#steddieweek2024

[arelliann]

@steddie-week Day 1: Secret relationship

What does rockstar Eddie Munson get up to backstage?

[rogue-alien]

Day 7: free space

@steddie-week

[sentient-trash]

Day 3: Mutual Pining

@steddie-week

I was a bit lazy with this one but here y’all go 🫡

[simppuart]

”Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?”

steddie week, day 6 (drunken confessions)

@steddie-week

[skitchskatchbat]

MY MAN

Small thing for @steddie-week Day 1 Prompt: Secret Relationship

It's not that Eddie was worried. Sure at the beginning of their relationship, when it had still been a budding crush, he'd had this deep-set insecurity but Steve had been nothing but loyal.

Steve had understood, had been kind and Steve had reassured him, that if at any time, if at all possible, he would tell him if he felt anything except the utter soul-crushing love that he felt for Eddie.

He'd told Eddie "I choose you, Eddie, because you choose me."

That had been that. Eddie was happy, even when they argued, even when they'd been shoved into adulthood, upside down scars and all.

Even through every rough tour and all of Steve's long nights getting his nursing degree.

They always came back to each other.

10 years they'd been a secret, fear of the outside world destroying their love and lives more frightening than any upside down monster.

Only their close friends knew, no one outside that, and both Eddie and Steve were usually alright with that. They'd accepted it.

Until tonight.

Tonight's show was in a slightly smaller venue, not tiny by any means, but a tighter crowd. It was going good, the boys and him were in the zone, the crowd was fully engaged, the pyrotechnics were flawless, and Wayne's masterful handwork on the dragon.

Eddie is mid-riff when he sees it.

Since it was a small venue, there's pretty much just a mosh pit and while Eddie would have liked to have Steve backstage, there wasn't really a backstage either.

But it was the first time in a while that Steve had been free enough to join them for a show that he'd come anyway, pretty yellow polo and all, shifting with the rowdy crowd.

Eddie swivels his head, his eyes catch the yellow of his boyfriend's outfit, stark in the sea of black.

Skewing his view of his boy is a woman with silky black hair and black fingernails trailing Steve's shoulder. Steve who looks like he's trying to push her off him, who has the most uncomfortable look on his face.

Eddie sees red.

"HEY. HEY YOU,"

He screams it into the mic and it startles not just the crowd but his bandmates, Gareth's stick goes flying.

There's a sudden silence as the boys catch their breath. Jeff looks at Eddie questioningly and follows his eyeliner to see Steve, still clutched by the goth lady.

Jeff looks at them and looks at Eddie and shakes his head, knows exactly what Eddie's about to do.

"HEY YOU, LADY WITH YOUR NAILS ON THE MAN IN YELLOW," Eddie hollers, enraged.

The lady finally turns, unimpressed by his antics, and raises an eyebrow.

"GET YOUR VERY NICE MANICURE OFF MY MAN PLEASE AND THANK YOU, HE'S NOT COMFORTABLE WITH PEOPLE TOUCHING HIM,"

There's a scandalous ooo that goes over the crowd like Eddie hasn't just outed himself right in the middle of a song.

The lady's eyebrows fly up and she spins to look at Steve who is trying very hard not to laugh.

"HEY, DON'T LOOK AT HIM! I HOPE YOU FIND YOUR OWN YELLOW POLO MAN BUT THIS ONE IS MINE! PLEASE RELEASE HIM THANKS!" Eddie tries to sound joking, less like he wants to rip her apart.

The lady's hands fly off his boyfriend's chest, and she looks apologetic, from that distance, Eddie's not sure but she looks well-shamed.

"OKAY THANK YOU! LOVE YOU BABY! LET'S GET THIS SHIT GOING! THREE TWO ONE!"

And thankfully the boys have his back because the music swells up.

Eddie gets back into the zone, zipping around the stage, but he keeps one eye always on Steve who's gone red in the face, but cheering him on like he always does.

Sure, Eddie's not the jealous type, but he is possessive, cause Steve.. is his.

And He is Steve's

---

Epilogue

Gareth's got Eddie by his ear as Steve comes up to them at the end of the show. "You can't just OUT yourself AND Steve like that Eddie!!! I thought we taught you manners!"

"SHE WAS TOUCHING HIM," Eddie howls.

Steve grabs his boyfriend out of Gareth's grip and hauls him under his arm. "Sorry boys, I'm stealing this one away,"

"C'mon Stevie!!!! She was touching you!!!!"

"Baby, you said we'd keep this a secret for another year to see how many women they'd speculate you'd impregnated,"

"Bye guys! see you at the hotel!" Steve calls cheerily as Eddie struggles in his arms.

"STEVIE NOOOOOO, I WAS PROTECTING YOUR HONOR!!!!"

[ataliagold]

If Love Was Contagious I Might Be Immune To It

For @steddie-week day 2, prompts "hands" and "touch starved".

Title from an unreleased Noah Kahan song.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1916

C/W: Referenced death of a grandparent.

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, Steve is touched-starved, Steve has bad parents, platonic soulmates Steve and Robin, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart

Summary: Steve's early life is mostly devoid of love - until Eddie Munson.

___

He’s eight years old, and his wrist is broken.

It’s the first time he’s broken a bone, but it certainly won’t be the last.

Steve cries silently in the school nurse’s room. His father hated it when he cried, always told him to man up, to grow up, to act like a Harrington.

He tried to keep the tears in, he really did, but his arm is throbbing and his wrist is turning a funny colour and he wishes he’d taken Tommy up on his offer to sit with him and wait for his mom to turn up but he’d wanted to be tough, tough like his dad, and he’d told him he wasn’t a baby and he’d be fine.

So, while he loses the battle against the tears cascading down his cheeks, he stays tight-lipped and quiet.

His mom arrives eventually. Steve sits there, clutching his wrist across his stomach as the nurse explains to Janet Harrington what had happened, that Steve had fallen in P.E, that the bone was definitely broken and he needed to go straight to urgent care.

Janet nods. Turns to Steve, expression tight and unreadable, and gestures quickly for him to follow her out to the car.

Steve quickens his pace behind her, little legs carrying him along behind the click-clack of her heels.

He reaches for her hand with his good one.

Knows he shouldn’t, knows he isn’t supposed to keep trying to touch because he’s a big boy now, he doesn’t need to be held and coddled anymore.

But he’s hurting, and he wants his mom.

She tightens her hand around his almost in surprise, squeezing sharply.

“For goodness’ sake, Steve,” she hisses, dropping his hand again like it’s something bad, “do you want all your friends to see you like this? Act your age.”

Steve snatches his hand back to his side. Blinks through the new flood of tears in his eyes, swallows thickly, keeps his gaze on the hard tiled floor.

He’s eight years old, and his mother doesn’t want to hold his hand.

*****

He’s fourteen years old when his grandma dies.

Smoking with Tommy behind the bike shed at the school, they are quieter than usual.

The funeral is this weekend. Steve’s never been to a funeral before.  His mom ordered him a suit the day after they got the news, the reality of it barely sinking in before he was being stood in front of the mirror in the store while a man wrapped a tape around him, taking his measurements while his mom tapped her foot behind him.

He wonders what will happen when his parents go away, now that he can’t go and stay with grandma. He’ll miss her. He’ll miss her like hell.

No more baking, no more helping her plant flowers in her sunny backyard, no more taking slow walks to the park with her little yappy dog.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters eventually, stomping the butt of his cigarette into the dirt.

“Huh?” Steve asks, not looking up.

“You know. About your grandma.”

“Oh,” Steve waves a hand, cigarette between his fingers. Nonchalant. Unemotional. Harrington. “S’fine, she was just some old lady.”

Tommy sniffs, raises an eyebrow. “It was your grandma, man.”

Steve shrugs, forces a smirk. “Reckon she left me anything in her will?”

He burns as he says it.

He doesn’t want money. Doesn’t want things. He just wants his grandma back.

Tommy snorts out a laugh, shakes his head, punches Steve lightly in the shoulder. “You’re a dick.”

Steve takes a long drag on the cigarette, blows the smoke out towards Tommy’s face. His friend swears and shoulder charges him, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and the two of them start to wrestle.

Here, with the stench of tobacco on his breath, grunting as he tightens his grip on Tommy and shoves him roughly aside, Steve thinks this is the closest he’s been to a hug for a long time.

A silent tear tracks down his cheek, and Steve wipes it away before Tommy can see it.

He’s fourteen years old, and his best friend would rather punch him than hug him.

*****

He’s seventeen years old and in love with Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy holds his hand, sometimes. She kisses his cheek, smiles shyly when he wraps an arm around her waist, lets him touch.

But only sometimes.

And that’s ok, Steve thinks. He knows he can be too much, that he asks for too much, that ever since he was a little boy all he wanted was for someone to hold him, and now that he’s older, to hold someone in return.

He had to keep that in check. Had to keep his touches few and light – just a brush of his thumb over Nancy’s hand where he wanted to interlock their fingers, where he wanted to squeeze her tight to his chest and burrow his head into her shoulder and turn himself inside out for her.

He dreams about the creature that came out of the wall, sometimes.

Wakes up sweat-drenched with his pulse galloping, feels across the bed for Nancy’s hand because he keeps sneaking into her bedroom at night to sleep because he can’t handle being on his own right now.

She wakes. Holds his hand briefly, tells him it was just a dream, rolls over, lets his hand go. Faces away from him.

Steve tells himself it’s fine. His heart is still pounding, he’s still trembling slightly, but it’s fine.

He wishes Nancy would hold his hand a little longer. Wishes she’d tuck herself closer to him, press her lips to the back of his head, hold him until he’s able to fall asleep again.

But he’s a man now. He’s a Harrington, and he doesn’t need to be held.

Nancy had nightmares sometimes, too.

She’d cry out in her sleep, and Steve would carefully wrap an arm around her, murmur into her ear, tell her she was safe, that he had her.

When Nancy woke, she’d push him away. Tell him she needed to breathe, that she needed some space.

Steve tried to give her space. Tried other ways to try and help Nancy feel better – then came Tina’s party, then came the drink staining Nancy’s top and a cold bathroom and bullshit.

Steve was seventeen years old, and his love was bullshit.

*****

Steve is nineteen years old, and he has the best friend in the entire world.

He and Robin are glued at the hip. She hugs easily, drapes herself across him, nudges him with bony hips and elbows and grabs his hand when the lights at Family Video flicker because she knows that still terrifies him.

Steve’s not used to it.

To having someone reach for him, to pull him into a hug, to voluntarily reach out and touch him like there isn’t something wrong with him.

And so, he never reaches for her first. Always lets her initiate contact, because he never wants to be too much, not like how he was with his mother, with Nancy.

She’s standing next to him at work now. Shuffling through returned tapes, letting out a bored huff, leaning back on her elbows on the counter.

The bell above the Family Video door chimes.

Steve doesn’t look up until Robin pokes him in the ribs, until she waggles her eyebrows at him.

“Look who it is,” she whispers, with zero subtlety.

He doesn’t have to look to know it’s Eddie.

Because they’ve been playing this game for a while, Robin doing her best to bring the two of them together, to nudge them from this painful will-they won’t-they situation into something more serious.

The truth is, Steve’s head over heels for the other man.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know where to put it, because he doesn’t want to half-ass anything ever again – if he’s going to love Eddie, he wants to do it with everything he has, but everything Steve has always seems to be too much for everyone else.

If he ruins what he and Eddie already have, this easy friendship, it would put a strain on his relationship with the kids too, and everyone had already been through so much, he couldn’t…

“Oh my god, dingus,” Robin groans.

Eddie’s wandered on past the counter after shooting Steve a grin, headed for the sci-fi section tucked away in the corner.

“What?” Steve huffs.

“I can literally see the little cogs turning in there,” Robin flicks her index finger against the side of his head. “For the sake of my sanity, just talk to him. Please.”

“Fine,” Steve harrumphs, tossing a case to one side. “But if this goes badly, I’m blaming you.”

Robin smiles wide, reaches for his hand, squeezes it gently, encouragingly. “Go get him, Stevie.”

Steve is nineteen years old, and he finally has someone to hold his hand, even if not quite in the way he’d been longing for.

*****

Steve is twenty-two years old, and sometimes he’s so overwhelmed by love for this man that it stops him in his tracks.

He’s draped across Eddie, the two of them on the couch with the TV quietly playing something in the background but Steve doesn’t hear it.

His head is on Eddie’s chest, ear pressed to his heart, listening to the soothing rhythm of his boyfriend’s pulse.

Eddie has his arms wrapped tightly around Steve, one hand tracing gently up and down his bare back, fingers tracing over moles and scars and the ridges of his spine.

Steve breathes him in. Presses his head further into Eddie, like he could burrow into him. Wanted to, sometimes.

Eddie’s chest vibrates gently as he chuckles.

“Y’ok there, Stevie?” he asks, and kisses the top of his head.

“Mmmm,” Steve manages, voice muffled by Eddie’s chest.

It had taken him a long time to realize that Eddie wasn’t going anywhere.

In the early days of their relationship, Steve had been…restrained. Muted, afraid to overwhelm the other man, trying to carefully seek out where Eddie’s boundaries were, work out just how long he could hug him for, just how many kisses were too many, when Steve was starting to step over into being too damn much…

Three years later, and he still hadn’t found that boundary.

Eddie took everything Steve had to give him and poured it back tenfold.

He’d smile into Steve’s mouth when he kissed him, run his tongue along the seam of Steve’s lips until he let him in, he’d trace every mole and blemish on his skin with his fingers and then his mouth until Steve was squirming and laughing under him, he’d stroke and hold and squeeze and give and take.

Steve had so much love to give, and Eddie was hungry for it.

They’d been lying here for hours tonight. Skin to skin, Eddie warm and pliant under Steve, humming happily when Steve tightened his hold on him, when Steve’s breath puffed over his collarbone.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks eventually, hand resting in chestnut locks, nails scratching gently over Steve’s scalp.

“Yeah?”

“You ready for bed, sweetheart? You gotta get up early for work.”

Steve sighs, tucks himself back into Eddie’s chest. “Little longer?” he murmurs.

Eddie smiles. Lowers his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, massaging the muscle there, feeling the moment Steve sinks further into him.

“’Course, Stevie. As long as you like.”

Steve is twenty-two years old, and he finally has someone to hold him.

___

[loveinhawkins]

gently prise the feeling out

ao3 Written for @steddie-week Day 2 prompt, “hands.”

It’s the movement that catches Steve’s eye: Eddie’s hands flexing gingerly as they walk through the woods.

At first Steve dismisses it as a nervous habit—honestly, he’d say Eddie’s holding up pretty well for someone who recently swam into an alternate dimension—but then his flashlight illuminates the side of Eddie’s face at just the right moment, and he sees the clenched jaw of discomfort.

“Are you hurt?”

Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t look like he’s been found out; he just looks puzzled. “Uh, no?”

“Your hands,” Steve clarifies. “You keep…” With his free hand, he imitates the motion.

“Oh,” Eddie says. “I didn’t know I was—it’s nothing, man, really, just—” He laughs slightly. “Was swinging the oar around, managed to hit a bat—Jesus Christ, those fuckers are heavy. Honestly, it’s, uh, kind of a miracle I hit it at all, d’you remember how shit I was at baseball?”

“You weren’t that bad,” Steve says—vaguely recalls the days of shared phys ed and thinks, you were just left-handed, and no-one threw the ball at you properly.

Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile. “You’re very generous, Harrington,” he says; the words sound like they’re placed somewhere in between teasing and genuine. As he speaks, he subtly shakes his hands out.

Steve angles the flashlight down to them. “Lemme see.”

Eddie blinks. “You’re kidding.”

Steve stands his ground, just raises an eyebrow expectantly. Robin and Nancy aren’t that far ahead; they’ll catch up again in no time.

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. Scoffs. “Um, I think I’ll live, Steve. I can’t believe you’re even—like, you’re—” He gestures wildly, and it takes Steve a second to realise that he’s referring to the bat bites.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve says with practised confidence; right now, he doesn’t have time to be anything else.

“Then I’m fine, too.”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes; he doesn’t want to be locked in a stalemate out of their mutual stubbornness.

“Dude, I could’ve already looked by now.”

Eddie actually rolls his eyes at that. He turns his hands over quickly, darting in and out of the flashlight’s beam like he’s saying ta-da!

“Wow,” Steve says in mock astonishment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were five.” He makes a beckoning gesture, like an impatient teacher waiting for homework.

Eddie smirks as if he’s trying not to laugh outright. And then he joins in on the act, too, stomping over with theatrical reluctance.

“Watch the vines,” Steve says, amused.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, “that’d be a real stupid way to go.” He stops right in front of Steve—and this time, he shows his hands properly: cupped together, arms outstretched.

“Can you just—need ‘em a little more—” Instinctively, Steve puts a hand underneath Eddie’s, gently pushes them up, further into the light. “Yeah, there.”

Eddie’s skin is cold to the touch; it reminds him of how Robin’s hands had felt the night of Starcourt and, less distressingly, whenever she’s nervous before a practical music exam.

He moves the flashlight back and forth in assessment. It doesn’t seem like anything’s swollen—he remembers the ache of his own hand that night in ‘83: the erratic pulse of Christmas lights as if they were possessed; the crack of the baseball bat; Jonathan and Nancy’s screams.

But what the flashlight does expose is…

“Ouch,” Steve says sincerely.

Eddie’s hands are embedded with splinters.

Eddie shakes his head again. He nods at the bandage across Steve’s middle. “C’mon, man, I don’t—these aren’t exactly war wounds.”

Steve decides not to fight him on it. Opts for a lighter touch, “No more oars for you.”

Eddie chuckles the tiniest bit. It’s a sad sound.

“Yeah, that’s not—they’re from Rick’s. The, um, the boat, y’know? I…” Eddie bites his lip. “It’s kinda… fuzzy, but I’d fall asleep in there, like just for a second, and then I guess I’d—” His fingers twitch above Steve’s palm. “Panic.”

Steve can picture it: Eddie starting awake, hands scrambling across the rough wood, as if in desperation for it all to be a nightmare; that maybe if he kept searching the splinters would melt away, transform into the softness of bedsheets.

“Remind me later,” Steve says, and he pats the unmarked skin of Eddie’s knuckles in reassurance. Keeps his touch there so he’s still partially holding Eddie’s hands up. “I’ll get them out with a pin, I’m good at…” He falters at Eddie’s silence. “I’ll be careful,” he says—it feels important, suddenly, that Eddie should know.

Eddie looks at him. The reflection of the flashlight’s glow flickers in his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” he says softly.

One of his hands tilts ever so slightly, fingertips brushing against Steve’s palm. Then he steps back, hands falling down to his sides.

Steve resumes illuminating the forest floor. They walk on, and in the quiet, the air feels different, changed—for the better, Steve hopes: like something tender’s been exposed to the surface.

[turinspeachjam]

Steddie Week 2024 | Prompt: Hands/Touch-Starved

Eddie carefully ran his fingers through Steve’s hair. It was longer than he usually kept it, but with the way he practically melted in Eddie’s lap every time he put his hands amidst those silky strands, Eddie had a feeling that he was not going to cut it any time soon. It was a wonder to see Steve this relaxed and Eddie counted his blessings each and every time he was permitted to bear witness to it. His sweetheart was a like a cat and Eddie would not be surprised if he started purring at any point.

“’ddie?”

Steve’s voice was muffled what with him having shoved his face into the crevice of Eddie’s hip. Were it anyone else, Eddie might not have even heard the quiet calling of his name, but he was attuned to Steve in a way that put any magical item to shame.

“Yeah, Stevie? You doin’ okay?”

“Mmhmm. ‘m sleepy. Jus’ wan’ed you t’know.”

Eddie chuckled. His baby got so sweet when he got his hair played with, so gentle and caring and soft. It made Eddie’s teeth ache just thinking about him.

“That’s okay, honey. You go ahead and sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgement just as his breathing evened out. Eddie knew that he would sleep for hours if he let him, it’s why he tried to make sure to cuddle with Steve closer to bedtime. Alas, Steve had a rough day and Eddie was not about to deny him some well-deserved peace.

Eddie did not know how long he spent watching Steve rest, only that it must have resulted in him dozing off himself because the next thing he knew Wayne was walking through the front door, the slap of the screen door startling him awake.

“What time’s it?” Eddie rasped, his impromptu nap evident in his voice.

“Almost seven o’clock, I’d reckon. You boys eat yet?” Wayne kept his volume low which meant Steve was still passed out in his lap. Eddie looked down at him, a sappy smile painting his face as he listened to Steve’s quiet snuffling.

“Nah. We took a nap, lost track of time.”

“That’s alright,” Wayne chuckled, amused by his boys. “I’ll throw together a little supper for the three of us while you wake Steve up.”

Eddie nodded absently, still focused on the boy in his lap. It was always so difficult to tear Steve away from a good sleep. He never seemed to rest properly outside of the trailer, a fact that Eddie both preened at and worried about. With a gentle hand, he began the slow process of rousing the boy who held his heart in his hands.