hellfireloserclub
Eddie ain't dead
side blog for all my stranger things.
so old I'm dead in fandom years
767 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
Note
Congrats on 1000 you deserve 10000000 and I love you very many ♥️ for the requests:
J, mafia AU, smut, ring
You know how I like it 😉😘
Mickala!!! 😍😭💖
Thank you so much, I couldn't have made it without all of your lovely support. I'm so happy to have found you as a friend. Hope you enjoy my silly little Mafia AU!
Coup d'etat
Rated: E
Words: 999
Tags: Mafia AU; dark Eddie Munson; intrigue; blood and violence; bondage; nudity; explicit sexual content; consensual non-con
“Nice pool,” Eddie drawls, walking back from the patio into the house. “Could’ve made a bit more of an effort to clean it. I said to leave the place as you’d like to find it, Dick.”
Richard Harrington’s eyes scream bloody murder, but he doesn’t dare speak. Jeff and Frank have him flanked on either side, guns ready in their holsters, and Gareth is manning the door. Just a precaution. Harrington has been in the business for long enough to know he has lost. All of his most loyal henchmen are dead or on the run, and the more fickle ones have joined Eddie’s side.
“Aw, don’t pout.” Eddie pats the man's cheek jovially. “This is just how it works. Survival of the fittest and all that. Now, I believe that concludes our little tour of the house? Or am I forgetting something?”
Harrington’s face twitches. Jeff laughs and rolls his eyes.
“The bedroom, Eddie?”
“Ah, of course!” Eddie snaps his fingers, like he only just remembered. “Shall we, gentlemen?”
*
A giant bed dominates the far wall of the master bedroom. On the mattress, wrists tied to the headboard, is a boy. The soft, muted light glows off his naked skin.
“Ah,” Eddie mutters. “That’s what I’m talking about. Turns out you can follow directions.”
Harrington says nothing. The boy, who stopped tearing at his restraints when he heard the door open, stares at him with wide, panicked eyes.
“Dad? What- … Who are those people?”
Eddie coos. With a few long strides, he’s at the bed, sinking down onto the mattress. One of his hands finds the boy’s bare ankle, sliding up his leg to a firm, freckled thigh.
“Aw, darling. He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what? Leave me alone, perv!”
The boy tries to shy away from his touch, but he doesn’t get far, bound in place as he is. Eddie chuckles.
“Shhh, honey,” he scolds, cradling that pretty face with both hands. “It's okay. The name's Eddie, I work for your dad. Well, worked.”
The boy blinks at him, hazel eyes large and confused. Eddie laughs softly.
“See, the firm’s under new management. My management, to be more specific. I’m trying to keep it minimum bloodshed, so your old man’s gonna make himself scarce and I’ve agreed not to bother him. In return, I get to keep this fine house … and everything in it.”
Understanding dawns in those pretty eyes.
“No! Don't- don't touch me. Stay away from me.”
Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and wipes the first tears away as they spill over.
“Oh no, sweet thing. It’ll be alright, I promise. I’ll take such good care of- wait a sec.”
Because one of his hands has just slipped up to the boy's temple, fingers carding through thick, chestnut hair - only to come away red and sticky. The boy flinches, but Eddie grabs his jaw, holding him in place so that he can comb his hair aside. There’s a large, bleeding bruise on his temple. For a moment, the only sound in the room is that of the boy's hitched breathing.
“Dick?” Eddie growls. “Explain this?”
“He fought back,” Harrington mutters defiantly. “What was I supposed-”
Eddie has him up against the wall, gun to his throat, before he can finish the sentence.
“Are you kidding me? Trying to slip me damaged goods? I should fucking kill you, you son of a-”
“Eddie,” Frank mutters. “C'mon, man.”
Eddie blinks.
“Right,” he says. “Get him out of my sight.”
Relief washes over Harrington’s face as the gun disappears from his throat - only to be replaced by incredulous horror a second later, when Eddie holds out his hand before his face, palm up.
“Go on, Dick. It's traditional, right? A sign of respect.”
Harrington growls. His hands curl into fists. Eddie smirks, raising an expectant eyebrow. Then, quickly, as if the touch will burn him, Harrington bows his head and kisses Eddie’s rings.
“Not so hard, was it?” Eddie calls after him as he is escorted out. The door clicks shut.
Eddie's smile slips.
“Shit, Stevie,” he breathes. He's back on the bed in an instant, tilting the boy's head with gentle fingers to look at the injury. “What'd you go and do that for? I told you not to fight.”
“And I told you it had to look convincing,” Steve retaliates. “Was I just supposed to let them tie me up and tear off my clothes and thank them for it?”
Eddie's mouth twists into a grin.
“We both know that's how you like it, honey.”
He leans in, claiming those plush lips for a long, filthy kiss. Steve puts up a brief symbolic struggle, but Eddie growls warningly and slips a hand between his legs, and his protests turn into the sweetest little moans. Eddie only allows them to part once they're both out of breath and Steve is starting to buck and grind in his hold.
“Everything went well, then?” Steve asks. His voice is hoarse and raspy, and he needs to stop halfway through for another moan. “The- … the security codes all worked?”
“Flawlessly, you sly little minx,” Eddie murmurs. He bites down on the perfect stretch of that long throat, rolls Steve’s balls in his hand, and delights in the full-body shiver it gets him. “That old asshole didn’t know what hit him.”
Steve lets out a breathy laugh, rolling his hips to meet Eddie’s touch.
“Good. Now untie me, so we can celebrate.”
“Oh?” Eddie smirks, crawling further down and leaving a trail of biting kisses all over the soft skin of Steve’s chest and stomach. “But I am celebrating already.”
Steve groans. “Eddie, c’mon!”
“Ah-ah-ah, Stevie. There’s people out there who think I’m gonna ravage you tonight.” Eddie tuts, grabbing the boy’s twitching hips and blowing a warm stream of air on that pretty, flushed cock. Steve fucking mewls. The sound is like the sweetest music. “Be a good boy now. Gotta make it convincing, no?”
More celebration ficlets
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
was just gonna touch up a bit of this but i went a lil silly w it :3
color update, 2022 version under the cut (ive been getting freaky w hot pinks and teals lately......)
969 notes
·
View notes
Text
Next Gen
Promt: fool | word: 454 | rating : g
@steddiemicrofic April.
Stevie Edward Henderson will not have this go down as the day he was branded a coward.
A fool- that's a title he's willing to accept, especially when speeding away with the town of Hawkins growing gradually smaller in the rear view mirror.
“You saw what I saw didn't you?” Billie asked when he caught her gaze.
“I'm going to have to have you elaborate Sinclaire, because whatever I just saw wasn't -”
“Possible.” Billie shook her head, “that was-”
“They should be in their sixties now, but-”
*****
A curiosity adventure had led them here, to a town that didn't exist, not as far as official maps and records were concerned.
But Hawkins was real, and it was where his parents had lived before the earthquake. Every year on the 4th of July while fireworks exploded Dad, Mom and Aunt Robin would sit on the bathroom floor and eat ice cream, the photo from the fireplace sitting on the floor in front of them.
So Stevie knew exactly who who had jumped from the roof of a trailer, Nail bat in hand to step between him, Billie and the impossible monster with flower shaped jaws that had come from nowhere.
“Uncle Steve?” Stevie asked just as Billie had asked “Eddie?” as another figure stepped up to swing a spear down on the pulverised creature where it lay dying on the floor.
The two men took pause, exchanged confused looks, before comprehension crept upon them. Eyes darting to Billie’s letterman jacket and Stevie's bowling shirts both brandishing their last names.
“Holy shit, it worked, Eddie… It worked. Our kids have kids”.
“I suppose that's worth eternity stuck with your loser ass.” Eddie grinned, leaning in and kissing Steve on the cheek . “Oh god, how old are our kids? How old are you? Why are you here?”
None of this made sense, dead men couldn’t be standing in front of them right now. “Did you really push my mom in a vent to fight Rusians?”
“Applejack won’t do anything she doesn’t want to, I'm hoping you didn’t get that from her, cause you guys can’t be here, it's not safe.” Eddie pushed them towards the place they had parked up.
“Tell the kids we're fine, we have each other.” Steve said as something moved in the undergrowth. “Now go, before you get stuck here like us.”
“Don't let them come back, no matter how much they want to, we have this.” Eddie said as he pushed them towards the car.
“Erica and Dustin? Who would have thought it” Steve saluted as he dove into the hedge after the creature.
“Go!” Eddie yelled as something howled in the distance.
Nobody was going to believe them.
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?
Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.
Steve is there to fix that.
One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.
He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.
He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.
Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?
And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").
And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"
"Eddie."
Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"
They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.
They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:
"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"
"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."
"What about a funeral?"
"It puts fun in a funeral."
"Touché."
They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."
And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.
They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.
And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."
Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."
...
Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.
Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:
STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?
EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!
STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.
EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!
And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.
But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.
"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."
Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.
Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"
Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.
The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.
Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.
No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").
Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.
The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.
Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.
But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.
The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...
Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...
"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.
There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.
And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"
The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.
"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"
Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.
"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."
Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"
Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"
"You already paid me, Eddie."
"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."
"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."
"I'm listening."
Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"
And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.
"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."
It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.
Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.
They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."
And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?
Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.
Steve is there to fix that.
One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.
He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.
He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.
Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?
And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").
And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"
"Eddie."
Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"
They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.
They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:
"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"
"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."
"What about a funeral?"
"It puts fun in a funeral."
"Touché."
They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."
And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.
They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.
And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."
Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."
...
Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.
Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:
STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?
EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!
STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.
EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!
And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.
But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.
"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."
Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.
Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"
Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.
The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.
Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.
No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").
Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.
The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.
Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.
But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.
The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...
Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...
"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.
There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.
And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"
The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.
"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"
Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.
"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."
Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"
Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"
"You already paid me, Eddie."
"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."
"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."
"I'm listening."
Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"
And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.
"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."
It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.
Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.
They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."
And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I had a whole story for these two drawings , then I got sick .
So now tumblr can have them .
If you can work out how Eddie ended up wearing Steve's shirt as a bandanna ... have at it!
( and if you saw this in the few mins I had it up before I put the wrong format images up so they should look better now)
#steddie#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#my art#pez art#steddie writing prompts#serious i cant remember what i was going to write ...
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
do or do not (there is no try)
for the @steddiemicrofic bonus round: birthday | word count: 290 | rating: t | happy birthday @steddieas-shegoes <3
this is also for my stficbingo prompt: lightsaber
***
Vvvrrroomm!
Steve ducks his head as Eddie swings his lightsaber, slaying imaginary Jedis. He’s been doing that since opening his birthday present, squealing excitedly at the toy Steve bought as a joke.
Eddie’s real present is at Steve’s house. He’ll give it to him after his surprise party- new strings for his Warlock and a signed Metallica record that Steve drove three towns over to get. But if Eddie acts half as excited about those as he’s right now, it’ll be worth it.
“Join the Dark Side or perish,” Eddie says in a deep voice, holding the red lightsaber against Steve’s neck.
“No, thanks?” Steve thinks back to the night they met. “And, why do you keep holding deadly objects against my neck?”
Eddie shrugs, withdrawing the lightsaber and spinning it, only to accidentally drop it. “Shit.”
“Not very Jedi Knight of you.”
He sits next close to Steve on the couch. “I shall convince you to join some other way.”
“How?”
“With my good looks. And my charm.”
“Hmm, done.”
Eddie cackles. “That easy?”
It was that easy for Steve to fall for Eddie, so.
“Yeah, to really seal the deal though, I suggest a kiss.”
Eddie’s eyes widen. “A kiss? Seriously?” Steve nods. “Okay. Holy shit.”
And holy shit is right, Steve thinks, as Eddie gives him a short kiss.
They pull away when Eddie’s walkie crackles- Dustin’s signal.
“We’ll continue that after my party.” Eddie taps his finger against Steve’s lip.
“How do you-”
“Robin.” Eddie says, sheepishly. “Don’t worry, I’ll feign surprise. Now c’mon I gotta show Henderson my lightsaber!” He waggles his eyebrows. “And later, I’ll show you my other lightsaber.”
Steve’s face matches the red lightsaber, which Eddie picks up before dragging him outside.
465 notes
·
View notes
Text
‘It’s My Birthday!’
Written for the @steddiemicrofic bonus challenge ‘birthday’, to celebrate @steddieas-shegoes’s special day! Happy Birthday Mickala! I hope you get all the cake you want! 😘😘😘😘
Rating: M | WC: 290 | CW: drinking, yearning, overt flirting | Tags: getting together
Written as an homage to a previous prompt, and because I can never get enough of ‘getting together’ fics.
🎂
Someone once told Eddie, after he asked for more cake, “It’s your birthday, you can have whatever you want!”
Now it’s Munson Doctrine, and he’s made damn sure everyone knows.
The Party approach this date with trepidation, knowing Eddie’s antics will elevate past 11, and he’ll demand ridiculous and outrageous behaviour from his friends. But after their narrow (in Eddie’s case, miraculous) escape from the Upside Down horrors, they cut him some slack, and usually enjoy whatever frivolities the day presents.
Today, they’ve played paintball (“I want my friends to look like art!”), overeaten ice cream in horrendous flavour combinations (“I want everyone to have a tummy ache!”), and narrowly prevented Eddie from egging Hopper’s patrol car (“But it’s my birthday! I can have whatever I want, and what I want is a criminal record!”)
Steve knows what he’d like to give Eddie, but it’s definitely not something that could be… unwrapped in front of everyone. But he’s always been way too chickenshit to make a move.
So when Eddie decides that he wants tequila, Steve joins in, hoping the vile burn and foggy head might dull his yearning.
After the kids have gone and the others are packing up, a drunken Eddie saunters over to Steve.
Standing in front of him, their chests almost touching, he suddenly flings his arms around Steve’s waist, slapping his hands roughly onto his ass and grabbing handfuls of Steve’s buttocks.
“It is my birthday, you know…”
Steve panics. His face says I’m so casual about this, but his eyes are screaming What the fuck is going on?
“Yeah , Munson, I know. What- uh, what do you want?”
Pursing his lips, Eddie’s eyes flash and he squeezes, hard, as he replies,
“More CAKE!”
🎂
Thanks so much for reading!
My masterlist
Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn just a short fic this time!
122 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.
He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.
Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.
"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.
"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.
"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."
He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.
Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."
"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."
Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."
"Is it?"
He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."
"My point exactly."
His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.
---
The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.
Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.
Or so Eddie thought.
Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.
"Harrington?"
"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."
Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.
Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"
The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.
By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.
The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.
His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.
Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."
And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.
Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.
Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.
It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.
They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.
"You won," Steve says.
"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."
"You deserved it."
He shrugs. "I don't know about that."
"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"
Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"
Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.
"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.
"You--what?"
"What if I did mean it?"
"You're straight."
Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."
"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"
"Um. Since you invited me to this?"
"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"
"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"
"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"
"I thought that happened to everyone!"
"It doesn't!"
"That's what Robin said!"
They're both yelling.
"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.
"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"
He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.
"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"
"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."
"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."
Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."
"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.
He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.
"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."
He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"
"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."
Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.
"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.
"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."
And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.
He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.
Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."
"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.
"Why not?"
"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.
Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.
so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.
he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.
because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.
eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.
(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)
when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”
then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?
he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.
“you’re alive,” she says.
eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”
“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”
he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.
“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.
“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—
“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.
“maybe not.”
“don’t lie.”
“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”
“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”
“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”
“speaking from experience?”
“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”
“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“
“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”
“at the frozen four.”
“yeah, sure, that too.”
“what?”
“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”
“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”
“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.
eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”
“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”
“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.
the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”
“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”
steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“
“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“
“so,” says steve.
“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.
“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”
“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”
“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”
“coach! go time!”
“yeah?” he asks.
“yeah.”
“COACH!”
he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”
“pick me up in twenty?”
“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.
someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”
with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.
“damn,” he says quietly.
“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.
“how long have you been there?” he asks.
she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”
“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”
“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”
a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Really just wanted to draw a Camp Counsellor, Steddie. But being a bit of a horror fan I turned toward the awesome 80s videos of the day for inspiration. Where both of them think a warm summer and babysitting kids is going to be a breeze. Little do they know that they become the Final boys as something stalks the camp 😢 Is it really killing the kids? Or are the boys just stuck in their own nightmare the Camp created for them? DunDunDun!!!! 😨😈
#tiny shorts are an equal opportunity#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things art#horror
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Welcome to another pop-up event! This prompt is spring, and anything to do with your interpretation of the word. The image shows some ideas- quotes on the left and overall themes on the right - but you don't have to follow any of them if you don't want to! As long as your drabble follows the rules in the pinned post on the blog and includes some reference to spring, it will count.
[Quotes:
"things will change in the spring" or "i've wanted you since spring break"
Themes:
spring cleaning, spring into action, spring season, field of flowers]
Happy first day of spring and happy writing! 🌻🌼🌷🪻🌺🌹💐
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
All poor Steve wanted was to play some basketball with his friends for old times' sake, now he's having a bisexual crisis over Eddie "The Freak" Munson
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.
When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.
They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.
The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.
They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.
He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.
He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.
"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."
Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.
"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."
He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"
Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."
And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
(steddie | teen | wc: 388 | tags: modern au, platonic stobin, unsafe texting in the sense that you should be aware people can read what you text 👀 | @steddiemicrofic prompt 'pin')
>>Robs, is showering no longer a thing? Could I save hundreds of dollars and the planet by not wasting water on showers?<<
>>You're being dramatic. Also if you stop showering this friendship will be text and calls only, dingus.<<
>>I think the people on the Mayflower smelled better than the guy next to me.<<
>>Ever thought about just sitting someplace else?<<
>>What if the next person smells even worse?<<
>>STEVEN<<
>>Fine jeez<<
Pocketing his phone, Steve sighs and looks around the full compartment of the L train for a sitting neighbor who doesn't make him want to puke. Deciding that this is unbearable, he just walks over to the other end of the compartment and plops down next to a guy with headphones on, as far away from the offending odor as possible.
He can hear the faint sound of drums and guitar riffs from where he sits quite close to the other man. The guy smells nice, though, something light and slightly vanilla with a hint of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. With another sigh, Steve feels the tension drain from his body.
>>I'm free!!!<<
>>I had no idea you were being held hostage. Or do you mean free from the crippling expectations society places on you as a white, middle class man from the Midwest?<<
>>You are so funny 🙄<<
>>I know. Better neighbor?<<
>>Yeah, he's fine. Probably damages his eardrums right now, but smells kinda nice.<<
>>Is he cute? 👀<<
Steve glances to the side to check out the guy. He's wearing a black tanktop with deep cuts down his side, showing off a plethora of tattoos on his pale skin. His hair is dark and curly, but Steve can't see much of his face from where he's sitting.
>>Can’t really say, too much hair. Lots of tattoos, though.<<
>>Oh, a bad boy, huh? 😏<<
>>🙄🙄🙄<<
Why did he have to tell Robin that when he was growing up, he always rooted for the bad guys in the movies?
>>This is your chance, Dingus. YOLO and all that.<<
>>What? Should I just say, 'Please pin me to a wall and ravage me?'<<
He's so engrossed in his conversation that the deep voice coming from his right startles him so much that he almost drops his phone.
"Oh, I'd love to do that, big boy."
#from a person who constantly opens nsfw stuff on the phone to scare old people being nosey#eddie rude#steddie#steddie fanfic#eddie munson#steve harrington
398 notes
·
View notes
Text
cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use
Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.
He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.
Until he saw the name Munson.
Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”
He read the article with tears in his eyes.
Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.
Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.
It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.
Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.
“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.
She was probably right.
But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.
He thought he had, anyway.
He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.
But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.
Did he know what happened?
——
Steve asked Wayne the next morning.
He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.
Perfect opportunity to find out more.
“So. Eddie’s mom.”
Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.
“Does he know how she died?”
“Do you?”
“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”
“Trauma messes with your memory.”
It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.
“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”
——
Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.
He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.
But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.
“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”
The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.
“Me too.”
Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.
Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry.”
Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.
“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”
“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”
“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”
Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.
“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”
“Did he know all this?”
“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”
“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.
Eddie blinked back at him.
“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”
“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.
They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.
“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”
“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.
“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”
“Me? Are you sure?”
Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”
It takes a minute for the words to sink in.
“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”
“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”
“Is that how you’d introduce me?”
“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“
Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.
After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.
“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”
“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”
“Because I have to impress her, right?”
“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”
Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”
“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”
Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”
“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”
“That’s a guarantee.”
“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”
“Not a chance, Eds.”
Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”
Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”
“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”
“And what would you do?”
“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”
“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“
“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”
“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”
Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”
“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.
“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”
“Hopefully you’re in.”
“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”
“Believe it, baby.”
634 notes
·
View notes