#prism steve

stunning, gorgeous, ACHINGLY PERFECT art by Ster

Part Three of Prism has begun:

It’s been a long time coming. There is a softness in him that lies dead, decayed, only bones now, but it was once intrinsic. Innately soft. Weak. Fawning. Faun. Steve Harrington can trace it if he tries. He can isolate the feeling, even dead, and know where it came from. Whose cruelty, violation or neglect shaped him in such a way that he distorted himself the way only water can when pushed, crushed, smashed, or pulled. He shudders to think of himself as he was. He dreads to think of himself as he is. And cannot see how he might yet be. The bones of his dead softness, now rotted of their beauty and silky skin, are sharp enough to make weapons of, less brittle than he’s ever been. His parents sold his soul for show when he was malleable, they made a whore of him before he even knew what the word meant. Nathan Fox shaped him into a plaything. He poisoned him with love, or something that tasted just like it. Billy beat out of him what was masculine, had him cowering like a housewife and aspiring only for domestic safety, nothing more. It's not until Tommy that Steve ever really knew himself. Had space to breathe, examine, explore. Tommy is a splinter in his lungs.

Steve watches him for a few beats. ‘You’re hard to read sometimes.’ ‘I know.’ ‘So, tell me a secret and be less hard to read.’ ‘What kind of secret do you want, Little Star?’ In the following quiet, Steve is thinking. He’s doing something he rarely does, which is to gather the jagged pieces of his life with Eddie and his life without, bring them central and see them in close proximity. It would be much nicer to talk about lovely things, about the kids and winter fun and the next Game Night. Instead, Steve keeps a steady gaze set on Eddie and says, ‘Tell me a secret about me.’

Art by @stervruchtSter

Read the latest chapter here💞🖤✨🌈💎✨

First, just a couple of tiny notes!! For anyone who doesn't know/didn't see, going forward, I will be carrying out the rest of Prism myself (fully plotted and planned by us both) for all the reasons given in this post here. There will be a note in the new chapter too as well as at the start of the story itself. Both Brooke and I are so excited to finish this fic and do it justice, even if it won't be us both crafting each chapter as we did before.

Secondly, someone asked me this morning if there's a way to tip me/support me and yes, absolutely! You can either sub to my Patreon or check out my Ko-Fi.

and now, the preview as promised (unedited)!! This chapter is at about 5k so far and I'm expecting it to be around 20k-ish, posted next Friday!

‘Come here, you,’ Eddie grunts, bending at the knees to lift Steve under the thighs and Steve, whose tongue was already in Eddie’s mouth, giggles slightly and obliges easily, going pliant and letting Eddie carry him into the doorway of his own house. 

‘Oh, I see how it is,’ he whispers, dragging Eddie’s earlobe between his teeth and revelling in the shudder it draws from the man determined to perform this little ritual. ‘I must have missed the part where we said “I do,” back in the church.’

Eddie kicks the door shut behind him, it’s pretty impressive considering he’s still carrying Steve. ‘Not my fault you didn’t pay attention to the fine print, baby boy.’

Steve bites the lobe until he draws just a taste of blood and Eddie growls appreciatively. ‘Am I your pretty wife, then?’

Eddie shoves Steve into the nearest wall, and a picture falls and crashes, glass cracks and Steve laughs because his head was cradled by Eddie’s hand and it didn’t hurt at all and it’s the same wall… of course it’s the same fucking wall. 

Eddie kisses him just once, makes it last and then he stays there, lips touching, eyes on Steve. 

‘Say it again.’

‘I love you,’ Steve gives easily, warmed by Eddie’s need for the words. ‘I am so, so in love with you.’

Steve can hardly get enough of the slow, shaky reaction it draws from Eddie. Fluttering lashes, bottom lip bit between teeth and a delicate exhale that betrays him entirely. 

‘You’re soft for me,’ Steve says, no tease in it, it’s just the truth. This man who collects knives, who could be one himself he’s at times so sharp and steely… is carrying Steve over the threshold, demanding the words he’s greedy for. ‘Aren’t you?’