you are the peace I crave in this chaotic world

I'm kei, 30s, she/her. This is my artblog.|| Linktree || hyperfocusing on Steddie || Prompts are closed ||

[firefly-party]

| kei | 30s | she/her | introverted mess | self-taught hobby artist |

I draw fanart for my current hyperfixation (⁎❛ᴗ❛⁎)

→ my Steddie/StrangerThings art tag ←

| Instagram | AO3 | Bluesky | Cara |

Do not follow if you're a minor! 🔞

older fanarts → the Witcher | Assassin's Creed | Star Trek |

I do not offer commissions // but I'm open to discuss collabs!

I do not have a shop

If you'd like to have a print, pls look out for my giveaways!!! I'm trying to do those regularly 💞

my Asks and DMs are always open! Feel free to hmu! ❤

drawing tablet: Huion Kamvas Pro 24

Software: ClipStudioPaint2.0

[firefly-party]

worship² - reverse part of the held-series that can be found here: held - worship - claimed

[firefly-party]

✨My Ao3 wrapped 2025!✨

Wishing everyone a happy 2026! ❤️

if you wanna do your own ao3 wrapped without giving your login info / password to any third party sites, use this: AO3 wrapped on reddit

[firefly-party]

❤️🥰 Happy birthday @sidekick-hero!!!!!!! 🥰❤️

And pls pls enjoy this amazing fic by @pearynice too! 💜💜 >> “All I Want is You Around” << 💜💜

[ao3feed-steve-eddie]

by LuckyPanda13

Eddie never intended to be anything more than a fun, unrelated uncle, but when Chrissy needs someone to be the primary caretaker for her daughter while she starts a new job, he’s forced to take the child to kindergarten and pick her up every day. This wouldn’t be a problem, except El’s teacher is the most gorgeous man Eddie has ever laid eyes on – Steve.

Alternate Universe in which Eddie and Steve meet for the first time as adults in a kindergarten classroom.

Words: 18303, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English

Series: Part 9 of I Will Find You In Every Lifetime

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Eleven | Jane Hopper

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Meet-Cute, Teacher Steve Harrington, Good Babysitter Eddie Munson, Fluff, Smut, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, Idiots in Love, Eddie Munson is Obsessed with Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is Obsessed with Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Praise Kink, Steve Harrington Calls Eddie Munson Pet Names, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington “Princess”, Platonically Married Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington, Happy Ending

[firefly-party]

✨ I really wanna reccommend this fanfic!!!! LuckyPanda13 has been accepting plot ideas and she created this masterpiece based on my kindergarten teacher!Steve idea. Pls pls go and enjoy an excessive amount of miscommunication, unhinged horniness and all the resolved sexual tension. ✨

[firefly-party]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💖

HOLLY! 🥹🥰🥹 You're the sweetest! omg thank you so much dear! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

[firefly-party]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💙💚

RIOT!!!! ILYSM!!!!! thank you, love!!!! 🥹🥹 i kiiiissss you and throw all the uno reverse cards at you 💚💞💚

[firefly-party]

✨ Morning indulgence ✨

>uncensored here< (it's only some frotting tho ;D)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Safe to fall apart

Written for round 2 of the @steddiebingo Prompt: Fragile Rated: E Words: 1,401 [also on AO3] Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Established relationship; Scars; Tender sex; Body worship; Implied child neglect; Implied child abuse Notes: @firefly-party and @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx were rightfully complaining a while ago about how - with all the hits our boy keeps taking - Steve should realistically be littered in scars, and asked me if I would like two write a little something about Eddie asking about and worshipping those scars. So here's a little something. Hope you enjoy! ♥️

“What about this one?” 

Steve lifts his head from the pillow to find Eddie looking at the scar on his left knee. He had forgotten he even had that. It's tiny and half-faded, and he's a bit surprised Eddie noticed it at all. 

“Morning of my eighth birthday. Fell from my bike,” he says, and grins at the memory. “I screamed so loud our neighbor came running out in her bathrobe and hair rollers and asked if she should call nine-one-one, but it wasn't so much the pain that got me as the fact that I'd had the bike for only ten minutes. Thought my dad would kill me when he saw I'd put a scratch in it already.” 

Eddie’s mouth does that disdainful little twitch that Steve is well familiar with. The one it always does when his parents come up. His fingers trace the tiny gray specks embedded in the scar tissue. 

“What are those?” 

“Gravel,” Steve shrugs. His arms stay loosely crossed on the pillow above his head, just where Eddie told him to put them, so it probably looks a little silly. “Tried to scrub it all out, but some of it got in there real deep, so …” 

Eddie huffs, pressing a featherlight kiss to the scar. His breath tickles Steve's naked skin as he crawls his way up, ghosting over his inner thighs, the tip of his flushed cock. Steve's lids flutter shut, back arching off the mattress. 

“This one?” 

Steve makes a noise that's half laugh and half groan, head thudding back into the pillows. 

“Appendicitis. When I was twelve. Eddie, c'mon.” 

Eddie just keeps eyeing him expectantly, one finger tracing the tiny pink line in a lazy back-and-forth motion, and Steve understands that pleading will get him nowhere. He sighs, wrinkling his brow as he tries to remember specifics. 

“Missed an important swim meet because of it. My parents said it was okay and that it couldn't be helped, but somehow I couldn't shake the feeling they were mad at me.” 

Eddie shoots him a befuddled look. “What, they thought you did it intentionally? Got appendicitis solely to spite them?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, I’d been working up to that day for months, and they really wanted me to make state, so it was probably a bit of a disapp-oooh, fuck!” 

Because Eddie has just flattened his tongue to the scar and is licking a hot, wet stripe over the length of it. Once he reaches the end, he doesn’t stop, opting to lick and kiss his way across Steve’s abdomen, to the gnarly scar tissue on his hip. He hovers over it, breath warm and ticklish against the sensitive skin. Steve’s hands twitch in the sheets. 

“Come on, you asshat, you know about those.” 

Eddie waits. 

“The goddamn demon bats from the fucking hell dimension? Down in Lover’s Lake? It’s only how we met, c’mon already.”

Eddie looks up at him through those impossibly long lashes and grins - the same infuriating, dimpled one that made Steve’s heart beat faster back then, with what he took for irritation and annoyance. Today, he knows that it’s irritation and annoyance, but paired with something else, something entirely different, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of, as long as they both live. 

Eddie slowly and thoroughly makes his way up his stomach and chest, pausing and asking about every scar he sees, mapping the shape and texture of every single one with fingers and lips and tongue. By the time he gets to the thin, jagged one on his neck, Steve’s hands are fisting into the pillow above his head and his cock is so hard it’s starting to hurt. Eddie doesn’t ask this time. 

“Still one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen,” he rumbles instead. His breath tickles the wet skin of Steve’s throat, where he licked at the scar just a second ago. It’s still sensitive, even after close to a year, and Steve huffs a shaky laugh. 

“Me getting choked?”

“You ripping that winged little asshole in half,” Eddie corrects, hands cradling Steve’s face so that he can turn his head and drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “This one?”

Steve wrinkles his brow. Most of the scars on his face are tiny, but there’s a lot of them. The traces of years and years of protecting the kids from monsters, both from this dimension and the other. Of always putting himself in harm’s way. Of being their shield. 

He doesn’t regret a single one of them.

He’d let himself be broken a thousand times over again if it meant keeping them safe. 

“I think this one was the Russians? Might’ve been Billy, though. The one on my temple was definitely him. When he smashed that plate over my head.”

Eddie swoops his hair to the side to find the one in question, kisses that one, too, and Steve needs to screw his lids shut against the sudden sting that’s welling up behind his eyes. He doesn’t know where it comes from. 

Maybe it’s because, for all that he’s been broken and stitched back together, Eddie is the first person to ask. Eddie is the first person to touch him like he’s fragile. The first person to make him feel like it’s okay to not be tough and strong and brave all the fucking time. Like it’s okay to let loose and come apart, at least sometimes.

*

“Thank you,” Eddie murmurs. Steve, who was just beginning to drift off, head comfortably pillowed on his chest, startles awake with an undignified snort. Eddie took his sweet time with him, languidly fucking him towards his climax. All the while, his hands never stopped cupping Steve’s face, lips finding every tiny scar, over and over agai. Like he was trying to kiss them better, even after all these years. Like he was trying to take him apart at the seams, then put him back together. Now, they’re collapsed under the covers in an exhausted pile of naked limbs, too spent to do much more than lie and bask in the afterglow and each other’s warmth.

“Huh? What for?” 

The bedroom is dark, but in the sliver of moonlight that’s falling in through the blinds, he sees Eddie’s smile. It tugs on the gnarly scar that stretches from his throat all the way up to the corner of his mouth. The one that’s so gruesomely similar to those on his chest and stomach and hips. If Steve got broken, Eddie got torn into a million shreds. For a while, they were scared he’d never be whole again. Yet, here he is. 

“For showing me. I know it’s a lot.”

Steve hums. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he has reached out and touched a finger to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, right where scar tissue meets unmarred skin. 

“Will you tell me about yours some time?” 

Because Eddie has his fair share of scars, too. Not just the ones left by the bats. A tiny one on the knuckles of his right hand. Maybe from a fight, maybe from a simple fall as a kid. A trail of pink, lightly raised scratch marks on his left arm that looks like he picked a fight with an ill-tempered cat - though, knowing Eddie, it might just as well have been a raccoon. A patch of several small, perfectly round ones on his leg that must be cigarette burns. Steve has heard the stories about Eddie’s dad, and he’s a little scared to ask about them, but he knows he will, if given permission.

Eddie smiles, a little more guarded now. “If you want to. Some of those stories aren’t exactly pretty, y’know?”

Steve shrugs. “So? They’re part of you, aren’t they? I wanna know about them.”

Eddie doesn’t answer, but his throat bobs, and the kiss that he leans in for is long and deep and lingering. Steve smiles into it and knows that it will be fine. He wants to know all of Eddie, just like Eddie knows all of him. Wants Eddie to be able to trust and let loose and allow himself to be fragile around him.

No matter how often they fall apart, they’ll be fine. They have practise putting each other back together again, and they’ll do it gladly, for as long as they both live. 

More Steddie Bingo

[firefly-party]

that post of bartender Eddie got me acting like a totally normal person for real...

OMG that made me laugh so hard 🤣😂 It's the first time I'm seeing this... 🤣 You're the best! Thank you so much! ✨🥰

[firefly-party]

🍺🍾🍷🍸🍹 "What's your poison?" 🍹🍸🍷🍾🍺

[firefly-party]

Steal something from my room! 👻

I've been tagged by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation ✨ Thank you, dear!!! 🥰

You thief!!!! You took my...

pretty house plants

collection of Assassin's Creed and Witcher figures

tablet for drawing (how dare you! q_q)

scented candles

crafting items, markers, paints, watercolors, clay...

big ass collection of funny and cute postcards

cat lamp that changes colors

glass full of paper stars

vase full of colorful sea glass

dusty, black acoustic guitar

notebooks (unused. pretty. too pretty to use)

Voting ended onSep 14, 2025

✨ No pressure tags: @sidekick-hero @runninriot @pearynice @hbyrde36 @penny00dreadful @yellove-writer @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dapandapod ✨

[firefly-party]

The happiest bday to @hbyrde36 💜💜💜 My dear, you've been such a good girl, and good girls deserve an >> UNCENSORED VERSION << of this piece, too. 😜 Happy Birthday! 🍰

[firefly-party]

Obviously @sidekick-hero wrote an amazing fic for it! 😉🔥

👉🏻 Blow Your Mind 👈🏻

[sidekick-hero]

Blow Your Mind

Steddie | explicit | 4k | no cw | tags: Eddie lives, rockstar Eddie, Roadie Steve, established relationship, semi-public sex | AO3

My dearest @hbyrde36 - today is your special day (although I think you deserve every day to be special), and what better way to celebrate than with some spicy smut, right?

Right.

So, Kei, the wonderful and insanely talented artist that she is, and I are very happy to present to you our joint birthday gift. We hope you like it and that it brings you as much joy as you bring us! 💜💜💜

You can find @firefly-party beautiful, stunning and smoking hot art here (sfw) and here (nsfw).

"I promise you, Gare Bear, I’m hearing what you’re saying," Eddie says in a conciliatory tone, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the crew members setting up the stage. They’re early for their soundcheck for once, and Eddie will deny until his dying day that it’s because he missed Steve and wanted to see him.

He’s not that whipped, okay?

Gareth huffs in disbelief. "Then why are you—"

Before he can finish, Eddie cuts him off. "I just choose to ignore it because you’re wrong."

Throwing his hands up, Gareth honest-to-God growls. He looks ready to kill him, and Eddie delights in the sight. There’s nothing more amusing than goading Gareth until he snaps.

After years together, it’s also far too easy. Eddie knows all his buttons and presses them like a toddler with their favorite toy.

But Gareth never gets the chance to go off on Eddie, because at the exact moment they round the final corner to the stage, they’re greeted by a sight that makes Eddie stop dead in his tracks—Gareth completely forgotten.

In front of him, in all its perky glory, is the most magnificent ass Eddie has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on.

Or hands. He still can’t believe he’s allowed to get his hands on this piece of art. Or his mouth. Anything, really.

It’s a lot to process, and he’s still not quite over it. Probably never will be.

Gareth, who had just drawn a deep breath for his incoming rant, notices the shift in Eddie and follows his gaze. When he realizes what has captivated their lead guitarist’s attention, he throws up his arms again. Annoyance and fondness vie for the upper hand in his voice as he mutters, "Oh, for fuck's sake! You won't hear a single thing I'm saying now, will you?”

“Uh-uh,” Eddie agrees with a dreamy sigh. Whatever. He’s busy being in love. And lust. God, how is this his boyfriend???

In the back of his mind, Eddie registers Gareth saying something else—but that’s exactly when Steve sets down the heavy amp he’s carrying.

The horny ringing in Eddie’s ears at the sight of Steve crouching—letting go of his burden only to stretch his legs while his upper body stays bent forward, ass out like a beacon in the night—drowns out anything his best friend could possibly say. Gareth could yell Fire! and Eddie would still be staring at the smoke show that is Steve Harrington in tight, light-wash Levi’s, stretched indecently over thighs and ass made by the gods.

Which is why Eddie tries to set Jeff—his oldest and best friend since junior high—on fire with his eyes when Jeff strolls over and says something to Steve that makes him straighten up, robbing Eddie of the view.

He reins his irritation in when Steve nods, crouches again, and lifts the amp, his biceps bulging and forearms flexing in a way that could honestly end civilizations.

Eddie is not proud of the whimper that escapes him—high-pitched, needy. Not his fault.

His body now associates Steve with the highest pleasures it’s ever known. Steve has basically Pavloved him into a drooling, brainless mess. All it takes is a glimpse of those arms that pinned him down so well last night, or those big hands that play him better than any of them play their instruments. Adding insult to injury, Steve flaunts his perfect torso while wearing one of their shirts with the words "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned on the front.

Despite the bustle, the smug bastard heard the undignified sound and throws Eddie a cocky wink over his shoulder.

Eddie swears Steve adds extra swagger to his walk toward the spot Jeff—watching them both like a reluctant audience to a mating dance on the nature channel—told him to put the amp. When Steve squats again, his ass is pushed out even more.

The loud rip of fabric cuts through Eddie’s thirst. He bears witness to the death of Steve’s favorite jeans, torn wide open along the seam between both cheeks, undone by the sheer pressure of his ass.

The silence that follows is deafening in Eddie’s ears, even as he barely registers that the crew doesn’t pause for more than a glance.

Still, he can tell Steve’s mortified. He hears a heartfelt fuck, but the tension in every line of Steve’s body says more. If Eddie were in front of him, he’s sure he’d see a deep blush running from Steve’s cheeks all the way down his throat.

Next to him, Gareth snorts. And sure—objectively—Eddie can see why the scene is funny. But Steve’s feelings are his first priority.

“Not a word,” he hisses, striding over to where Steve kneels with his ass on his calves, doing his best to hide the rip in his jeans.

Eddie squats down beside his boyfriend, leaning in to whisper directly in his ear. “I think I should be the only one allowed to rip your clothes off, Stevie.”

It works.

Steve huffs an amused laugh. “You couldn’t even rip my shirt open last time you tried, Munson.”

Eddie jerks back, indignant.

Then Steve lands the killing blow, deadpan: “It was a button-up.”

Clutching his imaginary pearls, Eddie dials the dramatics to eleven, determined to coax a real laugh out of the man he’s pretty sure is the love of his life.

“How dare you, Steven ‘you don’t even deserve me knowing your middle name right now’ Harrington. We can’t all be strong, athletic, good-looking, heroic jocks. That’s no reason to mock your humble, devoted boyfriend just because he wasn’t fast enough to free this dazzling—” he palms Steve’s backside lovingly “—jewel from its prison himself.”

There it is—the loveliest sound Eddie’s ears know, even better than the beautiful noises his other “sweetheart” produces: Steve’s laughter.

Not the quiet, amused huff from earlier, but deep, joyful, ringing through the open space of the stage like a private show just for Eddie.

“Alright, alright,” Steve says, still laughing as he leans some of his weight against Eddie. “I promise, next time you’re the one ripping my pants open. Maybe leave them intact, though? Those were my favorites.”

“Just because you know how spectacular your ass looks in them, show-off,” Eddie mutters.

Looking up through his lashes, Steve purrs, “Don’t tell me you weren’t enjoying the show.”

And there’s his cocky boyfriend again—humiliation forgotten. Good.

Eddie knows the crew will finish setting up soon. He knows they have a tone check to do before the show. He knows Gareth will probably murder him if he messes this up.

Unfortunately, knowledge is no match for Eddie’s lack of impulse control—or his need to be as close to Steve as humanly possible. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d cling to Steve’s back koala-style.

“How about I show you how much exactly I enjoyed it?” The promise is clear in his voice, and the hunger in his eyes says the rest.

Steve’s wheels are turning—he knows they don’t have time for this. But they wasted so much time being stupid that most days it feels like they’re still making up for it.

He nods, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Eddie wants to eat him alive.

He’s on his feet in seconds, almost bouncing with giddy energy as he sticks out his hand to help Steve up. As soon as they’re standing, he crowds close against Steve’s back, blocking the view of his ripped jeans.

“I’m showing Steve where he can change real quick. Be right back!” he hollers to the band, and they leave the stage to the sound of twin groans.

They round the same corner Eddie came from not even ten minutes ago—only for Steve to halt dead in front of him, making Eddie barrel straight into his back.

The impact knocks the wind out of him, but it doesn’t stop him from wheezing in his boyfriend’s ear, “I didn’t know you were into people watching me on my knees for you, but I could be persuaded—”

“God, no!” Steve cuts in before Eddie can finish that particular train of thought. Maybe it’s for the best. Eddie’s not sure he actually likes the idea of anyone else seeing Steve in the throes of passion.

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

That pulls Eddie out of his possessive musings, because—no, actually—he doesn’t.

“Not really? We came from here earlier, so I figured we’d find the Green Room somewhere ‘round here.”

Hands on his hips, Steve radiates the same annoyed mom energy he always had with the kids back in Hawkins. Eddie really shouldn’t find it hot—especially not when he’s the one in trouble—but his dick strongly disagrees.

“Honestly, how did you survive without me?”

It’s rhetorical, but the answer isn’t. It’s also easy.

“Barely.”

Steve’s shoulders drop, along with his annoyance. Before Eddie can process it, his arms are full of the man of his dreams, and he’s being kissed—long and hard.

Like Steve needs to get his point across and make it stick.

“Come on, Bambi, I know where the Green Room is.”

It’s in the opposite direction they were going, tucked away from the bustle around the stage. They don’t run into anyone after a few turns, and Eddie’s eyes stay glued to the flashes of pale skin peeking through the rip in Steve’s jeans. Of course he’s going commando in jeans that tight.

Which is exactly why Eddie collides a second time with Steve’s strong back when he halts in front of the Green Room door.

“Uff,” is all his boyfriend says as Eddie presses him into it with his weight.

“You started it,” Eddie retorts, pushing himself off Steve—reluctantly—so they can get the door open.

Steve glares at him over his shoulder. “How in the world did I start you running into me? Again, I might add.”

Eddie gestures wildly at his boyfriend, as if it isn’t obvious.

“You’re distracting me with your hotness. Duh.”

Once they step into the blessedly empty room they’re finally—finally— alone.

In one second flat, Eddie has Steve pressed against the nearest surface, already on his knees and fumbling with the button of those cursed jeans that started his horny spiral in the first place.

The stack of hardcases from their equipment shifts a few inches backwards under the sudden impact of Steve’s weight—and Eddie’s determination to get to his boyfriend’s dick—but is thankfully blocked by the wall behind them. Otherwise, Eddie would’ve eaten concrete instead of Steve, and that sounds way too cannibalistic, even for his own weird brain.

He shoves the thought aside and crawls the few inches Steve has moved backward with the hardcases, laughing breathlessly. “Oopsie.”

“Why do I always feel like every minute with you is an accident waiting to happen?” Steve asks rhetorically—because they both know it’s true. The only person even more accident-prone than Eddie is maybe Buckley, and Steve swears he loses at least five years of his life every time they’re all together.

Eddie’s pretty sure Steve enjoys rescuing him way too much to mean the annoyance.

Case in point: the gentle hand cupping the side of his face, and the amused twinkle in Steve’s smiling eyes that accompanies his words.

“No idea. But if I die choking on this beauty”—he palms Steve over his jeans—“know I died doing what I love.”

Without much further ado, Eddie finally gets Steve’s jeans open and shoves them down to just above his knees, freeing the prettiest dick the world—or at least Eddie—has ever seen.

Granted, he hasn’t seen that many in person. Before Steve turned up on the doorstep of his LA apartment a few months ago, Eddie had been painfully unfucked. Still, he’s seen his fair share in locker rooms and magazines, and none could hold a candle to what Steve’s working with.

“Hello, my precious. I missed you,” he purrs, delighting in the way the thick cock in his hands slowly fills under his hungry gaze.

Above him, Steve groans. “I can’t believe you’re getting hard right now,” he tells his own dick, voice laced with mock disappointment.

Still, Eddie can’t let that stand.

He wets his lips and sinks down onto Steve in one swift motion, tongue sliding along the veiny shaft. It’s still impossible for him to take all of Steve into his throat—not that he’s unwilling to try, and often—but what he can fit, he does, until it bumps against the soft palate at the back of his throat.

“Fuuuuck,” Steve curses, his voice carrying in the empty room. His hands scramble uselessly for purchase against the hardcases at his back before finally gripping Eddie’s shoulder, curling in on himself. Eddie feels the tension in Steve’s thighs, the way he’s holding back—keeping himself from thrusting deeper, from making Eddie take more than he’s currently able.

God, part of him wants exactly that: to be used, to be pushed until there’s nothing but Steve filling his throat. He wants to tell Steve he won’t break, that he wants him to let go. Maybe one day. Right now, an even bigger part of him loves the care Steve wraps around him like a soft blanket on a cold winter evening.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he grins up at Steve like the cat that got the canary. “You were saying, love?”

“Oh God,” his boyfriend groans, staring down at him with dark, wide eyes. “I created a monster.”

Eddie laughs, delighted. “Nah, you only woke it from its hibernation. I’ve always been hungry for you, sweetheart.”

Steve’s face does this thing again, where his eyes go all liquid, mouth tight, brows pulled together. He looks at Eddie like that whenever something reminds him of the time they wasted - he wasted, when he let Eddie go to LA alone when he had clearly wanted Steve to come with him.

They’ve had that discussion more than once. Eddie doesn’t want to think about the what if’s, he wants to enjoy what he has right now. The man he loves, hard and aching for him, staring down at him with fond adoration.

If only the regret he sees lurking in those hazel eyes would fuck right off.

But, Steve knows better than to say anything that would ruin the mood right now, so he does the next best thing.

“Show me.”

A wild grin splits Eddie’s face, his voice full giddy delight. “I’m going to blow your mind, baby.”

For someone who struggles academically as much as he does, Eddie picks up new skills surprisingly fast. He basically taught himself to play guitar over one summer when he broke his leg and couldn’t go outside.

The song that saved the world—as Dustin still calls his rendition of Master of Puppets, pure awe in his voice—Eddie learned in just two weeks.

Steve’s dick is the first—and if it’s up to Eddie, the last—he’s ever had the pleasure of giving head to. And while he gagged rather embarrassingly the first two times, by the third he was already pulling sweet, sweet sounds from Steve. Just like with any other beloved instrument, as soon as he got the hang of handling something so precious, he made it sing.

By now, he considers himself an expert in the art of dick. A dick-pert, if you will. Or maybe just a Steve-pert.

Steve seems to agree, judging by the way he’s already leaking pre all over his pretty cock, making Eddie’s hand glide heavy and slick while his tongue teases the head—dipping in and out of the slit before circling the ridge of the glans.

His hand-eye coordination might be shit, but his hand-mouth coordination? Olympic level.

“Baby,” Steve moans, already breathless when Eddie’s only just started. “Fuck, you’re—” another, wordless moan—“so good. Perfect.”

The praise settles warm and heavy in Eddie’s chest.

“You’re so wet for me,” he marvels, catching another drop with his tongue. The bitter taste isn’t exactly pleasant, but it’s a potent reminder of how much pleasure he’s giving Steve.

It’s like Steve hadn’t noticed before, because he glances down at his cock in Eddie’s hand and the mess he’s making, eyes going wide. “Fuck, baby. Look how good you’re making me feel.”

He bunches his shirt in his fist, giving Eddie more room to work without risking suspicious stains on the black cotton.

It shows off more of his toned stomach and happy trail. Eddie loves how Steve’s body is a rich symphony of scars, moles, beauty marks, freckles, and hair. From his place kneeling on the floor, he drinks in the sight for another moment, absently stroking the thick cock in his hand while he marvels at his luck.

Eddie won’t ever say it out loud, but he’s convinced Steve is the universe’s way of thanking him for being ready to sacrifice himself to save the world.

His hands smooth over hairy thighs to grip firm ass cheeks. “Baby?”

“Hmm?”

They lock eyes, and Eddie holds the gaze when he says, “Fuck my mouth. Please.”

Then he opens up, tongue resting just above his bottom lip, and waits.

He feels the hesitation in the way Steve goes very still, a war of wants playing out in those beautiful hazel eyes. He wants to—Eddie knows that. But he also wants to treat Eddie right, to be gentle and good and careful.

Most of all, Steve wants to give Eddie everything he asks for.

So he gives in and slides into the warm, wet mouth waiting for him.

It’s heaven. The thickness of him, the heavy weight, the barely restrained strength in each shallow thrust—it all sends Eddie somewhere else entirely. Somewhere the ache in his knees or the insistent pressure of his own hard cock against his skinny jeans is nothing more than background noise. Somewhere nothing exists but the feeling of being full. Being owned.

Being undone.

Being wrecked.

Being ruined.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Lost in a lust-drunk haze, it takes Eddie a moment to realize Steve has spoken. His eyes had been closed, letting himself drown in Steve—his sounds, his taste, his scent, the silky-smooth skin and hard flesh against his tongue. Now he opens them and looks up at the only man he’s ever wanted to see him like this.

Like Eddie is the answer to every question. The only reason he’ll ever need.

Steve’s thumb grazes his cheek, and Eddie realizes he’s wiping away a stray tear.

“Beautiful,” Steve breathes again.

And the thing is—for the first time in his life, Eddie truly feels beautiful.

On his knees, red-faced, with drool and Steve’s pre leaking from the corner of his mouth, eyes wide and wet from tears—Eddie is beautiful.

He hums, happy and content to stay here for the rest of his life if he could.

Steve takes the sound as his cue to go on, rolling his hips again with a broken moan. His thrusts are still gentle but relentless, barely giving Eddie time to draw a breath. He’s getting light-headed, but that only fuels the low-simmering pleasure until it rises like a tidal wave ready to drag him under.

It should be impossible—being this close without a single hand on himself. But he’s losing it in the pleasure he’s giving, and even without touching his own cock, he can feel the telltale signs of his climax building.

Fast.

So he taps Steve’s ass, three times. They’ve never talked about it before, never needed to—because they’ve never gone this far before. Far enough for Eddie to give up all control, handing it to Steve on a silver platter of lust, love, and trust.

Steve still understands. Even caught up in his own pleasure, he’s so attuned to Eddie.

“You okay?” he asks, hips going still. His thumb smooths along Eddie’s cheekbone, underlining the question. Did I hurt you?

“I want you to come on my face.”

He’d wanted to ease into it, to explain what Steve does to him and why he needs Steve’s release marking him.

Paint me with your love.

Show me I’m yours.

But words are hard to form. He’ll tell Steve one day. For now, he just wants to be marked. Made even more beautiful with Steve’s claim on his skin.

He doesn’t wait for an answer—just starts lapping up the mix of spit and pre from Steve’s cock, sliding lower, following the trail down to his heavy balls. He buries his nose where the shaft meets them and breathes deep, musk filling his senses.

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re gonna make me come if you keep that up.” Steve’s voice is strained, and when Eddie glances past the proudly jutting cock in his hand, he finds Steve fisting his own hair, knuckles white from the tension strung tight through his body.

Eddie smirks, proud of himself. Nat 20 in sexual prowess, baby.

“That’s exactly what I want you to do, big boy. Haven’t you been listening?” He clicks his tongue for good measure.

The annoyed groan above him turns desperate as Steve throws his head back, overwhelmed by the new sensation of Eddie sucking his balls like they’re his favorite lollipop.

From there, it doesn’t take much—just the dry press of Eddie’s finger at Steve’s hole while his hand twists just right on the upstroke—and Steve loses the battle against his body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, and Eddie barely manages to aim his cock toward his face, painting it white. His only regret is having to close his eyes so he doesn’t get any in them, missing the wonder of his boyfriend’s pleasure-stricken face.

His own climax, aided by the kneading of his hand over his jeans, is almost an afterthought.

When he opens his eyes, Steve is staring down at him in awe—eyes wide, mouth parted, cheeks flushed, lips bitten red.

“Beautiful,” Steve breathes again, and Eddie thinks that if there’s a heaven, he wants to relive this moment for eternity.

Eddie barely makes it in time for soundcheck, earning more than one raised eyebrow at the way he looks.

They’d cleaned up quickly and efficiently, Steve scrubbing the come off Eddie’s face with something like mournfulness. If it were up to him, he’d go out wearing his boyfriend’s mark with pride—but apparently societal norms demand otherwise.

Eugh.

Even though they’ve made themselves somewhat presentable, they both look exactly like what they’ve been doing.

No one says anything—blessedly—until Eddie starts singing the bridge of their first song.

“What the fuck did you do to your voice, Cobain?” Gareth misses his cue on the drums, too busy pointing an accusing finger at him.

Eddie gasps, clutching his chest. “You take that back! I sound nothing like him.”

Jeff sighs. “You kinda do. You sound like you ate gravel.”

Grant, who has been watching the exchange in quiet fascination, adds in a flat tone, “Or like someone fucked your throat.”

They all turn toward where Steve had been standing just seconds ago, only to find him gone.

“Traitor,” Eddie grumbles. Ninety minutes on stage to think about how to get back at his boyfriend for abandoning him to his bandmates’ teasing scorn.

Life, Eddie decides, is pretty good right now.

[firefly-party]

The happiest bday to @hbyrde36 💜💜💜 My dear, you've been such a good girl, and good girls deserve an >> UNCENSORED VERSION << of this piece, too. 😜 Happy Birthday! 🍰

[pearynice]

Art by @firefly-party

"Steve?"

The sound is low. Croaky. It's raspy and dry after three days of disuse but it holds the warmth Steve had grown so accustomed to living without, the warmth he'd gone for so long without he'd nearly forgotten what it sounded like.

Nearly.

He never thought he'd hear that word out of Eddie's mouth again.

Eddie's eyes are dark. They shine against the hallway light Steve left on, his irises brown, the whites no longer tinged with red. Eddie's scar pulls as his brows draw together and Steve wonders if he's in pain. He wonders if throwing up all those vines is the reason his voice is scratchy, if he needs water or tea or pain meds and Steve is thinking through what he has in the cupboard when Eddie moves again.

His hand moves under the sheets. Soon it finds Steve's under the covers, slow but sure, and Steve realizes he'd frozen, gone stock-still in the wake of Eddie's voice, and he feels as those fingers wrap around his own, Eddie's pointed claws retracted.

"Stevie?" The hand squeezes, those uncalloused fingers achingly unfamiliar and Steve realizes he's holding his breath, his chest tight as Eddie's palm meets his own, his thumb sliding across the edge of Steve's hand.

It can't be real. 

He doesn't trust this, whatever it is, a dream or a hallucination or Vecna come back to torment them again because Steve had only wanted Eddie alive, had only wanted him breathing, had only wanted him--

"Sweetheart?"

But if it's Vecna Steve isn't strong enough to resist. If it's a hallucination or a dream he's too weak to fight the pull of it because the promise of Eddie's memory is too sweet of a reality to fall into. The promise of Eddie knowing him, remembering him, the promise that those arms could wrap around him the way they used to before, could pull him close and hold him tight and it's all Steve has wanted for the last two years.

It's everything he thought he would never have again.

Eddie's still staring at him. His gaze is dark and glittering and clear, his eyebrows pinched in such concern that the scar across his face pulls and that hand under the sheets tugs, an invitation, and finally, his trance breaks.

In a breath Steve is back against Eddie's chest, but now those arms wrap around him, and they don't hesitate. They don't flinch. They pull him close and hold him tight, and Steve can hear Eddie's heartbeat and feel the warmth of his skin and Eddie murmurs his name, over and over again.

Eddie's lips press to the crown of his head. His hands are pulled from Eddie's sides to have kisses placed to the soft skin of his wrists, the pads of his fingers and each of his knuckles and Steve doesn't realize he's crying until he's lifting his head and Eddie is wiping his tears away.

"I missed you." Steve's voice breaks, and Eddie's face crumbles with it. He cups Steve's face. Kisses his nose. His eyelids. The apples of his cheeks before brushing their lips together.

Steve needs more before the moment is even over. Opens his mouth before his eyes are even closed and a broken, keening noise cracks from his chest as he crawls deeper into Eddie's bed.

But Eddie seems to need him just as desperately. He tugs at Steve's shirt, pulling him closer, drops his mouth open so their tongues can meet and it's the truest sense of coming home Steve has ever felt.

Eddie is here, and Eddie remembers him.

Steve kisses him, and Eddie kisses back, and Eddie whispers his name, over and over again, into his ear.

Sleep, somehow, must've overtaken him, because when Steve wakes again it's to Eddie's fingers in his hair. Eddie's fingers are in his hair and his head is pillowed on Eddie's chest and the memory of his name on Eddie's lips rises to the surface of his tear-sodden brain. 

Steve stays where he is. Keeps his eyes closed as he absorbs the feeling of Eddie's hand in his hair, his palm on the small of his back and the steady rise and fall of his chest--because now, in the suspension of this moment--Eddie remembers him. He knows his name. He holds him with a familiarity they both share and his gaze holds the years they spent together and Steve isn't prepared to wake up to a world where that was a dream. Where that wasn't real, where that was nothing but a fleeting moment and Eddie will once again not remember him, will once again look at him with golden eyes and uncertain stares and Steve can't--

Lips press to his hairline. The touch is soft. Feather-light. A touch for Eddie and not for him, a touch meant not to wake him. But Steve leans into it. Follows it, like he has followed Eddie everywhere, desperate and searching and longing, and those fingers in his hair still.

"Steve?"

Again his name. Just his name and it's enough to have tears threatening at the corners of his eyes and Steve tightens his grip around Eddie in a harsh reversal of that first night Eddie spent with him. This time, though, it's Steve who looks up.

Eddie's already gazing at him. In the filtered light through the blinds Steve can see him more clearly, see that despite the clarity in his eyes his ears are still unnaturally large, although not as pointed as they once were. His face still has the same scars, the same puckered pink that climbs across his cheek, and the words are out of Steve's mouth before he has the thought to form them.

"You remember me." It's barely more than a whisper. A statement and not a question, but despite the recognition in Eddie's gaze Steve needs the nods he gives him in return. 

"Yeah," Eddie croaks, his voice breaking, "I do."

A knot--one lodged so deep Steve hadn't been aware of it until those words left Eddie's lips--unravels. Steve exhales, a horrible, gasping thing that tickles his throat and makes him cough, makes his eyes water as he clutches at Eddie's hands, as those hands clutch back, scarred and smooth and still, despite it all, Eddie.

"I'm so sorry." Eddie's voice cracks over Steve's desperate breaths, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. "Everything I put you through--everything you did for me--" he breaks off, his own breath becoming uneven, his hands gripping Steve's so tightly they ache. "Sweetheart I'm so--"

Steve kisses him. It's wet. They've both been crying and the angle is off and Steve kisses his chin before Eddie can tilt his face to connect their mouths, but then Eddie is kissing him. Eddie is kissing him and Eddie remembers him and his hands are releasing Steve's to wrap around his waist and pull him close and Steve knew, on some level, that he was insane for all of this. Insane to care for Eddie the way he did. Insane to so quickly drop his life plans to wrap them around a relationship that started when he was seventeen but now--

But now Steve knows he was also right.

One of Eddie's hands cup his face, pointed nails dragging across his cheek and it feels so good to be touched like this--touched like he's someone loved, someone known--and it hits him that he is.

He has that, again. 

Eddie is back.

Eddie is back.

The kiss is desperate. Steve kisses him like he's the only thing tying him to the earth and the only water he'll ever drink again and Eddie kisses him back just as fiercely, teeth and tongue and nails until Eddie feels real against him, until the press of him doesn't feel like vapor, until the feeling of Eddie under him doesn't feel like blood and broken bones. 

"I love you," Eddie murmurs between kisses, voice fierce, "I love you so much, sweetheart." It's too much and not enough and Steve wants to press himself into the the beat of Eddie's heart, wants to wrap himself around his spine and find a home in the shell of his ear, wants to nestle into the hollow of his collarbones so he never has to go without this touch again. 

Steve melts at those three words, sags into Eddie's hold as he nods against him, their noses bumping, breaking their kiss. "I love you too." His voice breaks as he says it. He's still sort of crying. Eddie's hands come back to his face to cup his cheeks, to wipe his thumbs across the tear tracks and kiss between his brows and Steve lets out a deep, shuddering exhale that twists Eddie's mouth. 

"I'm so sorry," Eddie says, again, those clear eyes haunted, a depth to them that was never there before. "Everything I put you through, you didn't deserve that--you didn't--"

"I love you," Steve interrupts. His voice is steady, now, harsh in a way he didn't really mean but it makes Eddie shut up, makes him bite at his bottom lip so his teeth that are still too long press harshly against his skin. "I would do it all over again," Steve goes on, his hand coming up to Eddie's face, to the scar that twists across his cheek, "Even if you never remembered me." He swallows, his throat tight, his voice thick. "There is no world that's better without you in it."

Eddie's tears spill across his scarred cheek and he kisses Steve again. Once. Twice. Three times until he's peppering kisses across his face, up his jaw and along his hairline, across his brows and on each eye lid, down his nose until their lips meet again, and Eddie says his next words into Steve's mouth.

"So would I," he starts, "I would do all of it, all over again, if I knew it would keep you safe." Eddie's nose bumps against his own, and his claws catch on the stubble Steve hasn't shaved away. "I know I hurt people. I know I hurt people who didn't deserve it but Steve I--" he breaks off, that same darkness flashing across his vision before it flickers away again-- "there isn't a world where you safe isn't worth that."

It's a slow climb back to normal. Even though Steve isn't sure he'll ever know what that feels like again. But he has Eddie. He has him with his pointed ears and curved nails, his teeth that hang over his bottom lip, his memories and his love and his love and his love. 

Steve doesn't know how he could ever want for anything, ever again. 

Eddie holds his hand when the kids eventually spill into his room. Only lets it go to throw his arms around Lucas and Mike and Dustin, as he holds the last of them the hardest, as he murmurs something that Steve can't hear but Dustin nods at, wipes his eyes and then nods again, goes in for one last hug that Eddie holds onto for long seconds, his eyes closed. 

Max stares at them from under her thick glasses, her sight damaged but her perception sharp, and Steve only nods when she tilts her head at Eddie.

And that is that.

Eddie's memory stays. Eddie's memory stays and each morning Steve wakes up to him spread eagle on the bed, drool on the pillow and leg hooked around Steve's own, and he feels heady in the presence of it. Feels lightheaded every time Eddie's eyes open and his lips part in a smile, every time Eddie rolls closer or pulls Steve towards him, every time he presses kisses to Steve's skin and murmurs his good morning, because every time there is half a moment, an intake of breath, when Steve wonders if he imagined it all. Wonders if Eddie's memory will be gone or if they'll start back at square one, if Eddie will call him <em>Mine</em> or flinch away when Steve reaches, but his Eddie has only ever turned closer. 

He picks his guitar back up. Learns to play around curved nails and fills Steve's too-big house with the noise Steve never thought he would hear again. They take turns reading to each other. Eddie's Gandalf voice is far better but he insists Steve does a much better Paul Atreides and so Eddie reads Tolkein and Steve reads Herbert and they read in Steve's living room because Eddie is still a dead man.

Eddie cracks open his D&D books again and starts scribbling notes, starts sketching out bad guys and running plot lines and NPCs by Steve, starts asking Will and Dustin and Lucas and Mike if they'd ever want to play again.

They sit on Steve's back porch while Steve drinks a coke and Eddie drinks juice and Steve paints Eddie's left hand for him and lets Eddie paint his toes.

Together, they breathe. Even when it's not easy. Even when Eddie pretends it is. 

Because Eddie wakes, more often than not, in the middle of the night, sweat-damp and panting, a look in his eyes that Steve doesn't recognize, a look that stays until Eddie takes deep, steadying breaths, until he can see where he is and who's beside him and look out the window and see stars and clouds and a clear black sky.

He's quieter than he was before. Can sit still for long stretches without saying a word, can sit through conversations with the kids without ever interjecting.

He gets headaches. His ear rings, a constant hum that goes up and down in pitch, makes him sensitive to noise and prone to a pulsing at his temples that he acts like doesn't bother him.

His scars ache. Steve draws him baths and rubs oil that boasts of pain relief he finds in his mother's medicine cabinet into his scars and Eddie looks at him with apologies in his eyes and Steve presses kisses to his skin until he relaxes into the bed sheets.

"I love you," Steve promises, and Eddie holds his gaze, and says it back.

They make do.

"Thank you," Eddie murmurs, his words muffled by the press of the pillow, face down and shirtless against the bed as Steve rubs the last of the oil into his skin. 

He'll get more tomorrow. 

Steve hums in reply, his fingers now deft at the practiced movement, as they twist into the scar tissue he knows will make Eddie wince and then relax, make the pinch in his brows ease, make the line of his shoulders fall as the pain escapes him. It's never gone fully, and Steve knows it probably won't ever be, but he can do this. 

He can do what he can. 

They're quiet as he works. The only sound is the slide of skin on skin as Steve massages, the creak of the bed as he adjusts his weight and Eddie's soft sighs as the tight tissue is stretched, and this is a quiet Steve's grown to enjoy. Grown to like the silence that Eddie makes up, because silence with Eddie isn't the quiet of his childhood. It isn't cold or tense or withdrawn, the quiet with Eddie is peace. 

Steve sits back when he's done, rubs the last of the oil into Eddie's exposed legs and watches as his boyfriend shifts, the muscles of his back stretching, a deep, contended sigh escaping him before he collapses back down onto the bed, twisting to lay on his side. "Thank you."

Gently, Steve eases off of him, but Eddie pouts when he does, makes grabby hands until Steve crawls back up the bed, until Eddie can kiss him his thank you and run his fingers through his hair. And for a while that's all they do, and Steve nearly falls asleep before remembering what's resting in his bedside table.

He opens his eyes.

Eddie's already looking at him. His gaze is soft. He smiles when their gazes meet.

"Hi."

Steve swallows. "I... did something." Eddie's eyebrows rise, and then narrow, a smirk breaking across his face.

"You <em>did</em> something," he repeats, intrigued, and combs his fingers through Steve's hair. "Is it bad I'm hoping it's a sex thing?"

Steve snorts, and twists his oily hands together. "I, um...I hired a PI."

Quiet. For long seconds there's only silence as Steve lets his own words hang, the envelope in his nightstand burning a hole in the wood. Because he knew if he'd asked, Eddie would've said no. Would've told Steve he could've found him himself, that Steve shouldn't waste a penny on him, that Wayne wouldn't have wanted that either. 

But more than anything Steve didn't want Eddie to wait years to see his uncle again. Didn't want Eddie to waste any more days that feel so much more precious now, after everything, away from the only family he has left. 

Not if he could do anything to change it. 

"You hired a PI," Eddie parrots, hesitance now in his words, and Steve meets his gaze again. "What d'we need a PI for?"

And it's that word, the we, the implicit trust that Eddie has in him, that he knows whatever it is, it's for the both of them, that gets him into motion. He leans away from Eddie. Stretches to reach the nightstand drawer, and pulls out the Manila envelope. 

He thumbs at the seal, broken and worn with how many times Steve had opened it up just to assure himself that he wasn't hallucinating, that Wayne's alive and well and they could visit him, if they wanted. The contents proves it.

He hands the envelope to Eddie. It's light, despite all the time it took the PI to track Wayne down. A deed, a new driver's license, and a few phone calls to the right people, and they had the old man's home address.

"I found Wayne."

Eddie's halfway through opening the envelope and he freezes, eyes going wide under Steve's words and he looks to Steve and back down to the envelope like the contents could jump out and bite him.

"He's in Montana," Steve tacks on, "he's got a house and land and lives just about as far away as he can from anyone else." He cracks a smile that Eddie doesn't match, his eyes still wide as he eyes the unopened envelope. "He doesn't have a land line. He lives so far out in the middle of nowhere he's gotta pick up his mail at the post office." Steve nods towards the envelope. "There's photos."

Eddie swallows. Steve can see the flex of his throat as he does, the muscles of his jaw popping as his unsteady fingers slip under the second prong, and release what's inside.

A small stack of photos, a property record, a print-out of a DMV signature and Eddie stares at it all with fear in his eyes, his pupils blown wide and his mouth twisted to the side and Steve moves closer because he doesn't know what else to do. With shaking hands Eddie flips over the photographs, blurry but unmistakably Wayne. At the post office. At the grocery store. In a truck at a stoplight and at a bar with two men Steve doesn't recognize and Eddie's curved nail trails across his uncle's face.

"He's the first person I remembered," Eddie whispers, his gaze still on the photo, dark and clouded, "when I was..." he trails off, but Steve understands. He nods, and Eddie folds himself into Steve's side, and he doesn't hesitate in pulling him close. "Before my parents," Eddie goes on, "before my mom or my dad or anyone it was Wayne." Eddie sniffles. "But is he even going to want to see me again? Is he even going to be able to look at me like--" he gestures, long nails flying high to point to his ears, and he turns in Steve's hold to bare his unnatural teeth. "I can't take it if he doesn't want me, Steve, I'd rather never see him at all, I'd rather live without him, I'd rather--" he breaks off again, long teeth biting into his lip and he shakes his head, his curls tossing. "I'd rather remember him as loving me." Eddie's hands settle back at his sides, now clenched into tight fists. "I can't lose another dad."

And Steve doesn't know how to tell him about the look on Wayne's face when he left. At the expression that went beyond heartbreak, at the look of a man lost, at how he held Eddie's rings made of nickel like they were worth more than gold and how the man who served in Vietnam and kept guns under his bed cried when he left the town that killed his son.

"He still loves you." Steve says it firmly. Says it sure, says it with as much confidence as his sixteen year old self can still give him, and Eddie's gaze lifts from the photos to meet Steve's own. "Eddie, there's nothing you could do that would change that." And Steve points to the glint of light in that blurry photo, to the necklace around Wayne's neck that had undoubtedly come loose from under his collar, to the boar's head that's recognizable even through a camera lens. "You're not gonna lose him," Steve murmurs, softer now, his hand coming up to run along Eddie's spine, "you've just gotta take him back."

He feels as Eddie's muscles tense, and then relax, the pinch of his brows softening as his lips curl to one side, taking in the glimmer in the photograph in front of them. "I just want it to be like before."

Steve nods, because he knows, and because they both know it never will be again. 

Eddie leans against him. Relaxes in his hold as Steve wraps his arms around him, kisses him softly before resting their foreheads together. "You'll always have me though," Steve assures, "that will always be like it was before." He kisses Eddie again before he does it. A peck to his lips before he's fiddling with the clasp around his neck, unfastening the necklace that hasn't left him since Eddie handed it to him.

With wide eyes Eddie lets him fasten it back on, the red stark against his scarred pale skin, and Steve thumbs the spot where it rests against his sternum. "I have you back," Steve points out, smiling so he doesn't cry, "I don't need to hang onto this anymore."

Another kiss. And then another. Eddie kisses his lips. His nose. His cheeks and his chin before settling against his chest. He holds Steve's hand. Plays with his fingers. "Mine," he murmurs.

Eddie

Eddie closes his eyes.  He hears the steady pound of Steve's heart against his chest, the warmth of Steve's skin against his own, and breathes.

In out, in out, in out.

Home.

Finale of this fic on AO3

[firefly-party]

For @sidekick-hero's 3,333 follower celebration! Congrats my love!

I completely ran free without any of the given prompts, so I really hope you like this one!! 💜

Rated T | 333 words | no cw! Tags: established Steddie, wee bit LOTR lore, the hopefully known dispute in the lotr fandom ;D or here on AO3 thanks to @dapandapod for the help!

The thing about the eagles - Next stop Mt. Doom!

“Eddie?” Steve whispers into the dark of their bedroom. They finished reading The Return Of The King about half an hour ago, and Steve’s been awfully silent and has been tossing and turning ever since.

“Eds?” “Hm?” Eddie finally grunts, clearly half asleep already. 

“So… Why didn't Frodo and Sam just fly with the eagles to Mordor? Y’know, like…getting onto their backs in the Shire and jumping off on Mt. Doom? Drop the Ring, stealthy like ninjas, then back on the eagles and home? An in-and-out mission. Could have saved a lot of lives if you ask me.”

Steve is far too enthusiastic for this time of night.

Eddie rubs his eyes with the palm of his hands and takes a very deep, very steadying breath. Out of all the questions Eddie would have expected, this one’s the worst. Steve wouldn’t know, but it still triggers Eddie an unreasonable amount.

"Stevie. Babe. Sweetheart,” he sighs and shakes his head softly “...One does not simply walk into Mordor. Or fly.”

Silence.

"Huh. Okay." Steve simply replies after a moment as he turns to his side and does his familiar settling-in-for-sleep wiggle.

Eddie turns his head to glare at his blissfully unaware - and lucky for him - devastatingly handsome boyfriend in disbelief.

Now here is the dilemma. On one hand, he wants to berate Steve for asking such a dumb question. Seriously, of everything he could ask, that’s it?! On the other hand, he wants to kiss Steve silly for thinking so hard about Eddie’s favorite books.

Hours later and he’s still staring at his now softly snoring boyfriend.

Eddie has a prepared mental cataloge of every scene and quote in the books to prove to Steve that you cannot simply fly to fucking Mordor for fucks sake! 

Even better, he has actual maps and enough backstory from the Silmarillon to strengthen his impending, unavoidable speech.

“Yeah.” Eddie says to no one but himself. He’s ready.

Tomorrow he's gonna have a field day with his boyfriend.

[firefly-party]

Adding this bc some ppl on AO3 are amazing!