Dollitahaze
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It takes him a moment to really have a look at Eddie. It’s been nearly two years since they last saw each other, but Eddie still has the same dark, round eyes. They’re perceptive and questioning and a little intense. Eddie’s a little intense. Steve also notices that the right side of Eddie’s hair is braided against his scalp, and that he’s got red lipstick on his cheek in the perfect shape of a kiss. And oh, he’s also got a bit of the same lipstick smudged across his mouth and chin.
Steve’s already forgotten Eddie’s questions. He gives him zero warning when he reaches out to feel the braided side of his hair, breathing out “What the—“ as he does so.
Eddie, bless his soul, allows Steve to stupidly feel his hair, his questions left hanging out in the open, much like Steve’s gaping mouth.
Steve doesn’t just stop there. It’s like his hand has a mind of its own as it moves from Eddie's hair to his chin, and Steve squints a little as he starts trying to rub off some of the lipstick with his thumb.
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it's 1995, a jittery metalhead just moved into town, and baron's definitely in over his head.
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Bookmarked by Dollitahaze
22 Dec 2025
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“Well, they can still win, right? There’s a lot of time left. I think?”
“That’s rule number one, Ed,” Steve nods and stares at the screen, focused and distant— the kind of stare that tells Eddie he’s not talking about just the game. “Always assume the game you’re planning can be won. If you go into it thinking that losing is a possibility, then you’re gonna lose. Even if you’ve gotta rewrite the rules of the game yourself, you gotta convince yourself you can win.”
The commentator seems to respond to Steve directly. “And that’s three strikes for Tommy Hagan for the fourth at-bat in a row. If this Dodgers team has a prayer of making the playoffs, it rests solely on Steve Harrington making it back in time.”
Eddie feels Steve squeeze his hand tighter.
Or, Professional Baseball Shortstop Steve Harrington injures his UCL and returns home to Indiana for treatment. Cue massage therapist Eddie Munson whose tender, practiced touch heals much more than Steve's elbow.
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Bookmarked by Dollitahaze
06 Dec 2025
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"There's something to be said about endurance, Steve."
Steve puts his foot on his professor's chair, Jimmy Choo trainer propped there on the worn armrest. The motion widens his legs, leaves the long line of his thigh, the seam of his jeans available to Munson's gaze, if he so chooses to look.
"And you, sir?" Steve bites his lip. "How much longer can you endure?"
(OR: Steve is a spoiled socialite brat who buys his way into college, and Eddie is the edgy arts professor who makes him work for it.)
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Bookmarked by Dollitahaze
11 Feb 2025
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Eddie is suffering in the heat, and Steve's wardrobe choices feel like a cruel and unusual punishment.
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Bookmarked by Dollitahaze
11 Aug 2024