bitofleftonlight
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Steve’s two beers deep on the Munson couch. And Eddie’s next to him even more wasted; three beers, a couple shots of vodka, and the last quarter of a joint from a different time they hung out all swimming in his system. They’re watching some…some movie, it’s unclear which one it is in the slow to glaze vision he’s sporting. All he knows is this: the couch is sinking slowly under both their heavy bodies, Wayne should probably get somebody to fix the leak in the trailer’s bathroom, and Eddie’s extremely clingy when inebriated. Not that that’s a bad thing, per se, just…unexpected.
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OR
What if I gave Eddie Munson internalized homophobia as a treat?- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,506
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
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- Kudos:
- 128
- Bookmarks:
- 11
- Hits:
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Bookmarked by bitofleftonlight
14 Jun 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
He’ll be the battered copy of a book people are too scared to read—in fear the pages will tear. Just the same paperback, wrinkled with signs of reading, yellowing with years of just enough love to keep the words fresh. And maybe those words will be enough to help the both of them sleep, just a little while longer, just until the bedside lightbulb burns clear out
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Tequila Sunrise by hitlikehammers for starryeyedjanai
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
04 Jul 2024
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He doesn’t know how the fuck he got here. At a very nice bar in a very nice restaurant. Sitting alone.
Or well: he knows. It’s more that he can’t believe he let it happen.
Again.
But Steve's got his iron-clad reason to shut this blind date shit down once and for all, now: twenty minutes late is beyond the fashionable threshold, particularly for this kind of set up, and Steve's out of his drink, so he moves to gesture the bartender over to pay but—
"Another for the handsome nobleman,” and this guy two stools down gestures first, and says it with a stilted lilt that’s somehow not disingenuous; "whom I say doth sit alone beyond comprehension."
Steve stares wordless for a second because, outside of that weird fucking Renaissance Fair thing the kids dragged him to, he’s never heard anyone talk like that. Definitely not in the middle of Midtown, with a distinct lack of turkey legs in sight.
But then the man starts again, something close to bashful when he clears his throat and asks:
“Perhaps this very handsome nobleman would also enjoy some company,” and his tone’s not even playing coy for the hope in it:
“Even if only that of a humble bard, such as myself?”
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 5,609
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 2
- Comments:
- 86
- Kudos:
- 775
- Bookmarks:
- 145
- Hits:
- 3,854
Bookmarked by bitofleftonlight
04 Jul 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
it’s not too soon because it feels like every single goddamn thing he’s waited for his whole life, beating and clinging and gasping and melding into place finally, finally because it’s…everything. This is everything.
They are everything.
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Eddie goes to see The Princess Bride when it comes out in 1987—and it’s a tentative thing, still, between him and Steve; they haven’t named it, but their hands still brush in the space between their seats, and really if Eddie were pushed, he’d say that they both know exactly what they’re heading towards, that they’re just floating between the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.
Bookmarked by bitofleftonlight
23 May 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
“Farm boy,” he murmurs, when the movie’s over, smiling because the great, terrible story is done, and he is here; he is here. “Take me home?”
Steve smiles back, winks out the corner of his eye. “As you wish.”
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He must have zoned out for a couple seconds, because Eddie’s standing now. Watching fondly.
“If you’re tired,” Eddie says quietly, “you should sleep.”
Bookmarked by bitofleftonlight
22 May 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
Oh, you love me, Steve thinks.
It’s a thought that drifts in, honeyed and slow, like it’s really been there all along—that perhaps before, in the white-knuckled days of survival, he was too afraid for it. Did not have room to feel it.
Steve’s eyes close.
He falls asleep so completely, knowing that Eddie will still be there, that time isn’t running out anymore; he can stay right where he is. He has room to breathe, to just be—room for the next thought, the next moment, for every moment to come.
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warm comes the night by hitlikehammers for LexiRoseWrites
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
25 Jan 2024
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It’s not like the nightmares are, y’know: something new.
What’s new is the way he wakes up from them.
It’s still a gasping thing, with his heart shot up past the base of his throat more near his tonsils or some shit, somewhere he can almost taste it like metal and the sour tang of fear as it rattles and shakes and pounds, like his chest’s caving in on itself and that’s all normal, that’s all stuff he knows and—
“-ve you,” but now there’s a sound on the periphery of his awareness, sneaking in the almost-nonexistent space between his hammering pulse but he grabs for it, because something in him knows it’s important: the most important.
He follows it in between the beating, risks getting crushed if he fails here, too, and—
“Love you,” Steve hears more clearly, all of a sudden, and he feels hands on him, running smooth and swift courses up and down his arms; then he also feels lips, he can feel the words as motion against his body almost more than he can pick out the sound: “love you, love you, love you,” and now he knows it, now that his vision clears as it adjusts to the darkness and he sees him: Eddie.
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Or: Steve has nightmares. Eddie talks him through.
Bookmarked by bitofleftonlight
25 Jan 2024
Bookmarker's Notes
“Four things you can touch?” and this man, this man, has the audacity to distract Steve from his nightmares, and his racing heart, and his useless lungs, and the laundry, by slipping his hands back up—again, never once breaking contact, never once even close—but slipping those spindly-perfect fingers back up to full on tangle in Steve’s sweaty bedhead and—
Diabolical. Fucking…
Fucking beloved.