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piratefishmama · 3 days

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Stevie Harrington who always had a weird little crush on the town freak but was too much of a chicken shit to really do anything about it.

Like she'd heard the stories from Cass an Nicole, what he was like, how he treated them (wonderfully apparently), they giggled and bragged and maybe for a brief half an hour of gossiping with the girls she'd entertained the idea of maybe going and seeking him out herself... but then Carol had rolled her eyes, called them both gross, called Eddie trailer trash and then Tommy had told them point blank that they should probably go get tested.

Stevie put her little crush into a box and just kind of. Hid it there for fear of judgement, for fear of exclusion, expulsion from her friend group for daring to want someone who didn't fit their 'image'.

It wasnt like Eddie ever really made any attempt to talk to her anyway, looked at her occasionally, they traded glances across the hall, which he'd quickly break and hide behind his hair (cute), she lent him her pencil once and never got it back. Saw it on occasion, resting on his ear, pointing out from within his mass of unruly curls.

Cute.

But then they graduate, Eddie taking a little longer to do it but he does it, to the mass cheering hysteria of his chaotic group of nerdy gremlins, given his 'only Munson to Graduate' status, the chaos was a given really.

And then he's gone. Got out of Hawkins as fast as his legs could carry him leaving his incredibly proud uncle behind to cheer him on from a distance.

An it should have been easy really, to move on from her little crush, the one she'd hid in a box for safe keeping, it should have been easy to find someone else, she was never unnattractive, in fact she was probably one of the most sought after women in Hawkins, but... she just doesnt.

She has flings here and there, meaningless one night stands, dates that dont really do it for her. Laments to her new best friend and sister she never knew she needed, Robin, about how she'd let popularity screw her out of what could probably have been something really good. She'd let fear of exclusion stop her from going for what she wanted.

Robin had scoffed, called Eddie three wet opossum in a trench coat, but it'd never been with quite as much judgement or disgust as her old friends had talked about him, so it was safe for her to talk.

But Robin also knew Ronnie from band, and Ronnie, had Eddie's current phone number. And so Robin, now had two VIP tickets to the brand new location on Corroded Coffin's most recent tour that they've only just very spontaneously added to the list because Eddie is, and always has been, a fucking simp.

So, y'know. Maybe harbouring that crush for as long as she had, wasnt the worst idea in the world.

Eddie still hides behind his hair. It's still very cute.

#steddie #Stevie Harrington #LISTEN #I'VE NEVER WRITTEN A STEVIE BEFORE #I WANTED TO PLAY WITH HER #no upside down au #platonic stobin

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buddie-buddie · 11 hours

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“So,” Buck says, blinking up at Tommy. He still hasn’t gotten over how good that feels– looking up at his partner. Being with someone whose warm, protective hand settles on the small of his back and nearly spans the distance between his hips. Someone whose big, strong arms envelop him when they hug, someone who can tuck Buck into his chest almost effortlessly. Someone who makes him feel grounded, protected, safe. In more ways than one.

“So,” Tommy returns the word, accompanying it with a warm smile, the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes and makes them sparkle as he looks down at Buck.

“You met my parents,” Buck says with a laugh, because really– how could he not? It’s a little ridiculous, now that he’s saying it out loud. “On our third date.”

Tommy nods, leaning against the wall outside of Buck’s front door. “Mhmmm,” he hums, watching Buck with a fond smile as he fumbles for his keys. “Sure did.”

It takes a minute, but Buck finally manages to get his keys out of his pocket and into the lock. Tommy is nothing but patience and fondness, watching him with a sparkle in his eye that makes Buck feel warm all over. When he finally gets the door open, Buck’s chest swells as Tommy’s big hand comes out to hold the door open for him, nodding for him to head inside first.

That’s a first. Buck’s stomach flips, a warm, pleasant feeling skating across his skin as he pulls his key from the lock and steps inside. It’s the same feeling he had on their first date when Tommy pulled out his chair before he sat down. The same one he had the first time Tommy texted him Be safe at the start of a shift.

A smile tugs at his lips as Tommy follows him into his apartment and the door clicks shut behind him. There’s something so simple about it, something so mundane and normal and domestic that it makes Buck’s head spin and his heart pound against his ribcage in the very best way. He wants this again. And again, and again, and again. Wants to come home with Tommy. Come home to Tommy. Wants the door to close behind them, wants to leave the world outside and exist only in this world here, in the one with the warm glow of the kitchen lights casting shadows on Tommy’s face as he toes his shoes off beneath the bike that hangs on Buck’s wall. The one where he pulls two beers out of the fridge and sets them on the counter, and Tommy opens them wordlessly, the silence comfortable as it stretches between them. The one where the necks of their bottles clink and their knuckles brush and Buck’s skin hums and his heart sings from just one small taste of Tommy’s skin against his.

Buck’s the one to break the easy, comfortable silence. He does it with a small laugh, just shy of a giggle, as he thinks back to the look on his mother’s face when he walked into Chim’s hospital room with Tommy by his side and she connected the dots. “You were covered in soot.”

“Wasn’t the only one,” Tommy points out, grinning against the lip of his beer bottle as he takes another sip.

Buck blushes at the memory of Hen whispering in his ear that he needed to find a mirror, and the moment of horror when he did as much. The horror was fleeting, though, quickly chased away by a swell of pride and a round of hugs and shoulder claps from the people he loves most in the world. He smiles, running his finger over his bottom lip. He has a feeling it’ll be one of those moments he doesn’t ever forget. And something about that makes him really, really happy.

“I’m glad you were there,” Buck says, meeting Tommy’s eyes and hoping that the look in his own is enough to say all the things he can’t quite figure out how to put into words just yet. If the way Tommy’s eyes shine and the way the hint of a smile dances across his face, he hears him loud and clear. “And, uh,” Buck pauses, clearing his throat. “I hope my parents were alright.”

If he thought he knew horror before, it was nothing compared to the moment he turned away from talking to Christopher, only to see his parents talking to Tommy.

“They were fine,” Tommy assures him. “They seemed… nice,” he says, almost cautiously.

Buck shrugs, a little unsure of what to say to that. Yeah, his parents are nice. They traumatized him and Maddie both and they’re responsible for tens of thousands of dollars in therapy bills at this point, but they’re nice people. And they’re trying. And Buck’s learned that all of those things can be true at once. He’s just not quite sure how to put any of that into words without unlocking the Pandora’s box that is his childhood and completely killing the mood. But he doesn’t have to, because Tommy speaks again.

“But there’s a story there,” Tommy says, and it’s more of a declaration than a question. There’s no judgment behind it. He says it simply, easily, as if he’s commenting on the stretch of warm weather they’ve been having.

And maybe it is just that— maybe it is simple. Maybe he’s so tuned into Buck that he noticed the way Buck’s smile faltered when he noticed they were talking to Tommy. Maybe he picked up on the way Buck stood up a little straighter when he came over and spoke with his parents. Maybe he could feel the way Buck’s skin prickled when his mother spoke— maybe he could feel it from where his hand rested easily on the small of Buck’s back, as if it was always meant to be there.

But now, one look in Tommy’s eyes— just one glance at the protectiveness that flares against familiar, striking blue— erases any doubts Buck may have had. No maybes. Tommy knows.

And while he may not know the shades and sizes of the bruises Buck’s parents left behind on his soul and he may not know the things they did– and didn’t do– that put them there, Tommy’s attentive enough to pick up on the fact that they exist. And something about that— something about being seen, being known— makes Buck’s chest ache.

Buck huffs out a laugh, “Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing down at his feet. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Tommy hums, taking another sip of his beer before setting it down on the counter with a dull clink. “But you’re okay?” he asks, and it takes everything Buck has not to start sobbing.

Tommy doesn’t push for more details, doesn’t try for platitudes, doesn’t brush past it. None of the things Buck’s used to. None of the things that, despite best intentions, still manage to feel like salt in a wound that’s been healing for three years but isn’t quite closed up yet. Instead, Tommy knows exactly what to say, exactly what to do.

He checks on him.

And he does it so easily, so effortlessly, that Buck’s chest squeezes and he feels a tightness behind his eyes, the kind he feels just before the prickle of hot tears he’s rarely ever able to blink back. Tommy is perfect. He’s kind and he’s good and he’s thoughtful. He’s protective without being overbearing. He’s patient and supportive and so honest, so genuine in everything he does. He’s gorgeous and he’s smart and he’s so ridiculously charming, it’s almost infuriating. He makes Buck feel safe and good and wanted. And he can pull off royal blue polyester better than anyone Buck’s ever seen. He’s just…. he’s perfect.

So much so that Buck is overcome with it, and instead of the affirmative yeah that plays in his head, what he blurts out instead is, “I really, really like you.”

The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, rolling off his tongue effortlessly. His hand moves on instinct in an attempt to fly to his mouth, but Tommy intercepts. His fingers curl around Buck’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks with a gentle hold and an amused smile.

“You better not take that back, Buckley.”

Buck’s cheeks are on fire, his words caught in the back of his throat. “Uh, I—”

“You better not take that back,” Tommy repeats. “Because I’m not taking mine back.” He lets Buck’s wrist go, and Buck mourns the loss of the warm, grounding feel of Tommy’s skin against his. But only for a moment, because then Tommy is moving forward, stepping around the corner of the island and closing the distance between them effortlessly with one smooth step. He takes Buck’s face in his hands, his fingers splaying out across stubbled skin and fanning the sparks beneath Buck’s skin into an all-out inferno.

“I really, really like you too, Evan.”

“You-you do?” Buck is too focused on the way Tommy looks at him— at the fondness in his eyes and the way his lips quirk up into a small, amused smile— to be embarrassed by the way he all but squeaks out his response.

“Of course I do,” Tommy says, grinning in earnest now. “And,” he murmurs, tipping Buck’s chin up with two fingers, the same way he did the first time they kissed. The thought of it alone has Buck’s stomach doing somersaults. “I think you,” Tommy drops a quick, closed-mouth kiss to Buck’s lips. It’s small and it’s quick and it’s chaste and yet, it still lights Buck up from the inside out, still has his breath catching in his throat and his chest swelling with something that feels warm and safe and good.

“Are,” Tommy continues, letting his thumb skate over Buck’s bottom lip with what can only be described as reverence. He kisses him again, still quick and still chaste and still more than enough to leave Buck’s heart pounding, his breath hitching, everything inside of him yearning for more, more, more. “Adorable.” Tommy punctuates the word with a third kiss, this one deeper than the previous two.

Buck relaxes beneath his touch almost instantly, melting into Tommy’s hold. It’s far from their first kiss, and yet, Buck still feels butterflies kicking to life in his gut when Tommy touches him, their wings flapping so furiously it sends a flush crawling up his neck and settling on the apples of his cheeks.

Tommy so much as looks in his direction and excitement flares in Buck’s gut. Warmth curls around his chest and beats out of his heart, swelling behind his ribs and making each breath come easier. He feels seen and safe and whole in a way he doesn’t think he ever really had. It’s a little dizzying, knowing that Tommy wants him— that Tommy likes him— just as much as Buck does him.

But all of that is nothing compared to when Tommy kisses him. When Tommy kisses him, Buck feels absolutely giddy. He feels like he did the summer he turned thirteen and Lydia Harris kissed him on the cheek at the Fourth of July fireworks. He feels like his cheeks might go numb from smiling so much, like he might drown in the happiness that’s flooding his veins and thrumming beneath his skin.

It doesn’t help that Tommy kisses him like he’s drowning and Buck’s the first breath of fresh air, that he kisses Buck like he’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever needed. And nothing has ever made Buck– who has quite literally come back from the dead– feel so alive.

Tommy tastes like beer and wedding cake and only a little bit like the soot he showered off when Buck brought him back to Harbor to return his gear and get his car. He has Buck’s face in his hands like he’s something worth holding onto, and Buck has never felt more whole than he does right here, right now. He’s bone tired, still hungover, standing here in his socks and a hoodie that’s been all over LA, and when Tommy pulls back long enough that they can catch their breath, he looks at Buck like he just hung the moon and all the stars. He holds him like he’s precious, like he’s something sacred.

It’s Buck who closes the distance this time, sighing into the kiss and melting into Tommy’s touch. His hand skates up Tommy’s side and settles on his neck, in the same place where it did just a couple of hours earlier in the hospital lobby. Heat zips up his spine as he the memory washes over him, and if the way Tommy’s lips curl into a smile beneath his is any indication, Tommy’s reliving it too.

When they part, it’s only long enough to draw in a ragged breath and for Tommy to murmur, “I’m happy I could be there today,” into the space between their lips.

“Me too,” Buck breathes, leaning in to steal another kiss. “I’m always happy when you’re around.”

Tommy grins, and if Buck's not mistaken, there’s a flush creeping its way onto Tommy’s cheeks. Tommy’s blushing and it has absolutely no business being half as cute as it is. “Then maybe I need to be around more often.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. He’s helpless to keep the smile off his face, but he doesn’t try. He’s happy. Maybe more than he’s ever been. And it feels good. Happiness feels good. Being with Tommy feels good. Buck feels good. And he doesn’t want to ever stop. “Maybe you do.”

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