#STEVE WHAT THE FUCK
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bro they’re ending UA..... -_- 😭😭 🫠 🥹 💔
#STEVE WHAT THE FUCK#naur....#i was just sitting here dude. i came here to have. a good time and i'm honestly feeling so attacked rn#like girl. tf am i supposed to do without uatv klaus.....without the soundtracks....this is so rude#gerard come back from the aether and do somethingggg#like girl. 'he wants do more volumes for at least a decade' that bitch promised vol 4 4 years ago and yet#and it won't be in the show....bro#the show was announced 2 months before i went to college and is ending b4 i'm done....naurrrrr#wow anna said something#anyways don't talk don't text i'm going thru the 6 stages of grief#Umbrella Academy#the umbrella academy#tuatv#uatv#welcome to the circus#anna's shitposts
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mini comics from the steddie dads au!
i’m having too much fun with this
#steddie#stranger things#stranger things 4#eddie munson#steve harrington#is this what i've been doing all week#yes#it is#these are 2 separate ones by the way!!#and on that day the whole neighbourhood learned that you don't EVER fuck with eddie's kid
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Dustin denotes his plan as a stroke of genius. Steve calls it fucking crazy.
It is crazy — going down to the police station and giving a completely faux alibi for Eddie is crazy.
But then, Steve recalls the handcuffs on the hospital bed, keeping him strapped in even though Eddie’s hardly in a state for escape, all bandages and wires. Steve remembers the fitful sleeps he’s witnessed when visiting, remembers Eddie’s ashamed whisper of fear that one of the officers would smother him in his sleep if no one stayed with him.
Steve remembers the bats. Remembers all the other shit Eddie got dragged through.
And if Steve can lessen that blow… well, then maybe he is crazy for going through with the plan.
There’s no prepping Eddie for it, of course, considering he’s being guarded around the clock. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous considering how feeble he feels just looking at Eddie. When he— when they had gotten him out, there was a moment where he was more blood than boy. Just jagged skin held together by Steve’s hands and sheer will.
He shivers involuntarily. This is crazy, Steve thinks, shifting a bit in the chair out the front of Eddie’s room, waiting for the discussion across the hall to meet its end. It’s crazy, but he’s already done it now.
Sharp footsteps sound across the hallway and Steve’s head yanks up. His heart beats too fast and he presses his palms down into his jeans to wipe them, standing up quickly.
“So?” He asks, eyes darting between Chief Powell and Deputy Callahan.
“That’s quite the alibi you’ve provided, Mr Harrington.” There’s a cool expression on Chief Powell’s face, giving away nothing. “One that not many would be so willing to give.”
Steve swallows. Presses down the panic tied to the implications of what he’s told them— him and Eddie. Him and Eddie together.
“We’d like to question Mr Munson a little as well, get everything settled. You know,” He makes a little gesture with his hand. “Make sure your stories line up.”
A new strain of panic jolts in Steve’s stomach and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers between the blinds and tries to find Eddie’s face. He can only see the hospital bed, stark white sheets and hundreds of tubes. Steve tries to remember that he anticipated this, he prepared for this.
“Now?” He asks, turning back to face the officers. He tries to appear like his uneasiness comes from concern, instead of panic. “He’s just had another dose of morphine, I’m not sure how up to questions he’ll be.”
Chief Powell narrows his eyes. Steve silently begs him to take the bait — he doesn’t want to defer the questioning, he just needs a little more wiggle room in case Eddie is slow on the uptake. He’s a performer though. Steve hopes that’ll be enough to convince them.
“Now is best.”
Steve nods, his face grave. “I understand. Just… if he’s a bit slow, give him time to find his answers. He doesn’t know that I’ve… told you.”
Steve’s hand presses down on the handle to the room and the door opens with a hiss. He enters the room, his eyes landing on the officer posted by the door first before they travel onto the bed, to Eddie.
The chair beside the bed is empty for now which means Wayne must be off getting some food. Good, Steve thinks. This will be easiest with a smaller audience to convince.
Eddie’s eyes are closed, resting as best he can, but at the new noise they peek open. The ripple of happy emotion will help their case immensely but Steve delights in the fact that that reaction is genuine. Eddie is happy to see him.
“Big boy!” He rasps as a greeting. He waves one hand up, wires sticking out of it and the handcuff on it clinks uncomfortably, and he begins a spiel. “Welcome back to my humble—”
He cuts himself off when he sees there are other visitors today besides Steve. The heart monitor jumps and Eddie’s hand drops, eyes back onto Steve in an instant.
“What’s going on?”
Steve strides to his side, his hand reaching out to curl his fingers around Eddie’s limp hand. His skin is cool to touch, fingers icy. Surprise jumps onto Eddie’s face but his fingers tighten their grip, holding his hand too. Steve sits down in the seat beside the bed and lets the real nerves of the situation make his voice tremble when he speaks.
“I— I had to tell them, Eddie. About your real alibi.”
To his credit, Eddie only lets confusion wash over his face for a moment before it turns to some mixture of anger and sadness. A furrow forms between his brows, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening, and Steve doesn’t think he’s acting at all when he says, “You didn’t.”
Huh. Maybe he’s figured it out after all, Steve thinks.
Steve nods solemnly, letting his thumb wander over the back of Eddie’s hand. He remembers what it’s like to dote on girls, on Nancy, and find it’s not nearly as hard to bring it all out for Eddie either.
“I had to,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to brush back some of Eddie’s hair. The heart monitor spikes again and Eddie’s cheeks glow pink.
Behind them, Chief Powell clears his throat and Steve jumps, remembering himself and what he’s trying to accomplish here.
“Excuse us, Mr. Munson, we have a few questions for you.”
There’s a moment where they let their words register and Eddie takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand and giving a little nod. Chief Powell continues.
“Mr. Harrington here has come forward with a statement that would place you elsewhere than the scene of the crime at the time of Miss Cunningham’s murder. Can you recall where you were that night?”
The mention of Chrissy’s name makes Eddie flinch and Steve’s glad he’s already holding his hand so he can squeeze it gently. Eddie’s gaze drops to their intertwined hands and stares hard for a moment. Shuffling puzzle pieces into place.
Steve leans down, presses a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, and says “Tell them the truth.”
Eddie inhales sharply, steeling his nerves and turns his attention back to the officers. “I was with Steve. We were… we were at his house.”
Chief Powell nods, scratching words down in his notepad. He hums in a way that tells Eddie to keep going.
“We were…” Eddie trails off and looks to Steve, trying to follow the story already planted. Steve nods, hoping it comes off like he’s trying to be comforting boyfriend, instead of a subtle nudge.
“…Kissing.”
Steve resists the urge to snort at the absurdity of the whole situation. This whole thing is so convoluted and it’s twisted that Eddie’s even been accused but Steve’s putting his fuckin’ reputation on the line and Eddie says they’ve been kissing?
He doesn’t even need to turn around to know some eyebrows have raised behind him.
“Kissing?” Steve hears Chief Powell repeat. “Just… kissing?”
Eddie’s attention snaps forward again and Steve can see him piece together the snappy persona, the Freak, the scary dog privileges that come with being an outsider. He straightens up a bit, shoulders squaring but Steve can feel the quake in his hand.
“I’m sorry, did you want a play by play of the whole act, Chief Powell? I can go into detail if you want, who took who’s pants off first, yanno, but I didn’t peg you for that kinda guy.”
Steve can’t miss this reaction, turning his head to watch both officers shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. Chief Powell tries to keep his power, eyes narrowing, but it’s hard to maintain when Steve dots another quick kiss across Eddie’s knuckle.
“Very well.” He seems to land on. “We’ll be back to collect a formal statement later—”
Eddie gives a faint squeak, his hand grasping Steves that much tighter.
“—but I’m happy to have the guard and cuffs removed from your room for now.”
A sigh so large escapes Eddie that his chest deflates a good couple inches and Steve feels his own shoulders relax a bit. Chief Powell steps forward, key retrieved from his belt and Steve winces seeing the ring of irritated skin around Eddie’s wrist. No doubt caused from the thrashing of night terrors.
He releases Eddie’s hand long enough for it to be freed, scooping it back up in his as soon as he can, properly this time. All fingers intertwined, palm to palm. Eddie eyes their hands again and Steve pretends to not hear the jump in the heart monitor.
The officers leave, including the one holding post, the door sliding shut with a gentle click and Steve holds himself still— unsure of how to start explaining what he had sprung on Eddie. He feels bad, dropping him in the deep end, even if it was for his own good.
“Eddie—” He starts.
“Hug me.” Eddie hisses out the corner of his mouth. When Steve doesn’t react, he says it again, fiercer - it doesn’t match the way he’s smiling so sweetly at Steve. “Hug. Me.”
Steve does as he’s told, shooting up onto his feet and hesitating only for a moment before Eddie’s arms are creeping around his waist — he leans over and tries to keep his weight off him. Eddie’s frazzled curls tickle at his cheek and Steve just burrows his face in further.
There’s a faint whisper into his ear. “They were watching still.”
Steve pulls back a bit, not to check over his shoulder, but to see Eddie’s face. He’s serious, eyes skirting the window behind them but the moment Steve pulls back, his eyes shift down and he softens.
“And now… kiss me too?” He says. His tone conveys that he knows he’s being far too cheeky. Steve’s wonders if the officers are still watching. Wonders if he’d still kiss him even if they weren’t. He casts a glance over his shoulder and is met with a empty window, the officers retreating down the hall.
He turns back to Eddie with an incredulous expression. “What? Getting you off murder charges not good enough for you?”
Eddie’s face shutters for a moment, as though every emotion to do with Steve’s sacrifice floods him at once. There’s a burst of gratitude when he doesn’t mention it — doesn’t mention everything Steve might be giving up for Eddie, everything that might crumble should the details of the case become public.
He chooses the joke again. Eddie always does.
“Yes, but remember, we’re madly in love,” Eddie sings, brows wiggling about on his face and making Steve snort. “So feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”
Steve snorts. “Duly noted, Munson.”
Eddie throws his head back softly against his pillow and pretends to wail in pain. “Munson? That’s all I am to you? That’s how you treat your boyfriend?”
Steve can’t help but grin a little at the theatrics and finds himself thinking that of all the people to be stuck pretending he’s dating, at least with Eddie, it’ll be enjoyable. Well, at least interesting. It will certainly be an experience.
“You have no idea how I treat my boyfriends, baby.” Steve says, voice low, just to see if he can get Eddie’s heart monitor to jump again. It does, a steady beeping as the BPM climbs up a few numbers.
Steve can feel the blush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’s so close, and it’s so nice to see colour on his face — such a stark comparison to the paleness of- well, of older memories.
Steve grins. Despite every nerve that feels singed beneath his skin, overworked from all his anxiety — despite considering every potential backlash that faces both them outside this room, outside the hospital, Steve searches within himself.
He can’t find one single ounce of regret.
next part.
#gay ppl in my phone…. take this humble offering to tide u over between fics#everything has become long#i cannot help it#every idea is like 5k+ words#this is me trying to combat it#ruby writes steddie#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#pre steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#uhhhh that’s all folks#this is indeed the trope of steve telling the police they were fucking for their alibi lmao#10 points if u can guess which line is from the hunger games!#that’s what inspired this
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Part Two / Part Three
Ao3
It's 8:45 am.
The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.
It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?
No one was complaining.
They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves.
It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.
He doesn't mind it.
Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.
This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.
Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.
(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise.
The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)
As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.
It was a nice little system that worked for them.
A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.
This was not unusual.
Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face.
What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand.
The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.
Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him.
(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.)
"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it.
"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.
Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.
'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'
Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him.
"Mind if I have a word outside?"
Dammit Eddie.
"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely.
There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once.
"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. "
"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy.
Wayne stared up at him.
"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.
"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in."
If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.
It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.
They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass.
Hopper really did let the kid off easy.
Wayne really did owe him.
So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them.
"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context.
Wayne hummed to show he’d heard.
“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.”
A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn.
“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.”
A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut.
"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?"
The Chief chewed on his split lip.
"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town."
Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble.
The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction.
How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird.
Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have.
Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab.
The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters.
This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around.
The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion.
(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)
"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it."
"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed.
"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.”
This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going.
Hopper took a breath. Than another.
A third.
It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life.
"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.
Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions.
“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.”
Wayne sucked in a breath.
"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.
It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy.
Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t.
Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.
He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there.
(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.)
“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.”
His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest.
“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.
“A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.”
Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie.
“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.”
“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished.
“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.”
'Ain’t that the damn truth.'
“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind.
This one, he figured, was the most important.
“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.”
Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one.
It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.
Except, apparently, Steve Harrington.
“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.
If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.
No point in it.
“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn.
“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say.
Once again, Wayne waited him out.
“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.”
A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.
How they almost hadn’t.
“Alright.” Wayne agreed.
Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.
He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy.
He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross.
Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer?
Wayne had a feeling it was needed.
#this has like t wo more parts#pre steddie#wayne as a BAMF#wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve#ya'll are gonna have to put up with my weird ass jumping all over the place warm ups sorry lol#Gary's fourth piece is coming no worries#and then this will either take its place or the other one I have will#you CANNOT look me in the eye and tell me all the blue color workers arent aware shits going down#like 100% local crews took one look at starcourt and went what the fuck#nevermind you know the local power plant lol#and with demo critters running around its not like they were tearing through brushes and shit#your local hunters are gonna know somethings up#anyway#beat to shit Steve Harrington#my beloved#hes gonna show up busted to shit with a major grade concussion and Eddie is gonna shit himself#steve harrington#steddie#I spelled collar color and im not changing it#outsider pov#wayne pov#I will write the first person who knows where I pulled John from a prompt of their choice#catholic wayne munson#jim hopper
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Eddie post a Tiktok of himself sitting in his car. He’s not looking at the camera, but passed it. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, and he watches, and he nods to himself like, Okay. When he addresses the camera, he says, “You know, back in ‘86, after a series of events and an accumulation of concussions, my boyfriend- now husband - started having some health issues. Understandable. You can only get hit in the head so many times, but we handled it. We did what we can. We try to be safe. We go to the appointments, he’s takes his meds. We got an alarm for the house, got the service dog for the epilepsy. We don’t take unnecessary risks so-“
Eddie cuts off with a smile that is just clenched teeth and an almost laugh that’s incredulous all the way through like he cannot believe this. He flips the camera around to show Steve hanging up Christmas lights on the outside of the house, “So why. Why is my fall-risk husband on the fucking roof.”
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#Eddie: you’re going to fall and die#Steve: then I’ll die doing what I love. having a better house than fucking Diane down the street#steve the type of guy to have an imagined rivalry with a neighbor. Diane is actually a super nice woman#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#Eddie Munson Tiktok saga
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For @steveshairychest and based on their post here. I read it and just couldn't resist <3
The thing is, Eddie knows that Steve is straight. Honestly, that's the only reason Eddie is as bold as he is, why he starts flirting with him in the first place. He's got years of repressed feelings towards the younger boy, and now they're friends, good friends, and Eddie feels comfortable letting loose some of that pent up attraction, knowing that Steve won’t shun him for it.
He does start off small, just to be safe, with pet names and terms of endearment like handsome, honey, sweetheart. Just little things that make Steve's mouth quirk in a smile, nothing to make him feel uncomfortable. The longer Eddie goes, though, the bolder he gets.
The first pickup line is a joke. They’ve been talking about some new beach movie that's just been released onto video when Steve mentions his lifeguard certification, and before Eddie can stop himself he says “It's a good thing you're a lifeguard, because I'm drowning in your eyes.”
Steve laughs at that, not mean, just surprised, and is still grinning as he gives a half-hearted “Shut up, Eds,” and turns back to what he was working on.
And, oh, Steve has no idea what he's done, because Eddie is instantly obsessed with the need to make Steve laugh, to pull out that playful side of him that’s so rare to witness. So Eddie pulls out every dumb pickup line in the book, tries his best to make him laugh again.
“Hey, Stevie, your hand looks lonely. Can I hold it for you?”
“Did you just come out of an oven? Because you're too hot to handle.”
“Is your dad a boxer? Because baby, you're a knockout.”
Most of the time Steve just rolls his eyes and grins, but every so often he’ll make that surprised laugh, or god forbid, he’ll giggle, and Eddie mentally crows in victory every time it happens.
The kiss thing is spur of the moment one day, when Eddie has been hanging out just to be around Steve, and causing a little bit of a racket in the store. After a while, Steve playfully shoves at Eddie's shoulder and says "Get out of here before you get me in trouble, man," and Eddie just grins as he leans into Steve's space.
"What? No goodbye kiss before you send me off into the world?"
And oh god, Steve actually blushes this time, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, and oh fuck, Eddie is such a goner. Steve shakes his head and tries his best to hide a smile as he says "In your dreams, Eddie."
"In my dreams it’ll be, then, handsome," Eddie replies with a grin, giving a mock salute on his way out the door.
It becomes a usual thing, Eddie hanging out and flirting and asking Steve for a kiss before he leaves. Every time, Steve's response is the same, that delightful blush covers his cheeks as he grins and pushes Eddie away with a "Keep dreaming," or a "You wish,” or even a half-assed “Fuck off, Eds.”
It all comes back to bite him in the ass when, for once, Eddie arrives at the video store to pick up Robin, instead of just doing his usual lazing about and bothering Steve.
Walking in, he doesn't see Buckley immediately, but he does spot his favorite person behind the counter and he beelines to Steve. He leans on the counter, elbows on the clean surface and chin in his hands as he bats his eyelashes at Steve.
"Hi Stevie! How's the prettiest boy in Hawkins today?"
Steve looks over at him and Eddie feels like a deer in headlights when the man gives him a sly grin. He leans on the counter, arms crossed as he presses into Eddie’s space.
"I dunno, gorgeous, how are you doing?"
All of Eddie's higher brain function just stops as Steve speaks. It’s such a stupid response, something that anyone else might have said if asked the same question, but for some reason it makes Eddie go dumb, cheeks flooding with color and mouth dropping in shock.
Steve’s grin widens and he tips his head to the side, looking like the cat who got the fucking canary. He reaches up and grabs a curl that had fallen from the messy bun Eddie had thrown his hair into, and twists the lock around his finger as he leans even closer.
"You look so fucking good today. Drives me crazy when you wear your hair up like this, sweetheart. Puts your whole neck on display, all that pretty skin just begging to be bitten and marked up."
And yeah, Eddie's brain must be leaking out of his ears, because it’s him, it’s Eddie, the master wordsmith who always has something to say, and all he can manage to get out in response is a single, stupid sounding "Uh.”
Steve's expression shifts to something more condescending and god, Eddie is so into it when he tugs on the curl again and coos "Aw, got nothin’ to say, baby doll? Can't take what you dish out?"
An embarrassing whine finds its way into the air between them and fuck, Eddie has to go. He needs to leave before he makes an even bigger fool of himself than he already has, because Steve is looking at Eddie like he wants to eat him and his knees feel like jello and where the fuck is Robin??
As though summoned by just a thought, Robin breezes through the shop and throws out a casual “Steve, can you stop? I need him to drive me home and he can’t do that if his brain is mush.”
Eddie glances over as she walks past them, thinks Traitor! as she leaves him at Steve’s mercy and heads outside to his van. He looks back to Steve, at those hazel eyes alight with amusement and tries to get his brain to work.
“I need- uh- Robin-” he stammers, unable to even complete a thought as Steve smirks and leans in even closer, his nose almost brushing against Eddie's when he asks, "Can I get a goodbye kiss?"
And Eddie could never say no to Steve, especially when the other is looking at him like that. He nods dumbly, hoping he doesn't look as desperate as he feels, and there's another tug on that curl.
"I need you to use your big boy words, sweetheart," Steve says, still tinged with condescension, and Jesus fucking Christ, this whole dynamic is really doing it for Eddie, more so than he ever thought it would.
"Yes, Steve- Please-" he says, fully prepared to start begging if he has to, if he can find the words to, but he's given a bit of mercy when Steve closes the gap between them.
It feels like he’s being electrocuted, and that's all he needs for his brain to get with the program, for his hands to finally respond as they fly up and tangle in honey locks as he kisses back.
Steve groans and presses closer, his tongue bullying its way into Eddie's mouth and Eddie can feel his limbs turning into goo as Steve kisses him thoroughly, those old King skills being put to good use as he wrecks Eddie with just this.
A car horn sounds from outside the shop and Steve pulls away, smirking again at Eddie's soft whine of protest. “You better go before Robin pitches a fit.”
Eddie nods, still dumbstruck from the last few minutes and says "I- Yeah, okay. Uh, call me? Tonight?"
Steve hums and stands up straight, and Eddie can feel his brain power returning with the little bit of distance now between them.
“Why don’t you come over after my shift? Say, 9?” Steve asks, giving Eddie that hungry look once again, and Eddie’s breath hitches.
“Yep, yes, I can- I’ll definitely do that,” he answers, taking a few steps back and trying his best not to stumble. “I’ll, uh, see you then, Stevie.”
Steve calls out “See you later, baby doll!” as Eddie scrambles for the door, and oh god, Eddie is fucked.
#the prompt was delicious and I totally ripped a line from it#ily and hope you like it#steddie#steve x eddie#steddie fic#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#joey writes#i wanted eddie to be very silly goofy 'haha joking around with my best bud...unless👀'#and steve to be very straightforward cutthroat 'i know what i want and im gonna fucking get it'#because i feel like that fits them both well#ficlet
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Saw your reverse au thing and wanted to ask, instead of just kikimora on the door, its steve
i laughed my ass off due to the absurdity of drawing tube steve
#asks#the elk house#the elk house au#toh swap au#the owl house#the owl house au#philip wittebane#emperor belos#toh steve#what the fuck did i draw#belosfanstakeover
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s3 secret steddie where steve gets badly injured during starcourt, and his emergency contact is wayne munson. bc the dude loves him like a son and his actual dad never fucking picks up anyways. might as well have someone nearby, who cares, written down instead.
cue everyone discovering that steve has a secret boyfriend (fucking eddie munson, of all people!?) because he and wayne turn up at the hospital frantic after they were contacted and basically told "ur steve harringtons emergency contact. he is actively dying and there's a small crowd gathered in his hospital room that we can't fucking get rid of. what's ur eta??"
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#prompt#steddie prompt#imagine#steddie fic#steve and eddie#wayne munson#wayne: someone wanna tell why my boy's on death's door?#eddie panicking: STEVE OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS HE OKAY AH AH AHHHHHH#steve: unconscious#everyone else: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!!!!!
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steve gives eddie a key to his house so eddie lets himself in one day when steve is at work not realizing that steve’s parents are home and eddie has to come up with an excuse on the fly and he’s just like “uuhhh i’m robbing you”
#they call the police and hopper shows up like now what the fuck is going on in here on this day#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie
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in lieu with the recent what if episodes
#stucky#stevebucky#im sorry but that sign wont stop me#bucky barnes#steve rogers#what if#i fucking h8 marvel#picture not mine
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( @nitro502-the-sequel‘s tags on this post made me ugly laugh and then I had to write something, I hope that’s okay??)
Wait, no, this is hilarious, hold on
Steve drops Eddie off at home later that night, where Wayne is awake and puttering around in the kitchen making what might possibly be lunch (he tends to keep overnight hours even on his days off, so as not to completely fuck his sleep schedule, but hell if Eddie can keep track of what time of “day” it is for him).
Wayne gives Eddie a nod of acknowledgement and turns back to the pan he’s stirring on the stove. “How was your–”
“HE CROCHETED ME A SCARF.”
This was a little louder than Eddie had meant to be, but Wayne, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He turns back to look at where Eddie is standing in the middle of the living area, clutching the ends of the aforementioned scarf like it’s a towel at the end of the world.
“Who did?”
“Steve.”
“Huh,” is all Wayne says. “Is crocheting the thing with the…?” He holds his fists out in front of him, rotating them at the wrists like he’s rowing a very tiny boat.
“No, that’s knitting. Apparently, they’re different,” Eddie says, brows raised and hands held up in front of him, like he can fend off the ghost of Steve’s surprisingly enthusiastic lecture on the subject. “Crocheting is with a hook, like–” Eddie holds out one curled fist, trying to demonstrate, but it mostly just looks like he’s either stabbing something or failing to pick up some invisible spaghetti. He gives up and flutters his hands in front of himself, clearing the image. “He showed me – never mind, it’s – you’re missing the point!”
“And I’m sure you’re gonna tell me what that is,” Wayne says, turning back to the stove before the beans (Eddie’s pretty sure it’s beans he’s smelling) start to burn.
“Steve crocheted me a scarf,” Eddie enunciates, because putting the proper emphasis on certain words will definitely solve the problem.
Wayne just hums. “Well, that was nice of him. Lord knows I can never get you to wear anything warm.”
Eddie groans, clutching at this scalp and then running his hands through his hair. He’s at least seventy-five percent certain Wayne is being obtuse on purpose.
“But what am I supposed to do about it?” he laments.
“Wear it, I’d say,” Wayne replies. “Can I see it?”
Eddie hesitates for a second, because it’s his scarf and Steve made it for him, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to it when he hasn’t even had it for twenty-four hours, but then he decides he’s being ridiculous, because if he can trust anyone with his stuff, it’s Wayne. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck and passes it over.
Wayne’s brows go up as he looks over the close, even stitches, running his fingers over the little ridges Steve somehow made with yarn. He nods appraisingly. “It’s nice,” he says, handing it back.
“Right?” Eddie tosses it back around his neck with a sigh.
“Did you say thank you?”
“Yes,” Eddie says, before thinking back over the moment when Steve had told him that the scarf was for him. “…more or less.”
Wayne shakes his head, turning back to his food with some unfavorable mutter about Eddie’s manners.
“Okay, but I think you’re still not seeing the problem here,” Eddie insists.
“Looks like the problem is that you’re having a conniption over a scarf in the middle of the damn living room,” Wayne shoots back.
“No, that’s– well I mean– no,” Eddie sputters. “Okay, look, what would you do if a girl made a scarf for you?”
Wayne pauses, and Eddie loves his uncle with his whole shriveled heart, but it is always funny watching him try to shift gears when he realizes they’re talking about gay things now.
“Well,” Wayne says slowly, “pretty sure I’m a little too old to have any girl knitting me a scarf.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie groans. “Fine! A mature woman, then. Work with me here!”
Eddie gets a raised eyebrow at the mature woman comment, but Wayne lets it slide. He tilts his head consideringly as he spoons some beans out onto a plate by the stove, where he’s already got toast waiting. He tilts the pan at Eddie, wordlessly offering, and Eddie shakes his head.
“I suppose I’d have to get her something in return,” Wayne finally says. “Or make her something, if I was the creative type.”
Eddie gets another pointed look at those last two words, and he groans again, letting his head fall back in defeat, because he’d been afraid that would be the answer.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to make. It’s not like I can make him warm clothes or do anything useful,” Eddie says, so caught up in the sudden and dramatic realization that all of his hobbies are entirely useless that he doesn’t manage to duck in time when Wayne gives him a not-entirely-gentle smack on the back of the head as he passes by into the living room.
“Stop that. The things you make are just fine. It doesn’t have to be useful, it just has to be thoughtful,” Wayne says, settling into his chair. “So quit standing around whining and go come up with something you can make to woo your boy.”
“Oh my god.” Eddie covers his face, even though Wayne will definitely already know he’s gone red. “You’re actually the worst. I don’t know why I talk to you.”
“You’re welcome for the advice,” Wayne drawls.
“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him, but the quick “thanks” he throws out afterwards is entirely sincere.
He retreats to his room after that; apparently, he has some thinking to do.
[Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]
#eddie munson#wayne munson#eddie & wayne#steddie#stranger things#what does eddie make for steve??#fucked if I know there is absolutely a reason I stopped writing where I did#I've also never written wayne before but it was fun to try#solar wrote
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dad!steve having the feral urge to breed you immediately after you give birth to your first son )):
let it be known that steve harrington had never been quiet about his urge to have lots of kids and a big family. he’d known since he was a young teenager that was what he wanted — a family of his own, little harringtons running around the yard and causing a ruckus whilst he barbecued and his trophy wife laid on her sun lounger, getting a tan in her pretty bikini. that was all he ever wanted in life, all he could ever remember wanting.
and then he met you. he knew from the get go that you were the one. he wanted to see you with a big pregnant belly, parade you around town and show you off like you were the hottest piece of ass in town (you were, to him). let everybody know he was the one who knocked you up, was the cause of your shapely body, child-baring hips, fatter ass.
you got pregnant not even a month after getting married, because of course you did. steve was insatiable, fucked you at any given opportunity on your fertile days — went as far as showing up to your office and pounding you in the toilet cubicle on your lunch break. you might’ve known you’d both be ridiculously fertile, twenty-somethings fucking like rabbits tended to end up in this situation quickly.
the day he noticed the pudge of your belly looks different, rounded and a little harder than usual, he fucked you so hard you saw stars. whispered sweet nothings in your ear about how sexy you looked, how much your belly turned him on.
the bigger you got, the less he could keep his hands off of you. and you can’t say you complained, the pregnancy hormones drove you just as wild, had your pussy aching and sopping wet for him all the time. steve took advantage of it, of course he did, he would’ve been a fool not to. he’d never been so horny in his life, so desperate for a fuck.
you give birth to a boy. he’s the most precious little guy, has the thickest head of curly hair and his dads pretty brown eyes. you’re both besotted, in love, and you’d never seen steve take to a job as well as he took to being a dad. you knew then he that it was clearly what he was destined to do, and you’d do anything to keep him this happy.
you both love being parents. but the no sex is hard, especially with your whirlwind of hormones, and the fact steve hadn’t gone longer than a day without stuffing your pussy for the last year. you yearned for each other, but headed the warnings your midwife had given you — six weeks minimum, no goddamn exceptions.
he pounces on you the second you get through the door from your six week postpartum appointment, all he needs is your subtle nod of the head and he’s backing you up against the wall — hitches your leg over his hip and grinds into you through the thin material of your panties, sundress slipping up to expose you to him.
he kisses you like a man starved, six weeks of not fucking you felt like a lifetime, and all he wants is to shove his cock in you and fill you with his seed. get you all nice and pregnant with another harrington sprog — and he knows how fertile you are at this stage, knows just one slip up will have you knocked up again and it makes his cock ache.
you’re just as eager for it, of course you are. the sad, stressful healing stage was over three weeks ago and the hormones swirling through your body were showing themselves as sexual frustration. you paw at steve’s loose basketball shorts, tug him closer until you’re slipping the material down his toned thighs, dragging his boxers with them to pool at his feet.
he doesn’t waste time after that, pulling the damp material of your panties to the side and exposing your soaked cunt to the air. you gasp against his lips; feel the thick head of his cock slide in between your folds, running over your clit just barely before he moves back down, pushing the tip into your hole with minimum resistance.
you’re lifted onto your tiptoes with the sheer force of steve slipping his cock into your sweet, wet pussy. he buries his face into your neck and let’s out the prettiest gasp once he’s fully sheathed, stilling for just a moment to make sure you’re okay and nothing hurts.
it’s endearing in an otherwise feral, highly charged situation. you whine a little, hand reaching to card through his messy hair, in hopes it’ll get him to just move. you feel so full, his cock stretching you in this achingly delicious way, and your walls spasm around his length, causing him to grip your thigh just a bit harder.
“fuck, baby. never felt you this wet before, shit,” steve talks like he’s struggling to catch his breath, rocks into you and let’s put a stifled groan, like he’s trying to stop himself from coming on the spot. you feel his cock pulse inside of you, more or less confirming your thoughts.
“need you to move, steve,” you gasp, begging quietly for him to just fuck you. he cranes his neck from his place in your own, looking at you with lust blown eyes, puffy red lips spit-slick, “c’mon, babe. show me what i’ve been missing.”
steve grunts at your words, lifts you up from the ground completely with his strong arms, tapping your thigh twice to get you to wrap your legs around him. you do so willingly, whining as the angle makes him slip just that little bit deeper into your pussy, knocking your cervix. you don’t think you’d ever get used to the sheer size of him, how you were able to feel every ridge and vein. he was right, though, — you were wetter than usual.
he plants his hands firmly under the curve of your ass, helping lift you off of his cock, then guiding you to sink back down. you can’t help yourself, back arching off the wall as you mewl, a shuddery moan puffing from your lips.
“you’re so tight, baby, goddamn,” steve grunts, eyes rolling a little as your cunt engulfs him in wet hot heat, the two of you picking up a rhythm with you bouncing and him fucking up into you, “fuck, you feel so good. missed this, missed your little pussy.”
you choke out a sob at his words, hand tightening in his hair as you lean forward to kiss him — it’s half hearted, you’re just panting into his mouth, mostly. his cock is so deep you feel him in your guts, know he’s going to shoot his load so deep there’s no way you’re getting out of here without getting knocked up.
steve pants against your mouth, not taking his eyes off or you as he pounds into you, keeping you lifted up like it’s fucking nothing, “gonna knock you up again, would you like that, baby? want your belly all full for me again, need it.”
you nod your head fervently, crying out as you sink down and the angle changes slightly, has the curve of steve’s cock brushing your spongey spot perfectly, “please, please. fill me up with your babies. want everyone to — shit, right there! — know your f-fat cock did it.”
steve glances down, catches the sight your tits by accident. all hard and leaking, making a mess of your pretty little dress. he can’t have that, have you sore and aching, that wouldn’t make him a very good husband now, would it?
he drags you over to the sofa without pulling out, sits down gently until you’re back to being fully seated on his cock, and almost in a complete juxtaposition, rips down your dress to expose your tits to the warm air. you hiss, nipples pulled tight and leaking liquid gold. you hadn’t even noticed, too wrapped up in the feeling of being split apart.
“babe, you have no idea how much i’ve wanted to do this,” steve sighs, leaning down to latch onto one of your nipples, causing you to let out a startled little yelp that quickly turns into a moan. it’s fucked up — you’re both fucked up, getting off on him suckling at your tit like he’s starving, lapping at your milk like he’d die without it.
you bury your hands back into his hair, tugging him impossibly closer as you slide your hips back and forth, gaining purchase on your clit, enough to have your tummy tightening and core aching, “oh my god,” you cry, tears pricking your eyes at the relief you feel all at once — from your sore tits, your desperate cunt, every little bit of you relaxing at once.
steve looks up at you with innocent eyes, dragging his mouth from your left tit with a small thumb over your nipple, putting his attention on the other one and suckling on it instead. you’re dripping wet with milk, leaking down your belly and soaking your dress through. you can’t find it in you to care when steve’s looking after you like this, gently bucking up into you from below.
“c’mon, steve, finish the job,” you sigh eventually, pawing at the back of his head and tugging the tresses between your splayed out fingers, “cum in me, wanna feel you dripping out of me later, hmm?”
steve takes that as his cue, unlatches from your sore nipple, grabs hold of your hips extra tight and begins fucking you like he means it — hard, fast, enough to have you doing no work as he throws you around like a damn rag doll. your nails claw at his shoulders, the sound of wet skin slapping and your sopping wet cunt engulfing your senses, having you crying out.
“that’s it, baby,” steve grunts, sliding a hand over the front of your pussy and planting his thumb on your clit, circling it quickly, the sensation enough to make you almost scream, “gonna cum all over my big cock, yeah? milk me with your tight, wet pussy?”
you nod your head, crying out as the warmth begins to pool in your belly, the ruddy tip of steve’s cock brushing your g-spot rhythmically, mixing with the feeling of his calloused thumb running over your clit sending you hurtling to the edge quickly, “i’m cumming steve, fuck, fuck—!”
your pussy clenches sporadically as you come, grinding down against steve’s pubic bone as you ride it out, fingernails digging into his shoulders so hard he hisses, slaps your ass in retaliation. you swear you’ve never came so hard in your fucking life, whole body tensing and going lax just as fast.
“that’s it, honey. cum all over me, shit, you’re so fucking wet,” steve’s losing composure, fucking up into you sporadically, going crazy over the sounds and feeling of your wet cunt dripping all down his shaft, wetting him right down to his balls, making a mess of your expensive sofa, “gonna fill you full of my jizz, get you all pregnant, can’t wait to see you with a belly again — fuck, m’gonna cum,”
you’re moaning uncontrollably, body basically limp under steve’s touch as he fucks you with purpose, chasing his own release. you squeeze around him again, milking his cock and that does it — his hips stuttering, grabbing hold of you to force you down onto his shaft deep as he comes, head thumping back onto the sofa cushions, eyes rolling in his head.
you can’t say you’re surprised when your period doesn’t arrive on time. you’re even less surprised to see the plus sign on the blue test five minutes later.
#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fic#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#my fanfic#mine#smut#blurb#x reader#what is this fandom doing to me i’ve never had a fucking breeding kink#send help
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Eddie posting a Tiktok talking about how when you join an already established group of friends that occasionally, someone will drop the most insane piece of lore that you’ve ever heard decades later like it’s common knowledge, “Like for example, Steve and I have been together since ‘86 and Buckley just told me how he hit someone with a car.”
Steve, over the sound of Robin laughing, “Yeah, he deserved it!”
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#Robin: it wasn’t the beemer. it was the toddfather#Eddie: the what?#Steve: it was a stolen car. don’t worry about it#Eddie: *actively more worried* what the fuck guys#eddie munson#steve harrington#robin buckley#steddie#Eddie Munson Tiktok saga
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This is eating me up inside, I genuinely want to know why is Steve so okay with putting himself down and everyone just thinks it’s fine? Like no one questions why he thinks so lowly of himself even though he’s done a lot to prove that he’s more than what the show let on. I think it’s weird how in a conversation he’ll slip in comments about himself that are negative. I also think it’s so gross that he can’t have a moment of confusion without being disrespected and I know it’s supposed to be funny but at a certain point someone should really ask “is Steve okay?” I can bet money that the answer won’t be yes.
I also want to add how come Eddie (someone who doesn’t even know Steve from a can of paint other than school) find something nice to say about him and not put him down. This also adds to my list why I think steddie is real but that’s for another time
#steve Harrington#leave him the fuck alone#I’m sick of it#yes i’m ranting#this is a rant#he deserves everything#he deserves the world#he just like me fr#oop#this hits home#i’m so upset#i’m sorry for this#i’m a mess#i’m sleepy#I’m tired#idk what this is#man idk#i’m just venting#stranger things#manifesting#power#please#come on#idk what else to tag#help lol#welp#that’s all#that’s it#steddie#Eddie munson
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Just had a brief hysterical 4am thought of the kids arguing about Steve and his “coolness” and Mike saying something about how he bets the whole ladykiller thing is fake and that Steve’s not as good at kissing or dating or whatever the fuck as people think he is and Eddie just going “Nah, he is.” And then the entire party loosing their minds because why would Eddie know that?
#i was specifically thinking along the lines of like#i bet he’s not even a good kisser#and Eddie being like#no he is. he definitely is.#and totally not realizing what he just admitted to#until the entire party is on him#about what the fuck that means#steddie#steddie prompt#steddie idea#steddie fic ideas#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#steve harrington#juicepost
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(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k
content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags
“My dad called.”
Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now?
It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son.
Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust.
Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong.
“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself.
“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.”
Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight.
“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging.
“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!”
His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.
“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off.
He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can.
But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.
“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”
Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.”
“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks.
“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?”
Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.”
He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace.
It’s only then that Steve speaks.
“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”
Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them.
“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree.
“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge.
Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen.
“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”
“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”
Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain.
“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow.
“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”
Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him.
“Definitely.”
The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.
There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter.
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steve harrington x eddie munson#eddie munson x steve harrington#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#myblurbs#(whispers): yeah so my mom fell off the wagon after 18 years at her fucking work party and this is basically just what my day was#our relationship has always been strained but since she got sober there was at least some contact?#anyways#replace wayne with my grandparents and this is just all projection baybee 😙✌️#super not cool with it BUT that's why there are some content warnings here you don't see from me very often 💕
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