Steve’s face is now pinched tighter with pain and a weighted sadness. “Sorry, I just—”

“Force of habit? Conditioned to expect the worst in people?” Offers Eddie. Steve’s nod is tired and a little depressed. “Yeah, me too.”

Steve sits up, stares ahead, and starts to pick at the hem of his shirt. “So if you aren’t going to rag on me, what were you going to say?”

Eddie swallows, throat going dry at the sudden fork in the road before him: play it off or be stupidly honest. And the thing is, Eddie isn’t one to run away from much anymore…

“Well,” he blinks. “I was going to say that it makes sense you might need help seeing after all the hits and kicks to the head from the buffoons we once classified as classmates and the interdimensional creatures hellbent on crushing your skull…” He could end it there. Call it a night. Finish the movie and have a chance at doing it again in the future. Or… “I was also going to say that they look good on you.”

Eddie’s not running, but he is afraid to let his gaze meet Steve’s face. He forces his eyes to drag their way over and up until they land on the other man’s now flushed cheeks and wide eyes. The development gives the metalhead a burst of courage and his thin fingers are reaching for the abandoned case from where he retrieves the neglected glasses. He unfolds them with trembling hands and leans forward, knee pressing into the warmth and sturdiness of Steve’s thigh. He places the glasses on the man’s face, the bridge resting on Steve’s defined nose, ends hooked through thick hair and resting on the curve of his ears. He’s pretty sure both he and Steve are holding their breath.

When he returns to his former position on the well-used couch, perhaps an inch or two closer to the jock’s body, it’s Steve who breaks the charged silence.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice disbelieving.

Eddie’s heart flutters and a rush of air pushes out of his straining lungs. “You’re welcome.”

He’s trying not to grin like a maniac, but he catches a genuine smile tugging at Steve’s lips and takes it as an encouraging sign. “Now, where were we,” he says, turning his attention back to the screen.

If their hands brush once or twice over the course of the next hour and Steve catches Eddie admiring his glasses and blushes under the attention, well that’s something worth investigating at a later date. But for now, Eddie basks in the weirdness and wonder of being actual friends with one Steve Harrington. Glasses included.

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 22

"Glass hards, vehicular accident"

Bucky was on his feet in an instant when the alarm went off. It took him forty-four seconds and he sat behind the wheel of the fire truck. He turned on the siren, honked and floored the truck to get to the accident they were called to as fast as possible. 

“What do we have?” he asked Steve, who sat beside him. 

“Car accident,” he said. “Apparently there was an illegal car race and they forced another car off the street. Nat…” - a cop and also the woman Steve was in love with without admitting it to himself - “... said the driver is trapped and injured.” 

Six minutes later they were at the scene. Nat was waiting for them together with an ambulance and - much to Bucky’s dismay - it was Sam Wilson standing beside the car, trying to get to the driver. 

“We take over now,” Bucky snapped when he was out of the truck. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Wilson said  and Bucky threw a death glare in his direction. 

“Boys, calm down,” Nat interrupted the two of them. “We have to get the driver out of the car.” 

Bucky went to take a look while Steve already gave orders to the other firefighters. It looked bad, really bad. The driver bled heavily and he had glass shards everywhere in his skin. And the chassis of the car was twisted. 

“Is he stable?” Bucky asked and looked at Wilson and the EMT nodded. 

“As far as we can see, yes,” he said. “But we have to get him out of it as fast as possible. 

The driver opened his eyes and looked at Bucky and for a moment his breath was taken away. The man had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. And currently they were full of pain. 

“Can you hear me?” Bucky asked and the man nodded. “We will get you out in no time,” he smiled reassuringly. 

The man reached out and instinctively Bucky took his hand. Steve and the others came with heavy equipment and started to work. 

“What’s your name,” he asked and the man licked his lips. Bucky wanted to let go to help Steve and his team but the man didn’t let go. Steve shook his head and Bucky understood.

“My name is Bucky,” he said. “What’s yours?” 

“Cl-clint,” the man whispered and Bucky smiled at him. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Clint,” he said. “See that guy over there? His name is Steve. He and our friends will get you out soon. I’ll stay here with you if that’s okay,” he said and kept talking. Every now and then Clint answered but most of the time it was Bucky who talked and it seemed to calm the man down so Steve and the others could work. And it really took only thirteen minutes to get him out and then Wilson took over. They put Clint on a stretcher and shoved him into the ambulance and with wailing sirens they drove him to the hospital. 

But Bucky couldn’t forget the beautiful eyes of the man and that’s why he found himself in the hospital, too, two days later. He had asked his way through to him and then he knocked at the door. 

Clint lay in his bed, band-aids all over his face, his arm and a leg in plaster casts. 

“Hey,” he said when Clint looked up. “I don't know if you remember me but…” 

“My lifesaver,” Clint smiled. “I had hoped to see you again.” 

“Really?” Bucky asked, a smile on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Have to make up to you for getting me out.” 

“Technically I just held your hand,” Bucky said and Clint blushed violently. 

“It helped,” he said. “I thought I would die but… it helped.” 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky said and sat down beside the bed. “So, what did the doc say about your injuries?  How long till I can ask you for a date?” 

[rottenaero]

Welcome to the hell of me writing 3k words each for two separate fics within the past week, and literally crossing my fingers nothing new comes out to swoop my fixation.

[madaboutmunson]

MadAboutMunson's One Shot Steddie Fics

Fics are below Keep reading :)

Are You Experienced

Summary: Everyone knows Steve Harrington, a local rich kid jock, the previous king of Hawkins High School. He's got it all, money, a respectable family, and chicks love him. He's even spending the summer learning what it's like to be a real working man before taking on a role in his Dad's firm because its builds character and empathy. Or is he something else entirely? Is Steve a down-on-his-luck guy, stuck in a job he dislikes because his dad is teaching him a lesson, repeatedly striking out with the ladies, that his co-worker is fond of reminding him about? Under all the many layers and masks, he uses to survive the day-to-day, Steve has secrets. The main one is how passionately he loves music. How it moves him in ways nothing else does, and he's sure no one else could possibly feel the same, until his Mom gives him $50 to spend at the new record store. Tumblr Link Ao3 Link

Never Too Much

Summary: Just a little something that wormed its way into my head, because I just love the whole Steddie having an extra love language of music thing Tumblr Link Ao3 Link

Policy of Truth

Summary: Please read the tags and warnings before reading this one 💚 After saving the world, everyone heads home, but not everyone has a place to go back to. Realising that they potentially could have lost their son Mr & Mrs Harrington, make an effort with Steve and open their those in need. But its not just friendships blossoming at The Harrington's, and soon Eddie and Steve have a secret to keep. Ao3 Link

Eight Frames a Week

Summary: Eddie catches Steve in his glasses one time. Just one time! But that is all it takes for Edward Munson’s brain to spark a new hyper fixation. He must have Steve in glasses, whenever he possibly can, because….well…. 1. He looks cute as a button in his glasses. They are so delicate. Thin golden wire frames and large round lenses accentuate the puppyish nature of his eyes. 2. Steve gets shy about them, which is also so adorable Eddie could spontaneously combust. Tumblr Link Ao3 Link

Keep You From The Cold

Summary: Eddie Munson is finding out that being a Vampire isn't as badass as some of the movies would have him believe. It's difficult enough trying to figure out what bits of lore are correct or complete nonsense, but when he sees his only willing source of nourishment (his boyfriend Steve) is struggling, he decides it's time to look elsewhere for sustenance. Fortunately, Eddie learns there is a very undesirable person in the vicinity, who has very bad intentions towards his very desirable Steve, and he means to put a very final stop to that. Tumblr Link Ao3 Link

Wishin' and Hopin'

Summary: In which Eddie realises he might have some residual power from The Upside-Down and plans to use it in the best way he knows how, to impress the guy he's had a crush on for months Tumblr Link Ao3 Link

Devil Gate Drive

Summary: In which Eddie fixes a spooky campfire story that Steve mis told, sending them on a quest for a wish to be granted. Well, once, they get to Devil Gate Drive that is :) Tumblr Link Ao3 Link

[ghosttotheparty]

love me softly p18

part 17

Eddie shoves an old worksheet between some books in his pocket messily, inhaling sharply when the paper cuts his finger. He sucks on the cut, furrowing his brows as he tries to sort his locker out one-handed, but he’s interrupted by a gentle rapping on his locker door.

He swings it shut a little bit, still sucking on the cut.

“Hi,” Steve says quietly.

He’s leaning against the locker next to Eddie’s, and Eddie’s eyes widen. He looks past Steve, around the hallway, finding Tommy and a few others hanging out next to a closed classroom door. Eddie’s hand falls from his mouth.

“Hi,” he says softly. “What… What are you doing?”

“Uhm.” Steve hesitates, and Eddie leans against his locker door. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says earnestly. When Eddie shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak, Steve interrupts with, “Just… Let me.”

“…Okay.”

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie intently, and he slides his tongue across his lip, and Eddie remembers suddenly that they’re in the hallway. That people can see them here, at Eddie’s locker, talking to each other.

“When my parents are in town, I…” Steve takes a breath. “I feel like shit. All the time. And I— I tend to take it out on other people, and I don’t— I don’t wanna. Especially to you.”

Eddie smiles softly, and his arms ache. He wants to hug him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve finishes quietly.

“I forgive you,” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles.

“They’re leaving on Monday,” Steve says after a moment. “That’s their plan right now.”

“That’s good,” Eddie says earnestly. “They say where they’re going?”

“Who gives a shit?” Steve says, shrugging, and Eddie laughs softly.

They stare at each other for another moment. Eddie wants to touch him. To hold his hand. To shove him against the lockers and kiss him so hard they both get headaches.

“Steve!”

Steve hesitates before he looks over his shoulder at his friends. One girl (Carol?) is giving him a look, waving her hand. Tommy looks uncomfortable.

Steve looks back at Eddie, hesitating.

“Can I… go to yours after school?”

“Of course,” Eddie whispers. “You can come over whenever you want, Stevie. You could move in without warning and we wouldn’t mind.”

Steve smiles. His eyes are shining.

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you later,” Eddie says softly, wishing he could lean over and kiss his cheek. Steve nods.

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and then pulls out a folded piece of paper, suppressing a smile as he leans around the door of Eddie’s locker and tosses the paper in. It lands on top of his books.

Eddie looks at him, pressing his lips together and watching him step backward toward his friends. Steve winks.

Eddie looks at the paper as Steve walks away with his friends. He smiles when he sees Steve’s pretty handwriting.

i love you ♡

He leans into his locker and unfolds it, finding a messy sketch of two figures sitting side by side, one of them leaning against the other. It’s done in pen, and some of it is smudged, like Steve didn’t let it dry before adding to it.

He closes his eyes and waits there for a moment, just breathing, just pausing, because he’s aching. Because he wants to kiss Steve so badly he feels like he’s dying. But he can wait.

He carefully smooths the drawing in his backpack as he’s searching for his homework, Murphy standing next to his desk, arms crossed, head tilted.

“I swear to God,” Eddie says adamantly, rummaging through his bag. “I did it.”

“Watch your mouth, Mr Munson.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles.

“I’d like proof that you did it. In the form of the completed worksheet in my hand.”

“I’m looking.”

He huffs after a moment, grabbing his bag and dumping it on his desk.

“I know I did it,” he insists. Someone snickers at the front of the class, but he can’t even bring himself to send them a glare, rummaging desperately through his notebooks and textbooks for it. “God—”

He cuts himself off.

When he can’t find it, he looks up at Murphy desperately.

“I know I did it,” he says again.

“Do you,” Murphy says dryly.

“Yes. Number seven was thirteen point four, and I know that because it took me like an hour to solve it.”

Someone snorts, and he suddenly wishes Murphy had waited until the end of class so he could have kept searching while everyone left, so no one could hear him admit how long it took him.

Murphy just looks at him. Eddie hates him.

“Come on, Mr Murphy,” he pleads.

“This is the third time, Eddie,” he says.

“I’ll bring it in tomorrow,” Eddie says. “I’ll come in before school starts, I swear.”

Murphy might as well roll his eyes.

“Please, Mr Murphy,” Eddie begs as Murphy stalks back to his desk. “Don’t do this to me.”

The other students are laughing, giggling to themselves as Eddie groans obnoxiously and drops his head to his desk. He doesn’t look up when he hears Murphy approach his desk and set a detention slip next to him.

“Clean up your desk. Stop being disruptive.”

Eddie sits up, staring at the pink slip of paper before he sighs heavily and starts sorting his notebooks. He checks that Steve’s drawing is still smooth.

“What, did you have plans tonight?” the boy next to him, James, teases quietly as Murphy starts writing on the chalkboard.

“Yeah,” Eddie grumbles, “actually, I did.”

“What plans?” James asks, and Eddie scoffs.

“What, are you a cop? Mind your business.” He looks up just to watch James’s face flush red as Eddie says, “Tell your mother we’ll have to reschedule.”

“Asshole.”

Eddie flips him off and turns back to his desk.

Steve catches his eye in the hallway as they’re all headed to lunch, and Eddie holds up the detention slip with two fingers. Steve suppresses a smile, saying something to Tommy, who glances at Eddie, and rolls his eyes, nodding.

“What’d you do?” Steve asks, leaning against the wall in front of Eddie.

“I was a fucking idiot,” Eddie says. Steve’s brows furrow. “I forgot a fucking worksheet, the one I spent hours on last night. Fucking pointless, because I left it behind, and Murphy doesn’t give a shit that I did it.”

“Eddie,” Steve says softly. Eddie sighs, leaning against the wall. Some students walk past them. Steve doesn’t even glance at them. “You’re not an idiot. You forgot your homework.”

Eddie sighs heavily, closing his eyes and turning to press his face against the wall.

“I have to go to detention today,” he says, groaning quietly. Steve laughs softly.

“That’s okay.”

“But you were gonna…” He trails off, turning to press his cheek to the wall, looking at Steve, who tilts his head like a puppy.

“Look.” He speaks quietly, but Eddie can still hear him over the echoey clammer of the hallway. “I’ll hang out with Tommy for a while. Finish your homework in detention. And then you don’t have to do any homework while I’m over.”

Eddie exhales, his eyes flicking across Steve’s face, from his eyes to his lips and back up. His whole body feels sore.

He groans quietly again, squeezing his eyes shut and face the wall.

“Love you,” he breathes.

He grins when he feels Steve’s finger poke his cheek, cutting his eyes over to him. Steve’s cheeks are pink, and he drops his hand.

“You too,” he says quietly.

It’s different when they touch at school. At home, Eddie’s or Steve’s, they’re always all over each other, holding each other close, leaning against each other, draped over each other, but in school, even the slightest brush of their fingers (or Steve’s finger jabbing Eddie in the face) feels so forbidden, so explicit and obvious and public, that it feels electric.

Steve must feel it too.

When Eddie’s face is back against the wall, hidden, Steve’s fingers brush the side of his hand. Eddie can feel flames engulf his whole arm. His fingers twitch to meet Steve’s, and they lace for just a second before they both pull their hands away.

“I’ll see you at yours?” Steve says quietly. Eddie nods, finally looking at him. “Make sure you finish your homework.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve smiles, scrunching his nose in a way that makes Eddie want to kiss it. His cheeks flush.

“Alright, get outta here.”

He watches him go. His eyes catch on Tommy, who looks like he’s arguing with that girl Carol (Eddie asumes that’s her name), talking with his hands, exasperated. When Steve approaches, Carol glares up at him, tossing a hand up dismissively at Tommy before she leaves.

Eddie watches, raising an eyebrow, and Steve sighs heavily, watching Carol go before he pats Tommy’s back reassuringly, muttering something that makes Tommy crack a smile.

Eddie doesn’t see them again until the end of the day, when he’s headed to the detention hall. Tommy is ranting to Steve passionately, and Steve is listening, but Eddie can’t hear him. When Steve’s eyes catch Eddie’s, his face lights up a little bit, and he blows him a small, subtle kiss. Eddie could swoon.

Eddie hates detention.

It’s too quiet. He can hear every single sound, every chair creaking, every pencil scratching, every cough and yawn and sigh. He works slowly through his homework, singing Shoot to Thrill in his head and bobbing his head in time with it, wishing he was working at home so he could be wandering back and forth in the living room while he works. He kicks his legs under the table trying to avoid touching the floor so the rubber soles of his shoes don’t scuff it loudly.

He manages to finish everything except his statistics homework. (Maybe he’ll ask Tommy for help with it tomorrow.)

Wayne is in the living room when he gets home. He’s watching a baseball game, sipping at tea from his favourite mug (a second-hand University of Indianapolis mug he’s had since before Eddie moved in with him).

“I don’t suppose you’re any good at statistics,” Eddie says as he’s kicking his shoes off, stumbling backwards into the kitchen and reaching for a glass.

“I don’t watch baseball for the numbers.”

Eddie pauses as he fills the glass with water from the sink.

“That is the gayest thing I’ve every heard you say.”

A laugh bursts out of Wayne, and Eddie grins while he downs the water.

“What’s going on with statistics?” he asks as Eddie joins him on the sofa, laying his head on Wayne’s leg.

“Murphy is ass at teaching, and it takes me like an hour to solve one question.”

“You got any friends that could help?” Wayne asks, his voice echoing in his mug.

“Probably Tommy.”

“He in Hellfire?”

Eddie scoffs, smiling at the ceiling.

“No, he’s Steve’s best friend.”

“Ah.”

When sets his arm over Eddie’s face obnoxiously, and Eddie closes his eyes.

“I will bite you,” he says, his voice muffled by Wayne’s shirt.

“Don’t.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. He waits there for a while, listening to the crackly voice of the commentator from the television, until there’s a knock at the door. Eddie scrambles up, shoving Wayne’s arm away and stumbling as he heads to swing the door open.

“Hey,” he says, smiling when his eyes meet Steve’s, and he steps back, letting Steve in and shutting the door. Steve doesn’t say anything, instead leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to Eddie’s lips. His hand slides over Eddie’s neck, into his hair, and Eddie sighs, his shoulders falling as he kisses him back. Steve presses one more chaste kiss to his mouth before he pulls away and looks at him.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi, Steve,” Wayne says from the sofa, and Steve startled violently, jumping with a loud “Oh my god.”

“Hi,” Steve says breathlessly, his cheeks bright red, and he lets go of Eddie, rubbing his face as he looks at Wayne, who’s watching the game again, smiling. “Sorry.”

“‘S fine,” Wayne says dismissively, waving a hand, sipping his tea. “You kiss your boy all you want.”

Steve looks at Eddie, bashful, blushing, rubbing the back of his neck, and Wayne looks over again.

“How’re you?” he says, and Steve looks back at him. Eddie can practically see the armour of King Steve fall away right in front of him.

“My parents are in town,” Steve says, grabbing the strap of his backpack that’s hanging from one shoulder, his other hand reaching for Eddie’s. “I don’t like them very much.”

Wayne’s eyes flash with a concern that Eddie recognizes, that makes Eddie’s own chest ache, and he frowns.

“You stay here as long as you need,” he says, demanding it gently.

Steve cracks a weak smile before he looks at Eddie, his hand squeezing Eddie’s so gently it’s like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

“Uh, I told my parents I’m spending the night at Tommy’s,” he says says hesitantly. “If that’s okay?” he adds nervously, looking at Wayne, who seems to understand that Tommy’s is code for home.

“‘Course,” Wayne says. “If you both get to school on time tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Steve says, smiling, looking back at Eddie.

“Did you tell Tommy?” Eddie teases, and Steve makes a face with a sassy, “Yes.”

“Did you finish your homework?” Steve asks in the same tone, raising his eyebrows when Eddie hesitates.

“Everything except stats,” Eddie says. “I was gonna ask Tommy for help tomorrow.”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

He says it too softly. It goes with whatever is behind his eyes right now, something that Eddie can’t really read. (He hopes he’ll learn to someday.) Eddie squeezes his hand. Steve squeezes back.

Eddie tugs at his hand, stepping backward down the hall.

“We’re going to my room,” he tells Wayne.

“I’m going to work,” Wayne says, draining his mug.

Steve’s face flushes pink, and he turns to face Wayne, letting Eddie drag him away.

“Bye, Mr Munson.”

“Don’t call me that!” Wayne calls back, sounding horrified, but Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.

“Love you!” Eddie shouts before he closes the door and looks at Steve, who’s smiling at him, their fingers tangled. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Steve says quietly, dropping his bag to the floor. That thing is still behind his eyes, shining dimly like an old lightbulb, and Eddie’s heart twists, and he tugs at Steve’s hand. Steve falls forward against him easily as the front door of the trailer shuts, and he buries his face in Eddie’s neck, holding him tightly. Eddie’s wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him so close they’re pressed completely together.

Steve inhales deeply, slowly, before he exhales against Eddie’s neck.

And then he does it again, taking a slow deep breath, and Eddie opens his eyes, running a hand up Steve’s spine. He furrows his brows when Steve takes another deep breath, slow and intentional.

“C’mere,” Eddie says softly, moving a hand to touch Steve’s cheek, shifting to press their foreheads together. “I got you.”

Steve sighs shakily, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s hair, holding the back of his head.

Eddie closes his eyes again, waiting.

When Steve is breathing normally, Eddie says, “Tell me.”

Steve sighs, combing through Eddie’s hair gently.

“I hate them.”

Eddie nods, gently untucking Steve’s shirt and putting a hand under it so his rings slide over Steve’s warm skin.

“They suck the life out of everything,” Steve says softly, his breath on Eddie’s face. “I mean…” He swallows, taking a breath. “I swear everything looks greyer when they’re around. And I…”

Eddie prompts his with a gentle nudge against his nose. Steve kisses him softly before speaking again.

“I feel like shit. But not even, like… Like normal… shit. Not like— like sad or irritable or— I just…”

He exhales. Eddie runs his hand up his spine again, his other hand set firmly on the small of his back.

“They suck the life out of me too,” Steve says softly. “I’m so fucking empty, Eddie, there’s nothing inside of me.”

Eddie lifts his head, looking at him as his heart splits a little bit, like the seams are too worn, too thin. And Steve looks back, his eyes distraught, like he knows exactly what Eddie’s feeling. Like he feels bad for it.

Eddie pulls a hand away from his back and manoeuvres it under Steve’s arm to press it to his chest, looking down. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks at Eddie curiously, waiting until Eddie speaks quietly, almost whispering.

“Can feel your heart beating.”

He looks into Steve’s eyes. Steve’s lip quivers.

“You’re not empty, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs. “You got… Like. A whole fucking universe in your chest.” He presses his hand against his chest more firmly, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut. “And you got all these secret galleries inside your skull,” Eddie adds softly, rising to his tiptoes and lifting his chin to kiss Steve’s forehead. “No one’s seen ‘em yet.”

Steve’s hands tighten on his hair and he pulls him into a hard kiss without opening his eyes. His lips don’t land square on Eddie’s, but neither of them really care.

Eddie’s hand slides up to Steve’s neck, holding him tenderly. He can feel his pulse beneath his skin.

He tilts his head as Steve kisses him deeper, slower, holding Eddie’s head like he’s holding him in place, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, touching Steve’s cheek. He’s always so warm.

“God,” Steve gasps when they part. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie whispers.

He opens his eyes and looks at Steve, touching his cheek, tracing his moles and looking at his shining eyes.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Eddie breathes. “My pretty boy.”

Steve smiles and tucks his face back into Eddie’s neck with a small groan. Eddie hugs him again, laughing softly and swaying as Steve relaxes against him him, heavy and boneless, stepping side to side.

“We gonna dance again?” Eddie asks, smiling.

“Don’t have Toto,” Steve mumbles into his neck.

“Mm. Could turn on some Anthrax.”

Steve laughs softly, kissing his neck.

“You wanna hang your drawing up on your wall?”

“My wall?”

“Mhmm.”

Steve lifts his head.

“Okay.” He’s smiling.

He keeps smiling as Eddie gets the drawing for him, smooths out the creases Steve folded into it, and hands it to him with a thumbtack, and he keeps smiling as he pins it under a colourful drawing he did a while ago of a window Eddie recognized from Ms Malcolm’s classroom, the lines paper covered in scribbly green and blue highlighter and ballpoint pen.

Steve is still smiling when he steps away from the wall, looking almost proud, and it occurs to Eddie that Steve’s never seen his art up on a wall, displayed, unhidden.

Eddie tackles him, wrapping his arms around his waist and lifting him up with a loud noise as Steve squeals Eddie’s name, kicking.

He’s clutching at Eddie’s forearms, laughing and screaming, and Eddie manages to toss him onto the bed, jumping on after him and trying to hold his wriggling body down. But Steve is an athlete, which Eddie obviously never forgets, and he overpowers Eddie after he giggles for another minute.

Steve pins him down, straddling his waist and gripping his wrists, and Eddie finally stops fighting after seeing his face, flushed and beaming so brightly Eddie doesn’t think they even need the light on. His hair is tousled, wild and falling around his face as he leans over Eddie, panting.

“I win,” he says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, chest rising and falling. “I let you.”

“Oh, did you?” Steve laughs, sliding his hands into Eddie’s and lacing their fingers, pressing Eddie’s hands into the mattress.

“Mhmm.”

Steve giggles again, leaning close enough that their noses brush, and Eddie closes his eyes, waiting until Steve kisses him.

God, he loves kissing Steve. He’s always so soft, always playing with Eddie’s hair gently and tracing lines over the side of his neck (which always tickles in the best way), always making these sweet, sweet sounds.

When they finally part, Eddie has rolled on top of him, a hand pressed under his shirt to press to his warm skin. Steve’s fingers are holding Eddie’s hair out of the way.

Their lips are shining and bitten red, their cheeks flushed, and Eddie can’t stop smiling.

“So anyway, how was your day?” he says, and Steve bursts into laughter.

He talks to Eddie as Eddie pulls him out of bed and to the kitchen, and he leans against the laundry machine as Eddie rummages through the fridge for leftovers. When Eddie gives Steve a plate, the food steaming hot, Steve says, “Thank you, baby,” softly, and Eddie suddenly realises how badly he wants to marry him. To have this every day, this domestic bliss. To come home from work and make dinner while they tell each other about their day.

They eat together right there in the kitchen, talking and laughing and teasing, and Eddie falls in love with him all over again. His hair is still messy, his shirt untucked and wrinkled, and he looks so… at ease. Comfortable in Eddie’s kitchen, leaning against the laundry machine with his ankles crossed. (Eddie's noticed he leans a lot. He likes it.)

They end up laying in bed side by side later, Steve’s legs sprawled over Eddie’s. They’re both looking at the ceiling, and Steve is playing with Eddie’s hands, tracing his veins, his rings, his nails. He tells Eddie about his day, about some kids fucking around in class and almost getting everyone extra homework, about him and Tommy doing their homework together after school, about Tommy’s obnoxious I’m so bo-o-ored! that he repeated about every five minutes.

Eddie tugs his hand over a few times as he talks, just to kiss his knuckles.

After a while Steve’s voice falls quieter, slower, softer, and he shifts to face Eddie, sliding his hand to hold onto his arm. He squeezes gently, sighing.

Eddie stops talking. He’s looking at the ceiling, smiling when Steve’s fingers tighten around his arm. He can hear Steve breathing, and he can hear him fall asleep. His breathes become heavy, slow and even and steady, and Eddie smiles before he rolls his head to look at him.

Steve’s sleeping face is different from his resting face. It’s… calmer. He looks almost happy when he’s asleep, content. Light and relaxed, faint traces of a smile gracing his beautiful face.

Eddie gazes at him.

The sun is almost down outside, and Eddie strains to see him after a while, so he closes his eyes.

It’s almost pitch dark when he wakes up, but he isn’t really awake. He’s uncomfortable, holding onto Steve but still wearing his jeans and rings. There’s a chain digging into his leg.

He inhales deeply, shifting and furrowing his brows before he cracks his eyes open. The moonlight is silver, dim, and he can just barely see. Steve shifts at the same time, groaning quietly, and Eddie watches as he does the same, squeezing his eyes shut and squinting.

Silently, they detach from one another, closing their eyes again as they reach down and unbutton and unzip their jeans, pushing them down and kicking them off the bed. Eddie rolls over and blindly pulls off his rings, setting them on his bedside table. When he rolls back over he opens his eyes weakly and finds Steve tugging his shirt over his head, so he does the same. Steve pulls the blankets up and waits until Eddie tosses the shirt away.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, his voice rough, laying back down. Steve moves closer, laying across Eddie’s chest and sighing as Eddie takes the blanket, draping it over their bodies. He wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him closer. “Love you,” he mumbles.

Steve’s legs twine with his under the blankets, and Eddie is half asleep. Every touch feels muffled and quiet, Steve’s skin soft on Eddie’s.

Steve hums weakly and nuzzles into his neck.

part 19 read the whole thing on ao3

tagging @thehumblefigtree <3 comment to be tagged in part 19 :)

[lingeringmirth]

shattered glass

Written for @whumpril day 18. broken glass.

Stranger Things | Steve Harrington centric, minor platonic stobin| Rating: T | Words: 454 | Blood&unjury, hurt steve, steve has ptsd, steve has bad parents, protective steve, post s4.

cw: blood & injury, self-sacrificial/suicidal thoughts.

Also here on AO3.

The shattering of glass on the tiles next to the pool is like a gunshot, ringing over the rowdy noises of the kids and the general chaos of the pool party Steve had been guilted into hosting after they’d saved the world again, hopefully for the last time.

Steve doesn’t know where anything glass even came from, he’d been sitting on a pool lounger with his back rigid, uneasy and alert for the smallest disruption.

He springs up, agitated but trying to keep it together, even when his hands are shaking and he’s sure he’s seeing a hulking figure skulking in the corner of his eye and hear that horrible chittering sound, yet, when he turns to look, hand grabbing his bat, there’s nothing there. The weight of his bat is a comfort.

‘Don’t step on it!’

His voice is too shrill, but he can’t see blood spill on the tiles, cloud in the water, attract…

It’s over, he tells himself, but hadn’t he told himself that all the times before?

‘Dingus…’

He doesn’t let her distract him, his concerns are legitimate, how can they know it’s all over, even if the gates are closed there could still be demogorgons lurking in the woods around Hawkins. He never should have agreed to this, his house isn’t safe, will never be safe, the rot had festered there for years before the Upside Down came into his life and now he’s let the kids in, has been careless, hasn’t paid attention and…

He’s been walking to the kids, barefoot, so of course it’s him who gets hurt, but that’s okay, as long as they’re safe.

The glass stings as he steps on it and he gasps at the pain, his fingers tightening around the bat. There’s more panicked voices, his ears are ringing and his head is swiveling from side to side to try and see where the attack will come from.

‘Everyone inside! Go!’

There’s shuffling around him, someone speaks to him, but he can’t discern who, he’s too focused on the looming threat.

He’s still standing on broken glass, sees a broken bottle of coke with its dark contents spilled onto tiles and glass shattered in the wreckage. Blood is mingling with the mess, his blood. He knows he should be moving, but he’s mesmerized, frozen. His hand is still clinging to his bat. Let the others get inside, he’ll be bait. He wants it to be over.

‘Come on…’ he taunts. Blood pools around his foot and it stings.

He waits.

He’s ready.

Come on.The chittering comes, as he knew it would. He’s ready. He swings… and sees Robin's wounded, shocked expression before she crumples, his nail bat stuck to her side.

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Not being able to find fics that you only remember a scene from and none of the tags is torture

[harringroveheart]

Would you like to write MTIAB from Steve’s point of view?

I would like to, but I can't.

I gave it a shot (ficlet here) when I first started, but I find Steve's voice really difficult to get right? I'm actually in awe of people who can write fic from Steve's POV. I was providing a very unnecessarily long-winded answer to a comment on ao3 just the other day about how tricky Steve's character motivations are and how he takes a tragi-comically long time to figure himself out/act on his feelings--and how that means he's always a step behind/out of sync with everyone/the plot.

Basically, if I wrote the fic from Steve's POV it would be 2x as long but purely because of Steve's mental exposition while he tries to understand what the fuck is happening and why it's all going wrong and what he actually wants....aaaaand it would be boring.

[foxxsnacks]

Here, have a short little ST snippet that I wrote at like 3am a few weeks ago and finally decided to post

(this is steddie, can be read as either ship or platonic)

The soft sound of distant thunder rumbles outside, droplets of rain pattering against the window, and Steve Harrington turns a page, the paper crinkling quietly as he does.

Moby Dick; Nancy had recommended it to him, along with a quip of him 'needing to read proper literature'.

He'd just sat down to properly read it, perched in the window of his room in the emptiness and quiet of the Harrington household.

As usual, his parents were gone on a business trip. Sometimes that bothered him, that they were gone so much, but not now. Not in moments like these.

And it wasn't like he was alone, either. The slight swell settled into his abdomen could attest to that.

He feels Eddie shift around within him, and he lifts his book up off of his stomach for a moment, watching as his middle moved beneath his sweater, before going still again. Just getting settled, it seemed.

Steve lets out a soft sigh, to which he feels a small squirm from within; Eddie snuggling up against his spine. A tender smile graces his face as his insides flutter around his small form, a quiet gurgle emitting from his stomach in response.

Once seeing that Eddie wasn't going to move any more, he sets the spine of the book back down against the curve of his stomach, propping it up atop himself, and leaning back against the windowsill.

Not a word is spoken between the two; and nothing needs to be said, either. Steve can feel Eddie's weight resting against his spine, cradled by his innards, and he knows Eddie can hear and feel his breathing, his heartbeat; his body working around him. Just having each other's presence is enough.