#but if anyone writes eddie w tics i would love to read it <333

[ghosttotheparty]

@thorniest-rose this is ur fault your tags on part one made me emotional so here’s one more part <3 love u also i added it as chapter two of broken brain <3

cw: tics; self-deprecation

“Hey, baby.”

Eddie looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, his legs crossed on his seat in front of him, setting his pen down.

“Hi.”

“How’re you?” Steve asks softly, taking off his vest and dropping it on the countertop, coming close.

“Having a rough day,” Eddie says, the words barely out of his mouth before his chin jerks to the side, turning his head sharply. He closes his eyes, sighing heavily, and before he can open them, Steve is sliding his hands over Eddie’s neck gently, rubbing it tenderly. Eddie moves slowly, shifting to face Steve, and before he can lean into Steve’s torso, his hand flies out and hits Steve’s hip hard. Eddie flinches, pressing his hand to the spot carefully.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Steve murmurs, one of his hands pushing through Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s stomach twists, and he huffs quietly, closing his eyes. “What is it?”

Eddie shakes his head, opening his eyes to look up at him.

Steve touches his face, his fingers brushing over his cheek, over the rough, sensitive skin of his scar, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“What is it?” he asks quietly.

Eddie exhales, turning his cheek into Steve’s palm, feeling the tension leave his body.

“…How are you not tired of me?” he asks after a moment.

Steve blinks, his expression hardening, but his hands remain soft on him.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a small voice.

“I just…” Eddie shrugs weakly. “Feel like you should be fed up with me by now,” he half-jokes, but Steve frowns, his fingers trailing over Eddie’s jaw.

“Why would you think that?” he asks quietly, like he’s offended.

Eddie blinks at him, his eyes stinging a little bit. His hand tightens on Steve’s hip, one of his fingers holding loop of his jeans.

“I keep hitting you,” he says weakly. It happens often. Not as often as his whistling, or his head jerking, his eyes squeezing shut or rolling to the ceiling, but often. When they’re on the sofa, when they’re hugging, when they’re just talking. Eddie wants to cry every time, but Steve doesn’t even acknowledge it, except for the occasional it’s okay.

“You can’t control that, babe,” Steve says adamantly.

“I know, it’s just…” Eddie looks away, frustrated. “I keep hurting you.”

“I think you think you hit a lot harder than you do.”

“Steve,” Eddie says seriously, tugging at his belt loop, looking up at him. “I almost smacked you in the face the other day.”

“You redirected,” Steve says lightly, shrugging.

“Steve.”

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

“I…” Of course he doesn’t. But it feels like Steve should be mad at him. Or at least annoyed. “I don’t know.”

“Well I’m not,” Steve says firmly, holding his chin. “Ever. Okay?”

It doesn’t make Eddie feel better. He exhales, looking down, at the blue ink on the top of Steve’s thigh, rough doodles on his jeans from when he gets bored at work.

Steve sighs, pushing Eddie’s hair back before he lets go of him, moving so Eddie’s hand falls from his hip, and he pushes Eddie’s sketchbook out of the way, looking at the drawing on the open page. It’s an unfinished sketch, messy and not very good at all in Eddie’s overly humble opinion, but Steve smiles at it.

“‘S good,” he says softly as he pulls himself up onto the counter. Eddie watches him, watches the muscles of his arms flex, and his cheeks flush with warmth when Steve reaches for the armrests of his chair and easily pulls him closer, between his legs.

Eddie looks up at him, that familiar feeling settling in his chest, and he reaches his hands up, setting his arms across Steve’s legs, holding his hips again.

“Talk,” Steve says softly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He touches said head, runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, scratches at his scalp. Eddie wants to cry.

Eddie sighs, leaning to rest his cheek on Steve’s knee, closing his eyes.

“Just…” His shoulder jerks slightly. He ignores it. “I don’t know. Kinda crazy you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

“Why would I ever get sick of you?” Steve asks softly, playing with Eddie’s hair. “Hm?”

“Because I keep hitting you,” Eddie says sullenly, letting go of Steve’s hips. “Because I… throw things and hit things and I’m… noisy.” He pushes Steve’s shirt up with one hand, the other falling under the island, untucking it and pressing his hands under the fabric to Steve’s skin. “I interrupt. I’m annoying.”

Steve pulls his hands away and untucks the rest of his shirt, holding it up with one hand so Eddie can trace his scars softly, gazing.

“You’re not annoying, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t believe him, and Steve can tell.

“Eddie, baby, look at me.”

Eddie looks at him without lifting his head. His vision is obstructed by his hair, and Steve gently moves it out of the way.

“You are not annoying,” he says again, softer, his eyes shining earnestly. “I know you can’t control it.”

“That just makes it more annoying,” Eddie grumbles.

“No, it doesn’t.” Steve’s fingers drag through his hair.

Eddie exhales, looking back at where his hand is tracing Steve’s scars.

“You’re annoyed by it,” Steve says, and Eddie nods against his leg. “I’m not, Eddie.”

Eddie is quiet, a tingling starting on his shoulders like he’s going to shiver, and he tenses.

“Alright, Eddie, look at me,” Steve says, his voice shifting, tapping Eddie’s cheek to prompt him to lift his head. Eddie does, muttering a soft, “Hold on,” and looking away. He pushes his shoulders back, closing his eyes, and Steve waits quietly, patiently, until Eddie’s head jerks back violently, and his shoulders shrug up suddenly. A second passes before Eddie drops his head, sighing and relaxing.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Eddie shivers before he looks up at him tiredly, and Steve leans down, holding his face between his face, looking into his eyes.

“I need you to, like, really listen to me, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes.

“When I say that you’re annoying,” Steve says, still looking into his eyes, “or obnoxious, or any of those things, I don’t mean it. I’m just teasing. And if you don’t like it, or if it hurts you, I’ll stop.” He looks so earnest that Eddie almost hurts. “And when I say those things,” Steve says slowly, carefully and intentionally, “I’m talking about how you act with the kids, usually. When you’re…” He shrugs, smiling softly. “Immature and chaotic. But even though I tease, I love when you act like that.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“Even though it riles them up?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “Because they get to just be kids when you’re fucking around with them.”

Oh.

Eddie smiles softly.

“And,” Steve continues, “when I say those things, I am never, ever talking about your tics. You understand me?”

Eddie nods weakly, his eyes burning.

“You are not annoying to me, Eddie,” Steve says softly, leaning down and leaving a careful kiss on his lips. “I promise.”

“Don’t you get tired?” Eddie asks, exasperated. Steve looks at him.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks quietly.

“It’s constant, Steve,” Eddie says, his eyes burning. “And you just… put up with it, you— you’re always getting me ice, or holding my hand still, or getting pillows for me, or…” He exhales, looking up at Steve desperately. “You’re always taking care of me.”

“I like taking care of you,” Steve says adamantly. Eddie looks away, holding back an eyeful. “Eddie, I’m serious, look at me.”

Eddie looks up at him. His lips are pressed together, his eyes shining with some unreadable, desperate emotion.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

Steve leans down and kisses him, holding his face between his hands so his cheeks are squishing under his palms, sucking softly on his lower lip, slow and careful like everything he’s ever done with Eddie.

He pauses when they part, their foreheads pressed together, breathing a little hard, holding Eddie close. Eddie slides his other hand under Steve’s shirt. His skin is warm. His scars are rough, the skin thick and sensitive, tender evidence of his survival. Eddie likes to kiss them.

“I love you,” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s eyes open. His breath escapes him, and it’s like his bones melt. He slumps, squeezing his eyes shut as the words wash over him, his hands squeezing Steve’s sides softly.

“Really?” he chokes, pulling away after a moment. Steve’s eyes are tear-filled.

“Really really,” he says softly. Eddie blinks tears back, sliding his hands over Steve’s sides.

“I don’t get tired of taking care of you,” Steve murmurs, looking at Eddie’s face, his thumb brushing over his trembling lip, “because taking care of you, and helping you, and looking after you is… me loving you.” He pauses for a moment, letting their foreheads touch. “And I don’t ever get tired of loving you.”

Eddie’s whole body hurts.

He chokes Steve’s name weakly, his voice broken, almost squeaking, too high and small for it to even be understood, but Steve just kisses him even though he can’t kiss back, because tears are streaming down his cheeks, over Steve’s fingers.

A small sob escapes Eddie, and Steve pulls him into a hug, running his hands over his head as he buries his face in Steve’s belly. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, his hands pressing into the small of his back, against his warm skin. Steve’s hands are shaking as they run through his hair.

Eddie’s shoulders jerk as he cries, just once, and Steve’s hands smooth over them gently, sweetly, gathering his hair back.

“Eddie, baby,” Steve's voice says softly, and Eddie feels like he’s surfacing from under cold water, gasping for breath, like his lungs are breathing properly for the first time in his life.

“I love you too,” he chokes, lifting his head and looking up at him. His vision is blurry with tears. He can still see Steve’s smile. “I love you so much.”

Steve laughs softly, sniffling, leaning down to kiss him chastely.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe evenly, focusing on the feeling of Steve’s hands running over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. His head shakes slightly, but Steve doesn’t move his hands. He leans down to kiss his forehead.

“God,” Eddie exhales, holding his hips above the waistband of his jeans. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” Steve whispers. “You don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to thank me.”

He leans down and kisses his lips gently, murmuring a soft I love you, and Eddie reaches up, sliding his hands over Steve’s shoulders, over his cheeks, pulling him down to kiss him harder. After a moment he remembers that he’s sitting, and without pulling away, he stands, kicking his chair back noisily, one of his hands pushing into Steve’s hair as the other clutches at the small of his back. Steve’s legs wrap around his waist, and he tilts his head to kiss him deeper, holding Eddie’s face like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

They’re both breathless and panting when they part. Steve’s fingers dance over the sides of Eddie’s neck, over his scars, making him shiver. (It’s a nice shiver.) They press their foreheads together, sharing breaths, eyes closed.

Steve pulls away after a moment, caressing Eddie’s cheeks.

“I’m not gonna get tired of you, Eddie,” he whispers. “You’re stuck with me, baby.”

Eddie laughs softly, sniffling and nuzzling his face into Steve’s cheek.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

#considered making this spicy but one of my wips is almost pure spice so i thought maybe not #if someone wants to steal this and make it spicy go ahead #anyway obviously i’m extremely weak for first i love yous #i dont think im gonna write more eddie w tics for a while bc it kinda triggers my tics (its not too bad dw im ok) #and also i have like seventy wips #but if anyone writes eddie w tics i would love to read it <333 #steddie #steddie oneshot #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things ficlet