please help iâm stuck between two hyper fixations đđťđđť
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LMAO REAL
Eddie can't flirt, but Steve's brain has been rewired to find the most insane shit in the world interesting, and Eddie hasn't said anything normal since he met him.
Eddie, trying to flirt: .... I know how to juggle
Steve: Go on.....
-later-
Steve: And then he messed up like 12 times in a row
Robin: And?
Steve: And I think I'm in love with him.
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please steve just one day of peace
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Steve: I love murder mysteries
Eddie, trying to impress Steve: I've been a suspect in four murder cases
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Chapter 1: Under My Skin
Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang
Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang
Beta'd by @penny00dreadful
Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link
Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that.Â
It wasnât as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.
But itâd been a long week, and heâd much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot whoâd gotten his girlfriendâs name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim toâThe Curse.Â
Ask any tattoo artist and theyâd be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant otherâs name on your body forever.Â
And yeah, it probably wasnât fair to judge the guy before theyâd even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistakeâdumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.
Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.
It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spacesâno more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speakerâbut being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heartâs content.Â
The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissyâs shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life.Â
Entering Chrissyâs studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair heâd custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so sheâd taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal.Â
Eddieâs space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.
It wasnât until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.
âDonât forget to lock up when you're done.â She said, tapping her nails on the glass. âOh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? Weâre out.âÂ
âWait, where are you going? Didnât you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!â
âNot anymore.â She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.
âMine had to cancel.â
Eddie groaned. âI hate when clients do that.â
She shrugged. âDoesnât bother me. Itâs like a free night off I wasnât expecting.â
âNot exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.â He grumbled.
âOh lighten up! Itâs not like weâre that behind on bills or anything.â
âTell that to the electric company.â He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier heâd found on Amazon that definitely didnât use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aestheticâ˘.
âWhy are you always so grumpy?â Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting.Â
Not that he was one to pout.Â
âIâm not!â
âLook at your face, you're grumpy right now!â
âThat's because y- youâreâŚâ He cut himself off with a sigh.Â
He couldn't begrudge her the time off, heâd be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him.Â
âJust get out of here.â He said, conceding defeat.
She beamed. âOkay! See you later!â She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. âDonât forget about the milk!â
âWait, why canât youââ He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.
âOh forget it.â He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged.Â
About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day.Â
Except, it couldn't be.
It couldnât possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guyâthis guyâso obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just⌠let him go.Â
It was unthinkable.
âHi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.â Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.
âSteve?â Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.
The other man nodded.
Shit, okay.
So this was himâSteeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy.Â
Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? Heâd never let him go.Â
Get it together, Munson!
The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.
Though, he supposed he could still⌠look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Leviâs that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around hisâ
âEddie?â
Fuck.Â
Had Steve been talking this whole time while heâd been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?
âYeah.â A soft chuckle fell from Eddieâs lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. âS- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.âÂ
What the fuck was wrong with him today?!
âItâs okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.â
Work question⌠yes, good. Focus on the job!Â
âRight. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once thatâs healed have you come back for the color. If youâre still alright with that?â
Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. Heâd done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what theyâd come up with wasnât really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. Heâd seen Eddieâs Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.
Of course, now that heâd gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadnât tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.
âWhatever you think is best. Iâm putting myself in your expert hands.â Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.
That was⌠interesting.Â
Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?
Steveâs deposit had been paid, and theyâd already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other manâs ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.
âYou can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. Iâll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.â Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.
He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry.Â
It shouldnât have been as hot as it was.Â
At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bareâsmooth as a baby's bottom. The other side wasâŚÂ
It wasâŚ
Jesus Christ.
It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that heâd never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory.Â
The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley.Â
Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force.Â
He truly didnât know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time heâd worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didnât notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but itâd never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.
He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was.Â
It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love.Â
Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over. Â
âItâs great.â Steve said.Â
âGood.â Eddie quietly let out the breath heâd been holding. âAlright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.â
Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steveâs chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right.Â
It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed.Â
While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.
âReady to get started?â
Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. âYeah. I am.â
His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasnât his job to pry.Â
With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work.Â
They werenât at it for very long before Steve started to squirm.Â
Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasnât really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other manâs pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.
He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him.Â
He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steveâs face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.Â
That⌠did not look like a face that was in painâor ratherâit didnât seem like the pain was unpleasant.Â
Fuck.
Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower.Â
He shouldnât.Â
It wasnât right.
The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely.Â
But Eddie was a weak, weak man.
He looked.Â
Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it.Â
Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.
Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat.Â
Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse wouldâve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.
âSorry.â Steve said, voice strained.
Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes.Â
âFor?â
Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadnât noticed.Â
âItâs fine, really. It⌠happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.â
Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. âIt wasnât like this last time.â He muttered under his breath.
Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.
âDo you need to take a break?âÂ
âNo,â Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. âBut, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?â
He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things.Â
âSure, what do you want to talk about?â Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.
âYou.â Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. âUm, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?â
Eddie chuckled. âYeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about itâsanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasnât wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.â
âHe sounds like a really great guy.â Steve said.
âYeah, he is.â Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. âNot just anyone could step in and raise someone elseâs kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but itâs not the same.â
âI donât see my family very much either, but weâre not close.âÂ
âIâm sorry.â
âDonât be. My parents, theyâreââ Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. âWell, let's just say they're not as supportive of myâlife choices, as your uncle was for you.â
âOh?â
âI, uh, came out to them a while ago⌠as bisexual? They didnât take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.â
âNo. itâsâOkay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And⌠I get it.â
Eddie didnât really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad heâd felt safe enough in his shopâwith him, to talk about it.
âWayne was really good about that too.â Eddie said softly. âIâm sorry your parents werenât.â
A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from hereâif he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his⌠predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke.Â
âWhen did youâhow did you⌠know?â Steve asked after a while.
âJunior High.â Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. âKinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me. Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.âÂ
âAnd?â
Eddie shrugged. âAnd I didnât hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bitâhad to reevaluate my whole world view.â
Steve hummed in understanding.
âItâs still mostly men for me butââ Eddie sighed wistfully, âWomen.â
âWomen,â Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. âIt was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay barâdragged me there actually.â He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.
Good boy.
Eddie smirked. âI bet you were popular.â
âYou could say that. Iâve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.â As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.
âItâs funny, at 25 I didnât think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasnât a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive beforeâfriends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.â
âAh, the bisexualâs fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.â Eddie said.
âHow was I supposed to know it wasnât!â
Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter.Â
Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juiceâsomething he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.
As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.
âSo, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.â
âNo, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.â Steve stuttered out nervously. âKissed a few, but thatâs all.âÂ
âOh, thatâs too bad.â Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.
Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on.Â
âWhy, you offering to show me the ropes?â Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.
Eddieâs mouth went dry.Â
Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?
âDonât tempt me.â Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.
âWhy not?â
âFirst rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.â
âOh, thatâs too bad.â Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint ofâchallenge acceptedâin his tone.
The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought theyâd still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.
For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end.Â
He told the other man how theyâd met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didnât go into too much detail, as it wasnât his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissyâs case.
It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each otherâs nerves a lot, but he wouldnât have it any other way. Â
At some point Steveâs cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before theyâd gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasnât a big deal.Â
Orâit wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times.Â
âWe can take a break if you need to get that.â Eddie offered.
Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steveâs incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the manâs body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps.Â
âYeah, I think weâd better. Itâs gotta be my little brother and knowing him he wonât stop calling until I answer.â
Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasnât hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation.Â
âHey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. Whatâs going on?âÂ
Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call.Â
âDustin, heâs not abandoning you. Just because he wantsââ
Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.
âWell, did he actually say he didnât want to play D&D with you anymore?âÂ
Eddieâs head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?
âThatâs what I thought.â Steve said with a satisfied tone. âIt's gonna be fine. Iâll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.â
âSorry about that.â Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. âTeenagers.â
âPretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.â
âOh no.â Steve groaned. âNot you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.â
âI used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when weâre all back home visiting.â Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasnât really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and heâd be done with the outline. âWas he alright, your brother?â
âYeah, heâll be fine.â Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. âWe, uh, technically weâre not actually relatedâI'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. Itâs only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought⌠I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.â
âThat's⌠thatâs really sweet, man. Iâm sure he appreciates having you around.â
With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. Heâd been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for.Â
âHeâs worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. Heâs afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he wonât want to play with them anymore.â
âAs a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.âÂ
âAre you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?â
âSteve, Stevie, please. Please donât tell meâŚâ Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effectâhand over his heart. âOh god, you were captain of the sportsball team werenât you?âÂ
Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. âBasketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.â
âI knew it would never work between us.â Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. âAre you reformed, at least?â
âOnce a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. Iâm a personal trainer now.â
It explained a lot, and the perksâpun absolutely intendedâof Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.
âDonât worry though, I donât like gym bros any more than the next guy.â Steve said conspiratorially. âMy clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.â
Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. âLucky ladies.â
Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?
Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long.Â
âJust a few more minutes, almost done.â Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steveâs collarbone.
âDo you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?â Steve asked. âMy roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.â
âI donât know if iâd say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.â
âYou, um. You can ask about it⌠If you want.â
Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didnât feel right, but he couldnât deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it thenâ
âOkay, I'll bite. Whoâs Nancy?â
âMy fianceâ. Well, ex-fianceâ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.â
âThatâs rough, I'm sorry.â
âItâs okay. Honestly, Itâs⌠I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweetheartsâgot together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that sheâd only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.â
The part of Eddie that believed in true loveâand all that cheesy shitâwas sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadnât been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that theyâd been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldnât be on the rebound.
âIt was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been⌠good. We werenât right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.â
âIâm glad youâve been able to come to peace with it.â
âGetting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, yâknow?â
Eddie nodded. Steveâs demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.
âIs there some significance to the design?â He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other manâs eyes lit up.
âYeah, Robin. Sheâsheâs everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I donât think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. Sheâs like, another piece of my soul or something. I donât know what I would do without her.â
Eddie froze.Â
The tattoo design was a birdâa robin.
A robin.
For, Robin.
How could he have been so stupid!Â
Of course, Steve was getting one girlâs name covered up with something to represent the new one.Â
Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.
Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistakeâtwice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didnât work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.
âEverything alright?â Steve asked.
The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steveâs chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat.Â
âYup. All good.â Eddie forced the words out.
That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadnât he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him?Â
Maybe heâd felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people didâbi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didnât make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on.Â
Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.
He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. Heâd felt something though, potentialâa spark. It was more than heâd felt for anyone in a long time.
Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddieâs mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasnât as though heâd suddenly become unprofessional. He was just⌠no longer being overly friendly.
After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door. Â
âHave a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.â
Steve bit his lip. âOh, I⌠okay. See you in six weeks then.â
Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.
Chapter 2 (coming 4/5!)
All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST đ
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Rhetorics and Bad Days
Rating: General
CW: None apply!
Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has a Bad Time, Steve Harrington is an Ugly Crier, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names, Forehead Kisses, Slight Love Confessions, Getting Together (Sorta Kinda/More Implied Afterwards)
Tripped and fell last night and wrote 3.2k words. Inspired by @scoops-aboy86 idea and my stupid little headcanon from this post!
đâââââđ
It seems like everyday was a bad day when you were somebody like Steve Harrington. Considering the good majority of his life the last four years, give or take, has been a cartwheel of nightmares and torture and blood and injuriesâAnd, well. Obviously he has bad days.
Though, typically, it can be resolved and done over with a hot shower, maybe some stupid movie that he honk-laughs at, a warm blanket and a freshly dried pillowcase. Little things. Little good things that are able to calm him some, at least. Give him something else to think of, at most. He doesnât have to do anything like cry or breakdown or yell until his voice is hoarse, thatâs what he tells himself. Because, whatâs been ingrained in his head, men donât cry. Men donât get hysterical. Men donât break that emotional mold.
Though those words are definitely booming and deep and flat like his dadâs. Thatâs not his brain. Those arenât his words. But it sure as hell is what heâs been exposed to for far too long.
And maybe thatâs why, standing in the barren living room of his brand new (albeit worn down, caulked heavily, all too warm) apartment, he finds the rhetoric silenced. In a fresh space. With crooked blinds and awfully filled tack holes. A kitchen fit for a (former) king. Little breakfast nook that only allows for two dining chairs under the south facing windows. Barely any sunlight able to stream through. His bedroom cramped with just a queen sized mattress placed haphazardly on the floor, definitely crushing some well-loved Playboy magazines, crooked to the wall at his head because the movers carrying it were too tired from the recently odd mid-fall heat, and a decently sized freshly made spiderweb in the cornerâhe shivers at the thought of something alive and crawling watching him sleep at night. And the glorious bathroomâpreemptively marked with darkened piss stains on the floor and a smell birthed from over-indulgence on alcohol.Â
Itâs his, though. Well, his and Eddieâs.
Eddie has his own bedroom, similar size to Steveâs (think of a shoebox used to bury that poor hamster from your youth, dead from eating too many baseball cards), ceiling light stained with god worshipping moths, and a window that half-opens if he jiggles it the right way. They share that grimy bathroom. And he brought the living room couch, something that had been sitting on his and Wayneâs back porch for some time, definitely a little mud stained and mildew smelling from rain, but itâs not the worst. Not the best. Not even good. But itâs their space, freed from the confines of Hawkins, new and shiny for all of Indianapolis to see.
The rhetoric is gone in Steveâs brain. Like skin shed from his sunburned body. Peeling and crackling to every surface he finds himself on or leaning against or standing with. It evades him. Leaves him with something viciously young and terribly hungry.
Steve Harrington is prone to bad days. Bad weeks. Bad things.
The unfortunate luck begins anew an exact week from when they move in.
October 20th, 1986 is his first day back at Family Video. Heâd been transferred, referred much to Keithâs dismay, but probably his pleasure, too. (Considering how immediate his response had been to Steveâs question.) But it was his first day back. Didnât need to be trained. Just hooked like a fish to deceased worm bait, thrown out to the river that is their blockâs neighbors and strangers and mere acquaintances that feel no better or worse about having new people take residency on their street, but heâs also not reeled back in at the end of his shift. If anything, heâs tangled in his own wire, flopping, gasping for water, drying to the gravel by the shallow give of the riverâs flow. He is stranded behind the register. Returning customers telling him he should know what they like, or what discount they need, or how many movies theyâve checked out previously. That he should know that a particular customer is friends with the owner of the Family Video he so sorely resides in. But he doesnât, of course he doesnât. So he makes do. He powers through it. Feigns mundane annoyance like gum flavorless between his teeth, though heâs biting his tongue to not sob.
Thatâs not where the bad ends. No. Of course not.
Heâs within walking distance to their apartment. Which should be fine. In fact, itâs incredibly handy because even if he were running late to work, he could blame it on something stupid. (âMy key broke off in the lock, had to bother the landlord.â âYeah, had a leak in the bathroom this morning, have to report it just in case it tries to flood the downstairs neighbors.â âItâs odd, seems like the lock loves to devour my keys.â Nervous laughter.) But just because heâs within walking distance does not mean that life is plainly simple. No, what happens is he gets soaked with dirty road rain water. Was it mentioned that itâs been raining all day? No? Well, it has been. And itâs a downpour. Forecast said it would happen tonight, not midday, not while heâs trying to power walk home so he can make the peanut butter and jelly sandwich of his dreams. But it does. Because of course. And some asshole, screaming out their window to tell him that he shouldâve worn a raincoat, speeds by. Coating him from collarbone to toe in the mucky rainwater of a city thatâs too busy for a place like bumfuck Indiana. At least in Hawkins everybody knows your name; at least they have the common decency to let you stroll on by before they make a major move like that. But in a city bustling with busy, selfish, awful peopleâbecause arenât all city inhabitants like this, should he have realized something like this was bound to happen? Well, he did. Just didnât think it would take less than a month for it to occur.
Sopping wet. Exhausted and burnt out. Hungry like a rabid stray dog. He walks briskly. Skipping over the cracks and lines in the sidewalk, no matter how much disdain he tastes for his mother. Missing freshly spat out gum by mere centimeters. Shoulder checking a few too slow pedestrians, their sneering faces burning into his back. And the next awful thing comes in like a planned prank on some mocking little sitcom show. Dog shit. Pure dog shit, brown and putrid and soft on the sole of his right Adidas Superstar. His brand new shoes. The shoes he got himself less than a month ago. Shoes that he had been eyeing for years, but couldnât muster the courage or the reason to buy them. And now thereâs dog shit on the bottom of his shoe. He smears it on the concrete, squishing it further into the ridges of his sole, scraping it against the harsh ground. Tries his best. Checks the bottom of the shoe precariously. And without missing a beatâŚtopples down onto his ass, thankfully away from the smeared shit, but down onto the ground nonetheless. He prickles, stands up on his shaky legs, dusts off his ass, and storms the rest of the way home.
Maybe he shouldnât slam the door. But itâs barely anything in comparison to the rest of his day. He shouldnât do it. He knows that it could get them a noise complaint. Though, the way it vibrates against his back, settling deep into the wood, stepping out of his sneakers to wash in the tub in a fewâitâs all too good.Â
The anger begins to dissipate from him in just that small action.
Then, again like a well-mannered sitcom scene, in barrels Eddie from his bedroom. Arms crossed over his chest, hip popped to the side, harsh scowl to his face. âMan, are you fucking serious?â He spits.
âWhat?â Steve asks, panting, breathless, absolutely done with today. With tomorrow. With the rest of this week.
âI told you this morning that I was going to be studying in my room! All day! Told you that I wanted it to be quiet, and the first thing you do when you get home is slam the door shut?!â He growls. Snarling, he continues, âAnd what about the noise complaints?! We canât afford any of those, we need this place! Could you notââ
Steve pushes past him, shoes in hand, work bag slung down like a bomb to the floor. Leaving its contents scattered. A copy of Airplane! on VHS, some stickers reading âBe kind, rewindâ, measly three dollars, and his Family Video vest. All of it strewn about their place. Pooling murky water on the surface, just as Steveâs clothes were dripping everywhere else. He closes himself in the bathroom, but doesnât lock the door. In fact, that stupid fucking lock doesnât even work. Nothing works. He stays in there anyway. Really, they should clean in here. Clorox the hell out of every surface. Maybe see if the piss stains will come up with a harshly gripped mop. But instead of those important things, he tosses his sneakers into the bathtub, and sits with his head in his hands on the closed toilet lid. Mushy socks to the tiled floor. Pants uncomfortably drying and chafing on his legs. Underwear like a second skin to his balls. His polo tight across his back and terribly moist.
Shoves his palms harsh into his eyes and whistles through his nose. âFuck,â he mutters, lip wobbling with the word.
A tentative knock to the door startles him. âSteve?â Eddieâs voice rings out. Itâs murmured, careful, testing the syllables on his tongue. âHey, can I come in? Iâmââ He sighs, the anger he had before blowing away from him. âIâm sorry,â he sincerely apologizes. âIâm sorry that my first instinct was to get mad. Iââ
âJust come in,â he croaks. Itâs not very loud, but it must be enough because Eddie pushes the door open mere seconds later.
He sighs, mouth downturning when he sees Steve on the toilet. Meekly holds up Steveâs also brand new messenger bag. Stained like the tiled flooring under their socked feet. Itâs sodden and depressing. âHey,â he mutters.Â
Steve just hums in return. Looking up to Eddie from the toilet, he must be a sorry sight. All soaking wet, spine hunched and scrunched in a horrifically twisted amalgamation, hair limp in his eyes. Something has to read on him for Eddie to be gazing at him the way he is. All big eyes and sorry mouth and his shoulders slouched like heâs admitting defeat. Part of Steve doesnât want him to, wants him to keep getting riled, yelling about their lease and the slammed doors and the forgetfulness that seems to flow through Steve just as easily as blood. Wants to be called names. Wants to have a non-delicate conversation about how much of a screw-up he is, how he shouldâve listened to his father and never moved away, why heâs a disaster of a person. Tell Steve all the ways in which heâs deserving of the bad days. Deserving of their frequency. Deserving of misery.
âAre youâNo, you probably arenât, but Iâm asking anyway. Are you okay, Steve?â
ThatâWell, that breaks something in him. The final block on his wobbling tower of everything and too much. Under his skin, like weak twigs, his ribs are snapping. Crumbling beneath him to make room for the way his lungs expand with the need to gasp. The need to hiccup his way through a terrible explanation.
His mouth twitches, lips pursing. Looks away. âIââ Steve rasps. âNo,â he sobs.
Warmth crowds him, all too sudden and all too much. Hands gravitating to his magnetic pull. Squeezing his shoulder and pushing back his stringy hair. Though, immediately and dizzyingly, he is reminded of that stupid rhetoric. He shouldnât follow it. Shouldnât even allow it to have the vice grip it does on his brain.
But he shakes Eddie off, standing uneasily from the toilet, walking around him. He paces into the kitchen, hungry and shaking and needed to do something. Get his energy out one way or another. Fight off the tears, no matter how relieving they would be. Clatters through the cupboards. Finds the cheap, shitty, generic white bread. And an already half-eaten jar of peanut butter, odd peaks and valleys in it as if somebodyâs been chowing down on it with a spoon. That doesnât matter, though. At least thereâs any peanut butter at all.
Eddieâs not too far behind him. Standing in the kitchenâs entryway, hands floating in front of him, reaching out for Steve. âHey, Stevie, I can make you a sandwich. Yâknow, if you want to change out of your clothes. Must be uncomfortable,â heâs placating.
âNo, no, itâs fine,â Steve lies to himself. Because he needs this to be true. Just this one good thing. One thing he can do for himself. Make something he wants to eat. Something heâs been thinking about all day. Something that plasters an easy enough smile to his already half-puffy face, tears encroaching and sobs clawing their way up to his throat. But when he grabs for the jelly, âAre you fucking kidding me?â He slams the door of the fridge closed. No jar in sight. Not a single kind. No marmalade or strawberry jam or even the nasty grape jelly he bought for when Robin visits. Thereâs nothing. âAre youââ He groans, huffs, and hiccups.
Attempting to cover himself, he shoves his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes.
The one thing he canât let Eddie see, because crying is going to happen whether Steve likes it or not, is that heâs an ugly crier. The ugliest, and he knows that. All bubbled snot and dripping its residue over his top lip. Lips bitten red raw from muffling the sobs. Spit burbled in the corners of his mouth. Choking on wet gasps, hiccuping with his whole body, trying to drink the air around him. Skin going splotchy red and hideously swollen, the swelling still apparent even two hours later.
With the first sob, he knows it wonât be possible to hide this breakdown. Eddieâs already inching closer, hands still out in front of him. Steve is a wounded animal, it seems like. He cries loud and shameful, mouth dropped open, his saliva bubbling between his teeth. Already choking on his first gasp.
âItâll be alright, Stevie,â Eddie tries to soothe, âWe can get more jelly, itâs alright.â
âNo,â Steve cries, âNo! Itâs notââ A series of short, hiccuping, wet gasps. Followed then by a snotty snort, bubbled and causing his breath to whistle. âSuch a bad day,â he attempts to explain, voice keening, high pitched in the back of his throat. âEverybody was so meanâClothes areâAll wet and grossââ Heavy swallow like trying to consume large shards of glass. He flaps his hands at his sides, scrunching them, trying to squeeze himself back to his ordinary box. But instead, more snorting sobs leave him.
Eddie places a warm hand on the back of Steveâs neck. Thumb digging into a knot thatâs forming. He puts his other palm on his bare arm, coaxing him over to one of the dining chairs. Settles him down and crouches in front of his sob-riddled, hiccuping, contorting body. Holding Steveâs face with one hand, he reaches for the crumpled bandana in his back pocket, raising it between them. âLook at me, Stevie baby,â he murmurs, âLet me help you.â Steve drags his eyes away from where theyâd been zeroed in on the floor. Locking with Eddieâs own sad and soft gaze. âThere you are,â Eddie whispers. He gently strokes Steveâs cheek with the edge of his bandana. Gliding it over his skin, patting at the drying tear tracks. His other hand, thumb wedged near the corner of Steveâs mouth, wipes away at the spittle. âIâm sorry you had a bad day,â he mutters, âBut weâll get it back on track, alright? Youâll be okay, sweetheart. I promise youâll be okay.â
Steveâs lips wobble. âI thought you were mad,â he nasally whispers. âWhy are you being nice to me?â
Stopping his slow and careful work, Eddie stares in heartbreaking dismay. âYou deserve nice things, Steve. It doesnât matter that I was mad. Iâm not mad anymore.â And then he runs his bandana over the snot trails under Steveâs nose. Looking on with an odd mix of sadness and reverence. Thumb not even wiping anything away anymore, simply caressing over Steveâs heated, swollen skin.
He swallows glass again. Blinks sluggishly. Calmed down, oddly. This is probably the quickest cry heâs ever had. He chuckles, âGod, Iâm such an ugly crier, man.â Sighs. âCanât believe youâre willingly wiping at my snot right now. âTâs nice.â
âStop being so hard on yourself, sweetheart. I donât even think youâre ugly.â
Steve snorts. âYeah, right.â
âWhatâIâm being honest!â Eddie quietly exclaims. He shifts the hand on Steveâs jaw, palm cupping his cheek, fingers splayed over his ear, holding him in a sweet yet fragile way. âSteve, youâre, like, gorgeous. I hate seeing you so upset, but youâre like an angel or something when you cry.â He draws his bandana away, but brings it back to cover the end of Steveâs nose. âBlow into this,â he instructs. And so Steve does, blowing out whatever didnât already leave him in his crying episode. Eddie pulls it back again, not even grimacing at what is surely a squelching snot-covered mess in his hand. He massages his fingers into the hair around Steveâs ear. Gazing. âYouâre gorgeous,â he whispers, reiterating. âAnd you deserve nice things, especially after what a clusterfuck of a day you mustâve had. And you deserve to breakdown every once in a while. Donât have to hide just because you think you shouldnât cry or because youâre âuglyâ or whatever.â
âThanks, Eds,â Steve squeaks. Face flushing with heat, gratefully not from tears. He flashes a small smile, modest but there, for the first time today. âYou really mean all that? Even when you called me sweetheart?â
Eddie is bashful, smile stretching, going red in the face, tilting his head as if assessing. But the lovesick sheen to his eyes says heâs already made up his mind. âYeah,â he murmurs, careful and devoted, âyeah, baby. I do mean all that I said.â
âCan I have one more good thing?â Steve tentatively asks.
âWhatâs that?â
He touches between his eyebrows. âForehead kiss?â (And sure, maybe he does pout a little, but can you blame him?)
Eddie, without missing a beat, leans forward, fiercely cupping Steveâs cheek, pressing a slightly damp kiss to Steveâs skin. Then under his eyes. The tip of his nose. Corner of his mouth. Pulls back, whispering, âYou can have all the kisses you want, sweetheart.â Still caressing Steve, he offers, âHow âbout I go get you some new jelly while you take a warm bath? And when youâre out, clean clothes and not shivering, we can curl up on the couch and watch that movie you got?â
âOkay,â Steve mutters.
âOkay,â Eddie murmurs back. He presses one more kiss to the corner of Steveâs mouth. âLetâs make this a good day, baby.â
đâââââđ
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stop bro i need this
need wayne asking eddie âyou sweet on him?â about steve
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this is SO good
my favorite thing about Steve is that heâs actually a very confident guy, overconfident I would say sometimes, so in my head he has the shortest gay crisis ever like he realizes on a random Tuesday morning while slowly rotting on his costumer service job that his weird fixation with Eddie and how close he is with that punk dude from the Hideout is jealousy actually, so that means he has a crush on Eddie. Huh, thatâs weird, has he had crushes on guys before? Maybe, his friendship with Tommy was intense and weirdly possessive actually, and their fight did feel like a breakup kind off and Tommy did behave like a bitter ex afterwards⌠also now that he thinks about it his obsession with the captain of the baseball team who was a senior when he was a junior was totally a crush in retrospective. And as he comes to this conclusion he also thinks damn what a waste, I could 100% have pulled him. So that same day heâs driving to Eddieâs place like âhi iâm taking you outâ and Eddie doesnât know if heâs about to be wine and dinned or murdered in the middle of the woods but heâs also a weak weak man for pretty boys so he just follows where Steve tells him to go. They have a lovely date at the dinner and then drive up to the quarry to see the sunset and then a very intense makeout sesh in the back of Steveâs car when Eddie remembers to ask him if heâs even into guys. Steve who already has his hands in Eddieâs pants looks him dead in the eye and says âyeah since this morning I think, but also since forever.â And Eddie who had to spend years slowly crawling his way out of Narnia to even admit to himself he was gay even less admitting it to others just blinks and accepts the fact that yeah, Steve Harrington has always had that vibe actually, and resumes kissing him.
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title: please donât call me pretty.
alt universe- âkingâ steve harrington is pretty much not the king here.
CW: negative self-talk, slight mention of self harm, self esteem issues, mentions of bullying, mentions of child abuse, and restrictive eating.
âprettyâ was a word steve would absolutely not use to describe himself.
in fact, heâd never been called pretty before. not once. he was called the opposite, quite often.
of course he knew he wasnât great looking; wasnât outstanding or worthy of mentioning, but he didnât think he was so bad he needed to be made fun of for it.
no one does. but he was.
ugly was a word he heard every day in middle school, and then home wasnât any better. fat was a common word there.
âcut your hair, ugly,â people would sneer in his face. shove him into lockers, corner him in the library, single him out in p.e.; anything they could do to get their hands on him, they would.
numerous times he showed up at his home with a black eye, marks on his face, cut lips, bruised ribs; limping his way home.
âmaybe you should see a doctor about your weight, steven. lose some weight?â
âthat shirt seems to be fitting too tight, doesnât it, steven?â
âyes mother,â he would respond. and so he slowly began to work out more, began lying about eating at school and saying he ate a big lunch. skipping meals became a bad habit, but at least he was seeing results.
and after years and years of being told he was ugly, unattractive, fat; he kept believing it. he didnât think he would ever stop since in the mirror it was all he saw.
now at eighteen, a senior in his second semester of high school, he still thought he was ugly even though heâd gotten notes slipped into his locker a few times. thought he was fat although his cheeks were sunken in, and his ribs could be seen. he was tall enough now that the bullying stopped. he was finally big enough to intimidate and to get people to back off.
so he kept to himself. he wasnât being cornered in the library anymore, and it became a safe place for him to sit during his free time.
that is where he met his boyfriend, eddie. and eddie was the first one ever to call him attractive. to point out how he never ate. to ask about his days, his home life, his grades, his everything.
of course he liked it. but it felt too good to be true. how could a boy like eddie love someone like him? it didnât make sense.
âyouâre so pretty,â eddie murmured to him the first time heâd spent the night at his trailer. it was 11am on a saturday morning, and the boys had slept in late. steve laid in his arms and looked into his brown eyes then down to the soft smile on his lips. but he himself was not smiling.
getting a compliment for the first time ever felt off. it didnât feel right. he didnât deserve one. he was too big, took up too much space, his hair was too frizzy, his acne was too bad, he was too-
âsteve?â he called softly. he pulled steve out of his thoughts.
âplease donât call me pretty.â and he slowly crawled out of his arms, laying down but facing away from him.
âiâm sorry, i didnât mean to make you upset. i- what do-â he was cut off.
âitâs not you, i donât think,â he said, curling in a tight ball, âiâve just never been called that before. it feels weird.â ďżź
âyouâve never been called pretty? steve, youâre gorgeous,â
he was in disbelief. not only was he pretty, but he was gorgeous?
âwhat?â he sat up, turning to him.
âi think youâre like one of the prettiest people iâve seen. youâre so beautiful, steve. inside and out,â
âbut- what? i-iâm ugly. i need to lose weight. my scars-â
â-do not change how pretty you are. and you do not need to lose weight. youâre so skinny, honey. and youâre not ugly,â
âw-what?â he weakly stuttered out. he was shocked.
âyou donât believe me?â
âi⌠no,â he told him.
âiâm so sorry,â he said back, grabbing his hands and giving a gentle squeeze, âyou deserve to be told nice things. i want to tell them to you,â
steve gave a squeeze back, his eyes filling with tears. this was the first time he was ever given a sincere apology.
âi love you,â steve said. and it was the first time he genuinely meant it.
âi love you too,â eddie replied. and steve finally believed something he was told. he was pulled into a hug, and he cried on his bare shoulder for about twenty minutes before calming down.
âiâm going to tell you nice things every day until you believe them, okay?â
he nodded. not like he could stop eddie from doing that, anyway.
âstarting with this,â he said, cupping his cheeks, âyou are so, so pretty.â
and for once in his life, he finally believed it.
steve harrington was pretty.
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Itâs been done in every which way but Eddie being in an accident of some kind that leaves him paralyzed, but his doctors believe he could walk again with intense physical therapy
Heâs stubborn and absolutely hasnât dealt with any of the trauma of the accident and takes it out on his physical therapist, Steve, who is used to patients being pretty angry about their situation
He always meets Eddie where he is though, tries to keep a smile on his face and joke when appropriate and even shares his cookies from his lunchbox with him
Eventually, Eddie starts making some progress, but instead of being happy about it, he panics and cancels all his PT appointments for the week
Steve tries calling, texting, emailing, doing everything he can to encourage him to keep going, but it all goes unanswered until Gareth, one of Eddieâs closest friends, calls him on Eddieâs phone
Heâs depressed and he wonât get out of bed, heâs given up. Heâs tired of being in pain and having to try to so hard just to move his damn legs a little
Steve isnât usually this personal with clients, and tells Gareth he canât discuss anything medical with him due to patient confidentiality, but insists he should try to drag him to the office the next day before it opens
And somehow, probably through guilt, Gareth manages to wheel a very sullen and grumpy Eddie into the side door entrance to the office at seven in the morning
Steve tells him to come back in an hour to pick him up and Eddie ignores the goodbye Gareth says to him
And Steve pretends nothing is wrong at all, goes through the usual temperature and blood pressure check, asks how heâs feeling and gets a grunt in response, asks if thereâs any pain and gets an eye roll
But Eddie met his match in Steve because Steve then pushes him to the center of the workout room, where a large mat is out and a walker is set to the side
âWhatâs that?â
âYour walker.â
âI donât need one seeing as I canât fucking walk.â
âYou are today.â
And Steve knows heâs pushing and he hates being pushy
But he knows what his clients are capable of, and he knows without a single doubt in his mind that Eddie is ready to use the walker for five to ten minute increments. He has the leg strength and the stubbornness, he just needs the belief in himself
âDo you want me to hurt myself worse?â
âOf course not. And if you get tired, the seat on the walker is right there. But you can walk and you will walk.â
âAnd if I call Gareth to come get me right now?â
âThen I donât believe my services are of value to you anymore and Iâll wish you the best.â
It pained Steve to say it because he knew he was fucking good at what he did, maybe the best in town. His clients often had to wait for his availability to open for weeks or months at a time because of how many people were referred to him
But he said the right thing because Eddie huffed, groaned, and cursed under his breath before wheeling himself to the edge of the mat to hold onto the walker
He pulled himself up
His legs were shaking from not being used for the last few days more than the bare minimum, but his determination was clear
Steve slowly pulled the chair away as Eddie unlocked the brakes of the walker and glared at Steve as he took one step, then two
Sure, he was relying pretty heavily on the walker, maybe more than Steve wouldâve liked to see, but he was moving
He made it across the mat and then locked the brakes, sat down on the pad on the walker, and gave a sarcastic grin to Steve
âHappy?â
âAre you?â
And maybe Eddie wasnât ready to be asked that because he was suddenly sobbing, covering his face as tears flowed down his cheeks
Steve gave him a few seconds before moving to kneel in front of him, pulling his hands away
âYou deserve to have your life back, Eddie. Youâve been lucky to have the chance to walk again. Letâs not waste it, okay?â
Eddie spent the rest of the session walking across the mat and taking breaks every two minutes or so
It was better than Steve even expected, but he reminded Eddie not to do too much at once
Eddie didnât miss any more appointments with Steve, and every appointment, he seemed to be more charming and flirty, more like âthe old Eddieâ according to Gareth, who drove him most days
Steve never admitted it out loud, but he knew what he felt for Eddie was different from other clients. It felt more personal, and it felt like it could be more someday
When Eddie graduated to a cane, Steveâs services were officially no longer needed
And Eddie decided that he should probably take Steve out on a date
âSince I can walk and hold your hand now,â he winked.
Steve should say no, but he doesnât
Because holding Eddieâs hand feels even more right as his boyfriend than it did as his physical therapist
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Steve: Hey babe, what do you think I should wear? Red shirt or black shirt?
Eddie: Hmmm, I donât know. Youâll look good in whatever you decide.
Steve: Well thank you but Iâm having a hard time deciding so I was hoping you could pick.
Eddie: Either way youâre going to be the prettiest one at the party. Babe I love you so much
Steve: no,no I love you too and I know you think Iâm pretty. And this isnât a test, I just. Which shirt would you prefer to see me in tonight?
Eddie: I prefer you just the way you are
Steve: Oh my god. Hey Rob, red or black shirt
Robin: Black the red makes you look like a bitch
Steve: Thank you
Robin: No problem
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#ugh i love love
(steddie | teen | wc: 509 | tags: established relationship, first time, virgin!eddie, just soft boys being soft, not the actual smut I am sorry | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is terrifying by @starryeyedjanai | @steddiemicrofic prompt "edge" | AO3)
Steve's hands start to shake as he lifts Eddie's shirt over his head, and when he fumbles with Eddie's belt, they shake so badly that he can barely get it unbuckled.
They've never done this before. Shaking like that when Steve touches someone he's attracted to, that is.
Because he never felt that way about anyone, not even Nancy.
Like he's on the precipice of something life-changing and once he goes over the edge there's no coming back.
He was 16 years old when he learned that monsters were real and that there was another world out there full of them. Within a few months, he lost his social status, his friends, and his girlfriend. In return, he got a severe head trauma, nightmares, and a bunch of kids who were too smart and too brave for their own good.
And yet, undressing Eddie in his bedroom is the scariest thing he's ever done.
"Are you okay, Stevie? You're shaking," his boyfriend asks him, as if this were Steve's first time and not his own. As if it's Steve who needs gentle reassurance.
Shit, maybe he does. It's like he doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know how to show Eddie what this means to him, that Eddie trusts him so much. That Eddie loves him so much.
"I'm okay. Just a little nervous, I guess?" Steve concedes, too many things going through his head to put them all in words. "Are you okay?"
Eddie's steady hands wrap around his own shaking ones, squeezing them gently. "I'm good, Stevie."
He says it so simply, his voice as steady and sure as his hands, and Steve wonders how Eddie can be so calm when Steve's heart is pounding in his chest.
"But... aren't you, I don't know, nervous?"
He doesn't want Eddie to be nervous because there's no reason to be. Steve can't wait to explore every inch of that beloved body, to kiss every single scar and thank anyone who will listen that he's allowed to do that. His body and soul both long to get closer to Eddie, and soon they'll be as close as two people can be.
And yet, it feels like something might be wrong with him if Eddie doesn't feel any of the overwhelming fear that has Steve so nervous that he can't even get them naked without shaking.
Pulling Steve in, Eddie presses Steve's palm against the warm skin of his chest, just above his heart.
It's beating as fast as Steve's, and something settles inside him. He's not alone in this, Eddie is with him. Where one goes, the other follows.
"Oh, I am. I'm so fucking nervous, because I have no idea what I'm doing while you have all this experience. I don't want to let you down. But I'm still good because it's you, Stevie. You're here, so I don't have to worry, even though I'm scared."
Taking a step forward so that Steve's hand over his heart is trapped between them, Eddie kisses him gently.
"I'm safe with you."
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Youâre Never Too Much
rating: T | cw: negative self talk | wc: 1.5k | tags: angst with happy ending, hurt Steve, arguing and making up, established relationship, post-canon | prompt: Love is giving them space when they need it
written for @steddielovemonth
Steve knows he can be unbearable with his partners sometimes.Â
He canât help it. He doesnât have a switch that shuts down the sparkling fountain of love like his parents apparently possess. It just naturally flows his veins without pause and surges anew every day.
His first girlfriend Heidi had broken up with him three days into the relationship, saying that Steve was too much for her. He had been more confused than devastated back then because since when did hugging your girlfriend from behind with a kiss to the cheek become âtoo muchâ? It only confused Steve more when he saw Heidiâs new boyfriend doing the exact same thing with her and theyâd been together for three months by then.
Steve had ignored the tiny pang in his chest, shrugged off Carolâs comments, and moved on. Maybe he and Heidi werenât meant to be anyways.
But it kept happening with the other girls. Leaving romantic poems in the locker instead of make-out invites? Too much. A bundle of flowers after class? Too much. Wanting to cuddle after sex? Too much. Stay the morning after? Too much.
Then came Nancy and she had adored every one of Steveâs antics that none of his previous girlfriends had liked. He quickly made his own schedule of sneaking into her bedroom late in the evening to help her study because he loved her blush and the bright gleam in her eyes. The day when Nancy told him that he was a dork was the day when Steve felt his heart swell because finally, he wasnât being too much.Â
And then Barb disappeared and monsters turned out to be real.
Nancy stayed with him but it wasnât the same anymore. She would still laugh at his corny jokes and affirmations but Steve had seen her distant eyes, no longer bright with the same love. Like she had managed to switch it off by herself.
Steve shouldâve split up with her. But he didnât want to be an asshole and leave her miserable with no support who knew nothing about the Upside Down. But she hadnât pushed him away or told him his efforts were too much. So he stayed.
If he had left sooner, then Steve wouldn't have been told in a strangerâs bathroom that his love wasnât just too much, they were bullshit instead.
He couldnât trust himself with another romantic partner after that.
And then about two years later, he and Eddie started dating.Â
Everything that Steve had been told was âtoo muchâ or âbullshitâ became âgive me moreâ. More lazy kisses in the morning, more cuddles on the couch, more help with the laundry or dishes, more lovemaking, more, more.
Steve also found out real quick that Eddie loved whenever Steve quoted Shakespeare - especially Romeo and Juliet or Much Ado About Nothing - for no reason except to watch his boyfriend turn and scream delightfully into his own shoulder. Of course, Steve had taken his advantage, dialing it up with the Harrington charm just to make Eddieâs face redder. Whenever he thought that was too much, Eddie turned back around and kissed him with stupid smiles on both of their faces.
For a while, Steve had thought he finally found the perfect partner.
But he forgets that he doesnât know how to shut his heart down.
â
Steve casually leans against the living room wall, acting totally non-suspicious as hides from view of the front door. He hears it swing open and then Eddie coming inside, the metallic clicking of his crane accompanying his steps. Steve waits just a bit longer until Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. Then he hurries around the corner and giddily wraps his arms around Eddieâs torso, lifting the man up.
âWelcome back-â Steve starts, a petname ready to fall out as heâs ready to bemoan his loneliness. But Eddieâs cold tone makes his jaws instantly clamp shut.
âPut me down.â
Steve obeys, swiftly but carefully as not to agitate Eddieâs leg. He keeps his arms around his boyfriend, squeezing just once in what he hopes comes off as assuring. However, Eddie only stiffens and says in the same cold tone-
âLet me go.â
Steve does. Eddie continues on towards the kitchen, not even glancing over once. Anxiety starts to drill into Steveâs spine, already making its way into the lining of his stomach. Something clearly happened to Eddie thatâs putting him in a foul mood.
Tailing after him, Steve finally finds his voice and asks, âIs everything okay?â
Eddie doesnât respond. He plops down onto a chair, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders are starting to shake. The anxiety shifts into concern as Steve hurries over to his side. âEds-â
Eddie suddenly slams his hands onto the table, startling Steve back. He whips his head around to glare at Steve, yelling, âIs it too much to leave me alone for one minute?!â
Too much.
Steve swallows the thick lump in his throat, mumbles something he hopes is an apology, and stumbles outside to the backyard. He stares at the pool for a second before he quickly rounds to the side of his house, stopping just along the walls where he always felt the sunlight wouldnât reach. Steve slowly crouches down to the ground, staring at nothing in particular despite the burning pressure behind his eyes and heart.
He shouldâve seen this coming. Actually, he had known the day when Eddie finally had enough of his unbearable actions was approaching soon. Theyâve been together for nearly a year. Just as long as Steve had with Nancy before that Halloween party. But Steveâs been living in blissful ignorance, hoping that it wouldnât happen.
But even that had been too much.
A wet laugh bubbles out of his lips and Steve quickly clamps a hand over it. He feels like a kid, hiding behind his house like heâs avoiding his father instead of Eddie. Itâs so stupid but very on-brand.
He lets the tears drop, forcing his hand to remain on his mouth so he can stay quiet. He doesnât want to upset Eddie anymore.
Crunching stones under shoes approach. Steve doesnât even look up when he hears a sucking of breath and Eddieâs murmuring voice, âShit, Stevie.â
Calloused, ringed hands gently cup both sides of his face. Steve barely catches himself from sinking into the grasp. Itâs always too easy to enjoy the feeling of Eddieâs hands on his cheeks. Was it too much for Eddie as well?
âStevie, please look at me.â
Despite his brain screaming at him no, Steve does so. Eddieâs eyes are bloodshot red and tracks of tears practically shine on his face. In another scenario, he would look as beautiful as ever. But instead, he looks like shit.
Eddieâs fingers tap on his hand, the one still clamping over his mouth. Steve shakes his head quickly. He doesnât want to break down into a sobbing mess and demand Eddieâs comfort.
âIâm sorry.â Eddie rasps out, a line of spittle popping out of his mouth. His voice sounds rough like he had just cried. âIâm so sorry, Steve, I shouldnât have yelled at you. Work was-â He closes his eyes, shudders out another breath, and opens them again. âWhat happened at work wasnât an excuse and never should be. Even if I was exhausted and upset, I shouldnât have lashed out. I wish I could take those words back, baby.â
Steve finally removes his hand, managing to speak coherent words just before the sobbing finally breaks out. âAm I too much though?â
He catches the horrified expression before Eddie suddenly pulls him forward into a tight embrace.
âYouâre never too much, sweetheart. Youâre just fucking perfect.â Eddie whispers into Steveâs ear, clear as day.
Steve doesnât know how they spend kneeling on the ground as his entire body rattles out from crying while Eddie keeps holding him and occasionally gently shushing Steve. Eventually, Steveâs eyes dry out and he feels so tired that he just wants to tuck himself into bed and sleep.
Eddie helps him up and guides him back inside the house. They linger at the foot of the stairs, both of them realizing the same thing.
âDo you⌠want me to sleep with you still?â Eddie asks softly. He hasnât let his hand go from Steveâs where it occasionally squeezes around his fingers. It fixes something in Steveâs heart but itâs barely enough to soothe the ache over.
âI-â Steve cuts himself off. Eddie looks at him earnestly, his brown eyes appearing to grow bigger with the still-there shining tears. Steve sighs and continues, âI think I want.. space. Just for tonight.â
Eddie nods, pursing his lips. âSo do I. I think thatâll be good for tonight.â
âYou wonât leave?â It hurts Steve to ask even though his gut is certain that Eddie will rather chew his hand off than leave.
âIâll still be here.â Eddie raises a hand up with a small smile. âEspecially in the morning when weâre rested and less pissed-off.â
Steve smiles back, âOkay.â
And when the morning does come, Eddieâs still here. When they talk and apologize, Eddie tells Steve again that he never thought of Steve as an unbearable boyfriend.
It makes Steve feel warm from the overflow of Eddieâs love.
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steve uses the non-verbal safeword.
CW: slight NSFW, panic/anxiety attack, harmful stims (scratching self)
âtap three times on me if you ever canât speak and wanna stop, okay?â
yes, steve had remembered those words. all throughout the times they had sex, he remembered those words. but it didnât make them any less scary.
the thought of ever needing to stop in the middle of a scene made his palms sweat. of course he and eddie trusted each other; knew that if the other was in trouble and needed to stop, theyâd completely understand. no judging whatsoever.
but still⌠absolutely needing to stop and move on made him so anxious. deep down he didnât want to be a disappointment. he didnât want eddie upset.
âbaby, whatâs your color?â eddie murmured to him, rubbing his shoulders and slowing his rhythm. steve did not reply, shakily breathing into the pillow and tearing up.
âsteve, color?â he asked, louder, and more firm. yet he could not bring himself to talk. his mind went to the other times in previous relationships, where he felt like this exactly, and they didnât even think to check in. and he couldnât bring himself to stop them.
he could feel eddie shift, basically ready to pull out, before he asked again, âsteven.â
oh. his full name. eddie only used it when he was deadly serious. this seemed to snap him out of his haze, and he shakily reached behind him and found somewhere on his body to tap.
one. two. three soft and hesitant taps, just like eddie told him to do months ago.
âred,â eddie mumbled to himself, worried, and pulling out immediately. he flipped steve over, pulling him close and cupping his tear-stained cheeks.
âwhatâs wrong? what can i do?â he asked softly, searching his eyes.
âi- i donât know,â he choked out, a heavy sob leaving his lips before gulping down air he felt like was leaving his body too fast.
âthatâs okay, just breathe. breathe, steve, okay? câmere,â he pulled him into his lap, his head in his neck as he continued to cry. eddie ran his fingers through his hair, and steve clutched onto him tight.
âdeep and slow breaths,â he told him, and steve was doing the opposite. breathing way too fast and inhaling far too much, to the point his chest and stomach hurt and he began to feel dizzy.
âsteven, listen to me,â there it was again, the full name, which brought him somewhat back to his senses, âdeep, slow breaths. do it with me.â
and he tried. he breathed with eddie, taking in some air and blowing it out too fast before inhaling sharply again; coughing and sobbing.
âthere, thatâs it. itâs okay baby, just try again.â
steve only wanted to cry more. of course eddie was congratulating him even after he didnât even do it.
âagain,â he told him, beginning to inhale slowly, holding it, and exhaling slowly. steve followed, better this time, but still failing.
âi- i canât,â he choked out.
âyes you can, do it with me,â he said, inhaling and exhaling again. steve followed, his hand going to his forearm, clawing to try and ground himself more.
âno,â eddie caught his arm, pulling it away and bringing it up to his chest, âdo you remember what your therapist said?â
âhe said,â he paused, his breath catching in his throat as he cried, âto find a different way to ground myself.â
âcorrect. now, just feel my heart. iâm right here, steve. iâm not leaving. try and match your heartbeat to mine,â
steve kept his hand flat against eddieâs chest, then did the same for himself. he could feel how fast his heart was going versus eddieâs, and it made him uncomfortable.
the other rubbed his back, and kept one hand running through his hair, breathing slow and deep and watched as steve tried to do the same.
âgood job,â he praised, kissing his cheek. the pairâs breathing pattern was now the same, and steve was no longer crying. steve nodded as thanks, crawling off eddieâs lap and under the blankets, curling up. eddie stood to put his underwear and sweats back on, only to sit back down on the bed and run his fingers through steveâs hair again.
âdo you want to talk about it?â
steve sighed shakily and shrugged, wiping his red cheeks.
âjust started thinking,â he mumbled.
âabout?â
âthings in previous relationships. and then i started feeling like i was crawling in my own skin, and i started to panic,â
âwhat about your previous relationships?â he questioned, only curiously, with no mean intent.
steve let out a quick exhale before sitting up, âhow i could never really say no, i guess? i know it doesnât matter now. i trust you. and i started feeling overwhelmed in the first place, so i started thinking about the safe word, and how you told me to say âredâ or tap you three times. but it just made me anxious. i knew i needed to stop but i didnât want to upset you in the process,â
âyou could never upset me over something like that, steve, okay? thatâs the point of the taps and the system we have. you know your limits, and in case theyâre ever pushed, you do or say so. iâm so proud of you for using it,â
eddie pulled steve in for a hug, rubbing his back softly. steveâs heart kind of broke. here he was, in his boyfriendâs arms starting to cry again because he said he was proud of him. proud of him for something as simple as saying no, and stop. something he never thought he could do; something he was taught was wrong, and his boyfriend was praising him for it.
âiâm proud of you,â he repeated, to which steve only cried harder, nodding in his shoulder as thanks and sniffling.
he pulled back, laying down and wiping his face again.
âiâm gonna go bring you some water and some easy food to eat, okay? just stay there,â he smiled, getting up and heading to the kitchen.
steve smiled softly, getting comfortable under the warm blankets and inhaling the familiar scent of gain and eddieâs cheap cologne.
and he thanked the universe for a boyfriend that was actually a decent human being.
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the zest is high in this oneâŚ
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