#but with eddie holding a chicken under his arm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hawkinsbnbg · 7 months

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After quitting his accounting job at his father's company, Steve left the city and moved to the countryside where he used most of his savings to open a small ranch.

Steve enjoyed his farmer life until one day, some of his chickens suddenly went missing.

At first, he thought it was the foxes, but even after he locked the doors, and set up the traps, his chickens still went away the morning after.

Steve even rang up Hopper, a local hunter, for advice.

But for all the efforts, he still couldn't keep his chickens safe from the foxes.

Eventually, when nothing worked, Steve decided to step up his game and catch the foxes before they could steal his chickens again.

And then that night, Steve witnessed a rug-rag of a man carefully step around the traps, creep into the henhouse, and then creep out with a chicken tucked under his arm.

Steve was like????

Because a closer look revealed that that was Eddie Munson, the local carpenter who had given Steve several discounts on the furniture he had bought when he first moved here.

Every week, Steve would exchange some eggs and meats for some wood from Eddie.

In return, Eddie would help him with the fences and barns whenever they needed to be fixed.

Although Steve hadn’t known Eddie that long, he would still like to think they were friends.

Thus, seeing Eddie here felt wrong. Weird, but a betrayal nonetheless.

Steve just stood there, stunned, before he came to his senses and called out to Eddie.

"Hey! That's my chicken, man!"

Eddie turned around, slowly, and then their eyes met.

Steve didn't think he could breathe.

Those eyes seemed unnatural, they were black, red-rimmed, and too bloodthirsty to be considered human. He knew Eddie had always looked pale, but under the moonlight, the other man looked like a ghost.

"Steve?" Eddie gasped, looking as terrified as his stoic facial muscles allowed him to.

"Eddie…” Steve hesitated for a few seconds before pointing at the chicken under Eddie’s arm. “Why are you holding my chicken?”

At his question, Eddie remained silent and stood strangely still, almost like a statue.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Steve. It couldn’t be, but since all the evidence was here, Steve couldn't lie to himself any longer. "Are you..?"

"What?" Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Are you the chicken stealer?" Steve squinted and watched Eddie adjust his grasp on the unconscious hen.

Oh my god, she had been passing out this whole time, Steve belatedly realized with growing concern.

"I'm sorry," said Eddie before quickly running away, leaving Steve behind to gape at his retreating form.

The next morning, Steve went to Eddie's place with two chickens.

Eddie had eyed the cage with a guilty look before sitting Steve down and explaining about his reason for stealing Steve's chicken.

Eddie had been stealing chickens to give them to his sick uncle who had been bedridden for weeks now.

The reason sounded off, but Steve still bought it because he didn't want to think about the alternative of why would Eddie need so many chickens in the first place.

But Steve's attempt to remain oblivious had sadly failed when Eddie moved in to live with him at the ranch.

(Why? Because they had become boyfriends after one year of flirting and sharing tender moments.)

He had caught Eddie drinking blood from a chicken one early morning when he went to check the henhouse.

"Wait, babe, I can explain!" Eddie, lips blood red and eyes midnight black, had held onto Steve's hands pleadingly and desperately.

And though Steve had half a mind to suggest Eddie give the ducks, gooses, pigs, and cows a try, he decided to comfort his boyfriend first.

He told Eddie that he had been trying to avoid this exact scenario because he thought Eddie would drop him and hightail away the moment Steve discovered the truth.

This time, Eddie sat him down again and told him about the real reason why he had stolen those chickens.

This time, Steve finally learned about vampires and the truth about his boyfriend.

This time, Eddie cried bloody tears when Steve reassured him that he wouldn’t go anywhere no matter who Eddie was or chose to become.

Still, there was this question that he had been itching to ask Eddie.

"But why the chickens?"

"They're tasty. Can't help it, man."

"Touché."

#steddie #farmer steve harrington #vampire eddie munson #you know that one scene from twilight #but with eddie holding a chicken under his arm #steve: i know what you are.#eddie with a chicken tucked safely under his arm: say it. out loud. say it.#also no chickens were actually harmed in the making of this story

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lady-lostmind · 2 months

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I had the absolute pleasure of getting to write a fic based on this amazing art by @ahhrenata for @strangerthingsreversebigbang! Link to art post Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this! Read the fic on ao3 or under the cut!

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open.

“Stevie?”

He hears Steve pad down the hall and then he’s opening the door to their room, a soft smile on his face as he peers down at Eddie on the bed. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Eddie sniffles loudly. “I don’t feel good.”

Steve sighs and leans against the door frame. “I told you not to go out in the cold with Dustin the other night. You didn’t even have a coat.”

Eddie groans again and flops over, reaching his hand out to Steve. “Come cuddle with me.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “You’re whiny when you’re sick.”

But he pushes off the doorframe and crawls onto the bed, dropping down next to Eddie and letting him wrap his limbs around his body and press his face against Steve’s chest.

Eddie snuggles in and hums, ready to fall back asleep for forever, or until he can actually breathe again. Whichever comes first.

Steve’s hand lands on his forehead, pushing his bangs out of the way. “Baby, you’re hot.”

Eddie lets out a little chuckle, his voice low and raspy from the pain in his throat. “I’m flattered, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’m really up for anything sexy right now, Stevie.”

Steve swats his arm. “I wasn’t coming onto you, asshole. You have a fever.”

Steve pulls away, like he’s going to get back up and Eddie holds on tighter to him, another whine slipping out of his lips.

Steve rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get you some stuff.”

Eddie’s hand flops onto the bed as Steve gets up and disappears from the room. Eddie rolls back over, pulling the blankets up and burrowing under them to fall back asleep.

–

Eddie wakes up to Steve nudging him gently, holding out a little cup of red liquid. Eddie’s face scrunches up in disgust and he shakes his head with a groan, trying to hide under the covers again. “I hate that shit.”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the blanket back. “Eds, you gotta take this. It’ll bring your fever down. Come on.”

Eddie groans again, but pulls himself up to sit and takes the little shot of medicine with a grimace.

Steve chuckles beside him. “I’ve seen you drink jager straight from the bottle and you’re making that face over cherry cough medicine?”

Eddie shoots him a cocky grin. “Jager is good though. That shit tastes like pennies.”

Steve shakes his head, pulling the covers back up around Eddie’s chin. “There’s tissues and water next to you on the table. You want me to drag the TV in here?”

Eddie shakes his head, already settling back into the pillows and drifting off. He reaches out a hand to tug at Steve’s wrist.

Steve sighs, climbing under the blankets with him and pulling him close. “You’re gonna get me sick.”

Eddie grins and plants a wet kiss to the back of Steve’s hand before he falls asleep again.

–

The next time Eddie resurfaces it’s to Steve’s fingers trailing softly through his hair. He sniffs, whining when it makes the pressure in his head spike.

“Made you some soup, baby. You hungry?”

Eddie nods and forces himself to sit up, smiling at Steve when he hands him a bowl of chicken noodle. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Steve leans over and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “You sure you don’t want the TV in here? We could watch some movies.”

Eddie shrugs. “I’ll probably just fall asleep five minutes in. But you can bring it in if you’re bored.”

Steve shakes his head and grabs a book off his side table, wiggling it in the air. “I’m good.”

Eddie’s eyes lock on the book and his jaw drops open. “Are you finally reading The Lord of the Rings?”

Steve flashes him a big grin and nods. “They’re confusing though. How do you keep track of all these crazy names?”

Eddie chuckles. “You get used to it after a while.” He sets his empty bowl aside and lays back down, peering up at Steve with big, pleading eyes. “Will you read to me?”

Steve’s face scrunches up. “I’m not very good.”

Eddie scoots in closer, plopping his head onto Steve’s lap. “I just want to hear your voice.”

Steve’s hand finds its way back into Eddie’s curls again. “Do you want me to start over?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ve read them like ten times. You can start where you left off.”

Steve nods and opens the book, clearing his throat. “‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.”

Eddie lets the familiar words wash over him. Steve’s voice making him feel safe and warm, the fingers in his hair soothing him to sleep.

–

Eddie wakes up again, his throat burning and raw. He’s alone in the bed again and it’s dark. The blankets tucked in tight around him, making him over heated, his hair plastered to his forehead. He sits up, reaching for a tissue as a harsh cough racks his body. He groans, wincing as he wipes his mouth.

Eddie hates being sick. And yeah. He knows nobody likes being sick. Obviously. But he can’t stand it. It makes him feel trapped in his own body. Trapped in his bed. He doesn’t like to sit still for so long. To feel like he can’t do anything.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light peeking through before it disappears again, Steve’s body blocking it out as he leans in, a sad little smile on his face. “You okay, baby? Heard you coughing.”

Eddie lets out a pathetic whine, falling against the pillows again, somehow still exhausted even though he slept through most of the day already. “No.”

Steve pushes the door open the rest of the way, comes up to him and puts his hand on his forehead before making a little tsk noise, and brushing his hair out of his face. “I’m going to get you another dose of medicine.”

Eddie groans, grabbing Steve’s wrist and shaking his head.

Steve chuckles, bending down to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “What if I bring you a popsicle to chase it with? Make your throat feel a little better.”

Eddie’s eyes flick up to Steve’s, his eyebrows shooting up. “Not sure your popsicle is going to help my throat much but–”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile, tugging his arm back and shaking his head. “Would you stop? You’re awful.” He heads back to the door, turning back with his hands on his hips. “Orange or cherry?”

Eddie whines. “No grape?”

Steve chuckles. “You and Dustin ate all the grape, baby.”

Eddie huffs out a breath. “Orange then.”

Eddie grins as Steve leaves the room. He really hates being sick. But he doesn’t mind this whole Steve-taking-care-of-him thing. That part’s pretty nice. He can’t really remember the last time someone did this for him. Thinks it must have been his mom, when he was still little. Remembers curling up with her on the couch, her humming softly as he fell asleep.

He doesn’t have a lot of good memories with her. Mostly screaming matches with his dad, and her disappearing for weeks at a time. But there were a few times when things were good. When he felt loved. When he really felt like he understood what it was like to be wanted. And then he’d gone to live with Wayne. And he did his best. And Eddie knows he loves him. Knows he would do anything for him. But he’s a grumpy old man who never thought he’d be raising a kid. His version of taking care of Eddie when he was sick was buying some soup and leaving it on the counter for Eddie to make while he was at work. And that was fine. Eddie is grateful for everything Wayne has done for him. It just wasn’t exactly a lovey household. Not that it wasn’t full of love. They just…didn’t really show it. But he feels the love in everything Steve does. Sees it in the way Steve’s eyes light up when they look at him. In the way his hands always linger. No matter where they touch. Like he never wants to be more than a breath away from him. Like he wants nothing more than to bring him a stupid orange popsicle when his throat hurts to make him feel better.

Eddie smirks as Steve comes back into the room, cough medicine in one hand, popsicle in the other.

–

Eddie feels a little better when he wakes up the next morning. Late morning. The room bright with the sun peeking in through the blinds. He’s still sick. Still can’t really breathe normally. His throat is still protesting every time he tries to swallow. But he feels a little less dead. And he didn’t wake up drenched in sweat this time so, hopefully that means his fever is gone. Thanks to Steve’s stupid medicine. Not that he’d ever admit that to him.

Steve comes in with a plate piled high with toast, and a mug of tea that Eddie is sure has way too much honey in it, for his throat.

Eddie takes the offered breakfast with a sleepy smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Steve presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “You’re welcome, baby. You feeling better?”

Eddie shrugs, stuffing half a piece of toast in his mouth. Steve climbs onto the bed with him, grabbing Eddie’s book from the table on his side of the bed, settling back against the pillows.

Eddie perks up, shifting so he can watch the way Steve’s mouth wraps around the words Eddie knows by heart. They’re some of his favorite configurations of words in the world, and Steve somehow makes him love them even more. He loves the slight hesitancy he has as he stumbles over the names, the pauses he adds in strange spots when he’s clearly trying to piece parts of the story together. He can tell he’s really trying to get it. Trying to understand why Eddie loves this so much. Trying to understand Eddie more. Which he’s pretty sure no one else has done before.

Everyone else just takes him at face value. The loud, over the top, obnoxious behavior, his weird obsessions and interests. People either look at him and want nothing to do with him, or they look at him in awe, like he’s something shiny, something to distract them from whatever bullshit is going on in their own lives. But he’s never had someone look at him like he’s something to be treasured. To dive into and see all the sides of. Until Steve.

Steve, who he knows hates half of the stuff Eddie is into but still asks questions. Who knows Eddie’s favorite songs and books and movies. Who knows he prefers grape popsicles. Who looks at him in that awestruck way even when he’s quiet. When he’s just existing in their space, not putting on a front or a show. Steve still sees him, even then.

Eddie leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s, cutting him off mid sentence.

Steve huffs out a laugh against Eddie’s lips before pushing him back. “Is my reading that bad?”

Eddie shakes his head and takes another bite of toast, getting crumbs all over the bed as he scooches closer to Steve who lifts his arm to tuck Eddie into his side.

–

By day four Eddie is still feeling pretty bad, and worn out, but also bored. He still doesn’t have the energy to leave their bed much but he also can’t stand just laying around anymore.

He shuffles his way out to the living room, ignoring Steve’s squawk of protest as he spots him from where he’s doing dishes in the kitchen. Eddie makes it halfway to the coffee table before Steve is there, a hand towel slung over his shoulder as he tries to push Eddie back down the hall.

“What are you doing? Go back to bed.”

Eddie groans and gestures to his stack of notebooks on the table. “I’m bored, Steve. I want to work on my campaign.”

Steve nudges him back again, a crease forming between his brows. “I’ll bring them to you. Go lay down.”

Eddie lets out an annoyed whine but turns and heads back down the hall, collapsing on the bed where he immediately lets out a sigh of relief, the pressure that was building in his head from being vertical backs off as soon as he hits the pillows. Because Steve was right, of course. He should have just asked him to grab his stuff for him.

Steve comes in a few minutes later with all of Eddie’s notebooks and campaign books piled high in his arms. He dumps them on the bed and disappears again, coming back with a stack of Eddie’s tapes and his walkman, adding them to the mess on the bed and perching on the edge.

Eddie grins at him. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Steve shrugs, a little blush flashing on his cheeks. He reaches out and squeezes Eddie’s knee. “Just know you like to listen to music while you work. I’ll bring you some dinner in a little bit, okay?”

Eddie watches as he gets up to go, smirk firmly in place as he pulls his notebooks closer to him and flips the top one open, trying to jump back into the story he was forming.

–

Eddie stares down at his notebook, sniffing loudly and tossing a crumpled up tissue onto the floor next to the bed. He taps his pen on the page, trying to will the scene to write itself. A cough works its way up the back of his throat and sticks there, making him hack over and over until he’s pulling in a wheezing breath and falling back against the pillows.

“Fuck me.” He groans out, shoving his notebook away with a huff. He hates being sick. Can’t even manage to focus on his campaign for more than fifteen minutes before he’s coughing and exhausted and–

Steve pushes the door open with his hip, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands and a bright smile that reaches his eyes on his face.

Eddie sighs, pulling himself up to sit against the headboard and lets Steve fuss over pillow placements as he hands over the soup. He stares up at Steve, his chest full of adoration for this wonderful man who works himself into a tizzy because Eddie didn’t make sure he was properly supported by his pillows. Because how is his gorgeous man even real? How did Eddie get so lucky?

Eddie sets his soup on the side table as Steve leans over him, trying to manhandle Eddie into a position he deems acceptable and Eddie grabs his face, pulling him into a soft kiss, smiling against Steve’s mouth when he feels him melt a little into the touch.

Steve pulls back with a chuckle, pushing against Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s like you’re trying to get me sick, Eds.” Eddie lets out a laugh and sniffs, trying not to be an oozing, gross mess with Steve so up close and personal. “Sorry. I just can’t help myself when you’re being so sweet.”

Steve’s face blooms red and he ducks his head with a little shake before standing and grabbing Eddie’s soup off the table again, pushing it back into Eddie’s hands. “Eat your soup, baby.”

Eddie gives him a little two finger salute and nods, dimple popping on his check. “Yes, sir.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie takes a big spoonful, making an obnoxiously loud slurp just to see the way Steve’s face scrunches in disgust.

–

Eddie wakes up in the middle of the night, coughing and wheezing, trying to catch his breath and be quiet so he doesn’t wake up–

Steve’s hand lands on his back, rubbing gently.

Eddie groans, looking guiltily over at Steve. “Sorry I woke–” His voice catches on another cough, sending him into another fit.

Steve sits up, hand still on Eddie’s back, the other coming up to sweep the hair away from his face. “It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

Eddie nods, sucking in a deep breath and trying to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat threatening another cough. Steve gets up and heads out of the room, coming back with a glass of water that he hands to Eddie before sliding back into bed, his hand finding its way back to its spot on Eddie’s back. Eddie takes a couple of small sips before setting the glass aside and laying back down, Steve scooches in close, pressing their foreheads together, one hand still on Eddie’s back, the other working its way to tangle in his hair.

Eddie hums reaching up to cup Steve’s face, feeling content as his eyes slip closed.

–

The next morning Eddie wakes up feeling much better. He’s still a little stuffy, but his throat doesn’t hurt anymore and his head feels a little clearer. Like the sick haze is starting to dissipate. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan and slips up to jump in the shower.

The hot water does wonders for him and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, rubbing his drenched hair with a towel, he feels almost human again.

He glances over at Steve, still fast asleep in the bed. Eddie’s brow scrunches together and he looks at the clock. 11:15am.

Huh. Steve never sleeps in this late. He gets up obnoxiously early to work out before he gets moving for the day. Eddie climbs back into the bed and presses soft kisses along Steve’s jaw, smiling when his sleepy eyes peek open at him.

“You slept in.” Eddie traces his fingers along Steve’s arm.

Steve lets out a little whimper, pressing his face into the pillows.

Eddie pushes some hair out of Steve’s face, his fingers grazing his forehead which is blazing.

Eddie curses under his breath, planting his hand more firmly on Steve’s skin. “Oh no, sweetheart.”

Steve peers up at him with big, sad puppy eyes, his voice strained and nasally. “I’m sick, Eds.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fanfic #stranger things reverse big bang #strbb #steddie fluff #ahhrenata #lady lostmind

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munsonfamilyband · 1 year

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I’ve been on a Soulmates kick today and just saw a fic where Steve has two marks - one for Robin and one for Eddie. And it’s got me thinking.

Of course, he doesn’t know who his marks are for. He only knows that they’re two people because they look so different. Soulmarks show up where you and your soulmate will have the first skin-skin contact, and they have the words they will say when that happens written in their handwriting.

Steve has one covering his palm, the handwriting is small and sharp, all angles and no rounded edges. That one says “Steve, we need to run”. It seems scared, the wording, but he refuses to think about it. The other mark he has is covering his left hip, curling like someone was holding him from the side. This handwriting is completely different from the other one and is best described as chicken scratch. It’s big and messy, letters flowing into each other like the writer didn’t even pick up their pen between each stroke. That one says “I got you, just lean on me”. It seems less scared but there’s concern laced in the words that helps Steve feel less alone when he’s laying in bed late at night. That’s the only time he ever lets himself think about his soulmates, during the day he avoids it like the plague. His parents are soulmates and they barely speak, so soulmates can’t be all they’re cracked up to be. After Nancy never makes one of his marks tingle and burn he tries to give up on the idea entirely, figuring he can go on without a soulmate and be with Nancy - but then she breaks his heart and those late nights are all he has.

His first soulmark changes when he’s stuck underneath Starcourt mall the summer after he graduated. He had been working with a girl, Robin, who barely tolerated him on a good day and now she’s been sucked into his shitty world. When the alarms go off in the bunker he barely has a second to react before Robin is grabbing his hand and yelling at him, “Steve, we need to run!” His feet start moving and he yells back for her to be careful with his arm, even as he feels the tingling burn cover his palm and in that supply closet, leaning against the door next to Robin they make eye contact. In that short second of connection he knows that she felt it to, that he’s just found his soulmate and despite his fear he’s so happy that it’s her. Later, after they had both puked up their guts and he had confessed to having a crush on her, Robin told him about Mrs. Click’s class and Tammy Thompson and how she’s sorry that he’s stuck with a soulmate who can never love him back. Steve blinks and suddenly his two soulmarks make so much more sense.

“Robin, I have another soulmark. I don’t… I don’t think you were ever a romantic soulmate for me.” He watches the relief and, maybe even, joy cover her face and she launches herself at him in a hug, squeezing him tight and he returns the favor completely ignoring his own pain.

The other soulmate comes over 8 months after meeting Robin. He was so grateful for having her in his life but he still wanted that other piece, he loved Robin and she loved him but he wanted romantic love too. Unfortunately for Steve, just like with Robin, his other soulmark was triggered when he was fearing for his life. He had just been dragged through Watergate and made into a chew toy for a bunch of demobats. Steve was just trying to catch his breath when they all heard the bigger hoard approaching and he knew he had to run. He made it surprisingly far before the pain of each step started to settle in, his feet dragging more and more and his pace slowing when someone moved in beside him, wrapping one arm around his back to settle his hand on his hip. Eddie grabbed the arm closest to him and dragged it over his shoulders, giving Steve a grin. “I got you, you can lean on me.” This only made Steve completely trip; the sudden onset of tingling burning at his side so close to his currently bleeding wounds had his left leg collapsing under his weight.

“Why does this always happen when I’m in danger?” Eddie froze and then a laugh burst forward.

“That makes so much sense with context. C’mon let’s get you somewhere to sit and we can talk more when you’re not bleeding over me.”

When he and Eddie got to Skull Rock, he and Robin made eye contact and he watched her eyes flit down to where Eddie’s hand was on his side. Her eyes grew about three sizes and he just shot her the best grin he could. He didn’t care that he had been bleeding all over his soulmate for the past few minutes - he had gotten blood on Robin when they found out that they were soulmates, so it seemed fitting for him to be doing the same to Eddie.

Years down the road he would look back and laugh at the drama surrounding him finding both of his soulmates. Eddie even joked that the universe gave him two to make up for his shitty parents, and Steve wasn’t going to argue.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #platonic stobin #is this coherent? idk #it’s like 2 am and i really only had power naps last night (aka two sessions of about 1.5hrs)#i’m just feeling Emotional about steve having both of his soulmates #i started reading the fic i mentioned at the top and left to write this because the idea of steve and robin finding out that #theyre soulmates in that russian bunker? punched me in the face

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luveline · 5 months

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Can I request an Eddie and Roan, where she goes to Wayne's house and Eddie and Reader are there talking with Wayne but also planning what to get Roan for Christmas?

eddie and roan ♡ fem!reader

“Got it?”

Roan nods and hops up the last step to Uncle Wayne's while you and Eddie follow behind her. You're carrying a big Christmas cake held tight to your chest while Roan's father insists on carrying the drinks, an eighteen pack of glass cokes, enough to keep Wayne going for the next two weeks at least, less with help.

“Uncle Wayne!” Roan calls as she opens the door. It swings wide and hits the wall. She doesn't care. She's about to see Wayne for the first time in almost two weeks, and she missed him like crazy. Eddie almost got sick of hearing her ask when he'd be feeling better. “Uncle Wayne!”

The second shout is much more desperate.

Wayne appears in the curve behind the kitchen doorway to smile at her. “Hello, my chicken.”

Eddie snorts and slams the cokes down on the sideboard with a jumble of clinks. Wayne is a great dad, but he never called Eddie anything so saccharine. Bud and babe was about as good as it got. Roan gets all the sweet stuff, chicken and gorgeous and baby girl. It doesn't quite make Eddie jealous —nothing feels as secure in parenthood as knowing someone else loves your kid just as much as you do. Wayne would die for Roan without question. He can call her chicken if he likes.

Roan barrels across the carpet in her Mary Jane's and slams into his legs. He pulls her up into his chest, giving her hair a smattering of quick kisses, her dress bunched by his hugging arm. “It's so nice to see you, honey, I missed you!”

She grins and makes a pleased, almost feral sort of sound as she kisses his cheek. “I missed you too! We missed our sleepover!”

“Yes, we did. So I get you for two days, yes?”

“Yes!” she shouts, looking over her shoulder at you and Eddie to confirm.

Eddie holds up his now empty hands, though they don't stay that way for long as he takes the cake from you. “No arguments here.”

Roan laughs and squeezes herself under Wayne's chin. He wraps her up and keeps her, assessing you and Eddie with suspicious eyes. “How are you both doing?”

Eddie brushes past Wayne to put the cake on the table. Wayne isn't really asking Eddie; they know too much about one another having spent the last decade together, first by sharing a wall and now working side by side at the shop. Eddie's sure Wayne's sick to death of his complaining by now, but you're deserving of some sympathy for sure.

“She's getting better. Aren't you, sweet thing?” Eddie asks you.

“I'm fine,” you say, shooting Wayne a smile. “It was probably the same thing you had.”

“Yeah? He take care of you?”

“Always does. He's never let me down.” You cross your arms over your front. “But how are you doing?”

“I know you missed her,” Eddie interjects, “but if you're not feeling up to it, she doesn't have to stay all weekend.”

Wayne raises his eyebrows to protest. Roan beats him to it, yanking herself away from his cuddling to glare at the suggestion. “Dad, you said!”

“Said I'd see if he was up to it, yeah,” Eddie placates.

“I'm up to it.” Wayne gives Roan a soft smile. “We'll be good, right? Watch TV, eat hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, ‘n’ dinner. Dad's just being silly.”

Roan leans back into the hug, relieved, and Wayne pulls her head to his chest, covering her ear subtly. “Thought you needed to get some things? You know, from Santa?” he whispers, ‘Santa’ mouthed without sound.

“Yeah, if we knew what to get her,” Eddie says, brushing his hair behind his ears. “Kid's impossible. Asked Santa for a baby sister and a pet turtle.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Wayne–”

“The turtle, I mean.” He nods at you apologetically.

You aren't offended at the idea of a baby sister being an easy gift, and you laugh at his correction. “We don't have room for the tank, I already checked.”

“She got the measuring tape out and everything.”

“What?” Wayne asks. “Put it outside.”

“It's not that easy,” Eddie sighs morosely. “They're very particular creatures.”

“It’ll suit you nicely, then.”

You laugh again. Roan wriggles to be put down, curious at the sound, though she wasn't as deafened as it seemed. “Santa will bring the tank, guys, that's how Santa works, and the turtle. We just need to move the couch,” she says simply.

“Where will we watch TV?” you ask.

“Here?” Roan suggests.

Eddie nudges Wayne in the side. “Looks like I'm moving back in after all.”

Coats are taken off, shoes stacked in a corner. Wayne makes everyone a cup of coffee and a sandwich, even Roan, though her coffee is milk with just a splash of coffee that she begs for but doesn't touch after the initial sip. Theories for where they might house and care for a pet turtle are shared through crumbs and foam moustaches, Wayne with a lap full of grandchild, and you with an armful of Eddie. He keeps turning to you to scan your face for signs of fatigue or sickness, eyes lingering, his hand resting and rubbing at the top of your thigh.

“We'll have to give up our room,” he suggests to you with an air of defeat. Despite his sombre tone, love lines his gaze. “When the turtle gets huge and wants to go back to the ocean, we'll have to fill our bedroom up with a swimming pool.”

Roan sits back guiltily. “Well, maybe not like that. Can the turtle sleep with me?”

“That could be fun. We'll get you a water bed,” you say, to Eddie's delight. He chokes on a handful of chips and needs to be whacked on the back lest he asphyxiate, and while you're still laughing at your own joke and his reaction, you pat him more gently on the back before passing him your full coke. “Here, handsome.”

Wayne's pretty sure his nephew's found his soulmate. “What about a tortoise instead?” he asks Roan, attempting to spare you both.

Roan pouts at her Uncle, confusion furrowing her thin brows. “What's the difference?”

“Couple hundred dollars?” Eddie asks.

Wayne kicks him under the table, but never hard enough to hurt. “Nothing much, chick. I'm sure Santa will figure it out.”

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rogueddie · 3 months

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Peppermint Heartache T | 734 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is the tea he brings me without prompt when I’m sick

Eddie isn't sure the last time he was sick, but he's sure that it didn't feel like this.

"You sure you're ok, kid?" Wayne asks, hovering in his doorway.

"Yeah, 'm'kay," Eddie manages to mumble out. He struggles to raise an arm, giving him a weak thumbs up.

"Alright," Wayne relents, but Eddie can hear how little his attempt has done to reassure him. "I'll try to get home as early as I can. Make you some nice soup. Sound good?"

"Sounds great."

After he hears the door click shut behind Wayne, he's not sure how much time passes. He stays where he is, slipping in and out of a light doze.

The light knocking at the door startles him awake, though it's soft and quiet enough that it doesn't pound in his head.

He plans on ignoring them, but they knock again after waiting for a moment.

Pulling his bed sheets around him, tucking it up to his chin, he shuffles out. He squints at the light when he cracks the door open, frowning.

"Steve?"

"Hi Ed," he says, speaking softly. He raises the tupperware he's holding. "Heard you weren't feeling well so I made you some broth."

"Wayne sent you?" Eddie asks, stepping back so Steve can come inside.

"Yeah. He's really worried about you." Steve pauses, stepping closer and pressing his hand to Eddies forehead. "Do you have any, like, medicine? Some tylenol? You're too warm."

He tries to explain where it is, but he's interrupted by a yawn. He's not sure that Steve understands him for a moment, until he's being gently herded to the bathroom.

Steve quickly closes the toilet lid so Eddie can sit, before rooting through the bathroom cabinet.

"Aha!" He says, pulling out a bottle. He shakes it, frowning when only one tablet rattles inside it. "Damn. I'll need to grab you another bottle. Hopefully this one will be enough. Should I grab you a glass of-"

"No, it's fine," Eddie mutters, grabbing the tablet and swallowing it dry.

"Gross. Anyway, how are you feeling? Do you want some food now? Or, like, Wayne said you have chicken soup if you'd prefer that- I just... broth always makes me feel better when I'm sick. Or I could-"

"Steve. All I want to do is lay back down for a while. Maybe have some company, if you're not busy. Sound good?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Steve sighs, smiling sheepishly. "Should we-"

Eddie is already up, shuffling back to his bed. He flops onto it, curling onto his side. He grumbles when Steve starts to tuck in the sheets, but makes no move to stop him.

He ends up completely cocooned, the only his face sticking out.

Steve sits on the floor, back to the wall. "Do you want me to be quiet?"

"Uh, yeah, kinda. Love the Buckley style rambling but, um... I don't know. I don't like being alone when I feel like this."

"No, I get that. I'm happy to sit here and make sure you're ok, don't worry. I'm comfortable."

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

With Steve sitting guard, it's easy to finally fall asleep. And, by the time he wakes back up, he's already starting to feel better. He feels well rested, at least.

He notices Steves absence immediately, finally crawling out his cocoon to go looking for him.

"What are you doing up?" Steve asks, when Eddie finally finds him in the kitchen. "Go, I'll be back in a moment, you need to rest."

Eddie, rolling his eyes, does what he asks. Though he does grumble complaints under his breath the whole way back.

"You couldn't wait five minutes," Steve continues, when he finally comes back to Eddies room, holding a steaming mug and bowl. "Here, I cooked your broth and made you some tea."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Wayne says hi, by the way. He's probably going to be late coming home, too, so I'm stuck here babysitting."

Eddies about to make a comment, when he finally gets a whiff of the tea. He takes a sip to confirm it.

"Is this peppermint?"

"Yeah. You said you like it."

"I didn't think you'd remember."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You can't keep doing this, Steve, I'll fall in love with you."

Steve laughs, ducking his head, cheeks flushing. When he looks up, smirking, a glint in his eyes, Eddie knows he's already doomed.

"Promise?"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #nav.slm

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upsidedownwithsteve · 7 months

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Love Sucks II. The Interrogation

Vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!reader He’s just a gloomy, little guy.

The Masterlist 🩸

You scolded Eddie and Dustin immediately.

But Steve didn’t seem to mind, shrugging in that tired way that he did as he wandered off into the corner of the Wheeler’s kitchen with them. They’d set up an awful interpretation of what you deemed to be an interview room, the dining table pushed into the darker space where the light from the window didn’t reach, Nancy’s old desk lamp plugged in beside the microwave, the bulb shining harshly at the empty seat Steve was told to sit in.

He blinked as he did, tired eyes aggravated by the brightness but he just squinted and slumped in the chair, looking over at you with that longing way he did. You held up a coffee cup at him in question, smiling. He nodded, pleased.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Eddie began as the rest of the party milled around aimlessly.

Some were listening, others were bickering about what to watch on TV. Nancy was making popcorn and Robin was already asleep in the armchair beside Max.

Steve nodded, knowing it was only a matter of time before he got the big brotherly talk from Eddie about you. He readied himself for the questions about his interest in you, his intentions, how he planned to keep you safe from—

“Can you turn into a bat?” Dustin asked instead.

Steve frowned, confused.

“Dustin!” You scolded the younger boy from across the kitchen, teaspoon clattering into the mug, coffee grains spilling on Mrs Wheeler’s countertop. “What the hell?”

“What?” Dustin yelled back, arms held out in question. “It’s a serious question!”

Eddie was grinning, wide and a little manic, looking from Steve to you and back again. “Well?” He asked the boy.

“This is so rude. You cannot be for real, Eddie.” You went ignored, eye roll and all.

“Um, no?” Steve answered, squinting at the two through the light they were intent on keeping aimed at him.

“You sound unsure,” Eddie countered, dubious. He wasn’t allowed to smoke in the Wheeler’s house so he was chewing on the end of a bubblegum pink straw instead. He waved it at your boyfriend, suspicious. “Is that because you haven’t tried or aren’t allowed to say?”

Steve looked at you for help. “Why wouldn’t I be allowed to say?” He replied weakly, visibly concerned and confused.

Dustin shrugged before leaning across the table, bright eyed and grinning toothily. “Vampire overlord, maybe?”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. You were still making coffee, too far out of reach for him to hold your hand. Steve loved holding your hand, you were so much softer and warmer than him and sometimes you painted your fingernails a really pretty colour— someone cleared their throat. “Uh, I don’t think I’ve met him yet…”

Eddie and Dustin reacted immediately to this answer, heads bent and producing a notebook from seemingly nowhere, scribbling down notes in chicken scratch handwriting about their ‘findings.’

“… does he live around here?” Steve tried once more. “Is he my boss? Am I going to get in trouble?”

You soothed him with a hand over his hair, appearing at his back to place down his coffee in front of him, black and unsweetened in a mug as big as a soup bowl.. “Sorry, baby,” you offered, shaking your head at your two friends.

Steve loved it when you called him baby.

It went on like that for a while, Ghostbusters playing in the living room while Eddie and Dustin kept Steve at the table under the spotlight, drilling him about things you could only shake your head at.

“Can you fly?”

“No.”

More notes written, a worrying sentence jotting down about taking Steve somewhere high for experimentation.

“Can you run fast?”

“Uh, I have asthma…”

“What about jumping? Can you jump onto the roof?”

“I haven’t like, you know,, tried. Heights are scary.”

Sighs, heavy and disappointed, came from the kitchen. Steve was pouting, arms crossed.

“Can you read minds?”

“No.”

A brief pause, and then Dustin whispered to Eddie, eyes narrowed and still on Steve: “he’s lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Can you turn invisible?”

“No.”

“Do you sleep in a coffin?”

“What? No?”

Eddie paused, studying Steve. “Unconvinced,” he concluded. “Further investigation required.”

“How come you can come out in the daylight?”

“I don’t know, but that lamp is super bright, guys..”

Stumped, Dustin and Eddie finally relented. Ghostbusters was just finishing, the rest of the kids tired from too much sugar and arguing about who the best team member was.

“So you’re just a really shitty vampire, huh?” Eddie asked, his nose scrunched and sounding unaffected.

“Kinda boring, actually,” Dustin agreed.

They were both staring at Steve with a little disappointment, like two kids who’d finally found out Santa Claus wasn’t real. They sighed again and got up, raiding the Wheeler’s pantry for snacks while they left behind a sad and insecure vampire.

You scowled at the boys as you passed, punching Eddie on the arm a little harder than what would be considered good natured. You nudged your way between Steve and the table, folding yourself onto his lap and into his arms. He wound himself around you immediately, grumbling softly into the crook of your neck about bats and powers and being a poor excuse for a cryptid.

Later, over dinner, you stole Eddie’s last slice of pizza and scolded him for giving your boyfriend a vampire complex.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #vamp!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction

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shares-a-vest · 3 months

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@steddielovemonth Day 12: Love is... The tea he brings me without prompt when I’m sick (Prompt by anon)

wc: 740 | Rated: G | cw: None

Tags: Sick Fic, Eddie is Being a Total Shit, Wayne Munson, Care Giving Steve Harrington

A Case of the Sniffles

Steve knows that Eddie is sick when he knocks on the Munson’s door, its accompanying flyscreen rattling under his knuckles.

“I’ve grown weak during the night,” Eddie had informed during a too-early-for-the-both-of-them phone call, “Come quickly, my dearest King. For I fear I shan’t make it to sundown.”

But, considering the expression Wayne greets him with, Steve begins to think that Eddie’s dramatics weren’t just a ploy to get him over here.

“You visitin’ Ed?” Wayne asks, throwing his work jacket over his shoulder in haste as he steps over the threshold.

“He called me,” Steve supplies, earning the rarest of laughs from the permanently grumpy elder Munson.

But Wayne quickly stops, clearing his throat and feigning seriousness. And by the look of the hurried glance he gives his truck, Steve suspects the man is happy to be relieved of caring for what sounds like the world’s biggest crybaby.

“Good luck, kid,” Wayne says, patting Steve on the back before quickly ducking his head back in the door, “Eddie! Steve’s here for ya! There’s chicken soup leftover in the fridge!”

There’s an unintelligible whining sound from inside that leaves Wayne wincing as he ventures down the front concrete slab steps.

Steve swears the man dashes to his truck before he can even get out a goodbye.

He heads inside, sighing as he opens the front door.

It creeks away as he steps over the threshold, the sound alerting Eddie to his presence. His boyfriend's dishevelled form lifts slightly from his sick bed on the couch where he is surrounded by tissues and crochet blankets. The coffee table is even more crowded than usual, littered with discarded cups and mugs. Typically Wayne would flip out about this mess but he’s already left the place for dust.

“Steve,” Eddie rasps, raising a limp hand before letting it fall, “Come closer. I fear the light is fading.”

But Steve just snorts a laugh and heads for the kitchen.

“Eds, you have a bad case of the sniffles.”

“I am ill!” Eddie argues, calling after him with complete clarity.

He looks back to find his couch-ridden boyfriend flapping back his blanket, sending a cascade of used tissues flying onto the floor. Eddie pouts, frowning back at him like a disgruntled kitten.

“Just…” Steve begins, reaching for a clean coffee mug on the dish rack, “Give me a minute to fix you something.”

“What is it?”

Again, Eddie’s voice doesn’t have an ounce of sickness behind it.

Steve rolls his eyes, “Just trust me, okay?”

There’s a fussy grunt but Eddie flops back down on the couch without any more protesting, which thankfully gives Steve enough time to locate the teabags, boil the electric kettle and add a dollop of honey to the mug. He makes quick work of fixing a cup of tea, setting it down after making room on the coffee table.

“Drink,” he commands, nodding to the cup.

Eddie grumbles, side-eyeing the mug.

“What is it?” he asks tentatively, folding his arms underneath his readjusted blankets.

“Tea with honey,” Steve explains, lowering onto the edge of the couch.

Eddie falls silent for a long moment, very obviously stifling a smile despite otherwise not looking like he is about to budge an inch to sit up.

“Can you hold the mug for me?” he asks, with a smile that appears just as mischievous as his bright and sunny regular self.

“Fine,” Steve relents.

And honestly? Up close, Eddie does look sick. Though still not enough to warrant the theatrics.

His skin is paler than usual, his nose reddened like he has been out in the snow too long. His hair is a little greasy too as his bangs stick out every which way, making him look like what Steve assumes the townsfolk of Hawkins were thinking of months back when everyone was convinced Eddie was a wild criminal.

They just never got a look at Eddie's impossibly cute dimples...

Steve picks up the mug and gestures for Eddie to sit – surely he can manage it. And his partner does so, even though he grumbles and gripes all the way.

Eddie gulps back god knows what, all gross and throaty before puckering his lips.

“Kisses?” he requests, sniffling.

“Alright,” Steve shrugs.

He leans forward to press a quick kiss to his boyfriend's lips, earning a contented hum as he pulls back.

“Thanks for the tea,” Eddie smiles, taking the mug in his cold hands.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddielovemonth #sick fic 🤧

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powderblueblood · 2 months

Text

THE BOY IS MINE (POWDER'S VERSION)

delighted to be involved in @carolmunson's eddie challenge because when do i not want to write about the boy! looping in @vvitchwords and @howdidyouallgetinmyroom for no pressure funsies, and you if you're reading this and want to do it. tag me! cw: here you'll find eddie x fem!reader in almost an implied situationship... a little bit angsty, a little bit cosmic, a little bit meta. ambiguous ending! mentions of dick and horniness but no outright smut. wc: 2k

“Ding dong.”

Hey, it’s you! Eddie grins under the flickering porchlight, crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame, paint chips falling.

“Howdy, little hobo.”

“Tch– what a deeply unflattering and libelous nickname. Can I come in?”

“I don't know, it’s been a while…” he says, smacking his tongue against his teeth, “How do I know you haven’t caught something?”

“Look, can we dispense with the cleverness and give me a ‘y’ or an ‘n’ here? I've had a day.” You prop up the brown grocery bag like an infant against the dip of your hip. “and I brought libations.”

“Booze?!” Eddie's mouth bounces around the ‘b’ and he ushers you inside with a flourish. “Well, why didn’t ya say so? M’lady, right this way…”

And he’s right, by the way. It'd been a while, just the two of you. He'd been here doing god knows what with god knows who and you’d been up the walls doing a whole lot of nothing. But coming back together, it always felt like putting on an old shoe. Comfortable, reliable, broken in. Eddie watches you breathe in a lungful of the Munson trailer’s fragrant air, top notes of stale cigarette smoke and Beefaroni sparkling alongside Eddie's dark eyes as he hops up on the counter. Barefoot, beatific, lovely as all hell.

You wag your finger in warning.

“Don’t get comfortable, chicken. I have a very romantic meal planned.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yeah!” you chirp, digging a bottle of horrible merlot out of the brown paper bag. Thunk. “I brought dessert…” followed by a tub of vanilla frosting. Thunk. “...followed by dessert.”

Eddie, from where he perches, tries to peer further into the bag. “Where's the rest of it?”

“There’s– what? that’s it.”

“Wine and frosting?”

“I cut to the chase,” you tell him, popping open the can and stepping into the living room, “Whose favourite part of the cupcake is the cake part? Get real.”

“You’re nothin’ if not pragmatic,” Eddie sighs wistfully, slipping back off the counter and casting a glance to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He swallows and tacks on, “and that is why I like you so bad.”

Eddie shuffles around the kitchen, looking around for appropriate receptacles with absolutely none in sight. Shouldn’t matter, right? But even after all this time, he’s still trying to impress you. even with how… low maintenance this thing between you is.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups. Is this okay?”

You stare at the novelty mug he’s holding out to you. Like, really stare at it.

“I'll bring you my ten dollar-est bottle of wine and you’re gonna make me drink out of the haunted bear chalice?”

That thing is really fucking awful. It’s shaped in a convincing enough impression of a teddy bear, but pockmarked like a peanut shell and staring at you with the milky, demonic eyes of an ancient evil. Where does Wayne find this shit?

“Well, I never know when you’re gonna show up so I never know when I oughta, like, polish the crystal!”

“You’re too busy polishing something else in my absence, I'm guessing.”

Eddie's eyelids lower, his brows quirk, his lips curl over all Don Juan-like. “What happens between me and my buffering rag is none of your business.”

“How come you get the Garfield one?” you poke, gesturing to the bright orange cat shaped thing in his opposite hand.

“Because it’s my trailer and it’s my party and I'll Garf if I want to.”

“What if I wanna Garf?”

“Tough break, sweetheart.”

“I'm the guest, I should be allowed to Garf.”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Garf me!”

“If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem,” Eddie says, all-mock glowery and stern. “Take your fugly little bear and pass the frosting.”

You brought red wine because you know how docile and touchy it makes him, and he knows that you know. Eddie relishes in it, that faint berry buzz staining his lips and the outer edges of his brain. He digs another fingerful of frosting out of the container and sucks it right down his gullet, so noisily that it makes you clear your throat. You look up from your end of the couch, from that notebook you’re always scribbling in. He wonders how you can even see, since the only real light source in the living room is from the television blaring Headbangers Ball.

“Oh shit. Am I distracting you?” he says, all mock-coquette, and sucks his finger right down to the hog’s head ring with an exaggerated slurp. “From your investigative journalism or whatever?”

You note something down, pointedly, and shove him in the thigh with your socked foot.

“Stop trying to seduce me. It’s not gonna work.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Robinson.” Eddie's voice is a smooth sing-song with some grumble under the surface, his bared, smiling teeth catching the light of the TV. Jeez.

“I'm writing the biography of some graceless idiot,” you prod a little further, scribbling on the page just to scribble.

Eddie hikes up in his seat, wine almost sloshing over Garfield's open cranium.

“I fucking knew it!” he cackles, jabbing a triumphant finger into your calf, “I'm your muse. I'm the reason for which your artistic heart beats. I’m your bottomless well of inspiration–”

“You have frosting on your nose.”

Eddie leans toward you, hand still on your leg. His tongue pokes out and swipes nowhere near his nose. “Did I get it?”

“No.”

Another attempt. “How ‘bout now?”

“Mm-mm.”

His dark eyes round out, pout very much pouting. He's a great pouter. That could be what you miss most about him, when you’re away.

“I think I need help,” Eddie whines.

You scoff, setting down the bear mug and the notebook on the ground.

“You’re fuckin’ relentless, you know that?”

With a couple of shuffles, you plant your thighs on either side of Eddie's lap and cup the back of his head. He's got a smug little look splashed across his face now, one that you know just how to wipe off. Your tongue licks a smidge of frosting from the tip of his characterful, unforgettable, rideable nose and Eddie's breath hitches. His hands, his fingers cuffed up in silver, dig into your thighs. Your faces, inches apart and his lashes falling as his hips ever-so-gently kick into yours.

“Shit,” he breathes, teeth pressing into his lower lip as his face tilts you-ward. “I’m at your mercy, you know that?”

You wind a couple of his curls around your fingers and Eddie presses his forehead to yours with a hum. He’s so sweet. so eager, even at the first touch. teasing his way into it but immediately losing the fight, already begging for more.

“You’re missing your show,” you inform him uselessly as his hands move up your thighs.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie tells you, with a hairline crack running through his voice, “It’s only fucking Mötley Crüe. I wanna run Vince Neil over with a ride on lawnmower. This is quelling my rage.”

You pull your head back a little and shake it. “You wait all week for The Ball, Eddie.”

“I wait—…” he nearly chases you as you move from him, neck going stiff. A grin masks the earnestness teeming out of him, but the wine has made it a little more obvious. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, but strong is all Eddie knows. “I wait all week for you.”

Your tongue clucks against your teeth and he kind of can’t stand that pitying way you’re looking at him, and it’s kind of all he ever wants to see again ever forever in his whole life ever.

“Baby,” you mumble, like it’s stupid, and he knows it.

Eddie’s slowly losing the last fuck he has to give. He chuckles, lightly, desperately.

“But I do!” he tells you, hands sure on your hips, “I do. I wrote you into a campaign this week, y’know—even though I knew you’d hate it.”

“Mm. Even though I told you not to.”

“Yeah, even though,” he shrugs, defiant. “She's great, though—she’s a creature of the fae that’ll bewitch you on sight. And she bends around the light, appearing and disappearing at will, but you can always kinda feel her there.”

“Like psoriasis.”

“Tchyeah. her flare ups are a bitch to handle.”

“Scabby and painful, just how you like your women.” You sit back a little. He registers.

“Aw. Don’t be like that. That’s not even—...” he runs a thumb along your cheek, more for him than for you. “She just needs some soothing and she’ll be okay.“

“Eddie,” you say, and your tone’s not dark, but it could be, “do me a favour. Don’t immortalise me.”

“Huh?” his brows knit.

“It's not good for you. It’s gonna make you think I'm something that I'm not.”

“But…”

“But but.”

“But what if that’s the only way I can get close to you?” Again, that facetious look on his face, that sardonic smile that’s masking everything except the spellbound look in his eyes. Dark stars dancing in his irises from the twilight of the TV. “And I really wanna be close to you?”

“Making up stories about me? Living in your own head?” It’s something he’s heard his whole life, but you phrase it soft. But he knows what you mean. “And you like that?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie insists. because it’s something worth protecting, actually. “Have you been outside lately? It sucks.”

You give a little. “Salient point.”

“Besides. You write about me, how is it any different?”

“Well, I write the facts. So I can remember you. You write fantasies, so you can enjoy me.”

Eddie shakes his shaggy haired head. you’re not winning this one.

“Sorry, smartass, but there’s no way you’re writing objective facts in there. It’’s all gonna be tainted from your point of view,” his clutch on you moves to your waist and he sits up a little straighter, “which, I don’t mind. I like your point of view.” A beat. “I like that you’re seeing me at all.”

“Oh. Eddie.” It’s not as if people don’t, it’s not as if… you know, he has nobody, but the way you dig him is special. The way you dice him up.

“God,” he groans, his forehead sinking into your chest, “How can someone make me so emotional and horny. Not right. Feels like a spy tactic. You workin’ for the opposition, trying to take me down?”

“Yeah, because you’re such hot patriotic property,” your hand pets at the crown of his head, “Who died and made you America's sweetheart?”

“This boner is a betrayal of my countrymen.”

“Try a couple of bars of the national anthem and maybe you’ll calm down.”

Eddie's head pulls back so he can look at you, trying to pull focus from the way his dick is straining in his flannel pants. But, tough shit, crapshoot. He wants to press you into this sofa and rut into you slow, feel the suction of you surrounding him.

“Why aren’t we doing this again?” he asks, bleary-kinda.

“Because you get too sad when I have to leave,” you say into his curls, “and sometimes I have to leave.”

“So why do you still come here?” and when he asks you this, he doesn’t feel sad. doesn’t feel a cold shock, an empty feeling like you’ve described before. Eddie just wants to know, now, while he’s in the warmth of you.

“Because… well… no one else is worth writing about right now.”

That's okay. It’ll do. He'll take what he can get from you, even if it isn’t everything. Because what he can get is great. you smile at each other, wineskinned and a little lopsided, and you ease yourself off to cuddle into his side while The Ball plays on.

“God, those pants really leave nothing to the imagination, do they?”

“What’s that?” Eddie or Vince Neil?

“I can see the full outline of your penis head.”

“And what a glorious sight, you ungrateful degenerate.”

“Never said it wasn’t. It’s a nice shape. But.”

You push a throw pillow into Eddie's lap and he hisses a little. “If you don’t stop…”

“You’re gonna hump that pillow and think of me?”

Eddie's brain staggers alongside the beat of Ride My Rocket by Pantera as it blares from the set, looking at you with a cocked open mouth. “Yes! Obviously!”

#published by powder #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader

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fuctacles · 4 months

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in love and war

For Spicy Six Winter Challenge hosted by @thefreakandthehair

“I fucking hate him,” Steve seethes into the phone, sniffling loudly right after.

Robin makes a disgusted noise.

“Not right in my ear! Use a tissue!”

“Don't have any,” he murmurs, using his sleeve instead.

“Need me to make a grocery run for you? Get some chicken soup while I’m at it?” She’s joking, but there’s a hint of “I'll do it if you need it” in her voice.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “Just a bit cold.”

“I think you should just tell him he’s going too far-”

“No,” he interrupts her. “I want my revenge. This is war now.”

Robin sighs into the receiver the last breath of hope that her best friend will act like an adult.

“Okay. What’s the plan, Captain?”

He winces.

“Scoops flashbacks, pick a different code name.”

She hums in thought but comes up with an alternative suspiciously fast.

“What's the plan, Batman?”

“What?”

“Because of the bat?”

“That’s stupid.” He searches his brain for the matching nerd trivia. “And that of course, would make you Robin?”

“Precisely!”

He can imagine her grin and it’s hard to be annoyed at that. He scoffs nevertheless. On principle.

“We’re planning revenge on Joker or what?”

“Fine.”

It started like all wars do. With a lover's quarrel. At least that’s how Robin will tell the story at their wedding, but that's over a decade ahead. Now, here, it starts with a snowball.

“Hey!”

Steve swerves around to look for the culprit but while there’s none in sight, he spots a familiar van, standing nearby. His eyes narrow and he reaches down to scoop some snow.

“I know it’s you, Eddie! Show yourself!”

Silence. He keeps his eyes peeled while slowly moving to the side. The snow crunches under his foot and something black shifts near the front of the van. He throws.

The black something yelps.

“Score!” Steve cheers.

But just a second later he’s plowed with a flurry of snow.

“Munson!” he growls, hiding his face and ducking as fast as he can behind his car. There’s no aim or finesse to Eddie’s throws, he’s going for the pure quantity of them, meaning must have been making snowballs since he left the store about an hour ago. Steve has no chance.

The balls are sturdy and precisely formed, he can feel their impact on his back. Can hear them thudding against his car.

“You’ll be paying for the lacquer job!” he yells and the shooting stops. Figuring it’ll give him a second to arm up he starts scooping snow and forming balls. He’s at a disadvantage again, his car is parked in a mostly shoveled parking lot. Unlike Eddie’s, standing on the curb where the snow has been piled up.

Switching to the offensive would be his best move probably.

Or he could get in his car and leave. But where’s the fun in that?

He holds a ball ready and peeks out. A snow projectile wheezes right above his head while he nearly takes Eddie’s hat off.

“Nice aim, Munson!”

“Fuck you, jock!”

Steve cackles in delight and for a moment they exchange more throws like that.

“You chickening out?”

“Never!”

“Out of ammo, huh?”

“You fucking wish!”

He was, though, running out of snow. It was time to attack.

He throws a couple more balls by the front of the car while shuffling to the back.

“That's all you’ve got?!”

He doesn’t answer not to compromise his position. And then, he runs.

Eddie has a ball in hand when he spots him but is too stunned to aim properly. He screams and turns around to flee, but his long legs aren’t going to save him, because Steve isn’t here to chase him.

Instead, he jumps.

They both land in a pile of snow.

“Steve, no! No, no, no!”

“You started it!” he reminds him, shoveling snow down his jacket while he screams.

“Steeeeeeeeeve!”

He thought that was all, but it turned out it was just the beginning.

A furious Henderson walked into the store the next day.

“Eddie is sneezing,” he says like it was Steve’s fault somehow. He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, and?”

“And, if he’s sick he won’t be able to DM and we’re this close to the big bad!”

“Okay, still-”

“And it’s your fault!”

“Yeah, no-”

“Steve.” Dustin pushes himself up on the counter, his feet dangling just to get right into Steve’s face. “You put a finger on my DM and you’ll perish.”

Steve bops him on the forehead. It makes him lose his balance and stumble back on his feet.

“Sure munchkin, I’m quaking in my boots.”

“I’ll make sure mom never makes a chocolate cake for you,” he threatens with a venom no high schooler should be capable of.

“Is this really about yesterday?” Robin peeks out of the horror aisle.

“Yes!”

“Apparently.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” she comments and goes back behind the shelves. Which reminds Steve he’s at work and this is, in fact, ridiculous.

“Listen, I’m not touching Eddie. He started it, first of all, and it got a bit out of hand. It’s not like we’re holding snow fights every day,” he waves his hand dismissively.

Dustin squints at him.

“You better not be.”

“No worries, I’m not a child. I have better stuff to do.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve frowns at his tone.

“Hey, what is that supposed to-”

But Dustin already turned around, off towards the fantasy section.

“Dustin!”

“You’ve raised him well.”

“Shit!” Steve jumped up when Robin appeared next to him. “Warn a guy, jeez.”

“Yeah, no,” she smiles sweetly at him. “Get back to work, since you’re not a child.”

He huffs.

When they close the store a couple of hours later, he realizes he hadn’t taken the other variable into account. Eddie was a child and had nothing better to do.

Moreso, he found back up.

Turns out Max and Lucas were much better shots than him, moving the scales in their favor.

That is until a fire lit up in Robin's eyes and she started throwing snowballs with an alarming accuracy.

“Where did that come from?” he marvels at her with wide eyes.

“You’re looking at a five-year family champion in snow fights. Twas the only way I could be violent against my gross cousins,” she explains, laser-focused on the ginger strands peeking from behind the van.

He laughs, mostly providing her with ammo while she does the shooting.

“Why are you encouraging this?!”

Robin was the one on the receiving end of Dustin’s wrath this time. Steve watched it with amused anticipation, but all she did was shrug.

“I just got caught in the crossfire. Don’t involve me in this.”

And then she disappeared in the back.

“Steve!”

Steve sighs.

“What did I say?!”

“Not to touch your DM? Which I didn’t. He’s the one who brought reinforcements!”

“You must have done something! Eddie doesn’t just start shit!”

Steve scoffs.

“Well, clearly you don’t know your friend so well, then. Because he sure fucking does and he sure fucking did.”

“He sure fucking didn’t!”

“Language!”

And so, Dustin storms out. A moody teenager shouldn’t be getting to him as much as he is, but he does and Steve’s in a foul mood now.

Robin, bless her heart, stays an extra hour to close up with him again. They both steal glances through the shop’s windows, in search of any anomalies. The coast seems clear.

“Maybe he parked in the back?”

“That wouldn’t make sense.”

They were standing, eyes glued to the glass, keys ready.

“Well, this whole thing doesn’t make sense.”

Robin nods to that and pushes the door.

There is no ambush. They walk briskly to Steve’s car, and no snowballs swish by. The doors close behind them, wrapping them in metallic safety.

“Steve.”

“Right.”

He shakes out of his stupor and starts the ignition. He drives Robin home and nobody follows. Slowly, he relaxes.

“Hope that’s the end of it.” Robin squeezes his shoulder before leaving. “Take a hot bath, call it an early night. You’re tense like it’s another apocalypse.”

He shoots her a glare.

“Don’t joke like that. Jesus Christ, Robin!”

She waves her hand.

“I’m just saying! You’re stressing over nothing!”

She was right, of course. He sighed.

“I guess. It’s all Dustin’s fault, it’s like he knows exactly how to piss me off.”

Robin rolls her eyes and he doesn’t need to hear how stupid it is to get involved in a high-schooler's drama. He knows.

He drives home with the radio turned down, already winding down from a long day at work. There’s some leftover soup in the fridge and he can whip himself a quick grilled cheese. Maybe he’ll open a beer and watch a sitcom before falling asleep.

Damn, he feels old.

Calmness settles over him with the sound of his tires switching from asphalt to the short driveway to his house. He steps out of the car, noticing the new layer of snow under his shoes. Makes a mental note to shovel it the next day. When he turns around he sees a snowman in his front yard and he frowns at it. When did that happen?

“Duck!”

He does so instinctively, monster-fighting reflexes kicking in. A snowball falls apart against his car’s window.

“It’s a trap!”

Someone answers to that with a battle cry and all hell breaks loose.

Hands are pulling him behind the car as he watches the snowman fall apart, revealing a red-nosed Eddie. He’s too stunned to react and lets himself be moved around until he’s crouching next to rosy-cheeked Lucas.

“Changing teams?” He raises eyebrows at him.

“Well, last time I only joined for Max. Now I think Eddie’s going overboard.”

“No shit,” Steve scoffs. They form snowballs while talking.

“He’s got Mike and Will on his side.”

“Will?”

“He goes where Mike goes.” Lucas shrugs.

“Well, we can take them.” Between his and Lucas’ skills, the nerds stood no chance. He sighs. “I just wanted a nice night in. Maybe I could make a break for it…?” He can’t even see his front door from here.

“I could distract them when they run out of ammo,” Lucas offers.

“You’re a godsend.”

Eddie seems to be possessed. The snowman hid his stash of snowballs, which he now throws without thought.

“Show yourself, jocks! There’s a traitor in your midst that I’d want a word with!”

Lucas rolls his eyes before jumping up and hitting Eddie square in the chest.

“Where’s the other two?” he frowns, gathering snow again.

Steve takes a cautious look around just in time to see one of the snow-capped bushes move. He barely ducks from a projectile Mike throws.

This feels like a proper ambush, the two of them hiding behind a car while the other three close in. Eddie has abandoned his snowman post, his probably-last snowballs carried in his arm while he swings with the other one.

“I think we should make a run for it,” Steve whispers, trying to hit Eddie while he zig zags out of the way. Thankfully losing some ammunition in the process.

“We’re sticking to the plan. When I tell you, run to your door, I’ll run to my house. It’s not far from here anyway.”

Steve nods, somehow used to listening to plans made by his younger friends.

They keep throwing, looking for the right opportunity, when something happens on the other front.

“Will!”

Mike stands in shock, mouth gaping, as he turns to his best friend. Will giggles mischievously, taking a step back.

“Mutiny! Get him!”

“Now!”

They start running. Will from Mike, Mike after him. Steve to the door. Eddie drops his ammo to cut his way and Lucas scrambles to attack him but he’s unfazed. Before the boy realizes the snowballs don’t bother him because he’s solely focused on Steve, it’s too late.

Eddie grapples Steve, they flop over a bush and roll in the snow.

“Ha! How the turns have tabled!”

“I think it’s-” but he doesn’t get to finish before he’s hit with an avalanche of snow. “What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“You took one of mine and now you have to pay!” the man on top of him declares, holding him in the snow. His cheeks are red and his nose is running but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“If you get any snot on me I’ll fucking-!”

Lucas runs into them, trying to get Eddie off of him but it only makes him cling to Steve and roll them away in the snow.

“Eddie!!!”

They shovel snow at each other until Lucas manages to get a hold of Eddie and Steve scrambles to make a run to his house.

His shivering hands lock the door and he looks through the window. Eddie seems to have given up his pursuit and is giving Lucas a noogie. When he lets go he’s motioning to his van, probably offering him a ride home. He’s even weirder than Steve thought and he just can’t get a read on the guy.

As they are walking away, Eddie turns and spots Steve in the window. Covered in snow and red-faced, he grins brightly and waves at him.

Steve shows him the finger.

#spicysixwinterfanworkschallenge #steddie #mine #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #steddie one shot

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joshlmbrt · 2 months

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˚ ✦.·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚ MESSY CAKES | e. munson x fem!reader

w; this is part of my ‘truck driver!dad!eddie’ au - but can be read without reading the au, r IS a afab, pregnancy mentions, r’s pov mostly, this takes place before eddie officially becomes a truck driver

an; this will probably flop but thought it was a cute idea :) i hope you all enjoy.

The sound of drills fill your ears - the plastic between your hands grows wet with the sweat from your palm.

“Eddie, your little lady is here!” Bo, a kind man with tattoos and a full beard who liked to share jokes and advice, calls out over a Guns N’ Roses song you recognized from Eddie. “How are you?” He wipes his hands and face, only smearing the grease further before holding his arms out for a hug.

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around the man before pulling away. Bo never made you feel uncomfortable, always giving you a chance to back out of a hug and opting to just wave instead. “I’m okay. How’s things here?” You glance around at the full garage. You realize Eddie is working on Steve’s car.

“Luckily, we aren’t short handed today like usual. But you probably don’t want to hear about that - boring talk,” He rolls his eyes. You giggle softly watching as he makes his way over towards the desk. “Go ahead and talk to Eddie. It’s almost his break anyway. Just be careful, don’t want you tripping and hurting yourself.”

“You got it.” You salute him, watching as a smile tugs at his mouth and a roll of his eyes as he turns, grabbing a wooden pencil. True to your word, you’re careful while passing over the legs that stick out from under a nice car, or tools lying on the cement ground stained with grease and maybe little spots of blood from injuries.

Eddie has come home with a couple of cuts and bruises.

Your hand meets his back and he lifts quickly, hitting the top of his head against the edge of the propped hood. You hiss as if it hurt you, a hand immediately reaching out and landing on top of his. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You apologize immediately, eyes rounded as you stare at his scrunched up face.

“It’s okay,” He breathes. You frown, eyes looking at his fingers that scrunch up and push slightly at the sore spot. His right eye opens and peeks over at your worried expression. “Really. It’s okay. I was just in my head.”

Your lips stay turned down in a frown as your eyes never leave his fingers. “What about?”

“How junky Steve’s engine is and how I’m gonna balance college, work, and home life.”

Suddenly your hand drops and your heart clenches. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” He chuckles softly. His own arm drops by his side and he turns to look at you. “Why do you keep apologizing, sweetheart?” He reaches out and swipes under your eye, wiping the small smudge of mascara away.

“I just…” Feel guilty. “I don’t know.” You look down at his boots, watching as they step closer.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I wanted to go to college to get a better job. Not that I won’t miss this,” He motions around the garage, a small smile lifting at the corner of his lips. “I just don’t want us to struggle… maybe even save up for a house.” His hand grabs yours, messing with your fingers.

You smile at the thought, nodding. “I’d like that,” You whisper softly. “I brought you lunch. Thought I could stay with you.”

His brows lift and stare at the bag you lift up. “What did you bring?”

“I was craving some noodles, so I went to get some hibachi.”

“Steak?”

“And chicken if you’d like some of my chicken.”

“No. You need to eat something other than the noodles and fried rice,” You open your mouth and he’s quick to press his lips against yours. He pulls away. “Don’t deny it. Come on, we can go to my van.” His hand grips yours and he’s pulling you along with him towards the back door. He opens it for you, allowing you to walk out first.

You smile and step outside, feeling his hand meet your back as he leads you towards his van, pulling out his keys. He unlocks your door first, pulling the door open. You thank him and slip inside, separating the food quickly.

Your stomach rumbles and you wait for Eddie to slip into the car as well, opening your plastic fork. The door squeaks open and he slips inside, slamming the door shut - it was an old van, so that was the only way to make sure it shuts.

You finally open the styrofoam lid that kept the noodles warm, immediately digging in. His brows lift as he watches you, a small smile lifting at the corner of his mouth. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Mmm…” You chew as you think to yourself, eyes lifting to stare at the roof of the car, some of the gray felt that covered it was starting to become unglued. “Yes. Those little french toast squares and eggs and a pop tart - you know. The best poptart.”

He narrows his eyes. “The hot fudge ones are the best.”

“To you. The best is the brown sugar one. Heated up with a glass of milk,” Your eyes gleam. “I think I’m gonna eat another one when I get home. By the way, what time are you coming home?”

“Probably around 8.”

“Okay.”

His brows lift when you don’t elaborate, chewing his steak slowly as he stares at you. “Why?”

You look over at him, mouth greasy from the noodles. “Just wondering,” You shrug. “Might have you a little something.” You smile.

He chuckles softly and reaches over, wiping the grease from the corner of your mouth. “Can’t wait.”

You smile at him and turn back to eating your food.

And true to his word, Eddie was home at 8 at night. He stopped on the rickety porch, finishing his cigarette before stepping into the trailer. Wayne had finally stopped smoking and he didn’t want to bother either one of you with the smell.

When he steps in, it’s dark, all except the kitchen, the glow of orange leading him in. His brows lift as he stares at you, eyes slipping down towards the cake you had decorated the best you could. Suddenly, he’s nervous.

“Uh… Did I miss something?”

You giggle softly and shake your head. “No, silly. Come here.” He lets out a small relieved breath, making his way over and dropping his keys on the table. It’s easy to navigate his way around the kitchen to you, arms winding around your waist as he pulls you closer. He gives you a quick peck, pulling his head away, lifting a brow.

“Is that… a hot fudge pop tart I taste.”

“…No,” You say. He smirks. “But, look at the cake. Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He hums softly, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“You didn’t even look look at it, Eds. Look!” You turn his head. He lets out a groan, looking at it. He finally notices the writing in red icing.

‘Baby Munson On The Way!’

His eyes leave the cake and he quickly turns to look at you. “What?”

Your smile drops a bit, head tilting. “I… I’m pregnant?” Your heart pounds by the sound of his voice, hands starting to sweat. You’re a bit unsure now about the whole prospect of being pregnant now.

“You… You’re pregnant?” He tilts his head. You nod, teeth pulling at your bottom lip. His eyes drop to your stomach and you instantly wrap your arms around the area. “How far along?”

“A month.”

He smiles a bit, hands landing on your biceps, gripping softly. “You’re… you’re pregnant?” His voice wavers and he lifts his eyes to meet yours. Your smile finally comes back, although small, and you nod.

“Yeah… You want to see the ultrasound?”

“Yes. Yeah.” He nods quickly. You nod and walk past him, reaching into your purse, holding the black and white photo out towards him. He grabs the photo, staring at it. You step up close to him, arms wrapping around him. Your cheek rests against his bicep, the smell of grease and sweat from a long day and faded cologne invading your nose.

“Is that…?” He points to a small looking bean. You giggle softly and nod.

“Mhm… That’s our little bean.”

His finger runs over the photo before placing it down, turning towards you and immediately wraps his arms around your frame. Your lift onto your toes slightly, arms wrapping around his neck. Your hand finds its way into his curls.

His hands slide around towards your stomach as he pulls away, kneeling down. His knees crack and he winces. “Hi, bean,” He whispers. “I can’t wait to meet you.” His lips press to your stomach and you giggle softly.

He lifts back up, pushing the loose strands that cover your cheeks behind your ears, before cupping your cheeks. His thumbs trace under your eye, catching a tear that falls. “Are you happy?” He whispers.

“Unbelievably so,” Your nose nudges his. “What about you? Are you happy?”

He grins. “I think it’s metal.” You giggle softly when he swoops in, pressing kisses all over your face, hands gripping at your sides.

He pulls away and notices the look on your face. “You know… my back is hurting.”

It’s only a slight lie. You’d gotten nervous and switched around the room and living room, which Eddie hadn't noticed just yet, and went on rampant ‘cleaning and moving stuff around’.

“Would my lovely girl like to have a massage?”

“And a head rub.” You nod.

He huffs out a laugh, nodding. “Anything for you. But… can we eat some cake first?”

You laugh softly and press a peck to his lips. “Of course.”

— @stveharringtn 2024

thanks for reading! reblogs, comments, likes, feedback, & requests are encouraged, welcomed, & deeply appreciated.

#cherry writes ✿#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #jospeh quinn x reader

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sillygayrants · 4 months

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Eddie came into family video everyday to talk to Robin. It was a regular occurrence. It started off every week or so, and then every couple of days, and now he was bringing her lunch. Every. Single. Day. Steve thought this was unacceptable.

Now he knew that Robin was his best friend, and she was allowed to like other people just fine, but there was something about Eddie that itched under his skin, like a bad rash he couldn’t get rid of, or a heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

He would walk into the store everyday at 1:30 on the dot, not a minute earlier or later, with a brown bag that said “Robin, my love” or “my beautiful wife”, or something just as stupid, and he always passed it to Robin with a big, stupid, idiotic smile on his face and she would always give him a little peck on the check as a thank you.

He would lean over and rest his stupid forearms on the desktop, showing off his stupid tattoos and all his stupid rings and bracelets. The latter clanging around while he made extravagant movements to match extravagant stories.

Sometimes he would play with his hair, or twiddle with a necklace, or run his fingers up and down his forearm. Steve was starting to realise he paid a lot more attention to Eddie than to, well, anything else.

Everything had been normal, up until the day it was 1:39, and Eddie hadn’t shown up.

Steve wasn’t worried, he refused to be, he just sat there at the cash register and thought about whatever it is he usually thought about that didn’t include Eddie, which he found wasn’t a lot.

So of course, he didn’t breathe a sigh of relief when the sound of jangling bracelets and big platform boots came tumbling through the door.

Steve looked up, expecting the usual sight of big brown eyes staring towards Robin, waiting to tell her his most recent adventure, and instead found those eyes on a a beeline straight for him, and arms holding two large paper bags.

Eddie dumped one of the bags right on the counter in front of Steve, who strained his eyes to read the “stevie, baby” written on the side of the bag, with a little cartoon heart next to it.

“I never see you eat lunch.”

Steve realised he hadn’t said anything for at least 30 seconds before he head Eddie say that. He looked up at him. “What?”

“I’m in here everyday, at lunch time, and you never eat, just sit there. I’ve been coming here for 3 months for godsake, how have you not withered away, turned to stone and dust.” That last bit was accompanied by flailing arms.

Steve was in shock, his mouth felt too dry to speak and his belly was doing that stupid thing it did whenever Eddie showed up, but this time 10 times fast.

“Eddie,” he finally managed to get out, “my lunch break is at 12, I’ve, uh, already eaten.”

Big doe eyes widened impossibly further “oh.”

There was a weird silence, one that shouldn’t be weird. If it were any other one of his friends he would’ve laughed it off by now or simply just taken and eaten the food, but then again, none of his other friends were Eddie.

“I’ll just put it back in the fridge at home, it’ll be leftovers for me” Eddie said and hands reached out to pick the bag right back up before Steve’s hand was on his forarm, and he took the bag right back.

“Is that chicken? I can smell chicken.”

“Yeah it’s a chicken sandwich, I made it with mayo and there’s some salad on the side if you wanted it”

Steve stared up at Eddie again, who was now playing with his hair.

“You made it?” Steve’s mouth felt dry.

Eddie just nodded, and watched Steve reach into the bag and pull out the food, talking a bite out of the sandwich and humming approvingly.

“It’s really good, thanks man. You did a perfect job on the chicken to mayo ratio, like PERFECT”

Eddies cheeks dusted pink and he was now making little plaiting motions in his hair.

Steve wasn’t sure when the little thing his belly did when Eddie was around had become a comfortable warmth spread throughout his body, something almost easing, or soothing might be the word for it. Whatever it was, Steve liked it.

They just stared at eachother, an unspoken pact or, something, that this was nice, that they could get used to this.

Until there was a voice to the left of Steve speaking up, “I’d like my food now dickwad”

(P.s GUYS IM SORRY IF THE END IS RUSHED I LOWK DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT PLEASE TELL ME OR REPOST AND GIVE TIPS. Anyway this started off as a completely different plot line and I completely spiralled off so now I need to go write something about that 😖😖)

#eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie ficlet

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steddietogo · 1 year

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Ficlet for this lovely anon <3<3 thank you so much for reading them :)

52: Kisses that have their knees buckling under them

———

Steve has him backed into a wall at the back of the Hideout. Even has an arm bracing against it near his head for good measure.

“I take it you liked it, big boy,” Eddie’s voice carries all the bravado he’s not feeling. If Eddie had known that a single metal cover of Steve’s favorite song would’ve put him in this position, he would’ve done it ages ago.

Steve gets even closer, their chests almost brushing. Eddie feels molten under his gaze. “I did,” is all Steve says. It takes Eddie all of his self control to stay put— to not throw himself at the other man. Whatever weird game of chicken this is, he’s going to win it.

Steve brings his other hand to his face, gripping Eddie’s chin inbetween his thumb and forefinger. “You did good, baby,”

Baby.

Eddie’s head is spinning in anticipation when Steve grazes his thumb against his bottom lip and tugs on it, his half-lidded eyes tracking every movement. “Can I kiss you?”

Eddie doesn’t spare a moment before he’s nodding. He feels Steve’s arm wind around his waist pulling him closer. Eddie sends a silent apology to every pretentiously perfect movie kiss he had ever ridiculed, every girl that came into class, dazed after a make out session with the King of Hawkins High he had ever made fun of. Because the moment Steve kisses him, Eddie’s knees buckle leaving him scrambling for purchase on Steve’s shirt to keep himself upright.

He’s helpless to stop the breathy moan that punches out of him as Steve angles his head to sweep his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, fighting the urge to whine in complaint when he finally pulls away.

They just stand there holding each other, breath fogging in the cold, as the world slowly comes back into focus. Steve softly cups the side of Eddie’s face, so at odds with the filthy way he’d just been kissed by the same man.

“Where did you park?” Steve asks, lips brushing the shell of Eddie’s ear— so naturally Eddie hears none of it.

“Huh?”

“Your van, sweetheart. Where did you park it? Wanna take you home,”

“Love the enthusiasm Stevie, but shouldn’t you be taking Robbie to her house first,” Eddie chuckles.

“Fuck,”

Eddie laughs harder, reeling a little at the fact that Steve had gotten so hung up on kissing little ole Eddie Munson that he’d forgotten about his own soul sister.

“Stay right here, I’ll come back for you,” Steve promises, a picture of reluctance as he pulls away. “I mean not right here— inside cos it’s cold,”

“Okay big boy, drive safe,” Eddie’s blows him a kiss which Steve mimes catching and puts it in his breast pocket right by his heart.

———

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #mine #asks #102 kiss prompts

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homerforsure · 5 months

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Can I request #21 "It's alright, I'm here." for the there was only one bed/sharing a bed prompts? ☺️❤️

Only three months late! But I was feeling inspired by @andavs stunning 6 days of Buddie art (this one in particular) and I finally made some writing happen. <3

ETA: Now on AO3 because I did think of a title after all

The Second Hand Unwinds

The body holds on tight to pain. It’s a trite little phrase that Eddie’s snorted at more than once after hearing it from Frank, from well-meaning “I’ve been where you are” guys at group meetings, and from more than one physical therapist. But the fact that it makes for pretty, marketable word art, doesn’t keep it from being true.

Eddie remembers it whenever an old memory works its way out of the darkness like shrapnel coming to the surface and every time pain flares hot and fresh through scarred-over wounds. His body marks the passing of the seasons, notches carved into his bones as the years pass, and Eddie’s muscles brace themselves hard against the most devastating anniversaries of his life. Usually well before his brain has a chance to notice the date on the calendar.

Every time it happens–every time–he forgets what it feels like. He wakes up one morning and it takes him longer to get out of bed. He rubs his eyes and feels better after a shower and doesn’t think anything more of it. And then he wakes up tired the next day. And the next. Eddie wakes up in a gloom and he remembers tossing and turning so restlessly that he’s not actually sure he even fell asleep.

From there it’s a quick slide into running late, losing patience, making largely inconsequential but stupid mistakes at work. He takes one night off from cooking, then two. Christopher doesn’t go without vegetables or protein or crustless sandwiches or any of the other important parts of the preteen food pyramid but he notices the change. Mentions the change to Buck because it doesn’t occur to him to keep secrets like that (not that Eddie would really want him to) and then Eddie finds himself under the compassionate scrutiny of Buck’s gaze with no idea how to explain himself.

So he attempts a simple batch of lemon chicken to prove he’s alright. Then, when Christopher and Buck crack each other up making exaggerated sour faces at each other over the mostly inedible plates that they dutifully try to eat anyway, Eddie doesn’t laugh. He does the dishes himself and he doesn’t turn around when Buck wraps his arms around his waist from behind and rests a chin on his shoulder in a lemon-scented apology.

His body aches. It aches even when work has been easy and he’s angry and he’s fine but also not and he can’t figure out what’s wrong.

“I’m going to bed,” he says, earlier than usual. “Can you check his homework?”

“Yeah, of course,” Buck answers, getting up from the couch even though Eddie deliberately made his announcement from the far end of the living room. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Just tired.” Eddie waits and accepts the hand on his forehead as Buck checks to see how warm he is, almost looking more worried when he doesn’t find any trace of fever.

Keeping his hand on Eddie’s cheek, he asks, “You’ve been tired a lot lately.”

“Mmm.”

“You’d tell me right? If there was something wrong?”

There’s nothing Eddie can do but nod. He wishes there was something, wishes he knew how to explain it to Buck–to himself for fuck’s sake. He wishes he knew why he’s pulling himself away from Buck’s touch when he wants to melt into it until his body makes sense again.

Buck studies his face, searching for the answers that Eddie can’t give him and then he sighs, gently brushing his hair back before leaning in to kiss him just as gently. “I won’t be up late,” he says. “If you need anything…”

“I will,” Eddie promises.

Fresh spring heat has finally started warming the city and the bedroom is stifling when Eddie closes the door behind him. He cracks both bedroom windows just wide enough to let a breeze in, almost wincing as the smell of jasmine comes in with it, strong enough to make him want to sneeze like a dog does, with his full body and a shake of his head. He leaves the windows anyway, trading one discomfort for another and slides into bed, staring at the whirring blades of the fan until they morph into the shape of their longer, sharper helicopter cousins and stop Eddie’s heart in his chest.

He’s not even in the helicopter. He’s somewhere else. It’s dark and the wind is howling, splattering rain pinging off every surface like flying gravel. Eddie can see through it perfectly. None of the rain streaking down his face impacts his view of the scene at all. He sees Shannon, dressed in sunshine yellow, take a step toward him. Toward the flooded street that’s rushing with whitewater and debris. He screams. But all that comes out of his mouth is blood. When he tries to run, to stop her, to dive in, to rescue her, his legs give out beneath him and he collapses.

A wave crests over the curb and washes Shannon, blood on her clothes and blood on her face, into the river. She vanishes with a choked gasp, reaching for him, and Eddie reaches back, stretching out his hand as far as it will go. There’s blood on his fingers and pooling beneath him and he reaches and reaches, trying to pull himself up, trying to save her, to save both of them, but his body flops uselessly in the rain.

It hurts. And then it doesn’t. And Eddie knows.

He’s going to die.

He’s going to die and he never told Buck- He’s going to die and he hasn’t had enough time with Christopher. He won’t get to explain this to him. He won’t get to see him grow up. He won’t get to see Buck grow old. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s-

Gasping, Eddie wakes up. It’s still dark; the fan is still spinning. As he struggles to sit up, he can’t get any breath into his lungs. The air is too thick with jasmine, that cloying scent that invades LA every spring, and he puts a hand to his throat like he can claw a fresh opening into his lungs.

So many of Eddie’s worst memories have come in the spring. With this smell in the air. With this light shimmering through the windows. And his body remembers.

“Eddie? Eddie, hey. Eddie, are you okay?” Buck asks, his voice cutting through the fog as one of his strong hands presses between Eddie’s shoulder blades and the other hovers over his thigh. He’s gotten to his knees somehow while Eddie’s been doing all he can just to sit upright and his body is warm and close. That scent of Buck that gets more powerful after he’s been sleeping a while pricks at Eddie’s nose and his windpipe relaxes all at once, finally letting in a mouthful of air.

“That’s it. Just breathe. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you. It was just a dream.”

Eddie can hear how hard Buck is working to keep the fear out of his voice for him and he falls in love just a little bit more in that moment. Turning into Buck’s chest, Eddie lets himself fall into his arms, shoving his freezing hands up the back of Buck’s t-shirt and trying to burrow his way inside. Buck only wobbles for a second as he takes Eddie’s weight and then he cradles him close, one hand sliding up into Eddie’s hair and the other wrapping tight around his body.

“It’s okay. It’s alright; I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe. We’re all safe. Christopher is right down the hall. Everybody is okay.”

Effortlessly, Buck soothes the wounds he knows are most likely to be hurting badly enough to wake Eddie in the middle of the night and the gravel sound of his sleep-rough words almost brings tears to his eyes.

His body remembers this too. It knows safety and comfort and strength enough for all of his heaviness. Eddie breathes in Buck–herbal body wash and the tang of sweat, the familiarity of his skin–and, gradually, the terror of his nightmare melts into exhaustion.

“What do you need?” Buck murmurs, stroking through the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck. “Some water? Or we could watch tv for a while?”

Buck can feel Eddie shake his head against his collarbone, but the words aren’t as far away as they sometimes are on nights like this so Eddie reaches for them. “No. Just this. Just stay with me.”

Keep holding me is what he means, but he already feels delicate enough to shred and that additional vulnerability is just a step too far. Buck understands anyway.

“Want to lay back down?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

It takes a minute–Buck’s knees protest the change as he shifts his weight off of them and the blankets are half tangled and half on the floor from the thrashing both of them have done–but eventually they fold themselves together. On their sides, facing each other, Eddie twines his fingers together with Buck’s and gets a squeeze in return, one that promises that this is something he’ll never wake up and find gone.

The chill eases from his bones and the screaming eases from his memories and Eddie tiptoes cautiously back to the edge of sleep. He’s wavering there, resisting the fall, and he feels the mattress shift and feels it creak as Buck shifts beside him.

His fingers brush Eddie’s cheek again, curling around to tilt his head forward, just the smallest bit, and then Buck presses a kiss to the top of his head. He breathes in deep, like he’s reminding himself of something too, and then there’s another kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“I love you,” he whispers. “We’re okay.”

And all of Eddie believes.

#buddie #buddie fanfic #911 fanfic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #sharing a bed #depression #trauma #nightmares #death mention #should I post this to AO3?#I'd have to title it #I hate titling #allison writes

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pizzaqueen · 1 year

Text

“I’ve always wondered what a Steve would taste like,” Eddie says, tapping his chin in thought.

Steve flips a page of his car magazine. “That’s a pretty specific thing to wonder.”

“Mm.” Eddie’s got that mischievous glint in his eye. “Wonder how I could find out.”

“Gee,” Steve says, “I wonder.” And when Eddie gives him an imploring look, he rolls his eyes, and holds out his arm, not even bothering to set his magazine aside. He’s expecting Eddie to lick him, or something, maybe nibble a little, which wouldn’t be the first time. And, as gross as it is, Steve doesn’t really mind. It’s part of Eddie’s weird brand of affection and, for the time being, as close to what Steve wants as he’s going to get. (He’s working on it, though, just needs to be a little more sure the want goes both ways.)

What he’s not expecting is for Eddie to grab his forearm—one hand on Steve’s wrist, the other at his elbow—and bite into it like Steve’s arm’s a fucking chicken drumstick.

“Ow!” Steve pulls his arm away, cradling it to his chest. “What the hell, dude.”

“Oops. Got carried away.”

“Ugh.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says and at least looks it. He reaches for Steve again, saying, “Here, I’ll—”

But Steve just yells, “NO!” and goes back to his magazine, muttering under his breath.

There’s a bruise the precise shape of Eddie’s teeth on Steve’s arm for over a week—it’s summer and he either has to suffer in long sleeves or explain the bruise—and he’s surprised at how guilty Eddie looks.

“I really didn’t mean to bite you that hard,” Eddie says.

“It’s fine. I’ve been bitten by scarier things than you.”

“Still…” Eddie trails off, shifting his weight, then he holds out his arm. “Here, take your revenge.”

“I don’t want revenge.”

“C’mon.” Eddie wriggles his arm. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Steve huffs, but he takes Eddie’s arm and says, “Okay, if you say so,” and he bites into Eddie. Hard.

“Ow!” Eddie pulls his arm away, rubbing it with a wince.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Hmph.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, almost pouting.

“You know,” Steve says, “I can think of better uses for your teeth.”

A faint flush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks and he leans a little closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve leans in, closer and closer and then he shoves a pack of chips at Eddie. “Open these for me, will you?”

Eddie blinks, looks disappointed a moment—which Steve definitely doesn’t miss—and then takes the packet. He rips it open with his teeth and gives it back to Steve.

“Thanks, man,” Steve says, grinning as he shoves a handful of chips in his mouth.

Eddie sighs, reaching over and dipping his hand in the packet. “Any time,” he says, “that’s what I’m here for,” chomping his stolen chips.

#steddie #Steve x eddie #I was super tired when I wrote this so blame it on that 🤣#also it might seem like this was inspired by that I’ve always wondered what I’d taste like meme #but it’s inspired by something that happened to me long before that lmao #(as a teenager but also honestly I think as a young adult? i have bitey friends 🤣)#i just think Eddie would bite with very little provocation so Steve should be happy there was any kind of lead up there 🤣#pizzaqueenfic

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shares-a-vest · 2 months

Text

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 7: Giving someone a present

wc: 886 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing, some suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Pre-Birthday, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Cuddling, Spoiling Presents, Wayne Munson Takes a Pottery Class (it's only a throwaway line, but it's a headcanon I have rotting my brain rn)

Note: I just want to shout out the lovely comment @withacapitalp left on my ficlet from yesterday. It definitely influenced today's fic, as Steve reflects on the life he has in this AU. Thank youuu so much Liam for recognising an underlying theme/nuance in this universe.

‘The Best Present of All’

“What’s got you all giddy?” Steve asks, watching Eddie practically strut across their bedroom as he heads for his side of the bed.

He looks ridiculous – like a headbanging, scruffy chicken. Eddie pauses by the side of the bed and rips off his loose, cut-off Black Sabbath shirt. He hurls it halfway across the room, the discarded almost-terrycloth fluttering to the floor as he jumps on the bed and lounges across Steve’s legs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, precious,” he coos, rolling awkwardly on his back and grimacing.

He brushes it off as if Steve doesn’t know the telltale signs of his partner twinging his back – never one to exactly take it easy after almost dying in the Spring of 1986. Eddie puffs out a breath to blow hair from his face and giggles.

“I bought you the best present,” he continues, looking at the ceiling.

“That so?” Steve teases, knowing all too well that whatever said material item is, it will be nothing compared to the mischief Eddie surely has cooked up.

And Steve is going to love every minute of it. He loves every birthday he gets to have with Eddie by his side – and that’s something that can’t be bought.

Eddie turns his head and grins.

“I’m going to gift-give so hard,” he quips, scrunching his nose and clenching his jaw.

Steve supposes it is meant to come off, well... seductive, or something – but Eddie simply looks like an utter lovesick dork with those glee-filled eyes peeking out from under his unruly bangs.

“Did you help Joanie with something, at least?” Steve chuckles.

“Of course,” Eddie says, tenting his fingers together, “Prepare for a macaroni-encrusted card and the wobbliest, most unusable coffee mug in human existence.”

“Wow,” he laughs and swipes at his partner with his pillow. Eddie splutters away, spitting like a cranky kitten as Steve chides, “You cannot keep a secret.”

“I blame Wayne for the mug idea.”

“Stop making fun.”

He tugs on Eddie’s bare arm – if he has the man shirtless in bed, he at least wants to cuddle (and stop his legs from being crushed). Eddie goes limp, forcing Steve to all but pull his dead weight upright and into his arms, mussing and twisting their oft-abused bedding into a crumple – the blue patterned lines now a wavy swish.

“But the old man is taking a goddamn pottery class like he’s Demi fucking Moore,” Eddie cackles into his chest.

Steve shushes him and presses a kiss to the top of his head just to be safe. He holds Eddie close, breathing in the smell of fruity shampoo. Feeling the warmth of his skin against his own – the touch of flesh under his fingers.

He shifts on the spot and bites his lip.

“Eds?”

“Mmmhmm?” Eddie hums and Steve can feel his mischievous smirk.

“Since you’re spoiling presents…” he wonders aloud, removing his hand from his partner’s shoulder so he can attempt to flick back the blankets, “What if I got one of my presents now?”

Eddie untangles himself and bolts upright, scrambling with the bedding instead.

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”

They make quick work of slipping under the covers, righting their bedding as much as possible – even if it all somehow ends up on a forty-five-degree angle in their haste. But once they get settled, all cozy and warm and impossibly close as they roll into each other’s embrace on instinct, Steve feels his heart skip a beat.

“Eddie…” he whispers, letting his partner’s name linger on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers back, his big brown eyes glistening from the reflection of the light on the nightstand.

Steve shuffles closer, closing the already tiny gap between them and loops his arms around Eddie’s middle. He simply holds his partner for a moment, looking into those beautiful eyes – watching as Eddie breathes in and out and blinks. He leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, clinging to Eddie tight as he begins to kiss back. It deepens almost instantly and Steve hums, stifling a gasp as tears begin to prickle up.

Over the years, he has turned into a total sap, the waterworks turning on so easily sometimes that it worries him.

But he just feels so much – so much love – with his family. With their silly cats, first in Chicago in their tiny apartment, then in their slightly bigger but nonetheless cramped apartment and now in their home. A four-bedroom house with plenty of room to live and build. A house with a yard, a garden and a garage big enough for Eddie to jam with Freak on weekends.

The best gift life could have given him.

He used to be scared that he’d be stuck in Hawkins forever, working for his father and trying to please his mother all the while failing and remaining lonely.

But all that changed with Eddie. Even if it first started during that awful Spring Break back when he thought they might not even survive long enough to see where things could go.

“I love you,” he whispers when they break apart and come up for air, “Love you and Joanie so much.”

“I love you too, Stevie,” Eddie says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek, “Happy birthday.”

#fluffspring2024 #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie as girl-dads

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