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sometimes it returns | 1.6k | 911 | buddie

Eventually Eddie asks, “What are you doing out here?”

“I like the rain,” is Buck’s answer.

Eddie doesn’t understand how. Anything more than a drizzle makes him nauseous these days; storms, downright sick. He’s like a caged animal if Buck’s not within his line of sight when the clouds roll in and the sky turns dark.

They say lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice, but Eddie’s never been that lucky.

“I don’t,” Eddie says back.

✨ 911 Works

we found our home | 2.1k | 911 | buddie

“Oh, Chris wanted to try—”

“Those new yogurt things!” Buck chirps, snapping his fingers. “Right, good catch! Almost forgot that.”

Eddie has to bite the inside of his cheek as he adds that to the list, too, and the butterflies in his stomach flap their tiny wings.

A fluttery laugh traps itself in his throat. That’s not something he’s ever had happen over a grocery list, the butterflies, but— if there’s anyone that could make that happen, it would be Buck.

It’s just— it feels so domestic, this back and forth as they plan for their week. Buck knowing them well enough to plan out their shopping. Asking Eddie for his input, because they’re not just partners in the field, but partners in their chores, too. Buck anticipating what Eddie’s going to say before he’s even finished saying it.

But, it isn’t just the grocery shopping. It’s— everything, lately.

✨

a hunk, hunk of burning love | 2.9k | 911 | buddie

“So,” Buck tentatively tries, unable to stand the silence that stretches on between them all any longer.

“Buck,” Christopher finally says, and Buck’s spine stiffens under the sudden scrutiny of his stare. “Dad,” Christopher adds, and Buck relaxes — barely — as the sharp gaze flashes towards Eddie, who sits right beside Buck.

“Christopher,” Eddie says, and Buck feels his leg tense up where it presses into his beneath the table.

“You two are firefighters,” Christopher says, and— shit. He’s not beating around the bush. Alright. Okay. “Do all of those fire safety talks you gave me mean nothing to you, Dad?” Christopher asks. “What happened to ‘never leave an open flame unattended,’ Buck?”

Yikes. He’s got him there. Buck ducks his head, feeling properly chastised.

“Chris,” Eddie tries, but Christopher barrels on.

“We can’t have the fire department called on the house of two firefighters because they were too busy playing grabass—”

Buck promptly chokes.

Eddie makes a strangled noise from the back of his throat and his hand flails out, squeezing at Buck’s thigh to stabilize himself.

✨

connecting you to a driver... | 4k | 911 | buddie

The flight from Los Angeles, California to El Paso, Texas is one hour and fifty-five minutes long.

Buck spends one hour and fifteen minutes after he lands in the El Paso International Airport pick-up zone, waiting for his ride. He also racks up one hell of a debt in Uber cancellation fees.

The two are very much connected.

✨

some sunny day | 118/118 chapters | 13.9k | 911 | buddie, gen

A collection of 118-word drabbles, written for the 118dailydrabbles season 8 hiatus challenge on Tumblr!

(Each chapter is it's own; more specific tags and warnings will be listed in the notes at the beginning of each one!)

✨

i blinked and suddenly i had a valentine | 10.6k | 911 | buddie

Jee thrusts the card out towards Eddie. “For you,” she says, cheeks dimpling as her smile turns shy.

It reminds Eddie so much of Christopher, when he was this age. So sweet, so earnest. His heart squeezes in his chest as he accepts Jee’s card.

And— it is just about the cutest fucking thing Eddie’s ever seen, honestly.

The card, clearly handmade, is shaped like a bumblebee. A yellow teardrop body, striped with crooked lines of black marker. Its head is shaped like a heart, with two pipe cleaner antennae sticking out, and this teeny tiny u-shaped smile and a pair of googly eyes glued to make up its face. The kicker, though, are the wings — two big, slightly misshapen pink hearts (clearly cut out by Jee-Yun herself) protruding from either side, each with a little message scribbled out in Jee’s loopy handwriting. The one on the left reads “BEE mine” and a grin breaks out across Eddie’s face, an amused chuckle slipping past his lips. The one on the right, though — it brings an embarrassing lump to Eddie’s throat as he reads, “Happy Valentine’s Day Uncle Eddie!”

Uncle Eddie.

Oh.

✨

from your point of view | 4.3k | 911 | buddie

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie not-quite-slurs. It’s a close thing, though. The glass in his hand is his fourth— no, fifth, and wine always hits him so much harder.

He’s bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked and loose-limbed on the couch, pressed so close to Buck he’s half in his lap.

Buck’s got a steadying arm around his waist— couldn’t avoid the draw to touch even if he wanted to.

“Hm?” Buck asks, feeling a little buzzy himself.

“Buck,” Eddie repeats. “You’re bicyc—bisect— bisexual.”

Buck laughs at Eddie’s stumble. Smiles bright, proud, and nods. “I am,” he agrees.

“Have you ever—” Eddie’s winestained mouth purses; his brow furrows thoughtfully, “— have you ever thought about me?” He sways forward, widens his eyes purposefully, whispers, “Like, y’know.”

✨

who you share it with | 2.2k | 911 | buddie

“Oh, hey, green this time,” Buck’s voice filters in as he swings around the corner of the railing. “What flavor is that? Watermelon or green apple?” He doesn’t pause to let Eddie answer though. “Or maybe strawberry? Although, I think Haribo are the only ones that do that. S’weird though, don’t you think? Strawberry isn’t green, it should be red.”

Eddie, who hasn’t looked up from his book — he’s mastered the art of splitting his attention, by now — snorts and curls his hand into a fist. The ring pop is lodged halfway down his middle finger, a little tight around the knuckle but secure. He stretches his arm out towards Buck, a silent offering.

Buck brightens and veers towards Eddie’s side of the couch. His fingers wind around Eddie’s wrist to steady it and he draws Eddie’s hand up, ducking down halfway to meet it.

He hums delightedly, as he gets his answer.

✨

in your own sweet time | 1.5k | 911 | buddie

“How’d it go?” Buck asks as they reach the Jeep. He jams his thumb into the button on the fob — has to really dig his nail in to get it to work, it’s so worn down— and the locks click open.

“Good,” Eddie answers, sliding into the passenger seat. He runs his tongue over his left molars. Practices his bite. Bares his teeth at Buck in the kind of smile a seven year old Christopher used to flash all the time. “Easy. It was just a filling.”

“No pain then?” Buck asks and the engine purrs to life. He switches the gear to reverse.

“Nope, they numbed me up good. Still feels weird, though,” Eddie says, touching his fingertips to the left side of his upper lip. He prods at it carefully, barely feels it. “Kind of heavy. Like it’s on a lag or something.” He chuckles even though it kind of sucks. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to kiss anyone with only half a working mouth.”

Buck laughs. Puts the car into drive and pulls towards the main road. “Who’re you supposed to be kissing anyway?”

Without thinking, Eddie replies, “You, I hope.” Then freezes.

✨

let love take hold of us | 2.7k | 911 | buddie + christopher

“Hey,” Eddie calls, twisting his shoulder as he stuffs his arm into his jacket sleeve, “take a coat, bud. It’s cold today.”

Christopher, already halfway to the door, pauses to scowl at Eddie. “It’s sunny,” he says.

“It’s supposed to be windy,” Buck supplies, doing up the last button on his coat.

“And it’s December,” Eddie adds.

Christopher rolls his eyes. “In California,” he counters, unimpressed.

Eddie sighs. “It gets cold in California.”

“No,” Christopher says, impatient, “it doesn’t.” Then he’s out the door. Coatless.

“Stubborn,” Buck comments, bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s. “Reminds me of someone.”

Eddie huffs a laugh.

Or, Christopher Diaz and the Consequential Coat Conundrum; featuring christmas tree farms, hot chocolate, and the kind of stubbornness only a thirteen year old can possess.

✨

forever and ever and always | 1.7k | 911 | buddie

“Y’know,” Buck says, drawing the tips of his fingers over Eddie’s knuckles, where they’re slotted with Buck’s other hand in the space between them, “if I took your last name, we’d have the same initials.”

Eddie blinks, suddenly much more awake than he was five seconds ago. “What?”

“Yeah,” Buck continues, oblivious. “You’re E.D., Edmundo Diaz, and I’d be E.D. too. Evan Diaz.”

Eddie’s stomach swoops at the sound of that, and he fixes his eyes on Buck’s face. Stares hard at him until he catches onto it.

“Is that— is that something you’ve thought about before?” Eddie asks.

✨ Stranger Things Works (below the cut):

for all the pretty mouths and pretty words | 5.4k | st | steddie

Eddie snags both drinks with a thanks to the bartender and turns to head back towards Steve. Things have been going well, things have been going really well — not even that rocky start could put a wrench into things, and the note they left off on before Eddie slipped away was promising. Eddie is eager to see where the rest of the night will take them. He has high hopes.

But, as Eddie is intimately familiar with, highs are not meant to last, and hopes are easy to lose.

Things, meet wrench.

He makes it three steps when his stride stutters because — oh. That’s. That’s Steve, with a girl. A pretty girl. With short, sandy brown hair and freckles. It’s the same pretty girl Eddie had seen with him earlier. The one he’d thought, for a second, might be Steve’s girlfriend. He’d let himself hope she wasn’t, when he first approached, and let himself start to actually believe it when he’d tried his hand at flirting and Steve had flirted back.

But now...

Now Eddie’s not so sure.

Or, the one where Steve puts his foot in his pretty mouth and Eddie pays the price. Featuring: cherry stems, half smoked cigarettes, and the world's biggest misunderstanding.

✨

the privilege of being yours | 3.1k | st | steddie

“What do you think?” Eddie asks, grinning.

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve laughs, already reaching for Eddie’s ankle. He curls his fingers around it and gives it a tug, beckoning Eddie closer. “They’re perfect, you’re perfect. I love them,” he adds, as Eddie scooches into his space.

Steve cups both of his hands to Eddie’s face and kisses him right on the center of his mouth. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he says.

The kiss turns into something else as Eddie’s lips split against Steve’s, and he murmurs back against them, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

When they break apart, Steve taps Eddie’s knee. “Okay, where’s the rest of your sense of tradition? I showed you mine, you show me yours now.”

“Oh, I’ll show you tradition alright,” Eddie responds, and he reaches for his left sleeve.

Or, the one where Steve and Eddie share a rooftop, beloved traditions, and so much love.

✨

hold your breath and just dive right in | 4.5k | st | steddie

“Come on, man, what are you waiting for?” Steve calls, several feet out from the shore where he’s treading water with a perfect, practiced ease. Fucking show off. “An invitation?”

“Ha ha,” Eddie shouts back, deadpan. He makes no movement towards the water, though. Just digs his toes into the sand and wiggles them, watching the tiny grains spill into the spaces between and swallow his feet.

He glances up to stare out at the lake, and his stomach roils uneasily at its vastness. The other end is visible from where he stands, but it still seems so far away. They’re nowhere near the middle either, and even Steve isn’t that far out. It still makes Eddie nervous.

The funny thing is, it isn’t even his recent experiences with Lover’s Lake that’s putting this horrible feeling in his gut. Well, okay, maybe it is a little bit. But mostly, it’s because Eddie already didn’t like the water before that. He’s never been a fan.

Because Eddie Munson does not know how to swim.

Or, the one where Eddie Munson does not know how to swim, and Steve Harrington is nothing if not the perfect teacher.

✨

keep me on a rope | 6.6k | st | steddie, unrequited stommy

Tommy wipes his palms against the side of his jeans and squeezes through the crowd, never once taking his eyes off of Steve as he makes a beeline right for him.

He’s a couple feet away, gearing up to call out his greeting when someone else beats him to it and sidles up to Steve. They touch Steve, putting their palm low on his waist, half tucked up under his blazer. It’s an intimate touch, an almost possessive one in a very casual sort of way.

Tommy freezes in his tracks.

Steve perks up in the presence of his new company, back straightening and body turning into theirs — receptive, familiar.

He tilts his head, just enough that Tommy can see the smile gracing his lips, the softness in his eyes, and the other person dips their own chin, leaning in to whisper something into Steve’s ear. Their curtain of hair sways forward, brushing against Steve’s collar, and Steve reaches up to tuck it behind their ear, giving Tommy a clear view of—

Of Eddie Munson.

Or, Tommy Hagan attends his ten year high school reunion hoping for one thing, and leaves with something else entirely.

✨

trippin stumbling flippin fumbling | 5k | st | steddie

“Don’t be such a coward,” Eddie tells himself. “Fucking— go.”

His body doesn’t move. Not even an inch. His ass stays glued to his seat, his feet firmly planted on the floor. His hands don’t leave ten and two.

“God dammit,” Eddie groans, dropping his forehead down to the wheel.

Except — he underestimates the distance, and rather than pressing into the top of the wheel between his hands, his forehead smacks squarely into the center of the horn.

He jerks back so fast he gives himself whiplash, but the damage is done. There is no taking back the short, sharp, loud honk that emits from the bowels of his traitorous van.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit,” Eddie hisses, eyes going wider than the moon hanging in the sky tonight.

He immediately slouches in his seat, sinking down as low as he can go. But it’s too late. He’s caught Steve and Robin’s attention now, and despite parking off to the side and a little further back, his set of wheels is unmistakable.

They’ve seen him. He can’t leave now. He has no choice but to go inside.

✨

when i turn out the lights | 1.8k | st| stommy

Steve tells everyone who asks him that his first kiss was Sheila Anderson when he was fifteen years old.

But, really, that's not true.

It was Tommy Hagan. When he was fourteen.

Or, the one that tells the real story of Steve Harrington's first kiss.

✨

love grows (where my rosemary goes) | 3.2k | st| steddie

“Do you know you have, like, a trillion freckles on your face?” Steve asks right back, leaning in. His left hand winds itself around the strap of Eddie’s overalls, pulling him in too, and the right one catches Eddie’s jaw. It’s cold from his own lemonade glass, abandoned somewhere by his feet, and his thumb sweeps over the bridge of Eddie’s nose, the apples of his cheeks. Doubles back to tap the single freckle that sits right on the tip.

It’s true — Eddie does have freckles. Maybe not a trillion, but when the sun peeks out from behind the clouds like today and becomes a more permanent resident in the sky, those pesky little polka dots like to make their appearance, painting his face in faint faint dusting. They’re not obvious or anything; nobody really notices them unless they’re looking for them.

But that’s the thing about Steve. He’s always looking. Always seeing.

It’s why Eddie loves him so much.

It’s why — oh. He loves him.

✨

the strength to let it show | 3.2k | st | steddie

So, the thing is, Steve likes Eddie.

As in, he kind of wants to date him. And to kiss him. And to be his boyfriend.

But, he also doesn’t want to tell him that. Not in so many words, anyways. Those have never been Steve’s strong suit, words. He always messes them up. Never picks the right ones, always ends up sticking his foot in his mouth. The thought of sitting Eddie down and making some big… confession is mildly (extraordinarily) terrifying. Big speeches and grand declarations usually are — don’t let the romcoms and the chick flicks fool you. They’re never as easy as they look.

He doesn’t not want to tell Eddie, though, either. So it’s… well, it’s a tricky situation.

Until Robin, brilliant brainy genius Robin, suggests that instead of telling him, he should just show him instead. That way Steve can avoid the dramatic deliverances and still get his point across, just in a way that’s comfortable for him. On his own time. At his own pace. He can gradually show his hand, can drop hint after hint until Eddie gets it (and Robin is confident that he will in no time at all).

So Steve does.

✨

shake it loose together | 6.3k | st | steddie

Steve keeps his voice quiet enough as he sings now, not wanting to disturb the masses just one room over, but it’s still loud enough for him to get a little lost in it. He matches the strokes of his sponge with the tune he’s singing and even starts to wiggle his hips along. It’s hard not to want to dance to this one — Bennie and the Jets, because it came on the radio in the car while he was making his rounds to pick up the kids, and it’s been stuck in his head ever since.

Most of the dishes are clean now, so all that’s left is the silverware. The casserole dish was the last of the major pieces. Steve’s just finishing rinsing it, letting the excess water sluice off the sides before he sets it on the kitchen island with the other plates waiting to be dried.

In the process of turning, two things happen at once:

1. Steve squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back as he belts out the chorus, “She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine, oh. B-b-b-bennie and the jets!”

2. His eyes fly back open to land right on Eddie. where he stands in the doorway — no, leans in the doorway, like he’s been there a while, like he’s gotten comfortable.

✨

to my heart i must be true | 14.4k | st | steddie

Robin starts to smile, this big, evil grin that unfurls slowly across her face, and oh. Oh no. That’s not good. That’s never good. That always means trouble.

Robin sticks her hands on her hips and juts her chin out at Steve. “I bet I can get a Valentine’s date before you can,” she says, all arrogance.

Dustin and Lucas oooh at her fighting words, then turn to Steve for his rebuttal.

“Robin, Robin, are you sure you want to do that?” He asks, standing to his full height. His shoulders roll back, and he feels the patented Harrington Charm flooding back through his body like a switch has been flipped.

“Absolutely certain,” Robin replies, not backing down. She holds out her hand.

Steve shakes his head at her, then lets an easy, confident smile curl his mouth. “You’re gonna regret that,” he says, then smacks his palm into hers, “but you’re on.”

In which a bet is made, Steve’s prowess shines until it doesn’t, and sometimes things don’t end up the way they’re planned.

Sometimes, they end up better.

✨

i was thinking maybe i could lay beside you | 3k | st | steddie

Their room is the last door on the right, just like Joyce told them.

Eddie pushes inside first, immediately flicking the lights on. He spots their bags in the corner and beelines straight for them.

Steve, on the other hand, freezes in the doorway.

Because, oh. Oh.

There’s only one bed.

Which — Steve doesn’t know why this surprises him. This isn’t a hotel. It’s a guest room at a friend’s house. Of course it’s not going to have two beds in one room. He doesn’t know why he was expecting that.

But it’s — it’s fine. This is cool. He can share a bed for the night. He’s shared lots of beds in his day. There’s nothing different about this time.

Except that there is because he doesn’t have to share with just anybody. He has to share with Eddie.

Eddie, who hasn’t even batted an eye at the bed situation. Eddie, who seems cool as a cucumber about it. Eddie, who—

Who’s already shucked his shirt off and has his thumbs hooked into his sweats, about to tug those off too, and jesus fucking christ, Steve can’t do this. He cannot do this.

✨

in all your blame, in all your pain | 2.4k | st | steddie

When Eddie had gotten dragged headfirst into this alternate hellscape dimension, DnD monsters-come-to-life nightmare shitshow, no one told him that by the end of it he’d be offering himself up as bat bait to do his part in putting an end to it all.

No one told him that he’d wind up mangled and shredded and torn apart, but still, somehow, alive.

No one told him that he’d be bedridden for months afterwards, as his body stitched itself back together. That some days would be painful at best, while others would be downright excruciating. That he’d barely be able to walk at first, or bathe himself, or even eat on his own.

No one told him that healing would be the most grueling part of it all.

But those were all things that Eddie could get over. Things that, with time, he could forgive. After all, it’s not like anyone had known that that’s how it was going to play out.

What Eddie could not forgive, however, was the fact that no one, not one single member of their rather large, rather extensive party had told him just how much Steve god damn Harrington loved to play Florence fucking Nightingale in the aftermath.

✨

come and rest your bones with me | 2.6k | st | steddie

“We’re making a fort.”

Steve is barely even halfway through the door when he is accosted with the declaration. His slick raincoat is still zipped up, his wet umbrella still wide open and dripping onto the porch behind him.

“What?” He asks, fumbling to close the umbrella and shake it out before a stack of blankets are being shoved into his arms.

“We are making a fort,” Eddie repeats, grinning at Steve. He’s got his own heap of blankets bundled against his chest, and when Steve glances past his shoulder he can see that the bones of said fort are already mostly established — Wayne’s armchair has already been moved from its cozy corner of the room to now sit directly across from the couch, and the coffee table has been pushed to the side so as to not be a nuisance to the building process.

And, well, it sounds like a lot of fun, actually.

“Yeah, sure, alright,” Steve replies with a huff of a laugh.

✨

hash brown, egg yolk (i will always love you) | 2.8k | st | steddie

Six months is a long time to be apart. A long time to go without seeing Eddie in the flesh. Without hearing his laugh, low and melodic, right against the shell of his ear. Without hugging Eddie around the middle and hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder while he stands at the stove and pushes something delicious around a pan. Without kissing Eddie.

But so is the way of being married to a hotshot musician with a band that has more than made it big.

Because that's what Eddie is. And, god, Steve couldn’t be more proud.

Even if it does mean that sometimes he and Eddie have to go long stretches of time without seeing each other.

But that doesn’t matter anymore. Because Eddie is home now, and he’s going to be home for a while. Corroded Coffin just wrapped up the European leg of their tour (“Fucking Europe, Stevie! Can you believe it!”) and they’ve been given a month before their North American leg is set to start. A whole entire month that Eddie already promised he will be spending at home with Steve.

Starting today.

✨

stuck to the gum that's stuck on your shoe | 2.1k | st | platonic stobin

“Talk to me, Steve,” Robin says, “please.”

And now she sounds upset, and that makes Steve feel even worse.

He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to make Robin feel bad. She’s been so excited ever since she got that letter in the mail, going on and on about the linguistics program she’d been accepted into, about the campus and how gorgeous it is, about the surrounding city and how much there is to do there.

Steve doesn’t want to rain on that parade more than he already has.

But he knows that she’s going to wheedle it out of him eventually. Might as well rip the bandaid off now.

He can barely bring himself to say it. It hurts too much to acknowledge. But he does, because he has to. Because he will have to.

“You— you got into college, Rob. You’re going to leave,” Steve finally tells her. Whispers, because if he says it too loud he thinks he might break again.

“Oh, Steve,” Robin breathes.

✨

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now) | 10.6k | st | steddie

“Mistletoe!” Robin cheers, and Steve’s heart stutters so hard in his chest that he thinks it might crack his ribcage and drop right out the bottom of his stomach.

His eyes fly up, and, sure enough, there hangs one of the many sprigs hung all around the apartment. Small and inconspicuous, but unmistakable. That ridiculous little plant has no idea that it’s just turned Steve’s entire world on its axis.

Across from him, Eddie’s eyes are trained up too, big and round and wide where they stick on the mistletoe. His lips are parted in surprise, and Steve can’t help but stare and think am I going to kiss those now?

When Eddie finally tears his gaze from the plant and lets it flicker down to Steve, a pretty pink dusting blooms across the bridge of his nose and spreads into the apples of his cheeks when he finds Steve already looking back.

Steve spares the mistletoe one last quick peek before he takes a deep breath and steels himself. This is it. He sticks his hands on his hips, aiming for casual, and asks, “What do you say, Munson?”

Or, Steve makes a promise, Robin likes to meddle, and the spirit of Christmas strikes (out) again. And again. And again.

(Until it doesn’t.)

✨

under my umbrella | 5.8k | st | steddie

Steve sidles up to the bench. Munson stands at the other end of it, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring out at the street as if that will make the bus show up any quicker. His bangs are flat against his forehead, the rest of his long hair lank and wet over his shoulders.

He looks like a drowned cat.

So Steve holds out his umbrella. Tilts his chin and raises his eyebrows at Munson as an invitation to step under and get out of the rain.

Munson looks at the umbrella for less than a second before he turns back towards the street with a scoff. “No thanks,” he says. “I’m good.”

“Dude,” Steve says, dumbfounded.

“Dude,” Munson parrots mockingly.

“You’re really going to turn down my umbrella?” Steve asks, still holding it out.

“I really am,” Munson replies, showing all of his teeth in a rancorous smile. “Now if you don’t mind,” he adds, taking a large step forward, closer to the curb and further from Steve.

Steve lets out an indignant huff and pulls his umbrella back to himself. Only just refrains from muttering an unsavory name under his breath because he’s a good person now.

Whatever. Let Munson get soaked. Let him freeze.

✨

temptations of trouble | 2.8k | st | steddie

Eddie ignores the flip flopping in his stomach as he meets Steve’s gaze and fits his palms to either side of Steve’s jaw. Cradles his face like he’s something special now. (Because he is.)

And then he leans in to kiss him. Right on those pretty pink lips of his.

It’s short and sweet like it always is, but when Eddie pulls back and opens his eyes, he’s met with Steve’s, wide as fucking saucers, goggling unblinkingly back at him. He can feel Robin’s stare boring into the side of his face, can feel the tiny pinpricks of Nancy’s and Jonathan’s and Argyle’s on his back too. The whole room is quiet enough to hear a god damn pin drop.

Eddie is about to open his mouth and ask what the hell that’s all about when it finally catches up with him.

He just fucking kissed Steve fucking Harrington. On the mouth.

✨

waving down the wind | 10.3k | st | steddie

Eddie furrows his brows, and he’s about to ask Steve what he did come over here for, when Steve starts to shrug out of his jacket. Rolls his shoulders back and lets it slide down his upper arms.

“I came over here,” Steve starts, and he gives his arm a shake when the sleeve gets caught around his elbow. Once it’s off, he bunches his fist into the fabric of the collar. “To give you this,” he finishes and holds out the coat.

Eddie blinks down at it. Then he looks back up at Steve. “What?”

Or, three times Eddie looks cold and Steve does something about it, and one time he’s toasty warm.

✨

the world will follow after | 2.6k | st | steddie

Another glance at the clock and Steve really has to leave now. He barely has time to shove the piece of toast Eddie, so graciously, made for him (crisp, but not too crunchy, and definitely not burnt, with just the right amount of butter spread thin across the top) into his mouth before he’s running towards the door.

He’s about two steps away from it, hand already reaching for the knob, when Eddie catches him. He gives Steve's shoulders a squeeze, then spins Steve around and reaches for his collar next, fussing with it until it’s straightened and flat. He pats Steve twice on the chest and gives him a smile.

“All set now,” he says. Then, “have a nice day at work.”

Steve, at the complete whim of his scrambled brain, smiles back, tells Eddie thanks, glances at his watch, curses under his breath, then leans in to kiss Eddie goodbye.

Then, just as quickly, he’s out the door and in his car and finally on his way to work.

It isn’t until he’s halfway there that it hits him what he’s just done.

He kissed Eddie Munson.

✨

from this moment on | 3.9k | st | steddie

Steve bought the ring a year after they started dating.

It was too soon, way too soon, even if everything they’d been through made it feel like they’d known each other, like they’d been in each other’s corners for forever. One year was entirely too early to be putting marriage on the table, especially when they were still so young. Not to mention, Steve knew that Eddie had a rocky relationship with the concept thanks to his parents, and, truth be told, so did Steve.

But none of that really mattered. Because Steve was that in love. He was that sure of them.

So he bought the ring. Without hesitation.

And he held onto it, for all this time. He’d had a gut feeling, back in 1988. And eight years later it’s still there. Still there and stronger than ever.

✨

can't hide the way you make us glow | 6.3k | st | steddie

“So,” Wayne finally says and looks between them. He gestures his can from Steve to Eddie and back. “Still just friends, huh?” He deadpans.

Steve chokes on his sip of beer, and a grin cracks across Eddie’s face.

“To the general public of Hawkins, sure,” Eddie responds smoothly, hand absentmindedly rubbing Steve’s back as he recovers.

Wayne narrows his eyes at him. “I ain’t the general public of Hawkins, now, am I?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I suppose not.”

When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Wayne lifts his eyebrows expectantly. Out with it, boy they say. He barely refrains from waving his hand in a go on then motion.

“Steve and I… we’re, uh,” Eddie’s smile turns soft around the edges, and his hand goes to Steve’s beside him, drawing it into his lap and lacing their fingers together, “we’re going steady now.”

Or, Wayne finds out that Eddie and Steve are EddieandSteve.

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good for my boy | 7.4k | st | steddie

Wayne lets the front door swing shut behind him, rattling and smacking into the frame audibly.

“Jesus, Munson!” A voice rings out — the freezer fiend’s, and definitely not Eddie’s. “Took you god damn long enough!” The head finally pops out of the freezer. “I got tired of waiting and — oh.”

The stranger’s hand slips from the handle and the freezer door thumps shut. As does the stranger’s mouth when he looks right into the face of, not Eddie Munson as expected, but Wayne Munson.

Wayne briefly recognizes him as the Harrington boy.

or, the first time Wayne Munson meets Steve Harrington is a complete accident.

✨

if you have a minute | 10.6k | st | steddie

They pass the cigarette back and forth for a few quiet minutes. And there’s something about Eddie’s presence that’s helping just as much as the nicotine.

Eddie holds the cigarette back out for Steve, blows the smoke out in a smooth, steady stream, and tilts his head. “You working tomorrow?” He asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Not tomorrow. Why?”

Eddie pushes himself off of the wall. “Great,” he declares and grins. “We’re doing something then. You and me. I’m gonna take you somewhere.”

Steve’s face scrunches. “What? Where?”

Eddie tuts and wags his finger. “Nope, not telling you,” he says. “You’ll find out tomorrow. Meet at my place at nine. Don’t be late.”

He doesn’t give Steve a chance to argue or further question it. Just throws a little salute and turns on his heel, disappearing around the corner.

Or, the one where Steve’s anxiety doesn’t get the hint that they defeated the Upside Down, and Eddie knows just how to help.

✨

and stars, and stars, and stars | 1.5k | st | steddie

“What are you even painting?” Steve questions, unable to keep himself from asking. Eddie hadn’t told him his plan when he’d first laid Steve out and gathered his brushes — just instructed Steve to stay still and let him paint, he’d see soon enough. But Steve is curious, and it’s been almost an hour now.

Steve carefully tips his head to the side and presses his cheek against his folded arms, trying his best to catch a glimpse of Eddie where he sits atop the backs of Steve’s thighs, bent over his canvas in concentration. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, like it always does when he’s focusing hard enough, and a piece of hair dangles against his cheek, escaping the bandana he’d tied it back with.

“I’m painting an essence,” Eddie answers cryptically, and he draws the brush in a broad stroke, low on Steve’s back.

“An essence?” Steve repeats. “An essence of what?”

“An essence of you,” Eddie says simply. The brush dots Steve’s upper back now, light little taps.

Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he’s looking forward to finding out.

✨

i want to hold your hand | 14k | st | steddie

The film isn’t even on Steve’s radar at this point. He couldn’t say what’s happening anymore, but he doesn’t even care. Forget Geena Davis, forget Jeff Goldblum, Steve can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson, right there next to him, hand inches away from his own.

Steve’s pinky twitches out, like it’s got a mind of its own, towards Eddie’s hand. His heart is in his throat, breath caught behind it, as his pinky hovers, trembling. He could touch him. Wants to touch him. To hook his pinky over Eddie’s, curl them together, maybe even link the rest of their fingers too.

He’s never wanted to hold somebody’s hand so bad before.

✨

promise me nothing, live 'til we die | 2.9k | st | steddie

“You’ve seriously never had your first kiss, though?”

Eddie snorts. “Why do you sound so disbelieving? Come on, Harrington. I don’t exactly have a long line of suitors winding out my front door, vying for my hand or anything. Nobody wants to swap spit with the local freak. They might catch something.” He gives Steve a scrutinizing look. “I’m not like you, King Steve.”

“I’m not worried about catching anything from you,” Steve says.

Eddie tilts his head, perplexed. “Okay… thanks?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I mean, if no one else wants to, I will.”

“Will what? Line up outside my door?” Eddie scoffs.

“Kiss you,” Steve says and knocks all the air out of Eddie’s chest. “I’ll do it.”

Eddie’s eyes have got to be as big as dinner plates as he blinks at Steve. “What?”

✨

harlow gold | 4k | st | platonic steve & nancy

Nancy is pretty sure that she could talk to Jonathan about it. He knows a little something about being the black sheep, and Nancy doesn’t think he would judge her for it. But they’d only just broken up, and while it was a mutual decision and an amicable split, she doesn’t think it would be fair to turn to him so soon after for advice about the feelings she already has for someone else.

She doesn’t have any girlfriends to talk to either. Robin is kind of the first close female friend she’s had since Barb.

And despite this budding friendship between herself and Robin, Nancy can’t turn to Robin. She’s the type to ask a lot of questions, and she doesn’t give up easily. She’ll push until she gets the answers she’s looking for. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but Nancy isn’t so sure she’s ready for that kind of inquisition. Not about this.

Which only leaves one person that Nancy trusts enough with something as delicate as this, one person whom she is comfortable enough to confide in:

Steve Harrington.

✨

sloe gin fizzy, do it till you're dizzy | 6.7k | st | steddie

Eddie scoots down on the bed until he’s level with Steve and turns onto his side, shifting closer in the process.

The movement draws Steve, and his head lolls to the side to see what Eddie is up to.

It brings them nearly nose to nose, and Eddie goes a little bit cross-eyed focusing on Steve.

Steve doesn’t flinch away from the closeness. Just breathes and blinks. And then his eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and right back up, so quick that Eddie’s hazy brain would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t been anticipating it.

Eddie takes it as the invitation it has to be, and slowly, slowly closes the distance. His nose does bump into Steve’s as he enters his space, but he pauses, hesitates with his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth away from Steve’s.

He waits for the rejection, for the brutal shove away, for the disgusted “what the fuck man?”.

But they don’t come.

What does come is Steve’s mouth, pushing forward to press against Eddie’s.

✨

it's my feeling we'll win in the end | 6.3k | st | steddie

Eddie thrusts his hand, fisted around the diploma, into the air like he’s god damn John Bender on the football field, and he lets out a triumphant whoop.

He hears his friends go crazy in their seats again, and when he finds them in the crowd once more he sees that Dustin has climbed up onto his chair, one hand gripping Steve’s shoulder for support while the other is pumping through the air. He’s shouting Eddie’s name, and so is Mike, who is clapping so hard his hands must hurt. Lucas and Max each are holding one corner of a sign spelling out “Eddie the Conqueror” across the center, with hand painted flames licking around the words. It makes Eddie laugh, bright and buoyant, and he shakes the diploma through the air some more.

Eddie’s chest feels tight in the best kind of way as a sudden tidal wave of emotions body slams him, clogging his throat and forcing him to take a sharp, deep breath through his nose. His nostrils flare with it, and a hysterical sort of laugh bubbles up. It’s just, he’s never been this happy before. Never been this proud. Never felt this good.

He’s smiling so big that his cheeks hurt. He feels like he’s walking on fucking air. He did it, he fucking did it.

✨

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fanart, podfics, translations, and any such creations based on my works are always welcome!! if you're not sure about something, just ask!

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