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sidekick-hero · 2 months

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The first time Steve feels Eddie's heartbeat, it's barely there. It's so faint that for an endless, terrifying moment, Steve thinks he's lost him.

That he's too late.

His fingers are on Eddie's neck, and there is so much blood that they keep slipping as he keeps searching for the reassuring thump-thump-thump of a pulse. Next to him, Dustin is sobbing and babbling, begging Steve to help Eddie, to save him. It brings tears to Steve's own eyes, the pain in Dustin's voice too much for him to bear. He shouldn't have left them alone, he should have come back sooner, he should have been better.

When he can't find what he's looking for, Steve presses his ear to Eddie's chest, desperate for some sign that he's not too late, that he hasn't failed his friends. That he hasn't let Eddie down.

Steve wants to cry with relief when he feels it, barely perceptible, but there. Eddie's heartbeat is pounding in his veins, pumping blood to wounds that need to be tended to right away.

"Come on, man, you're going to be okay. Just stay with me, Eddie. I got ya, you'll be as good as new, I promise," Steve swears not only to Eddie, but to Dustin as well. Even to himself, because he wants to believe it, too. Has to believe it.

Brown eyes, glassy with pain and blood loss, slowly open and blink up at him. "Steve?"

"Yeah, it's me. The guy who told you not to be cute, not to be a hero, but of course you didn't listen, did you?"

Inexplicably, Eddie grins at his words and Steve sees a deep gash in his cheek.

"You think I'm cute," Eddie says, sounding pleased even though it's obvious how much talking hurts him. It's easy to agree with him in this moment, anything to make Eddie happy and stop him from arguing.

"So cute, I'm going to sweep you off your feet now, Eddie." And with that, he scoops Eddie up in his arms, wincing at the way he whimpers in pain. "You gotta hang in there, yeah?"

Steve stumbles toward the trailer, wondering how he's going to get Eddie through the portal, almost missing when Eddie says quietly, "I'll try.”

They make it to the hospital, just barely. The doctors whisk Eddie away before Steve can check his heartbeat again, and he can't get his mind to stop its panicked mantra of too late, too late, too late. It's like his mind refuses to believe they made it without any tangible proof.

So later, when Eddie is out of surgery but still not allowed visitors, Steve sneaks into his room when no one is looking. Eddie's uncle is not there yet, and the room is eerily quiet except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

It should be enough to reassure Steve that Eddie is, if not okay, at least alive.

But he isn't.

It's only with his ear pressed to Eddie's chest and hearing the rhythmic and steady beating of his heart that Steve is finally able to take a breath and let the tension seep out of his exhausted body. All he wants right now is to crawl onto the bed and let the sound lull him to sleep.

They almost lost Eddie. Steve almost lost Eddie.

It is with a mixture of surprise and confusion that he realizes just how much the thought hurts.

The next time Steve feels Eddie's heartbeat, it's not through his chest, but through the pulse in his veins.

This thing between them was so new and exciting, and Steve really had no idea what he was doing. Only that since that moment in the Upside Down when he had first pressed his ear to Eddie's chest and felt the faint beating of his heart against his cheek, something had changed.

Not even in a monumental way. It wasn't something Steve could have put his finger on at first.

But something had changed.

There was a new awareness of Eddie in Steve's mind, a space carved out just for the other boy. Like a beacon sending out signals, Steve always knew where Eddie was in a room and what he was doing.

And then there was this current that ran between them. Every time their bodies so much as brushed against each other, Steve could feel it. Sparks of electricity and heat coursing through his veins.

It was both heady and intense, making Steve wonder when he would reach his breaking point, unable to take it anymore, and finally act on it.

In the end, it was Eddie who snapped, kissing Steve with lips that tasted of cheap beer and the grilled cheese sandwiches Steve had made for them. But Steve returned it eagerly, licking happily into Eddie's mouth while his hands had cupped Eddie's face, holding him as if he were precious.

One thing led to another, and soon Steve had Eddie spread out on his sheets, the scars on his body like wildflowers blooming in the aftermath of life's wildfires. Each mark a testament to the battles he fought and the strength that ran through him like roots anchoring a majestic tree. Because he survived, he fought to stay with them, and only because of his strength is Steve allowed to hold him now.

That's why he made sure to caress each and every scar with his hands and mouth, baring his own heart in the process.

When his lubed finger first entered Eddie's body, Steve was as overwhelmed as Eddie, both men needing to catch their breath as their hearts thundered in their chests. At first Steve thought it was his own heart beating so hard he could feel his pulse in his finger. But then he realized it was Eddie's wild heart beating against Steve's finger inside him in a loving embrace.

Steve never knew that he would ever feel someone else's heart so intimately. That he would be able to feel it's rhythm from inside another's body, as if he was holding Eddie's heart in his own hands.

And when he finally sank into him, Steve lay still for a plethora of eternities, reveling in the sensation of Eddie's heartbeat welcoming him home.

Even though Steve wouldn't be able to say those words aloud for another two months, he knew that what they had done that day was love.

The day Steve finally finds the words to say how he feels about him, he can feel Eddie's heart saying it right back to Steve's palm on his chest.

They've been dating for two months now, and though they have to be careful in a way Steve has never had to be before, he wouldn't trade it for the world. Not if it meant falling asleep in Eddie's arms and waking up to the sight of his boyfriend's nose scrunched up adorably as his wild curls tickle it where they don't spill across the pillow they share.

Steve hasn't said them yet, those three words he's only said to one other person, but he tells Eddie every day in his own way. A million little things, from lingering touches to meals prepared to comfortable silences shared.

He tells Eddie he loves him every day when he puts his head on Eddie's chest to feel his heart beat in that steady, rhythmic way that says he's alive. That there is a future, not an almost, but a maybe. A hopefully.

Eddie always lets him, holding still when Steve pushes him down and climbs on top of him so he can lie comfortably and listen to his favorite sound inside Eddie's body. If Vecna were still alive, which fortunately he isn't, Eddie's heartbeat would be the song that could save Steve.

As they lay there, Eddie kept tapping his own rhythm on Steve's back. It's always the same, a song Steve doesn't recognize but has come to love as much as anything else about this impossible man beneath him.

On this particular day, Steve has just finished folding laundry when the doorbell rings. He drops the sweater he's been holding and goes to the door, wondering who it could be. Robin was on a trip with her parents and the kids had school. He and Eddie would see each other tonight at the trailer, have a quick and early dinner before Wayne had to go to work, and he and Eddie would spend the rest of the evening satisfying the ever-present hunger for each other.

When he opens his front door, he's surprised to see Eddie standing there, but one look at his face is enough to tell Steve that something is wrong. He quickly pulls Eddie inside and closes the door before wrapping his boyfriend in his arms.

"What happened, baby?" He asks in a soft voice, feeling Eddie tremble in response. Steve knows that Eddie had a job interview today, down at the new record store, and he was so excited about it. The owner, Stuart, was new in town, so he didn't know who Eddie was or what people thought about him. It was the fresh start Eddie so desperately needed in a town that never quite let him forget that in their eyes he's still a murderer and a freak.

A growing pit in Steve's stomach tells him that some people had been forthcoming enough to tell Stuart all about Eddie before today's interview.

"Was it the interview? Did Stuart not hire you?"

Eddie shakes his head silently, and Steve thinks it's as much an answer to his question as it is Eddie asking not to have to talk about it. Steve understands. When things get too much, too overwhelming, Eddie goes silent. It takes time for him to find his voice, and Steve has learned to give him that time.

He begins to rock him gently, humming a song to himself as he holds Eddie in his arms.

Steve doesn't know how much time passes before Eddie finally lifts his head from where it was buried in Steve's neck to look at him.

"Cyndi Lauper, really?" Eddie teases, and even though it still sounds a bit weak, Steve takes it as a win.

Still rocking gently, Steve puts his hand on Eddie's chest just above his heart.

"What can I say, it makes me think of you." And Steve begins to sing, his voice soft as his eyes never leave Eddie's.

You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged

Oh, I realize

It's hard to take courage, in a world full of people

You can lose sight of it all

And the darkness inside you can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors shining through

I see your true colors

And that's why I love you

And because he can't let Eddie have the slightest doubt about what Steve is trying to tell him, he says it again: "That's why I love you, Eddie."

Under his palm, Eddie's heart is still beating strong and sure, faster than usual, and Steve wonders if that means he's excited or scared by Steve's words.

The look in his eyes tells Steve it's the former.

Eddie's hand settles over Steve's on Eddie's chest and he begins to tap it gently in a rhythm that Steve has become familiar with.

Tap tap pause long tap, short tap, long tap, short tap, short tap, short tap, long tap, long tap pause long tap, short tap, long tap, long tap, short tap, short tap, long tap, short tap, long tap, long tap.

"That's how my heart would beat for you if it could, Stevie, spelling the same thing over and over again."

And he repeats the rhythm again, as if it meant something. Spelling the same thing...

"Is that... Eddie, is that Morse code?"

"I keep telling you, you're a lot smarter than you think you are, sweetheart. Want to know what it says?"

Steve thinks he knows, but he wants to hear Eddie say it, so he nods.

"I," Eddie says and taps Steve's hand twice on his chest.

"Love," he adds and follows with a series of taps, long, short, long, short, short, short, long, long.

"You," he finishes and Steve's smile widens with each tap of his hand. Long, short, long, long, short, short, long, short, long, long.

Eddie has been tapping those words against his skin since the first time they made love.

"You've been telling me that all along," he marvels, his voice full of wonder and love.

Eddie finally kisses him, painfully tender. "My heart has been trying to tell you ever since you started listening to it."

And Steve thinks maybe Eddie is right, it just took him a little while to understand its language.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #steddie fluff #steddielovemonth #day 8 #Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him #nsft #My writing

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steviewashere · 2 months

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Devotion in the Way We Sway

Rating: General CW: Brief reference to sex, but nothing is shown and it's very vague Tags: Established Relationship, Jazz Music as a Plot Device, Slow Dancing, Love Confessions, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is the perfect mixtape."

💕—————💕

He found it while cleaning up the coffee table one evening.

The night had been long and lively. Their friends sharing the space, passing around boxes of pizza, huddled in close, watching a movie and cuddling. There were card games and charades. Raucous laughter. God, there was so much laughter, Steve hadn’t heard anything more delightful. It was chilly beyond the front door, but in the couple hours they were together, everybody’s chests were warm.

And yet, it had to end. Steve gave everybody extensive goodbyes. A warm hand on a shoulder or a tight embrace. Little teasing remark there, something sentimental and on the verge of tears here. Then, he retired back to the living room, garbage bag in hand, tossing what he thought needed to be thrown out.

Beer cans. Soda, half drank. Couple loose Redvine straws. Some sticky globs of slightly melted Junior Mints. The pizza boxes, of course. Bags from breadsticks. Red Solo cups.

But as he passed by the coffee table, bag still in hand, aiming for the front door and down his porch steps and over to the garbage bin at the end of the driveway—there was a little shiny, plastic thing sitting on the surface. He picked it up, recognizing it straight away as a cassette case. And pocketed it. He’ll take a look back upstairs.

And he nearly forgot about it until it clattered to his bedroom carpet, a soft thud. He picked it up once more, twirling it between his fingers. There wasn’t an album card. It was one of those covers for a homemade mixtape, Steve’s known plenty of those placards. Usually, they’d have some sort of name written in sloppy Sharpie. Something like: To My Love, or, For My Sweetheart.

This one didn’t. Which he thought was odd. But further investigation revealed a little scratchy line of text: S Jazz Comp (1).

He recognized it as Eddie’s handwriting. Though, it was still a rather unusual thing. It’s jazz, first of all. And, sure, Eddie’s a music guy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s also into jazz or contemporary or funk or whatever. He’s typically rock or nothing kinda guy.

So, of course Steve is curious beyond comprehension. He drifts back down the stairs, pajamas on, freshly showered. And stands in front of his parents’ sound system. He pops the tape in, gently spins the volume dial. Stands back from the speakers, plops down onto the carpet, and waits for the sound to hit his ears.

The first voices, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, flit to his ears. It’s their rendition of “Cheek to Cheek”. He knows this, he’s heard it before. In fact, he’d told Eddie about it. About the first school dance he’d gone to, barely twelve years old, dressed up in a little suit and tie, but no date. He’d been a wallflower. A sorry cup of sticky, all too sweet punch in his grip. Scuffing his shoes against the waxed gymnasium floor, eyes wandering the crowds of other school kids, all of them smiling softly, twirling in each other’s arms, them laughing. He didn’t like being alone. But the music was enough to satisfy him. He swayed where he stood, eyes pierced to the swirl of his juice. It danced with him. It was romantic, nearly. He was satisfied, he still went home happier than when he arrived.

Eddie promised after the story was told, “We’ll dance to it. I’ll find a way to get that song, and we’ll dance to it.” He brushed his palm over the side of Steve’s head, humming something familiar in his chest, and had easily lulled Steve to sleep. All their promises seem to be made in the dark of each other’s bedrooms, right before they drift away, right when they’re the most vulnerable they can possibly be outside of having sex. He preens at the thought that Eddie remembered. They’ve only been together for a handful of months, and he remembered.

The next song starts. Etta James’, “A Sunday Kind of Love”.

Now, this one was just in passing. They walked past a record store on a day trip in Indianapolis. Seems like their day trips always land there. Steve heard the song playing from the entrance of the store. Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in him, but he was immediately drawn to it. To the soft instrumental. Etta’s crooning, beautiful as a lake voice. He prevented himself from going in, from buying the song for himself. Prevented his innate urge to sway on the spots. Just patted Eddie on the shoulder, as much contact that wouldn’t be considered suspicious, and told, “I wish we could dance right now.” And kept on walking, leaving Eddie rooted to the spot outside the record shop.

Okay, so the ’S’ on the title of this tape is beginning to make sense. They’re songs that Eddie’s gathered because of Steve. They’re Steve songs. They’re jazz Steve songs.

He wants to cry. Wants to roll around on the floor. Kinda wants to do a few laps around his house.

Just as he gets up to do so, to expel some of the manic energy that’s overcome him, a knock sounds on the door. He doesn’t bother turning the tape off. There’s an easy excuse: “Oh, just going through my mom’s record collection.” But finds that he doesn’t need to explain himself, at least not completely, it’s Eddie on his porch stoop.

The door opens wider, letting Eddie slip through without words. Yet, when it clicks softly back into place and Steve turns around, Eddie is just standing in the foyer. Standing, hands fluttering at his sides, eyes soft and wide, mouth slightly agape. He stutters, “You—You, uh, you found the tape?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I was cleaning up. It was on the coffee table. Got curious.” He steps into Eddie’s space. Leaving barely a few inches between them. “I didn’t think you remembered,” he whispers.

Eddie guffaws. “You think I wouldn’t?” He asks, wounded. “Think I wouldn’t remember all the times you told me you just wanted to dance? Baby, that hurts,” he states. It’s not genuine hurt, Steve knows this, but it stings a little all the same.

Song switching again—“P.S. I Love You” by Billie Holiday—Steve sways a little closer. “Maybe instead of remembering, we could…actually do some dancing?” He offers, hand already inching to Eddie’s right shoulder blade. He’s not the best at asking people to dance with him, he gets a little awkward, a little clammy. But his sentiments are the same.

His face must be doing something funny, something wonderful. Eddie looks at him in gentle adoration, eyes glistening, relaxed smile. A hand lands on his right side. Fingers rubbing slightly over Steve’s t-shirt. And, for a moment, Steve realizes he must be especially goofy. In his baby blue plaid pajama pants, barefoot against the carpet, a ratty Hawkins High P.E. t-shirt. Hair soft and free of product. In comparison to Eddie’s frizzy hair and his dark blue jeans, a flannel thrown over a black undershirt, his scuffed Reeboks.

The contrast shouldn’t make Steve weak in the knees, but he finds himself collapsing into Eddie’s careful embrace easy enough. They step in tandem. Knees nearly knocking each other. Their free hands grasping to one another, Steve’s arm wrapped under Eddie’s armpit, Eddie’s hand still soft on his waist.

Eddie positively glows in the pale amber light of the foyer. Smile soft, still. He’s all soft. He’s gentle and quiet and wonderful. He’s leaning a little bit closer, whispering against the shell of Steve’s ear, “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

Steve lolls his head into Eddie’s left shoulder. He chuckles. “Never danced before,” he admits shyly. “I skipped prom, y’know?”

“Really? Figured you’d do it at least once,” Eddie breathes. He sets his own head against Steve’s. Leaning into one another.

Shaking his head, Steve states, “I’m a bad dancer. It’s my least charming attribute.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Eddie chuckles. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.” He goes quiet for a little bit. Melting into the dance, relaxing against Steve just as Steve relaxes against Eddie. They’re boneless to one another. “What d’ya think of the tape?” He hesitantly asks.

“I like it so far,” Steve answers.

And then they go quiet again. Really letting the music drench their skin. He’s content in the moment. Drawn into Eddie’s embrace. If you had asked Steve of several years ago about his future, he’d probably say something stupid like working for his dad. Maybe getting married to a girl, settling down. As if he isn’t freshly twenty. But, he likes the—favors the—detour his path took. Eddie Munson is a hopeless romantic, much to his surprise. He’s warm and gentle when he wants to be. His fingers know how to soothe the aches in Steve’s coiled tight soul. Brushing his skin with his fingertips, squeezing his waist. Humming in Steve’s close ear.

The song shifts. This time, it’s “I Love My Baby” by Nina Simone. Yet, instead of her voice through the speakers, it’s Eddie’s slightly rough, deep voice. His low timber, as if he recorded this laying in bed, middle of the night. As if he sang into his tape recorder between nightmares, trying to find the come down. As if he sang because all he could think about, as Steve likes to think about, the warm embrace they share.

Eddie tenses slightly in Steve’s hold. But Steve only squeezes in tighter. Shifting his head against Eddie’s shoulder, kissing the joint through the flannel. He sighs, “You must really like me.”

“Hm?” Eddie squeak-hums.

“You must really like me,” Steve reiterates. “Y’know, to sing for me?” He sighs again. “Must love me.” There’s only an ounce of insecurity to his voice.

But Eddie susses it out. Because of course he does. Because some days, when Steve gets too deep in his own conscious, Eddie knows him better. “Yeah, baby, I really do. Love you, I mean,” he whispers. They sway for a few beats more. Before, abruptly, Eddie states, “I used to hate the idea of marriage.”

“What?” Steve finds himself laughing out. Out of nerves, mostly. Out of humor from the extreme change in subject. “What are you—“

“My parents, their marriage sucked,” Eddie speeds through. His voice only a hushed thing. Almost tiptoeing, pulling apart Steve’s brain to see if what he’s saying is okay. It is, of course it is, but Steve fills with sadness still. “It sucked. They were awful together. But I—Despite that, some days I think marriage is nice.”

Steve presses his cheek against Eddie’s. His rough stubble scratching Steve’s freshly shaven jawline. “Why’s that?” He finds himself breathing. “Feel like that would be your nightmare,” he explains a little, “the conformity of it, or whatever.”

Eddie chuckles lightly. “You’re right a little bit. Maybe I don’t like the idea of spending too much money on basically just the paper to admit my love. But…With the right person, I could be convinced.” He turns his head, pecking Steve’s cheek. Resting back into their swaying hold, he whispers, “With you, I’m convinced.”

He can’t help it, the tears that sting the corners of his eyes. The lump that he has to swallow past in his throat. He clears around it, croaking, “Really?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah,” he easily whispers. “If we could, right now, I’d marry you in a fucking heartbeat, Stevie. It’s—“ He laughs at himself. His little condescending, self-deprecating one. One that crumbles Steve a little every time he does it. “It’s stupid early for that kinda thing, I know that,” he breathes. “I know that, but I—God, Steve. With you, something’s different. You feel like…You’re love personified, I don’t know.

“Am I fucking everything up? Please—Actually, don’t tell me. Just dance.”

With every fiber in Steve’s body, he wishes they could meld souls or something. He can’t get any closer in this hold, there’s no more places to be pressed, but if he could reach out and massage Eddie’s soul, he would. By God, he would.

He sniffles something wet and that’s when Eddie pulls away. But before he can ask anything, Steve is setting both of his hands on Eddie’s cheeks, pulling him in. Pulling him in close, enough that when their lips meet, his nose plunges into Eddie’s skin, popping it, smashing it into oblivion. He kisses with fervor, yet holding him gently. He may break with the sentiment.

Eddie’s own hands come up, one over Steve’s right, the other caressing the back of his head. He responds, he always responds. But when he pulls away, “You’re crying,” he utters, “Baby, why—You’re crying.”

“Happy tears,” Steve chokes, “Eddie, god, they’re so fucking happy.”

In return, Eddie can only smile. He pecks the tip of Steve’s nose. His thumb sweeps over Steve’s skin. His right hand tangles into his hair. “I want everything with you,” he whispers, “I want it all, sweetheart. You make me so fucking happy.”

Later, when they’re tangled in bed—sweat drenched, cooling on the sheet, passionate with hickeys to show for it—Eddie holds Steve to his torso. Laying him over the length of it. Their hearts rabbit against each other. A hand runs soothingly over Steve’s back. Another scratches at his scalp. “The mixtape,” he starts. “What’d you really think of it?” The insecurity is gone from his voice. Lost somewhere between the last dance and clothes being peeled.

Steve’s fingers sketch the outline of Eddie’s scars. He sighs in contentment. “It’s perfect,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.” And he kisses Eddie’s chest, his pulse hot and fast over Steve’s lips. “At Last”, Etta once more, flitters from downstairs.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 8 #the perfect mixtape #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #jazz as a plot device lmao

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