tashi duncan's defence attorney

nevermind just starting to write fanfiction (and properly post on tumblr) | she/her | 🇧🇷

[whisperingmasters]

my steddie fics - masterpost 💞

can't believe I finally have a reason to create an author tag and my first fanfic masterpost! thank you so much for all the interactions on my posts, the kind words and the suggestions :)

you can find all my fics under #tashi writes steddie, or posted on my ao3 account, GetMeBack and don't forget to check the cws for each fic/chapter.

may 2026 keep bringing us eddie and steve across more and more universes ✨

📝 one-shots:

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do 💍  read it on ao3 or tumblr

summary:  Five times Eddie Munson proposed to Steve Harrington for the plot, and one time it was real.

or:

The one where Eddie proposes and Steve says yes every single time.

complete | 5,580 words | rated E

tags: modern au, no upside down, established relationship, idiots in love, marriage proposal, domestic fluff, fluff & humor, running jokes, first dates, made for each other, 5+1 things, new years day

📖 multi-chaptered fics:

When did you get hot? 🔥 read it on ao3 or tumblr

summary: When Steve Harrington’s quiet, PE teacher life literally goes up in flames, he doesn’t expect to be rescued by a hot firefighter, much less his former High School classmate, Eddie Munson. Now his apartment’s ruined, his routine’s wrecked, and his brain won’t stop replaying one very smug smile and raspy voice.

complete.  | 20k words | rated E | multi-chaptered

tags: modern au, no upside down, firefighter eddie munson, teacher steve harrington, aged-up characters, idiots in love, mutual pining, getting together, miscommunication, slice of life, domestic bliss, emotional sex.

his special day 🎂 read it on ao3 or tumblr

summary:  Eddie discovers his husband has never had a birthday party.

complete.  | 12,471 words | rated T and up | multi-chaptered

tags: modern au, aged-up characters, steddie dads, married steddie, established relationship, girl dads, domestic fluff, slice of life, birthdays, post-thanksgiving / pre-christmas, fluff & angst, emotional hurt/comfort, found family

santa doesn’t know you like I do 🎄 read it on ao3 or tumblr

summary:  For nearly three years, Steve Harrington was Eddie Munson's best friend. He was also the guy Eddie fucked on lonely nights, after stressful exams, and in stolen moments in quiet hours. It was a perfect, no-strings-attached deal for both of them.

Until Eddie comes home after an almost-important concert and finds Steve very attached to someone else's strings.

One disastrous Christmas party is all it takes for their arrangement to come crashing down, forcing them to finally admit what they really want for Christmas.

complete. | 27,918 words | rated E | multi-chaptered

tags: modern au, no upside down, college/university au, friends with benefits to lovers, idiots in love, pining, miscommunication, jealousy, angst with a happy ending, breaking up & making up, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, holiday fic, christmas fic, found family

[whisperingmasters]

platonic!hellcheer wip, modern!au

Eddie spent his Thursday day off with a pair of hands gently tilting his chin and smoothing over his skin. They were significantly smaller and softer than the last pair of hands that had held his face, and they belonged to a bedroom that was very much all kinds of pink.

Chrissy was leaning in close, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration as she carefully tested a new eyeliner on him.

"Ohhh, I actually think this aqua green looks so cute on you!" she whispered excitedly, pulling back just a fraction to admire her work. "I think it’s the best colored liner we’ve tried so far, Eddie!"

Eddie blindly reached a hand out, patting the mattress to find the hand mirror she had discarded. "Alright, lemme see—"

"No, no, not yet!" Chrissy scolded lightly, swatting his hand away. "I need to see how the eyeshadow looks on the other side first, ‘cause I think silver is going to pop way better than the yellow on your eyes."

Eddie let his head fall back against her fluffy pillows with a dramatic groan. "Woman, for the love of God."

"I'm serious, hold still! It’s gonna be super quick," she promised, already digging into a glittery palette.

Eddie just sighed and let her poke at his eyelid again. It felt entirely impossible to say no to anything Christina Cunningham asked of him. She was an unpredictable well of freakiness and crazy ideas, all wrapped up in a genuinely sweet, most caring heart. Eddie loved the friendship they had managed to rekindle now that they were adults navigating a whole different city together. Back in middle school, he’d genuinely thought the overwhelming affection he felt for her was a romantic crush. A theory that was entirely debunked after their first and only awkward, toothy kiss in the seventh grade. It wasn’t long after that when he realized that no, he was just gay as fuck, and she was his lesbian bestie.

A few people at the bar or around campus always assumed they were together and they never really bothered to deny it, but the only thing they actually shared was an unshakeable complicity, and, apparently, Eddie’s face, which Chrissy had claimed as her personal canvas for testing out new makeup combinations. “You just have the face for it, Eddie, I swear” she’d argued once, and this had become part of their routine. 

Sometimes, Jeff and Ronnie would join them, crowding into the small pink bedroom, though Ronnie usually ended up ignoring the makeup in favor of playing with Satan Margareth, Chrissy’s cat, ancient, massive, fluffy and lazy Ragdoll. She was currently sprawled out at the foot of the bed, in one of her diva poses. 

wip from the next ch of too close to the sun (on ao3)

[whisperingmasters]

when u sit down to write a simple steddie age gap where eddie hooks up with his ex’s dad purely for revenge because the ex cheated on him, but then u accidentally give them pages and pages of deeply traumatizing lore, a complex family dynamic, an emotionally stunted dilf steve who tries to buys his son's love but gives eddie everything feelings-related without him even asking and suddenly this """"shorfic""""" has a 10k outline and i am fighting for my life in google docs EVERY DAY😭 like why am i writing a character study on intergenerational trauma when i just wanted them to have an age gap and fuck in a hotel room???????? it's so fun tho I DON'T KNOW HOW IT ENDS YET

[whisperingmasters]

maybe i went too far with this chapter

so i've been writing ch 4 of too close to the sun for a few days now and I had a feeling that this chapter was getting a lil bit long considering the others are mostly between 3-5k but i'm still missing one scene and the word count is 7K????????????????????? i think i won't be able to divide it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whisperingmasters]

an obvious conspiracy - modern aged up! steddie au

SUMMARY

Jasmine Harrington is sixteen, bored, and in possession of a vintage camcorder. So, she decides to make a documentary proving her father is secretly dating his “best friend,” Eddie Munson.

check part I here and part II here

PART III

It begins with a shaky, extreme close-up of Jaz’s face. She is hiding behind a display of athletic socks inside a brightly lit shoe store, looking slightly disheveled and whispering directly into the microphone.

“Okay, okay… so,” she whispers, glancing nervously to her left. “I know I haven’t filmed in like, four days. Junior year is literally trying to kill me and I forgot the camera in my backpack.”

She adjusts her grip on the device. “But today, my dad needed me to help him find new sneakers. It was supposed to be a totally normal, boring day at the mall. Just the two of us. Until…”

She turns the camera around, zooming in sharply toward a corner of the massive store.

Steve is sitting on a bench, surrounded by at least three open shoe boxes and a pile of shopping bags. Standing right in front of him, hands resting casually on his hips, is Eddie. He is looking down at Steve with an expression that can only be described as fond, shaking his head slightly at whatever Steve is saying.

“Guys, there is no way this is a coincidence!” Jasmine hisses into the microphone. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? He just spawned here!”

The video cuts abruptly.

The next shot is moving, capturing the ceiling of the mall and the tops of passing heads, as if the camera is being held loosely at chest height while walking. A deep voice speaks from just beside the lens.

“So… let me get this straight,” Eddie’s voice says, sounding genuinely confused. “You’re a vlogger now? A TikToker? A Snap… chatter?”

The camera swings around clumsily to face Jasmine. She is walking next to him, laughing and shaking her head.

“Nooo!” she protests. “I’m doing a school project, Uncle Eddie. Just a project. I am not a, uh, influencer or anything like that.”

Eddie turns the camera to himself, frowning playfully. “And what’s with this ancient brick, Jaz?”

“It’s for my film class. I wanted to use Uncle John’s old camera to capture the… texture of reality. Phones are too clean.” Jasmine lies smoothly.

Eddie raises his eyebrows behind his sunglasses, nodding slowly. “You go with your vision, girl. I would have just used my cellphone and called it a day, but your idea is way cooler.”

“Right?” Steve’s voice chimes in from the other side. “I said the same thing!”

The camera pans over to Steve. He is walking with another shopping bag tucked under his arm.

Eddie chuckles, looking over at him. “Bet you’re the one who raised her all picky about aesthetics, Harrington.”

Steve lets out a scoff of disbelief, looking up at the ceiling and then giving Eddie a playful, side-eye glare. “Oh, yeah. So it’s my fault? What about your weird retro field trips to dusty record stores?”

Eddie grabs the side of the camera lens, turning it toward himself again, making his face fill the frame.

“And that is me teaching the kid some culture!” he declares to the lens. “Jaz, put that in your documentary about… the texture of reality, okay? Your dad here is an uncultured pretty boy who wouldn't know art if it hit him in the face.”

“Hey! I bought the sneakers you liked!” Steve protests in the background, shoving Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie just laughs, winking at the camera before the video ends.

The recording cuts abruptly. The camera is much steadier now, held at a higher angle. It’s pointed directly at a full-length mirror in the center of the store’s aisle.

Jaz stands in front of it, turning slightly to inspect her reflection. She is wearing a massive, oversized teddy coat with a bold, graphic cow print—large irregular black spots on pure white. Her hair is pulled back into two thick Dutch braids that start at the crown of her head and meet at the nape of her neck, exploding into a low, voluminous ponytail of curls.

“I don't know…” Jasmine says, chewing on her lip as she looks at herself. “I don’t know if I can pull this off. Is it too much?”

“Too much?” Eddie’s voice comes from behind the camera, scoffing loudly. “Kid, are you kidding me? You look gorgeous. You are literally serving high fashion right now. You should totally get that.”

In the mirror, Jasmine tilts her head, still hesitant. “Hmm. I don’t know.”

From somewhere off-screen to the right, Steve’s voice pipes up. “Come here, let me see.”

“Go on, go on,” Eddie urges, ushering her with his free hand, which briefly enters the frame—rings flashing under the store lights.

The camera pans to follow Jasmine as she walks toward a seating area near the dressing rooms. Steve is standing there, holding a few button-down shirts on hangers. He looks up, and his face instantly softens.

“Wow,” Steve says, a smile spreading across his face. “You look beautiful, Jaz. So grown up.”

Jasmine smooths the fuzzy fabric of the coat. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am,” Steve nods emphatically.

“Hmm,” Jasmine hums, looking down at the cow print again. “I think I’m gonna buy it.”

“You know what?” Eddie’s voice interrupts from behind the lens. “I think this might be your birthday present.”

Jasmine’s head snaps up to look at the lens. “Nooo, Uncle Eds, come on. My birthday isn’t even close.”

“Oh well,” Eddie dismisses the logic effortlessly. “Too bad. Because I’m buying it for you.”

“You don't have to do that!” Jasmine protests, though she’s already smiling.

“Of course I do, girl,” Eddie says. “And if you want to throw in that pink skirt you were looking at earlier, I don't care either.”

Jasmine’s jaw drops. “SERIOUSLY?”

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs. “Go get it.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Jasmine squeals. She rushes toward the camera, and the image goes blurry and dark for a second as she wraps Eddie in a tight hug before sprinting off toward the racks.

The camera stabilizes again as Eddie walks over to the bench where Steve is. The angle lowers as Eddie sits down, the frame now filled mostly with Steve’s legs clad in his worn-in grey sneakers, and Eddie’s own ripped knees and combat boots entering the shot.

They sit in silence for a moment, the ambient mall noise humming around them.

“What?” Eddie asks finally, his voice low and amused.

“You love to spoil her, huh?” Steve says, his tone gentle but accusing. “Too much.”

“Oh, come on,” Eddie chuckles softly. The camera shifts slightly, just enough to catch Steve’s hand resting on his own knee. “Like you don't do the exact same thing.”

Steve laughs, a quiet, resigned sound. “It’s those convincing eyes of hers, okay? She gets me.”

“She got that from you,” Eddie murmurs. “Liz is a sweetheart, sure, but that look? That is totally you.”

The video cuts to a high-angle shot looking down the steep, metallic teeth of a moving escalator. Steve is standing on a step a few down from the camera, staring intently at his phone with a furrowed brow. Eddie is on the step directly behind him, leaning over Steve’s shoulder so his chin is practically resting on it, his finger pointing at something on the screen. They are so engrossed in their conversation that they completely block the way for a small crowd of people forming behind them, entirely oblivious to the annoyed sighs.

The view is partially obscured as the camera zooms in through a shelf of glassware inside a home goods store. Steve is holding a green, grassy-scented candle under Eddie’s nose. Eddie sniffs it, wrinkles his nose in dramatic disgust, and immediately snatches a different, darker candle from the shelf and shoves it into Steve’s face. Steve smells it and nods in immediate approval, tossing two of them into the shopping cart without a second thought.

Then, the camera catches them from behind as they walk through the main corridor. They aren't holding hands, but they are walking so close that their arms bump with every other step. As they approach a large trash can, Steve’s hand comes up and rests briefly on the small of Eddie’s back, steering him safely around the obstacle before dropping away naturally.

In the next cut, Jaz is sitting in the middle of a bustling food court. The table is piled high with shopping bags—clothing stores, a colorful stationery shop, and a box labeled "Fragile" sticking out of a bag near her elbow.

“So,” Jasmine says, with a satisfied smirk. “I secured the goods. Got a new outfit, stocked up on pens I definitely don’t need, and Uncle Eds found some weird gothic candle holders for his new house move.”

She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “I’m currently guarding everything while they get food. But look at this.”

She turns the camera around, zooming in aggressively across the food court toward the line for Panda Express.

Steve is standing there, holding a tray, nodding politely at a petite woman with a bob cut who is chatting animatedly with him.

“That is Karen from Dad’s office,” Jasmine whispers. “I’m preeetty sure they are just chatting about whatever. But look at Uncle Eddie.”

The camera shifts slightly. Eddie is standing glued to Steve’s side. He has one hand wrapped loosely but possessively around Steve’s bicep, his chin practically resting on Steve’s shoulder as he stares at Karen with a tight, polite smile.

“He liiterally gave up on ordering his pizza just to plant himself there and hold his arm,” Jasmine narrates, her voice breathless. “I swear... if they aren't together, this is the weirdest thing in the world!”

“Still haven’t given up, Jaz? And in public?”

A male voice speaks right next to the microphone.

The video jolts violently, pointing at the ceiling tiles for a second as Jasmine gasps, before crashing down sideways onto the table, filming a blurry view of a napkin holder.

“Jesus!” Jasmine yelps, righting the camera and whipping it around.

Jude is standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking unimpressed.

“Are you stalking me, Byers?” Jasmine accuses, zooming in on his face.

“Uhh, you’re the one stalking them, aren't you?” Jude counters, raising an eyebrow behind his sunglasses.

“Whatever,” Jasmine scoffs. “Wait, why are you here? It’s Tuesday. Isn’t this your karate day or something?”

Jude stiffens. He looks away from the lens. “Yeah. I would have karate. But Sensei had to reschedule. Because…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Because of a… gas leak. At the dojo. Everything is very dangerous.”

The camera zooms in on his shifty expression. “A gas leak?” Jasmine repeats skeptically. “Okay…”

“Yeah, so take that thing out of my face,” Jude grumbles, reaching out to push the lens away gently. “I just came to grab a smoothie, but... Seriously, Jaz, recording people in public is kinda—”

“Chill, Jude,” Jasmine interrupts, pulling the camera back slightly. “It’s just them. I’m not recording everyone or anything like that. Just my subjects….”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jude insists, his eyes darting around the food court nervously behind his sunglasses. “It’s not safe at all to do this…”

“What isn’t safe?”

The camera pans up sharply. Steve appears at the table, sliding a heavy red tray full of food onto the surface. He looks between Jude and Jasmine, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Jude freezes. He looks at Steve, then at the camera, then back at Steve.

“Uhh…” Jude stammers. “Camera thieves. Yeah. There’s a… lot. Of camera thieves. Around the area. Targeting… vintage equipment.”

Steve looks around the brightly lit, very safe-looking mall, looking skeptical. “In here? Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jasmine says. “Super dangerous these days, Dad. Because it’s a huge trend.”

“Right…” Steve says slowly. Then he smiles. “Well, good thing you have Jude here looking out for you.”

“Yeah,” Jude mumbles. “Always, uh… looking out.”

Eddie appears next to Steve, carrying three large sodas.

“Byers!” Eddie greets warmly, putting the drinks down to pull Jude into a rough, playful side-hug. “What are you doing here, kiddo? Escaping the chaotic house with Nance and John back?”

“Something like that,” Jude mumbles, looking trapped in the hug but patting Eddie’s back awkwardly.

“You hungry?” Steve asks, gesturing to the mountain of food. “We got way too much chow mein. Sit down, eat with us.”

“Yeah, sit down,” Eddie insists, kicking a chair out with his foot. “I’ll steal you a fork.”

“No! No, I can’t,” Jude says, panic flashing in his eyes. “I gotta go. I have to… pick up Iris. From the studio.”

“Wait,” Jasmine says. “Iris texted me ten minutes ago. She said she was staying late at the studio to help paint the set. She’s not done for another two hours.”

Jude freezes.

“Uhh…” Jude stammers, his face turning pink. “Yeah. I know. I’m… going early. To… watch and be a nice brother, I kinda owe her.” He points finger guns at them, walking backward rapidly. “So, yeah. Offer is great, but gotta run. Bye guys!”

“Okay…” Steve says slowly, watching him go. “See ya, Jude. Drive safe.”

“Bye, kid!” Eddie calls out, looking amused.

The camera whips back to the table. Steve is busy mixing his noodles, looking completely unbothered by his nephew’s erratic behavior.

“He is acting so weird today,” Jasmine mutters.

Steve just shrugs one shoulder, chewing thoughtfully for a second before gesturing vaguely with his fork, totally unconcerned.

“Ehh,” Steve says around the food, dismissive. “That’s normal for his age. You know, Eddie was weird every day in high school.”

From off-screen, a hand—Eddie's—enters the frame and slaps Steve’s arm.

“Hey!” Eddie protests. “I was mysterious!”

The video cuts to black.

Now, camera is pointed up from Jasmine’s lap. The view is mostly the car’s dashboard and the lower part of the windshield, which reflects the concrete ceiling of a parking garage. The sound of shopping bags rustling is close and loud.

Outside the car, the muffled voices of Steve and Eddie can be heard, followed by the sound of bags being set down.

“I could carry that, you know,” Steve’s voice says, slightly strained.

“Harrington, I didn’t ask,” Eddie’s voice replies, amused and a little breathless.

A solid, echoing thump signals the car trunk slamming shut.

“See you later?” Steve asks, his voice closer.

There’s a brief pause. “Can’t tonight,” Eddie says, sounding genuinely regretful. “I have that thing with Chris I told you about, and that meeting with the producers is still on. But… tomorrow is good?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, maybe a little too quickly. “Of course. Of course, tomorrow’s good. So… yeah, good to see you. Bye!”

“You too. See ya,” Eddie says. His voice gets much clearer. “Bye, Jaz!”

“Byeee!” Jasmine’s voice chirps. “Thank you again!”

The audio picks up the soft mwah, mwah of air kisses. A moment later, the driver’s side door opens and closes, the car dipping slightly as someone gets in. A soft sigh is audible.

“Want tacos tonight?” Steve’s voice asks, clear and close now.

“Sure!” Jasmine answers. “Can we do it around eight? Mom’s supposed to call me.”

“Sure,” Steve replies easily.

The video holds on the static view of the dashboard for a few more seconds before cutting out.

[whisperingmasters]

thank you so much maya hawke for making my ficwriter life easier to write aged up kids 😭😭😭

[whisperingmasters]

an obvious conspiracy - modern aged up! steddie au

SUMMARY

Jasmine Harrington is sixteen, bored, and in possession of a vintage camcorder. So, she decides to make a documentary proving her father is secretly dating his “best friend,” Eddie Munson.

check part I here

PART II

The screen flickers to life, the image slightly washed out by the harsh fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. Two faces fill the frame immediately. Jasmine is on the left, looking very smiley, while Iris leans in from the right, fixing her bangs but smiling too. Without a word, they both raise their hands. Jasmine flashes two fingers, and Iris does the same. “Day two,” they whisper in unison, before the scene cuts abruptly.

The next shot is way more lively, the frame shaking in time with the stifled laughter behind the microphone. The living room is bathed in the multicolored lights of a karaoke machine hooked up to the TV. In the center of the rug, Jude stands with a pink microphone gripped tight in his hand. He is wearing a white T-shirt with a green plaid shirt tied loosely around his hips, swaying stiffly to the beat of Elton John’s "Don't Go Breaking My Heart."

Next to him, barefoot and clad in worn-out jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt, is Eddie. He is doing a wiggly dance where his knees knock together like his legs are too long for his body. He sings the Kiki Dee parts in a deep voice that, even though he is joking, is just a little off key. He beams a massive smile at his honorary nephew.

“I gave you my key!” Eddie bellows, spinning around.

Behind the lens, the girls are still giggling, the audio peaking with their amusement. Jude spins during the instrumental break, but spots the small red recording light, and his performance face drops instantly into offense.

“Stop that!!!” he yells over the music, pointing an accusing finger straight at the lens. “Stop recording us, Iris!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Iris lies, her voice high pitched and extremely unconvincing.

“Liar!” Jude lunges forward, his hand coming up to block the view. The camera jerks wildly, filming the ceiling, then the floor, then a blur of Jude’s shirt as he tries to wrestle the device away. Somewhere in the background, Eddie’s loud, unmistakable cackle explodes through the room, completely delighted by the chaos, before the video cuts abruptly to static.

Now the camera is moving again, steadier this time, pointed downward as it tracks along the pattern of a long hallway rug. The image blurs slightly with the speed of the person walking. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Ding dong. Ding dong. Loud. Insistent.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Jasmine calls from behind the camera.

The door swings open and bright afternoon light floods the lens, washing the image for a second before it adjusts. A tall woman with long golden blonde hair and a blinding smile stands framed in the doorway. Next to her is a shorter woman with vivid red hair, holding a baby on her hip, his cheeks impossibly round and soft looking even through the grainy image.

“Hi, Princess!” the blonde says brightly, dropping a bag somewhere out of frame.

“Aunties!” Jasmine chirps. “Welcome back!”

“Long time no see, huh?” the redhead jokes, shifting the baby slightly, as if they had not literally all been together less than twenty four hours ago.

Robin steps forward and the camera is suddenly swallowed by dark fabric and movement, the frame filling with the blur of her jacket and shoulder, the audio muffled for a second. A hug.

When the image clears again, they are already moving inside.

“How was the costume fitting? Did they fix the cape?” Robin asks, her voice closer now.

“Ugh, don’t ask,” Jasmine groans. “They added more sequins but I don’t even know if it looks good.”

“Tell me if you need help, okay?” Robin says.

“I will,” Jasmine answers.

As they walk, the camera tilts and zooms in clumsily toward the baby resting against Vickie’s shoulder. His tiny hand is gripping her shirt.

“And look at this cute little guy,” Jasmine says softly. “Lou, did you miss me? I missed you!”

A hand enters the frame, gently poking the baby’s chubby cheek. Lou responds with a wet little gurgle.The audio fills with footsteps, bags shifting, overlapping voices, and Robin greeting someone loudly further inside the house. The image shakes once, twice, then cuts to black again. 

The lighting is dimmer in the living room, but the karaoke machine is still in full swing. This time, Jasmine is on the mic, singing Paramore’s "Still Into You," very much off key but fully committed to the performance, jumping up and down. On the couch, Robin, Vickie, and Jude are clapping rhythmically and helping along.

“Oh my god, this is so cute!”

Iris, now the camera operator, slowly begins to ignore the main scene, drifting smoothly to the right, toward the entrance of the living room. There is Eddie, muttering the song under his breath, swaying gently side to side with Baby Lou tucked securely in one arm. The baby is very smiley, being bounced to the beat of the drums.

The camera zooms in on Eddie’s face, catching the way he kisses the top of Lou’s head and keeps singing. Then the camera pans quickly across the room to the wall leading into the kitchen.

Leaning there, arms crossed over his chest, is Steve. His gaze is fixed entirely on Eddie and Lou. He has a small, closed mouth smile while he watches them together, completely oblivious to everything else happening in the room.

The camera lingers on Steve’s lovesick expression for three long seconds before the video abruptly ends.

.

All that is seen is Jaz’s face now, slightly distorted by the lens. She turns it slowly from side to side, filming each person seated around the table one by one. Voices overlap everywhere, laughter, plates clinking, the low hum of a full house.

The camera swings back toward Jasmine and Iris. Both of them lean into frame and make exaggerated kissy faces at the lens. Then Jasmine turns the camera outward again, capturing everyone gathered around the crowded table again. 

On one side sits a tall man with dark brown skin, broad shoulders, and a faint smile. Beard shadows his jaw, and his eyes are warm. Next to him is a woman with pale skin, and vivid red hair that falls in soft waves around her face, her expression attentive even while she listens to three conversations at once.

“Mom, can you pass me the…?” Cam’s voice drifts in from off-screen.

Max nods, but before she can move, Lucas is already reaching across the table to grab a basket of rolls.

“Here you go, C." he says, sliding it toward Cam.

“Thanks, Dad!” Cam replies.

The camera shifts to the other end of the table. The twins are leaning toward a taller man with darker hair, his nose unmistakably the same as theirs. He is showing them something on his phone, talking enthusiastically while they react in overlapping voices.

Suddenly, Eddie leans into the frame from behind them, resting his chin on Mike’s shoulder. “That character sucks so bad, Wheeler!”

Mike jerks the phone away. “Oh, get out of here! You’re just rusty because you never have time to play anymore….”

“Oh, c’mon, I’m already back in the rhythm, baby!” Eddie shoots back, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. 

From the background, Robin’s voice cuts through the noise. “Nice shirt, Edward.”

The camera zooms in quickly—too quickly, the auto-focus struggling for a second—on Eddie’s chest. The image is grainy, but the bright yellow t-shirt is unmistakable. It features a retro sun logo and the faded text: YOUR BEST DAY IS TODAY!

Eddie looks down at his chest, grinning. “You like it?”

“I've seen this before, I think...” Robin says, her voice dripping with suspicion.

“Trying to change things up. With the change coming and all… new air.” He laughs.

The camera captures Robin mirroring his grin. “Yeah, but it really feels very familiar to me…” Just then, Steve enters the frame from the kitchen, carrying a large, steaming ceramic dish. Trailing behind him is Dustin, shorter, with a mess of curly hair and carrying a salad bowl.

“Well,” Eddie answers lightly, “I guess we ran the same marathon then.”

As soon as Eddie says "marathon," Steve’s foot seems to catch on nothing. He stumbles, the heavy dish clattering loudly against the table as he sets it down with a bit too much force.

“Shhh...ow!” Steve hisses, shaking his hand.

Eddie is there in an instant, leaning over the table. “You okay, Steve?” he asks, his voice dropping the joking tone entirely, eyes wide with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mutters, looking him in the eyes. He gestures to the lasagna. “I just underestimated how hot that was.”

“Want something for your hand?” Eddie asks, hovering.

“No, no, it's fine, really,” Steve waves him off, though he’s rubbing his fingers.

The video cuts briefly, returning to moments later. Eddie is reaching for a bowl with a large serving spoon.

Suddenly, a hand enters the frame, Steve’s, and gently wraps around Eddie’s wrist, stopping him.

“There are peanuts in that,” Steve whispers, the audio barely picking it up over the room’s noise. “Take the lemon one.”

Eddie pauses. His thumb brushes over Steve’s knuckles before he pulls his hand back.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes out. “You’re a sweetheart. Thanks.”

“Softie,” Steve whispers back, and they laugh at each other

.

Now, it’s a low-light mode that turns the world a murky, grainy green. The camera seems to be resting on the grass, capturing a circle of legs and sneakers huddled near the patio furniture, barely distinguishable in the dark.

Someone lifts the device, the image blurring with motion as it pans upward and spins toward the house. Through the sliding glass door, the warm, yellow light of the living room spills out. Inside, the silhouettes of the adults are visible—someone laughing, someone else refilling a drink—completely unaware they are being watched from the yard.

The camera swings back to the group, settling on Jude.

“I don't know how you guys still think this is a thing,” Jude whispers, the camera zooming in slightly to show his hand nervously ripping up a handful of grass and tossing it aside.

“How do you think it's not?” Iris hisses back from off-screen.

“They are being softie lovey-dovey with each other all day!” Jasmine adds from behind the camera, her voice hushed but emphatic.

Jude rolls his eyes, “I don’t think that counts. Everyone in this family is like that. My mom was literally hugging your dad for ten minutes last week singing Whitney Houston. And my dad always kisses Uncle Steve on the cheek when he sees him.”

“Well,” Jasmine counters dryly, the camera dipping as she shifts her weight, “I don’t know if that’s a good example, considering we almost were siblings.”

“Eww!” Iris and Jude groan in perfect unison, their faces twisting in identical expressions of disgust.

“No!” Jude whispers loudly, pointing a finger at the lens. “That was high school, so it doesn't count! Stop bringing this up, dude!”

“What? It’s true!” Jasmine defends. She pans the camera slightly to the right to catch Cam’s reaction. “And Uncle John is also kinda sus with the affection sometimes, just saying that’s a real bad example…”

Cam lets out a stifled laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Okay, she got you there, Byers.”

“So you agree with me, Sinclair?” Jasmine asks, turning the lens fully on her.

Cam tilts her head, her curls catching the faint light from the porch. “Look, babe, I think maybe there could be something going on there. But it didn’t look like you got any… real thing today, you know?”

The audio picks up a long, dramatic groan from Jaz. “How not?! Eddie is literally wearing my dad's shirt out of nowhere!”

Cam shifts slightly. “Okay… I will say, there was chemistry during dinner.”

“THANK YOU! Someone!” Jasmine exclaims, the microphone peaking slightly with her volume.

“I still don’t think you got real proof today,” Cam adds carefully.

Jasmine scoffs softly. “This is proof. It’s just circumstantial. I’m building a timeline.”

Iris nods. “The karaoke moment was very suspicious.”

“Yeah!” Jasmine agrees.

“Why don’t you just ask Uncle Steve?” Iris suggests.

“Because he’ll never tell me,” Jasmine sighs. The camera dips again, indicating a shrug. “I think he would have told me by now if he wanted to. I prefer to discover the proof first, and ask questions later.”

Jude shakes his head, looking grave. “Seriously, you gotta be careful with that.”

“I wanted to tell you to stop too,” Cam admits, grinning in the dark. “But I’m just too curious now.”

“Me too!” Iris agrees enthusiastically.

Jude looks around at the three girls, defeated. He looks directly into the lens with a thousand-yard stare, his face deadpan.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “I just wanted to say that I do not agree with this.”

The video cuts to black.

check part three here

[ao3feed-steve-eddie]

by GetMeBack

Jasmine Harrington is sixteen, bored, and in possession of a vintage camcorder. So, she decides to make a documentary proving her father is secretly dating his “best friend,” Eddie Munson.

Words: 2049, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Original Female Character(s), Eddie Munson & Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, mockumentary style, Found Footage, POV Outsider, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Secret Relationship, Established Relationship, Next Generation, Single Parent Steve Harrington, (is he single?), Uncle Eddie Munson, No beta we die like Steve’s eyesight, yep jancy had twins and they are my babies, cam sinclair pretends to be a hater but she also likes to see how far jaz goes with her plans, Aged-Up Character(s)

[whisperingmasters]

an obvious conspiracy - modern aged up! steddie au

SUMMARY

Jasmine Harrington is sixteen, bored, and in possession of a vintage camcorder. So, she decides to make a documentary proving her father is secretly dating his “best friend,” Eddie Munson.

PART I

The recording begins with an unsteady, grainy shot of a purple ceiling crowded with posters. The audio is muffled, filled with the sound of someone fiddling with the camera.

“Okay, okay, I think… I just need to get the angle right…” a girl’s determined voice said from behind the lens.

From somewhere off-screen, another voice, laced with boredom, answered, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just use Jude’s iPhone?”

“And where’s the fun in that? It’s about the aesthetic,” the first voice shot back.

“Girl… whatever you say!”

The camera pans shakily to the side. A head of golden-brown coils pops into the bottom corner of the frame as the girl holding the camera lies on the floor. In the very edge of the shot, another face appears—lighter-skinned with a mass of voluminous copper-red curls. She looks over with a confused expression, her pale blue eyes striking against her complexion.

“It worked,” the girl with the golden coils whispered with a note of triumph, her warm light brown skin glowing, and the screen cut abruptly to black.

The next take opens on a stable shot. The camera is propped on a stack of books, aimed at a vanity mirror and the corner of a bed. The girl with the golden-brown hair steps into the frame, her own face filling the view. She squints with hazel-green eyes as she makes a final adjustment to the focus. Satisfied, she moves back and sits on the floor, pulling the red-haired girl down next to her.

The girl with the golden coils smoothed her hair, adopted a serious expression, and smiled brightly at the camera. “Hi! I’m Jaz Harrington…”

Beside her, the redhead snorted. Jaz nudged her hard with an elbow, gesturing for her to continue.

“...and I’m… Cam Sinclair?” she said, the statement ending like a question.

Jaz nodded authoritatively. “And we’re here today to start a very serious investigation!”

“I am NOT investigating anything!” Cam exclaimed, her eyes wide. Jaz just threw her head back with an excited laugh, lunging forward to grab the camera as the image tumbled into chaos before cutting out again.

The next recording is clearly from later. The natural light in the room has been replaced by the warm, colorful glow of fairy lights. The camera is now focused on the bed, where a slender girl with long blonde hair, wearing a rainbow-striped shirt and shorts, is completely absorbed in a Kindle.

“And rounding out our investigative team, we have Iris Byers…” Jaz’s voice narrated from behind the camera.

“It’s Maldonado,” the girl on the bed corrected, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“Right, Iris, sorry. Maldonado,” Jaz said, clearing her throat. The camera zoomed in clumsily on Iris’s face, which was partially hidden by her hair. “She’s super busy with her hockey romances at the moment,” Jaz continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “but she is also a key player in what we’re about to do. Right, Iris?”

“Yeah, yeah” Iris replied distractedly.

A rhythmic knock—thump thump thump—sounded at the door. The camera whipped around to face it, a surface cluttered with hanging tote bags that almost completely obscured a poster of Zendaya in tennis gear.

“Yes?” Jaz called out.

A male voice answered from the hallway. “I'm tired of winning, can I hang out in there?”

From the floor just out of frame, Cam yelled, “So we’re the second choice now?!” at the same time Jaz said, “Sure!”

The door opened and a boy leaned in. He had the exact same shade of messy blonde hair and blue-grey eyes as the girl on the bed, just cut shorter and shaggier. He squinted towards the floor where Cam was. “Actually, you’re my third choice, but baby Lou is sleeping and Aunt Vickie won't let me go watch him right now.”

The camera panned down just in time to capture Cam’s hand flashing a deliberate middle finger in his direction. The boy’s gaze then found the camera. “What are you recording?”

Jaz’s voice came from behind the lens, sounding breezy and innocent. “Oh, nothing. Just testing something out.”

Jude narrowed his eyes, giving the lens a look of deep suspicion. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” Jaz scoffed from behind the camera. “You worry about everything, Judy.”

Jude rolled his eyes at the nickname before launching himself onto the bed, landing dangerously close to his sister. Iris shrieked, shoving at his shoulder. “You BRUTE!” she yelled. Jude just laughed, ignoring her indignation as he adjusted himself to sit beside her, shrugging.

“Yeah, well,” Jude said, getting comfortable. “Because you always come up with some wild scheme.”

Jaz let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh that vibrated the microphone slightly. “This is the chillest idea I’ve had in years.”

From the floor, Cam’s voice drifted up, dripping with sarcasm. “Mmhmm, yeah, super chill! Nothing abnormal at all!”

The camera swiveled back to Cam, capturing her judging expression perfectly. “You didn't say it was abnormal when I told you earlier!” Jaz accused.

Cam threw her hands up, gesturing wildly. “Well, I thought you were just talking sleepover thoughts! Not that you were gonna swipe a camera from Uncle John for it!”

“Shhh!” Jaz hissed. “He thinks it's for a school project and we are going to keep it that way, okay?”

On the bed, Jude sat up straighter, looking between the lens and Cam. “Wait, wait. My dad’s camera is for what?”

The camera abruptly diverted to the floor, losing focus for a second before settling on a scatter of nail polish bottles. Cam’s hand came into view, each short nail drying in a different vibrant color. Jaz stayed silent, the camera still pointed downwards.

Cam leaned in, her voice dropping to a loud whisper. “Jaz thinks Uncle Eddie and Uncle Steve are together and she thinks it's a brilliant idea to record an investigative documentary about it and try to catch them on camera.”

“WHAT—” Jude shouted from the bed, just before the video cut to black.

The screen cuts to a grainy, low-light shot. The room is quiet and dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Jasmine is centered in the frame, wearing pink pajamas and a purple satin bonnet on her hair. She’s leaning in close to the lens, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Look... whatever they say, I'm not insane on this one, okay?" She pauses, looking earnestly into the camera. "I have reasons to think my dad and Uncle Eddie are a thing. And for some reason, they don't want to tell anyone about it."

She shifts slightly, adjusting the bonnet. "But I'm going to find out and prove that I am right. Which explains the documentary." She gestures vaguely around the room with one hand. "It makes no sense for them to complain about privacy because, let's be real, we don't have privacy. We see each other every day since I was a fetus."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "And since Dad and everyone in my family started talking to Uncle Eddie after centuries because they found his Instagram during the pandemic, he’s been with us all the time too. So this won't hurt anyone. Besides proving that I am right. As I said I would be!"

Jasmine leans in even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush as she offers a quick, knowing wink to the lens. "And honestly, finally seeing my dad with a boyfriend will make me extra happy because, let's face it... he manages to be even more annoying without a person to love."

She pulls back, clapping her hands together softly. "But let's start from the beginning! So, stay with me-"

.

The video cuts to a bright morning scene. The footage is being filmed through a sliding glass door, the reflection of the room behind the camera faintly visible on the glass. Outside, in the sun-drenched backyard, a tall man is pushing a lawnmower. He pauses to wipe sweat from his forehead, his hair a mix of chestnut brown and distinguished grey, his angular nose—strikingly similar to the girl behind the camera—crinkling as he yawns widely behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

The camera zooms out slightly, revealing the edge of the living room curtains, before zooming back in on him aggressively.

“This is my dad, Steven Harrington,” Jasmine’s voice whispers, full of affection. “He is the funniest person I know. He taught me everything I know about basketball, swimming, golf, cooking, and fashion style.” The camera lingers on him as he stretches his back. “He also gave me about thirty percent of my beauty. The rest is all my mom.”

“He is one of the subjects of our investigation in this documentary,” she continues. “After he and my mom separated ages ago, I think I only saw Dad with a lady once. And after I saw them holding hands, he got all weirded out about it and I never saw her again. He’s super romantic, so I was sad for him because he’s never out with anyone.”

The camera pans jerkily to the side, scanning across the patio to find a pair of legs that are blindingly white in the sunlight. The zoom is maxed out now, making the image super grainy and pixelated.

“And that is my Uncle Eddie,” Jasmine whispers. “I don't think you can see him properly from here, but I swear he isn't a vampire.”

Through the grain, a figure is visible sitting on a plastic chair next to the outdoor sofa. He has long tattooed legs clad in grey shorts and is cradling an acoustic guitar, strumming lazily. His arms are also covered in tattoos, and his dark hair is tied back in a messy bun. He’s looking at Steve with an unreadable expression behind his own sunglasses.

“He’s a super cool songwriter for huge bands who takes that guitar everywhere,” Jasmine narrates. “He’s teaching me some songs, too. He also shows me these indie queer horror movies and is helping me pick a new hair color. He’s always here at the house, out of nowhere. Even more than Aunt Robin and Cam, and Cam is my literal neighbor!”

Jasmine lets out a small huff of laughter. “He’s also very funny and clearly down bad for my dad. Who isn't much different, honestly.”

On the screen, Eddie stops playing. He sets the guitar down and stands up, stretching his long limbs. He moves from the plastic chair toward the spot where Steve has stopped the mower. Jasmine zooms out just a fraction to frame them both.

“And these two are our characters,” she says, her voice gaining conviction. “And now that you know them I am going to prove that they are obviously in love and…”

She cuts herself off. On screen, Eddie reaches out and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. It’s a casual gesture that turns into a brief hug. Steve leans into it, just for a second, before stepping back.

Behind the camera, Jasmine lets out a strangled squeak. The camera shakes violently as she suppresses a scream.

“You guys saw that too, right???” she hisses into the microphone, and the video abruptly cuts to black.

The footage returns, clearer this time, inside the house. The camera is pointed at Steve standing in the kitchen. He is holding a can of beans, holding it at arm's length and squinting aggressively at the label, his face scrunching up in concentration.

“When are you going to get new glasses?” Jasmine asks from behind the lens.

Steve murmurs, still fighting with the small print, “Uhh… I think next week. Why?”

“Because you need them,” she deadpans.

Steve finally gives up on the label and rolls his eyes, looking toward her. “Funny,” he says dryly. Then, his gaze drops to her hands, and he notices the lens pointed at him. He frowns. “What is that?”

“Oh, Uncle John lent me his camera,” Jasmine lies smoothly. “For a school project.”

Steve stares at the device, looking unimpressed. “That old thing?” he asks, echoing the exact sentiment Cam had earlier. “Wouldn't it be better to just use your iPhone?”

The camera dips as Jasmine groans a long sound of frustration.

“Daaaaddd!” she complains, the audio peaking slightly. “I need the aesthetic!”

check part II here

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I'M BACK! idk for how long but i'll probably finish this shortfic, bc it's carnival here in brazil and i'm not a carnival person, so i'll be locked inside my house for a few days without working and i'll have enough time to finish it!!! pleaaaaase tell me your thoughts about it because i NEED THEM it's the first time i write a fic in this style and i'm v much nervous!!!! had a lot of fun creating the ocs btw

[whisperingmasters]

their night - steddie!dads modern!au

SUMMARY:

With the kids away for the night, Steve and Eddie finally get some much-needed time alone.

(set in the his special day universe, but can be read as a standalone.)

cw: explicit intimacy, unprotected sex, rimming, dirty talk, kinda sub eddie? slightly? but lots of fluff too!

link to ao3

-

It was just past 8:00 PM when the front door finally groaned open.

Eddie was already in the kitchen, having closed the shop early. He was nursing a glass of wine and enjoying the rare, cavernous silence of a house without children. Leia and Sam were officially Auntie Robin and Auntie Vickie’s responsibility for the next thirty-two-ish hours, a "Girls' Night" that allegedly involved face masks and a marathon of tv shows Eddie definitely did not want to watch.

He looked up as Steve arrived into the kitchen. He looked… well, he looked like hell, but the kind of hell that still made Eddie’s mouth go dry. Steve’s hair was a mess, the gel having given up hours ago. His dress shirt—the nice light blue one—was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up haphazardly to his elbows. He was carrying his suit jacket over one shoulder, and the lines of exhaustion around his eyes were deeper than usual.

He didn't drop his keys. He just walked straight to Eddie, leaned down, and pressed a soft, tired kiss to his lips, a chaste greeting that made Eddie smile.

"Hey," Steve breathed out after they parted, finally dropping his keys on the counter with a heavy clatter. "Sorry I'm late, honey. The new pump filtration system at the club decided to give up on us." He was the boss; and definitely didn't need to be there. He had people for that, but Steve was addicted to putting himself in the middle of a problem, to hovering and helping.

"You look like you wrestled the pump and lost, sweetheart," Eddie teased, moving to pour him another glass. "Dinner is technically leftovers, but I can—” 

“Shit," Steve hissed, freezing in the middle of the room.

Eddie paused. "What?"

Steve was staring at the kitchen sink. A rhythmic drip-drip-drip echoed in the quiet kitchen.

"I thought I fixed that washer on Tuesday," Steve muttered, the exhaustion in his voice instantly replaced by an annoyed determination.

"Steve," Eddie started, walking around the island. "Leave it. Seriously. You’ve been working for twelve hours. We can put a bucket under it and I’ll deal with it tomorrow…"

"No, it’s quick. I just need to tighten the valve," Steve interrupted, already tossing his jacket onto a barstool.

He didn't even go upstairs to change. He just grabbed the toolbox and dropped to his knees, shimming the upper half of his body into the cabinet under the sink.

Eddie leaned his hip against the counter, sipping his wine, intending to argue. But then he looked down. From this angle, he had a prime view of Steve Harrington in his element: legs sprawled out on the tiles, clad in those fitted dress slacks that hugged his thighs, and his great ass, as always, in a way that should be illegal for his poor little heart.

"Pass me the wrench, Eds?" Steve’s voice echoed from inside the cabinet.

Eddie crouched down, tapping Steve’s leg. Steve slid out just enough to grab the tool, his face flushed, a smudge of grease already streaked across his cheekbone in a way that was so cheesy it made Eddie’s breath catch. He looked annoyed, capable, and devastatingly handsome. "Thanks," he grunted, sliding back under.

Eddie didn't move. He watched the way the muscles in Steve’s forearms bunched as he applied force to whatever pipe was offending him. It was this, right here, that always got him. It wasn't just about Steve being handy. It was the sheer, stubborn competence of the man. This was Steve Harrington, who could have had a life of easy, catered comfort, but instead chose to be the man who personally wrestled with pool filters, who took care of things, took care of their kids and was ever so patient. That unwavering reliability, the need to provide and protect, was the foundation of their family, and to Eddie, it was the most potent aphrodisiac in the world.

"You know," Eddie said, his voice dropping a little, "there are plumbers for this."

"We don’t need plumbers for this, Eds," Steve grunted. There was a metallic clang, followed by a satisfied sigh. "Got it."

Steve slid out, sitting up and wiping his hands on a rag. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his wrist and looked up at Eddie, who was now standing over him, his wine glass swirling thoughtfully. Steve was still sweaty and disheveled. "There. Fixed."

Eddie felt a wave of affection so strong it nearly knocked him over. When Steve got to his feet, Eddie moved in, his hand finding the small of Steve’s back, resting on his waist.

"You," Eddie murmured, putting his wine glass down, "are so fucking hot."

Steve let out a tired chuckle, but he didn't pull away. He just leaned into the touch, his own arm coming up to wrap around Eddie’s shoulders. "I'm tired, honey. Don't start."

"Babe, I'm not starting anything," Eddie lied, nuzzling his nose into Steve’s neck, inhaling the complicated, perfect scent of him: chlorine, metal, and that expensive cologne he loved.

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, a frown on his face. "Ew, c’mon now. I'm covered in dust and… God knows what!"

"Mmm. Grease," Eddie hummed, running his thumbs over Steve’s exposed forearms, tracing the prominent veins. He felt Steve shiver. "You’re filthy, Steve.."

Steve’s hands, still holding the rag, came up to rest on Eddie’s ass. It never failed to amuse him, the way Steve’s hands always found their way right here. Eddie was pretty sure he didn’t even have much of an ass to speak of, really, but Steve treated it like it was a national treasure."I need a shower."

"Yeah, you do," Eddie whispered, leaning in until their noses brushed. "But you’re not going alone."

Steve’s gaze darkened. He finally dropped the rag, his large, warm hands tightening on Eddie’s waist. "I thought you wanted to watch a movie," he rasped.

"I do," Eddie countered. "And you, sir, need to eat dinner. But for now…" He pulled him in for a light kiss, sighing into it. "Changed my mind a little, cause I’d rather watch you."

Steve made a low noise in his throat and deepened the kiss, heavy and bordering on messy, before he nipped at Eddie’s bottom lip, making him shiver. "Okay let’s go upstairs," Steve rasped. "My back is killing me, and I need that shower before I take my meds."

Eddie laughed, a breathless sound. "Sure, filthy man. Let’s go."

"Watch it," Steve warned, but there was no bite in it.

They made their way up the stairs, Steve’s hand resting heavily on the small of Eddie’s back. The silence of the house felt strange, but Eddie filled it easily.

"Uncle Gare is questioning his life, by the way," Eddie said, chuckling. "He tried to explain the vinyl organization to Sam. It took about five minutes before she decided the Black Sabbath section looked better with Beyoncé's latest album right next to it. I think he grew three gray hairs in a span of… 20 minutes."

Steve let out a genuine laugh. "I doubt he could argue with her cuteness."

"Oh, he was hyperventilating," Eddie confirmed. "He looked at me with pure betrayal in his eyes. And your eldest daughter," he said, emphasizing the 'your,' "spent the whole time arguing with a customer that Holding Out for a Hero  is vintage and not pop culture trash. Every time they are there I’m sure we’re raising them right."

"God, she’s really our daughter," Steve said fondly as they walked into the bedroom. "Did the guy give up?"

"Nah, but she was pretty convincing, but in the end, I think he bought a Metallica reissue just to escape her judgment."

Steve was still smiling as he turned toward the bed, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, but Eddie was faster. He stepped into Steve’s space, his hands gently swatting Steve’s away.

"Nope," Eddie murmured. "Arms down."

Steve raised an eyebrow, but he obliged. "Wine’s making you bossy today," he teased.

"You're just stubborn, sweetheart," Eddie replied, working the buttons with practiced ease. He pushed the fabric off Steve’s shoulders, letting the shirt slide down his arms to pool on the floor. Steve’s chest was covered in that thick mat of hair Eddie loved, now peppered with gray, and Eddie’s gaze softened at the sight of the little bit of softness around Steve’s middle. It was a dad bod in the best possible way; evidence of their great life.

Steve looked down at himself, then back at Eddie, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth. "So, what? You're just gonna strip me naked?"

Eddie hummed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Steve’s throat."Well, how do you expect to take a shower if you're dressed, babe?” he murmured, his hand slipping easily inside the waistband of Steve’s boxers.

Steve shivered, his hands coming up to grip the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. "Uh… But you’re still dressed." He tugged at the cotton, but Eddie slapped his hands away lightly.

"Hey!" Steve protested, pouting. 

"Shh," Eddie whispered against his skin, moving his lips to Steve’s shoulder, biting lightly. "Let me take care of you. You did all the heavy lifting today. Just… look pretty, will ya?”

"I always look pretty," Steve mumbled without any real heat.

Eddie made quick work of Steve’s belt and zipper. He pushed the pants down, and Steve stepped out of them until he was standing just in his boxers and socks. Eddie straightened up, looking pleased, but Steve had apparently reached his limit.

Before Eddie could lean in again, Steve caught his wrists. His grip was firm and possessive.

"Is it my turn.” Steve said, his voice dropping an octave.

He pulled Eddie in, hard, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was only about hunger. His tongue swept into Eddie’s mouth, tasting the wine, and it made Eddie’s knees go weak. The obscene smacking sounds of their kiss echoed as Steve held his wrists together. While Eddie was dazed, Steve released him, grabbed the hem of Eddie’s shirt, and yanked it upward. He broke the kiss, pulling the shirt over Eddie’s head and tossing it behind him. He looked at Eddie’s flushed face and dilated eyes, a triumphant, satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"Got it," Steve declared, looking smug. "Finally even."

Eddie’s hands grabbed Steve by his soft hair, pulling him back into his mouth. It was incredible, he thought, how this man, sweaty, tired, angry dad, could make him feel like a teenager again, overwhelmed by the sheer force of him, knowing that this strong, smart, beautiful man was his, right here, in his hands. Eddie was eager, walking Steve backward until the back of Steve’s knees hit the mattress. He made a move to shove Steve down, but Steve planted his feet firmly.

"Nuh-uh," Steve said breathlessly, catching Eddie by the shoulders and spinning them around. He shoved Eddie toward the en-suite. "Shower. I’m serious, Munson. As much as I'm horny, I feel gross."

"You smell delicious, and it’s not like it's our first rodeo…" Eddie argued, but he let himself be manhandled into the bathroom.

The moment they crossed the threshold, Eddie grabbed the front of Steve’s boxers and shoved him back until his bare back hit the cold shower tiles with a dull thud.

"Jesus, Eds," Steve gasped, but he didn't complain when Eddie pressed their bodies together.

Eddie kissed him hard, messy, and wet, devouring the long moan Steve made. He could feel Steve’s cock, so fucking hard against his thigh, and Eddie smirked against his mouth. He pressed his leg firmly between Steve’s, grinding up slowly, earning a broken, needy moan.

"You like that, babe? Yeah?" Eddie teased in a filthy whisper.

His hand slid down one more time through Steve’s chest hair, slipping easily beneath the waistband of his boxers. His fingers wrapped around him, warm and firm, and Steve’s head fell back against the tiles with a sharp inhale, his hips bucking instinctively into Eddie’s touch.

"F-fuck, so good,” Steve stuttered, his hands scrambling blindly to the wall for purchase, finding the shower handle on his side instead. "Honey, Eds, yeah… "

In his haze, Steve yanked the lever.

The showerhead sputtered to life above them. Eddie, sensing the impending doom, released Steve instantly and stepped back just as the spray hit ice cold.

Steve shrieked—a high-pitched, undignified sound that had no business coming from a former certified Husband and Father of Two—as the freezing water drenched him instantly. He hissed, scrambling away from the stream, flattening himself against the dry side of the wall, looking like a drowned, angry cat.

"So FUCKING cold, Jesus!" Steve yelled, his eyes wide.

Eddie was doubled over, clutching his stomach, howling with laughter. "That—oh my god, that was the sexiest thing I have ever seen!"

"You did that on purpose!" Steve sputtered, wiping wet hair out of his eyes, shivering but now laughing too.

"Me? You turned the water on, genius!" Eddie wheezed, tears forming in his eyes. "I was just trying to have a nice, quiet evening with my husband!”

Steve stared at him for a second, an incredulous grin spreading across his face. He looked down at his soaked boxers, and his now semi-erect cock poking out of them, then back at his cackling husband.

"Okay," Steve said, his voice dangerously calm. "Okay, laugh it up."

Before Eddie could anticipate the retaliation, Steve reached out, grabbed Eddie by the arm, and yanked him fully into the freezing spray.

"STEVIE, WAIT—"

"No, no! Suffer with me! In sickness and in health, you promised!"

"Okay! Okay! Make it hot! Turn it to hot!"

They wrestled for the handle, slipping and sliding against each other, alternating between cursing the cold and laughing until their sides hurt. When Steve finally managed to adjust the temperature to something human, the steam began to rise around them. For a moment, they just stood there, catching their breath. Steve pushed his wet hair back, still chuckling, and pulled a shivering Eddie into a hug under the warm water. It was moments like this that felt more like them than anything else, after all these years, they could still dissolve into giggling idiots, and it was maybe the best part of being in love.

"You're the worst," Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s wet cheek.

"And yet," Eddie grinned, wrapping a leg around Steve’s thigh, "you're already hard again."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he held him tighter. "Shut up, take these off," he grumbled, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Eddie’s soaked boxers and pulling them down, kicking them away with his own.

Later, Eddie took charge at first, washing Steve’s hair with a gentleness that was almost reverent, his fingers massaging his scalp until Steve was practically purring, his head leaned back against Eddie’s shoulder. They talked about nothing—the girls' movie choices, a funny customer at the shop—their quiet conversation punctuated by soft, slow kisses that tasted of fancy shampoo and soap, both of them pointedly ignoring the building tension between their bodies.

But as soon as they were rinsed off, the playful truce was over. Steve backed him against the tiled wall, his body caging him in, and kissed him with a deep, possessive hunger.

"You think you're so funny, don't you?" Steve murmured against his lips before moving to his neck, mirroring Eddie's earlier exploration. He kissed a wet path down to Eddie’s shoulder, his teeth scraping lightly over the skin right next to his flower tattoo. He knew exactly what he was doing. He bit down, not hard, but with a firm pressure that hit Eddie's weak spot dead on.

A loud, broken moan was torn from Eddie's throat, his eyes rolling back as a shudder wracked his body. "Steve," he sighed out, his fingers digging into Steve’s wet back. He clamped his teeth down on his own bottom lip, trying to swallow the next sound.

Steve pulled back just enough to look at him. He saw Eddie’s flushed face, the way he was fighting for control, and a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "What was that?" he rasped, his voice a low rumble. He reached up, gently brushing his thumb over Eddie's mouth, pulling his bottom lip free. "I want to hear you, Eddie. Let me hear you."

Eddie’s brow furrowed for a second before the realization dawned, wide and freeing: the girls were gone. The house was empty. They could be as loud as they wanted.

Steve saw the shift in his eyes and laughed, a low, husky sound, before kissing him again, deep and punishing, as his hand moved between them. He changed the rhythm of his thrusts, faster now, and Eddie threw his head back against the tiles, a few wet strands of hair falling across his face.

"Baby," Eddie gasped, his voice thin and reedy, almost a whine. "Let me, hmmm, yes… wanna put my mouth on you."

Steve's hand stilled for a second. "Tempting as that is," he whispered, his voice firm and impossibly deep right by Eddie's ear, "can we reschedule it for later? I don't think I can take it if you suck me off, and I've missed being inside you." And it wasn't even like it had been that long, less than two weeks, maybe? Eddie thought. But for them, that was an eternity. They were just so obsessed with each other that the thought of not having Steve buried deep inside him right now was suddenly unbearable.

Another needy sound tore out of Eddie, and he pulled Steve's mouth back to his, kissing him desperately as he nodded, his eyes already blurred and hazy, completely undone. There was silence, for a while, broken only by the dripping faucet and their own ragged breaths, filling the steamy bathroom. He grabbed a towel, drying Eddie’s back with slow, firm swipes before scrubbing himself down. With a steady hand on Eddie’s hip, he guided him out of the shower.

"Here," Steve murmured, his voice a low bass in the humid air. He gently pressed Eddie’s hips down, bending him over the cool marble countertop until his hands were flat on the surface, facing the fogged-up mirror.

With the hem of the towel, Steve wiped a large clear patch on the glass. Their reflection bloomed in the clearing: two men in their forties, skin flushed from the heat, bodies that told the story of years, of fatherhood, of a life lived. Eddie’s chest was heaving, his dark, wet hair clinging to the nape of his neck. Behind him, Steve stood, a solid, imposing figure, his eyes dark and fixed not on Eddie, but on Eddie’s reflection.

"Look at us," Steve breathed, his hands landing on the flare of Eddie’s hips. "You don’t have any idea of how fucking beautiful you are for me, all open and waiting."

A tremor ran through Eddie, and he let out a low whimper, watching in the mirror as Steve’s thumbs traced circles on his skin. "Stevie…"

Steve knelt. He pressed a kiss to the base of Eddie’s spine, then lower, and Eddie arched with a hiss, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the counter. He watched, mesmerized in the mirror, as Steve’s head disappeared from view. And then, the hot, wet touch of his mouth made him shatter.

Eddie threw his head back, a strangled cry tearing from his lips. It was an act so reverent and yet so profoundly dirty, it short-circuited his brain. Steve knew him better than he knew himself; he knew exactly how to lick and suck to drag the neediest sounds out of him.

"Missed you so bad." Steve’s voice was a muffled rumble against his skin.. "You taste perfect."

"Fuck, yes, I do," Eddie gasped, his hips moving without his permission. "Don't stop, please, Steve."

Steve obliged for another long, torturous minute, his tongue relentless until Eddie was a trembling, incoherent mess. He finally rose, kissing a wet path up Eddie’s spine, a satisfied smirk on his face. He opened the drawer beside the sink, his hand reaching for the familiar bottle of lube.

"You don't need that, Stevie," Eddie panted, his voice thick with arousal, still high from Steve's attention. "I'm ready for you now."

Steve paused, then chuckled, a low, fond sound. He turned back to Eddie, uncapping the bottle. "You're too cock-drunk to have an opinion on this right now, love," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. "Shhh. Let me take care of you."

A frustrated huff escaped Eddie's lips, but it was immediately swallowed by a sharp, needy moan as Steve’s fingers, now slick and warm, began to work their magic. Eddie’s hips started moving again, this time chasing the feeling, his earlier protests forgotten in a haze of pure sensation, leaning further over the counter. Steve positioned himself behind him, his hips slotting against Eddie's, and Eddie felt the hard tip of Steve’s cock press against him. "Can we?" Steve whispered, his breath hot in Eddie's ear.

Eddie just nodded, unable to form words, and then he felt that perfect slide home. It was a perfect, familiar fit. It was the relief and the thrill of having the other half of yourself exactly where it belonged.

"There you are," Steve murmured, their bodies joined.

For a moment, they just stayed still, breathing together. Then Steve began to move, slow, deep thrusts that felt like they reached Eddie’s guts. He half-watched their bodies moving together in the mirror, the steady, driving rhythm of his hips, the way Steve’s hand was splayed on the small of his back, holding him in place.

"Oh, G-god, baby," Eddie moaned low, his forehead now almost pressed against the cool mirror.

The tempo shifted. What was slow and tender became hungrier as Steve’s thrusts grew harder, hitting that spot inside Eddie that made him roll his eyes. The slap of their bodies began to echo off the tiled walls, a wet, percussive sound in the quiet house, Steve noticed how his husband was trying to stifle his moans. 

"Don't you dare hide from me again, I want to hear everything, Eds." Steve growled, his voice rough. "I want to hear every fucking sound you make."

That permission was all Eddie needed. The moans he’d been swallowing turned into open, keening cries, names and pleas and curses tumbling from his lips without a filter. The empty house walls absorbed the sounds, giving them the freedom to be obscenely loud and lose themselves completely. Steve’s thrusts became frenzied, and Eddie felt that familiar tension coiling tight.

"Steve, I'm gonna… I'm so-fuck, yes, yes, I’m almost- there, fuck—"

"Just let it happen, yeah? Let it happen, Eds, c’mon.." Steve gasped, his own grunts becoming louder, more guttural. He gripped Eddie’s hips, pulling him back into one long thrust before Eddie’s world dissolved into only pleasure. He screamed Steve’s name as his body clenched violently around Steve's. The feeling pushed him over the edge, and Steve followed after a few thrusts with a guttural roar, spilling himself deep inside. 

For a long moment, the only thing was the sound of their ragged, gasping breaths. Steve collapsed against Eddie’s back, his weight a welcome anchor, his face buried in Eddie's sweaty neck. A moment passed in breathless silence before one of his hands came around, fingers gently tracing over the ink on Eddie's chest.

Eddie's legs were shaking so badly he could barely stand.

Steve pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, his breathing still uneven.

"Are you with me?" he whispered.

Eddie let out a long, shuddering breath and nodded. For a moment, he just rested his forehead against the cool, damp tile, completely spent. Steve still held him, his own breathing slowly evening out, his chin resting on Eddie’s shoulder while still giving him small kisses. 

After a while, Eddie turned his head just enough to press a limp, sloppy kiss to Steve’s jaw. A dizzy, satisfied laugh bubbled up from his chest.

"Hmmm," he murmured, his voice a wrecked, happy purr. "Almost as good as my lasagna."

A genuine, rumbling laugh shook Steve’s entire frame, vibrating through both of them. He tightened his arms around Eddie’s waist, hugging him close. "Okay, okay, got it," he chuckled, his voice thick with affection. "Message received. I'll eat."

Gently, Steve helped him stand straight, their limbs shaky and uncoordinated. Then, they stood under the warm spray for another minute, just quietly leaning on each other. After a quick rinse, Steve turned off the water.

They stumbled out into the bedroom, wrapped in towels, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the hardwood floor. Steve pulled on a worn gray Henley and a pair of soft sweatpants, while Eddie tugged on Steve’s oversized pink hoodie and black boxers. He collapsed face-first onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

"’m not moving for a week," he announced into the comforter.

Steve just rolled his eyes fondly, heading downstairs. A few minutes later, the rich, savory scent of garlic and baked cheese drifted up the stairs. 

When Steve looked at the living room, he found Eddie had migrated to the living room couch, already curled up under a blanket with the TV remote in hand."Hey, old cat," Steve said, his voice soft as he placed two steaming plates of lasagna on the coffee table, Eddie had already put on Ghostbusters.

"This again?" Steve asked, though he was already smiling.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Eddie mumbled, his eyes already glued to the screen. "C’mon, my dear. I need you."

Steve settled on the couch, and Eddie immediately shifted, making grabby hands for Steve’s lap until Steve sighed theatrically and leaned back, letting Eddie drape himself across his legs. His head rested on Steve’s stomach, and he let out a contented sigh. He loved this, sinking into the solid warmth of Steve’s big, hairy thighs. His head was still swimming, a pleasant, buzz lingering, and he thought he really was actually going to start purring. Steve picked up his fork and took a bite of lasagna. It tasted like everything and more, as always. He automatically ran his free hand through Eddie’s still-damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as he watched the movie. This was his favorite part of the aftermath, this quiet that settled over their anxious minds, smoothing out all the rough edges. He closed his eyes for a moment, just soaking it in.

A moment later, Eddie tilted his head back, his mouth slightly open in a silent, expectant plea.

Steve chuckled. "You have your own plate, you know," he said, nodding toward the table. "It's right there."

Eddie just blinked at him, his expression unwavering.

"You're so silly," Steve sighed, but he dutifully scooped up a bite of pasta and cheese and lowered the fork to Eddie’s mouth. Eddie hummed in satisfaction, chewing happily as he watched the movie. They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds in the house the low rumble of the movie, the quiet clink of Steve’s fork against the plate, and their soft breathing.

Just as the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man began his rampage through New York City, Steve’s phone buzzed on the end table. Eddie made a move to get it, but Steve stopped him, leaning over. He reached over, glancing at the screen. Buckles :)

Eddie saw the screen and grumbled with a smile, "Time for the goodnight call," snuggling closer into Steve’s chest. Steve nodded, angling the phone so they were both in the frame before answering, immediately putting it on speaker.

"Hey!"

"Daddies!" Two high-pitched voices yelled in unison. Two faces, smeared with what looked like green goo from a face mask, immediately fought for space on the screen.

Eddie smiled against Steve's chest, his voice a low, happy rumble. "Hey, you gremlins. How's the night going?"

"We're having a good night!" Leia’s voice came through, clear and proud. "You know Auntie Robin is letting us stay up late because it's a special occasion, but we wanted to call now because that's the time we agreed on and…"

"I HAVE SO MANY THINGS TO TELL YOU!" Sam interrupted. Leia just nodded emphatically beside her, saying, "Me too!"

Steve and Eddie laughed. "Yeah? Like what?" Steve asked.

"We made cookies with that new recipe we saw and!" Sam’s voice burst through, practically vibrating with excitement. "And Auntie Vickie let me put sprinkles in the batter, Daddy! Like, inside! But uhm some things happened, the kitchen is all colorful now."

"But it's okay, we're gonna help clean everything!" Leia added quickly, shooting her sister a slightly accusatory look.

Steve shared a soft, fond look with Eddie, his hand never ceasing its gentle motion in his hair. "That's alright, as long as you don't drive your aunties insane. Bring some home for us to try, okay? Did you brush your teeth after?"

"Yeeesss," both girls chorused, the word drawn out and slightly pained.

"Okay, so after everything…” Leia’s voice took over again, launching into another story, "Auntie Robin said we could do face masks, but Sam wanted to do it while watching It again, so we made a deal that if we watched it, she promised she could sleep with the lights off, and we could also—"

[ao3feed-steve-eddie]

by GetMeBack

With the kids away for the night, Steve and Eddie finally get some much-needed time alone.

(set in the his special day universe, but can be read as a standalone.)

Words: 4900, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of steddie being parents

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Original Female Character(s)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: steddie dads, Aged-Up Character(s), Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Steve is a dad, eddie is a dad, Slice of Life, Smut, PWP (Porn With Plot), Explicit Sexual Content, Domestic smut, Fluff and Smut, Shower Sex, Bathroom Sex, Mirror Sex, Rimming, Dirty Talk, Loud Sex, No Condoms, Competence Kink, Aftercare, Dad Bod Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is Whipped, hints of sub eddie, Bottom Eddie Munson, Top Steve Harrington, Middle Aged Steddie, Anal Sex

[whisperingmasters]

an innocent incident - steddie!dads modern!au

SUMMARY:

Eddie tries to cut his own hair and his kids (and Steve) have a lot of feelings about it.

(set in the his special day universe, but can be read as a standalone.)

cw: toddler crying but it’s resolved quickly!

It started, as most of Eddie’s disasters did, with an excess of confidence.

It was a Friday afternoon, and Steve had taken the girls to the park. They were at that specific, chaotic phase where Sam, three years old, was fueled by the kind of never-ending nuclear energy that seemed to live perpetually behind her bright eyes, and Leia, seven, was currently obsessed with excavating "rare" rocks and “dinosaur fossils" from the sandbox.

Eddie had stayed home with the intention of just taking a shower and relaxing for a change, maybe scribbling down a few lyrics while half-watching some mind-numbing reality show on TV.

But then he stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror.

He thought his bangs were getting in his eyes, and upon closer inspection, decided his ends were looking a little... scraggly. Just a trim won’t hurt, he told himself, hunting down the scissors in the drawer. I can do this without scheduling an appointment with Fabian. It’s just a touch-up.

Besides, Steve was always nagging him about split ends anyway. And Eddie was skilled with handicrafts, he painted minis, he fixed guitar strings, he helped with the store decorations, it wasn't like he couldn't handle a simple pair of scissors. So, Eddie snipped a little off the left side. Then, he snipped a little off the right side to match. But it looked uneven, and suddenly the right was shorter. He frowned, tilting his head. He snipped again. And again.

Suddenly, Eddie stood amidst a pile of dark curls on the bathroom tile, staring at a reflection that looked like he’d been attacked by a weed whacker. It was a chopped, jagged mess.

"Well," Eddie whispered to the empty room. "Shit."

He had two options: shave it all off and look like an army recruit (which would definitely give Steve a heart attack, and considering they were approaching their elderly years, cardiac stress wasn't exactly recommended) or try to salvage what was left with more... modern style? Eddie grabbed the trimmer and started working on the sides, leaving the top longer, praying to God herself, even if he didn't fully believe in her existence, that it wouldn’t look absolutely tragic.So he washed it, toweled it dry, and looked at the result, not quite knowing how to react.

Ten minutes after that, he heard the front door open.

"We’re ho-ome!" Steve’s voice echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of Velcro shoes being ripped off and backpacks hitting the floor with a heavy thud. "And Sammy found a worm, but she lost sight of it, so it could be anywhere! Watch where you step."

Eddie smiled, and walked out of the bathroom, heading for the living room.

"I hope the worm stayed at its house in the sandbox," he said, descending the stairs until he was standing in the archway of the living room, right in front of them. "Because we’ve already learned that visitors need to call ahead if they want to come over."

The three of them froze simultaneously.

Steve had his keys still in his hand, mid-toss. Leia was halfway through shrugging off her coat. And Sam was on the floor, in the middle of trying to yank her tiny, open-toed sandals off her feet. The silence lasted for three whole, agonizing seconds, until Sam lifted her little blonde head. Her big eyes fixed on Eddie, but an expression of pure, uncomprehending non-recognition flickered across her face. She blinked a few times, her brow furrowing. And then, her bottom lip began to tremble violently. Oh, no.

"Oh," Steve breathed, his mouth slightly agape. "Wow."

"Hey, baby girl, look at—" Eddie started, a warm smile on his face as he took a step forward.

Sam screamed.

It was a full-blown, end-of-the-world, banshee shriek of terror. She scrambled backward on the floor, practically tripping over her own feet, and launched herself at Steve’s legs, burying her face in his jeans.

"BAD MAN! GO ‘WAY!" she shrieked, sobbing hysterically.

Steve, still shocked, bent down to scoop her up, half-holding back laughter and half-worried, looking between Eddie and the toddler. "No, no, honey, that’s Daddy Eddie! It’s him!" She was still crying buckets, and Steve didn't know if he should curse Eddie out, calm their daughter, laugh, or call his husband hot.

Eddie was just as surprised as Steve, unsure if he should approach or retreat, but when he tried to say, "Sammie, it’s me, Daddy, I promise," she only sobbed harder.

Steve hoisted her up onto his hip, patting her back, still amused despite the chaos.

"NO!" The scream came muffled against Steve’s shoulder. "DADDY PRINCESS HAIR!"

Eddie and Steve exchanged a look. Poor thing.

While Sam was having a complete meltdown over her father's sudden change, Leia was still paralyzed, wearing a deep scowl. She held her backpack strap with one hand, her mouth slightly open, staring at Eddie as if he were an alien that had just landed in their living room. She looked at her dad’s exposed ears with such horror.

"Je-sus," Leia said, with the brutal honesty of a seven-year-old and a tone identical to Steve's. "You look... so normal."

The word landed like a mortal insult. Eddie gasped, offended. "Hey! Don’t say that, bug!"

"But you do!" Leia retorted, still stunned, her eyes unblinking. "Why’d you do it? You look like one of those bank guys." The sheer certainty in her voice made him feel like he was paying for all his past sins with a tiny, judgmental Henderson in his own house. He put his hands on his hips. "Steven, your daughter is bullying me."

He turned to Steve, who was still trying to calm a wailing Sam, whispering into her hair. “Hey, hey, nugget,” Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to her dusty curls. “It’s okay. It’s him. It’s just Daddy Eddie. He just… took his hair off for a little while.” He shot a pointed, amused look at Eddie over her head. Steve pointed. "Look. He still has the same nose, see? And the same tattoos. Look at all the batties on his arm."

Eddie stepped closer, holding out his arm, showing her the familiar colony of bats she loved to trace with her finger. Sam peeked out with one red, teary eye. She sniffled. She looked at the arm. She looked at Eddie’s face. And then, with deep, profound suspicion, she looked at the hair.

"Princess hair?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with tears, slurring it all into one word: pwincesshwair. "Why?"

"It fell off for a while," Eddie said softly. "But it’ll grow back, like a tree, right? Do you wanna  touch it?"

Sam reached out a chubby, hesitant little hand and touched the buzzed side of Eddie’s head. She immediately made a face. "’S bad!"

The brutal honesty of this family was a blessing and a curse on so many layers, but mostly in how his daughters didn't sugarcoat shit, and it probably had nothing to do with their age.

"It is," Leia agreed, stepping closer too.

Eddie laughed, relieved, and kissed his eldest's forehead. "Thanks for the honesty, Lee."

Still wearing that look of absolute shock, Leia held Eddie’s hand, tugging him down until he crouched to her height. She touched the curly quiff on top.

"But here is still so fluffy! Look Sam, super fluffy!" she encouraged her sister.

Steve lowered Sam so she could touch the top of his hair along with Leia, and finally, she seemed to calm down.

Meanwhile, Steve hadn't said a word. He had been standing there, a silent, amused observer, but his eyes were fixed on Eddie. Specifically, on Eddie’s neck, which was now completely exposed, and on the sharp line of his jaw that the long hair had always hidden just a little.

Steve blinked, seeming to snap out of a trance, a light shade of pink coloring his cheeks.

"Honey," he said, his voice coming out a little raspier than planned. "What… what did you do?"

"A mishap," Eddie explained, rubbing a hand over the short bristles at the nape of his neck, a nervous gesture. "I went to trim the ends and… well. This happened. Is it really that bad?"

"Bad?" Steve repeated. He swallowed hard, his eyes sweeping over the messy quiff, the sharp undercut. "No. No, it’s not bad. It’s… I mean, wow. Different. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this in centuries."

"’Kay, but different like, ‘I’m sleeping on the couch’ different, or…?"

Steve let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as if to clear his (very impure) thoughts. He placed his free hand on the back of Eddie’s neck, his fingers grazing the newly exposed skin, sliding up into the short curls at the top. The touch made Eddie shiver.

"I like it," Steve murmured, low enough so only Eddie could hear, his eyes dark with that intense look that always made Eddie’s stomach do flip-flops. "I love seeing your face."

Eddie grinned, feeling smug. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve bit his lip, his eyes darkening a fraction. "It looks really good on you. Like… really good." He turned to the girls. “How about you two go get your juice boxes from the fridge? Careful with the door!” He set a now much calmer Sam down, and she immediately ran with her sister toward the kitchen.

“No running!” they both called out automatically.

Leia stopped halfway there and turned back. "Daddy?" she called out to Eddie.

"Yes, princess?"

"Don't cut it like this anymore, okay?" she asked, her expression deadly serious. "You look like Uncle Johnny."

Eddie couldn’t hold it in anymore: he cackled loudly. Steve just rolled his eyes, a huge smile on his face. The shade that this girl could throw. He was obsessed with her.

"Alright, Lee," Eddie promised. "But only because you asked."

She gave an identical smile and turned back toward the kitchen. When Eddie looked at Steve again, Steve slipped an arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss to his mouth and then a quick, firm kiss right below his ear, on that patch of skin that used to be hidden.

“Well,” Eddie sighed contentedly, leaning his head on his husband’s shoulder, “at least someone in this house didn’t totally hate it.” They laughed, stealing a few more soft, happy kisses.

"But seriously," Steve whispered against his lips. "Later… I want to get a much closer look at this cut."

Eddie smiled. Maybe the scissor accident hadn't been so bad after all.

-----------------------------------------------------

NOTES: feel free to tell me your thoughts about this one!!! soon to be posted on ao3 :)

[ghostengarden]

Canon rooftop scene

[ao3feed-steve-eddie]

by GetMeBack

Eddie tries to cut his own hair and his kids (and Steve) have a lot of feelings about it.

(set in the his special day universe, but can be read as a standalone.)

Words: 1754, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of steddie being parents

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Original Female Character(s)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Original Female Character(s), Eddie Munson & Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: steddie dads, Aged-Up Character(s), Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Steve is a dad, eddie is a dad, eddie munson has short hair, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Future Fic

[whisperingmasters]

an innocent incident - steddie!dads modern!au

SUMMARY:

Eddie tries to cut his own hair and his kids (and Steve) have a lot of feelings about it.

(set in the his special day universe, but can be read as a standalone.)

cw: toddler crying but it’s resolved quickly!

It started, as most of Eddie’s disasters did, with an excess of confidence.

It was a Friday afternoon, and Steve had taken the girls to the park. They were at that specific, chaotic phase where Sam, three years old, was fueled by the kind of never-ending nuclear energy that seemed to live perpetually behind her bright eyes, and Leia, seven, was currently obsessed with excavating "rare" rocks and “dinosaur fossils" from the sandbox.

Eddie had stayed home with the intention of just taking a shower and relaxing for a change, maybe scribbling down a few lyrics while half-watching some mind-numbing reality show on TV.

But then he stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror.

He thought his bangs were getting in his eyes, and upon closer inspection, decided his ends were looking a little... scraggly. Just a trim won’t hurt, he told himself, hunting down the scissors in the drawer. I can do this without scheduling an appointment with Fabian. It’s just a touch-up.

Besides, Steve was always nagging him about split ends anyway. And Eddie was skilled with handicrafts, he painted minis, he fixed guitar strings, he helped with the store decorations, it wasn't like he couldn't handle a simple pair of scissors. So, Eddie snipped a little off the left side. Then, he snipped a little off the right side to match. But it looked uneven, and suddenly the right was shorter. He frowned, tilting his head. He snipped again. And again.

Suddenly, Eddie stood amidst a pile of dark curls on the bathroom tile, staring at a reflection that looked like he’d been attacked by a weed whacker. It was a chopped, jagged mess.

"Well," Eddie whispered to the empty room. "Shit."

He had two options: shave it all off and look like an army recruit (which would definitely give Steve a heart attack, and considering they were approaching their elderly years, cardiac stress wasn't exactly recommended) or try to salvage what was left with more... modern style? Eddie grabbed the trimmer and started working on the sides, leaving the top longer, praying to God herself, even if he didn't fully believe in her existence, that it wouldn’t look absolutely tragic.So he washed it, toweled it dry, and looked at the result, not quite knowing how to react.

Ten minutes after that, he heard the front door open.

"We’re ho-ome!" Steve’s voice echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of Velcro shoes being ripped off and backpacks hitting the floor with a heavy thud. "And Sammy found a worm, but she lost sight of it, so it could be anywhere! Watch where you step."

Eddie smiled, and walked out of the bathroom, heading for the living room.

"I hope the worm stayed at its house in the sandbox," he said, descending the stairs until he was standing in the archway of the living room, right in front of them. "Because we’ve already learned that visitors need to call ahead if they want to come over."

The three of them froze simultaneously.

Steve had his keys still in his hand, mid-toss. Leia was halfway through shrugging off her coat. And Sam was on the floor, in the middle of trying to yank her tiny, open-toed sandals off her feet. The silence lasted for three whole, agonizing seconds, until Sam lifted her little blonde head. Her big eyes fixed on Eddie, but an expression of pure, uncomprehending non-recognition flickered across her face. She blinked a few times, her brow furrowing. And then, her bottom lip began to tremble violently. Oh, no.

"Oh," Steve breathed, his mouth slightly agape. "Wow."

"Hey, baby girl, look at—" Eddie started, a warm smile on his face as he took a step forward.

Sam screamed.

It was a full-blown, end-of-the-world, banshee shriek of terror. She scrambled backward on the floor, practically tripping over her own feet, and launched herself at Steve’s legs, burying her face in his jeans.

"BAD MAN! GO ‘WAY!" she shrieked, sobbing hysterically.

Steve, still shocked, bent down to scoop her up, half-holding back laughter and half-worried, looking between Eddie and the toddler. "No, no, honey, that’s Daddy Eddie! It’s him!" She was still crying buckets, and Steve didn't know if he should curse Eddie out, calm their daughter, laugh, or call his husband hot.

Eddie was just as surprised as Steve, unsure if he should approach or retreat, but when he tried to say, "Sammie, it’s me, Daddy, I promise," she only sobbed harder.

Steve hoisted her up onto his hip, patting her back, still amused despite the chaos.

"NO!" The scream came muffled against Steve’s shoulder. "DADDY PRINCESS HAIR!"

Eddie and Steve exchanged a look. Poor thing.

While Sam was having a complete meltdown over her father's sudden change, Leia was still paralyzed, wearing a deep scowl. She held her backpack strap with one hand, her mouth slightly open, staring at Eddie as if he were an alien that had just landed in their living room. She looked at her dad’s exposed ears with such horror.

"Je-sus," Leia said, with the brutal honesty of a seven-year-old and a tone identical to Steve's. "You look... so normal."

The word landed like a mortal insult. Eddie gasped, offended. "Hey! Don’t say that, bug!"

"But you do!" Leia retorted, still stunned, her eyes unblinking. "Why’d you do it? You look like one of those bank guys." The sheer certainty in her voice made him feel like he was paying for all his past sins with a tiny, judgmental Henderson in his own house. He put his hands on his hips. "Steven, your daughter is bullying me."

He turned to Steve, who was still trying to calm a wailing Sam, whispering into her hair. “Hey, hey, nugget,” Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to her dusty curls. “It’s okay. It’s him. It’s just Daddy Eddie. He just… took his hair off for a little while.” He shot a pointed, amused look at Eddie over her head. Steve pointed. "Look. He still has the same nose, see? And the same tattoos. Look at all the batties on his arm."

Eddie stepped closer, holding out his arm, showing her the familiar colony of bats she loved to trace with her finger. Sam peeked out with one red, teary eye. She sniffled. She looked at the arm. She looked at Eddie’s face. And then, with deep, profound suspicion, she looked at the hair.

"Princess hair?" she asked quietly, her voice thick with tears, slurring it all into one word: pwincesshwair. "Why?"

"It fell off for a while," Eddie said softly. "But it’ll grow back, like a tree, right? Do you wanna  touch it?"

Sam reached out a chubby, hesitant little hand and touched the buzzed side of Eddie’s head. She immediately made a face. "’S bad!"

The brutal honesty of this family was a blessing and a curse on so many layers, but mostly in how his daughters didn't sugarcoat shit, and it probably had nothing to do with their age.

"It is," Leia agreed, stepping closer too.

Eddie laughed, relieved, and kissed his eldest's forehead. "Thanks for the honesty, Lee."

Still wearing that look of absolute shock, Leia held Eddie’s hand, tugging him down until he crouched to her height. She touched the curly quiff on top.

"But here is still so fluffy! Look Sam, super fluffy!" she encouraged her sister.

Steve lowered Sam so she could touch the top of his hair along with Leia, and finally, she seemed to calm down.

Meanwhile, Steve hadn't said a word. He had been standing there, a silent, amused observer, but his eyes were fixed on Eddie. Specifically, on Eddie’s neck, which was now completely exposed, and on the sharp line of his jaw that the long hair had always hidden just a little.

Steve blinked, seeming to snap out of a trance, a light shade of pink coloring his cheeks.

"Honey," he said, his voice coming out a little raspier than planned. "What… what did you do?"

"A mishap," Eddie explained, rubbing a hand over the short bristles at the nape of his neck, a nervous gesture. "I went to trim the ends and… well. This happened. Is it really that bad?"

"Bad?" Steve repeated. He swallowed hard, his eyes sweeping over the messy quiff, the sharp undercut. "No. No, it’s not bad. It’s… I mean, wow. Different. I don’t think I’ve seen you like this in centuries."

"’Kay, but different like, ‘I’m sleeping on the couch’ different, or…?"

Steve let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as if to clear his (very impure) thoughts. He placed his free hand on the back of Eddie’s neck, his fingers grazing the newly exposed skin, sliding up into the short curls at the top. The touch made Eddie shiver.

"I like it," Steve murmured, low enough so only Eddie could hear, his eyes dark with that intense look that always made Eddie’s stomach do flip-flops. "I love seeing your face."

Eddie grinned, feeling smug. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve bit his lip, his eyes darkening a fraction. "It looks really good on you. Like… really good." He turned to the girls. “How about you two go get your juice boxes from the fridge? Careful with the door!” He set a now much calmer Sam down, and she immediately ran with her sister toward the kitchen.

“No running!” they both called out automatically.

Leia stopped halfway there and turned back. "Daddy?" she called out to Eddie.

"Yes, princess?"

"Don't cut it like this anymore, okay?" she asked, her expression deadly serious. "You look like Uncle Johnny."

Eddie couldn’t hold it in anymore: he cackled loudly. Steve just rolled his eyes, a huge smile on his face. The shade that this girl could throw. He was obsessed with her.

"Alright, Lee," Eddie promised. "But only because you asked."

She gave an identical smile and turned back toward the kitchen. When Eddie looked at Steve again, Steve slipped an arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss to his mouth and then a quick, firm kiss right below his ear, on that patch of skin that used to be hidden.

“Well,” Eddie sighed contentedly, leaning his head on his husband’s shoulder, “at least someone in this house didn’t totally hate it.” They laughed, stealing a few more soft, happy kisses.

"But seriously," Steve whispered against his lips. "Later… I want to get a much closer look at this cut."

Eddie smiled. Maybe the scissor accident hadn't been so bad after all.

-----------------------------------------------------

NOTES: feel free to tell me your thoughts about this one!!! soon to be posted on ao3 :)

[ao3feed-steve-eddie]

by GetMeBack

A story of scars, shared silence, and the four years it took for Eddie Munson to feel like himself again.

Words: 5177, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Dustin Henderson, Robin Buckley, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Wayne Munson

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson & Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Stranger Things Spoilers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Hair Braiding, Haircuts, Gift Giving, Implied Sexual Content, Soft Steve Harrington, Vulnerable Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Likes Eddie Munson’s Hair, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Domestic Bliss, Future Fic, still didn’t get over about how season 5 was a mess so I wrote this instead, will it ever come a third fic related to this? we’ll see, Happy Ending, Making Out

[whisperingmasters]

an inch of time - steddie canon divergence fix it!au

SUMMARY:

A story of scars, shared silence, and the four years it took for Eddie Munson to feel like himself again.

cw: canon-typical violence (aftermath), blood & injury, descriptions of injuries, depictions of scars, panic attacks/anxiety, emotional breakdown, crying, non-suicidal self-harm (hair shaving), body dysmorphia / identity crisis, dissociation, grief, trauma, internalized homophobia (brief al munson mention), hurt/comfort, implied sexual content, sexual tension

1986 

The bathroom in the Wheelers’ house was the only place with a mirror big enough to see the full scope of the damage. His body, he’d already seen most of that in the hospital. What he hadn’t seen, however, was his own fucking face and hair. He looked exhausted. The whole room smelled like antiseptic and dried blood as Eddie stared at his reflection, at the stranger looking back at him. He was a haunted, hollowed-out version of himself, his body a chaotic map of yellowing bruises and stark white bandages that peeked out from the collar of his borrowed t-shirt.

And his hair, it was a tangled, matted mess, still flecked with dried blood and something else, something dark and otherworldly he didn't even know how to name. It was plastered to his head in a way that was impossible to recognize. It didn’t feel like his anymore. It felt like something that had been taken from him, something that was about to consume him.

With a silent, furious decision, he rummaged through the cabinet under the sink until he found what he was looking for: Mr. Wheeler’s old hair clippers. He plugged them in, the sudden, loud BUZZ startling in the quiet bathroom. He held them up, his hand trembling, and took a deep, shaky breath, staring at his own reflection. Eddie made the first move, a jagged, angry pass near his temple, watching as the tangled strands began to fall.

The door suddenly creaked open. Steve was standing there, a plate of food in his hands, his eyes wide with a quiet, worried concern. He saw the clippers, saw the desperate, wild look on Eddie’s face, and his expression softened into something that wasn't pity, but a deep, unnerving understanding. He watched as Eddie kept passing the clippers over his own head, his movements jerky and uneven, leaving strange, patchy trails in his nervousness.

Steve walked into the bathroom and just set the plate down on the edge of the counter. He gently reached out and tried to take the buzzing clippers from Eddie’s trembling hand.

“Let me,” Steve murmured, his voice a low, steady thing. “Just… so we can make it even.”

Eddie didn’t protest. He just closed his eyes and leaned his head forward over the sink, surrendering. He felt the plastic guard of the clippers press against his scalp, and then the first, sure, shearing pass. He felt the weight of his hair, of the last several years, falling away in dark, heavy clumps into the porcelain basin. He hadn’t realized he was still crying, not until he saw the tears dripping. Eddie just stood there, his hands gripping the edge of the sink, and let Steve methodically, gently, erase the boy he had been. The boy who had decided to grow his hair out so he could swim against the current, to challenge paradigms, to be more. The boy who now just felt pathetically weak and vulnerable.

When it was over, he opened his eyes. A stranger stared back at him, all sharp angles and raw, exposed skin. For a few seconds, he wondered what Al Munson would say about him crying like a fucking sissy over his hair, once again. He wished he hadn't thought about that.

Still speechless, he felt Steve’s hand, huge and solid, come to rest on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Steve said, his voice quiet. “You need to eat something.”

And on autopilot, he went, feeling Steve’s grounding presence right behind him until they left the room.

With Hawkins still an open, weeping wound under quarantine, Eddie was living in the guest room of the Harrington house. And he felt weak.

For a while after Steve had helped shave his head, all he could think about was a half-forgotten Bible story. He remembered being picked up by Child Protective Services once, years before he’d landed with Wayne. He’d been temporarily placed in a church-run group home, and the pastor there, a man with watery eyes and a too-loud voice, had told them the story of this guy who was a strongman and lost all his power when they cut off his hair or something.

He felt exactly like that these days. Weak. Unrecognizable. He’d catch his reflection in a window and just see this… this stranger. A hollow-eyed, bald kid that everyone was trying to nurse back to health. He saw the way people looked at him, even his own friends. The way Dustin, bless his loyal heart, started spending less and less time in the quiet, tense atmosphere of the Harrington house, just staring at him with an expression of disappointment he tried to hide, but that was written all over his face.

The physical healing process was its own special kind of suffering. The bites were a bitch, a literal burning reminder. There were days he’d wake up in a cold sweat, convinced Robin had been right, that the demobats had been carrying some kind of interdimensional rabies. He’d insist he was fine, that the fancy government doctors would have caught something like that when he was in the hospital, but it didn’t stop the fiery itching that plagued him every single day.

He couldn’t think about D&D, couldn’t fathom how these kids had been dealing with this shit for years. He couldn’t think about being creative, writing music, campaigns… He just felt… blank. Bad enough in a way that he was starting to identify with the ridiculously plaid wallpaper in Steve’s bedroom. Steve, who had taken him in without a second thought, who now acted as his friend, and his reluctant nursemaid, making sure he ate something, anything, every single day. But even that was a struggle. He wasn't excited about anything now that he felt so weak and that half the town still wanted him dead.

The only moment of real, uncomplicated relief he’d felt in weeks was when Wayne had finally been allowed back into the town’s quarantine. He’d been evacuated from Forest Hills while Eddie was in the hospital, still thinking his nephew was dead. The moment he’d walked into Steve's living room and seen Eddie, bald and bruised but alive, he’d just pulled him into a tight, trembling hug and wept. He’d pulled back, his eyes watery, and familiar smile had spread across his face.

“Well, look at you,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “You look just like me, Eds”

And hell if that didn’t make Eddie feel a thousand times better.

Now, Eddie just sat on a worn-out office chair in the corner of the broadcast booth, watching. When Steve and Robin had somehow, through a combination of sheer stubbornness and Robin’s uncanny ability to talk her way into anything, managed to become the new host and sound engineer for WSQK station, Steve had been relentless. He had practically dragged a still-recovering Eddie into the small, cluttered world of the radio station.

“You need to get out, Munson.” Steve had insisted, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s not healthy to just stay here, man.”

So now, this was his new reality. He spent his days as an awkward shadow, trailing behind Steve as he was out of the house. To a walk in the park, where Eddie would sit on a bench, pulling his beanie down over his bare scalp, feeling thoroughly exposed. To a trip to the grocery store, where the fluorescent lights felt too bright and the cheerful chatter of the other shoppers made his skin crawl. To a movie night at Robin’s, where he’d sit in the corner of the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, and barely say a couple words for two hours.

But he knew Steve was trying, in his own clumsy way, to sew him back into the fabric of the living world. And Eddie, most of the time, just watched, feeling a million miles away, the phantom buzz of the clippers still echoing in his ears, tangled with the screams of the demobats that night. He’d look at Steve, at his infinite patience, at the quiet, worried line of his brow when he thought Eddie wasn’t looking, and a new, terrifying feeling would start to bloom in his chest. 

1987

After what felt like seven hundred crawls into the Upside Down to hunt for Vecna, his scars didn't hurt anymore. Not really. Only on specific days, when the air was too cold or the memories too loud. He could look in the mirror now and recognize himself, but it was the face of a fifteen-year-old Eddie, bug-eyed and feral, the same kid who had seen a picture of Ozzy Osbourne for the first time and fallen in love.

He and Robin spent hours huddled over radios, figuring out codes they could broadcast across town that might slip past the fucking army monitoring the frequencies from the Mac-Z base. In those moments, hunched over a circuit board, lost in the logic of it, Eddie almost felt like himself again. But underneath it all, the last few months had taught him one, inescapable truth: they were all just trapped here, running in place.

And for Dustin, that was a huge problem. The kid was traumatized, and he needed Eddie to be the same loud, theatrical, larger-than-life hero he remembered. He needed it to feel safe, but he just… wasn’t capable of that anymore.

“Let’s do a campaign,” he’d insist.“So how can I fuck up these jocks who have been saying shit about Hellfire–”“When are we playing, again, man?”

And Eddie would try. He’d force the smile, put on the show, and feel completely, utterly drained afterward. Steve saw it. It all came to a head one night in the WSQK basement, a place that had become their headquarters.

“You know what? I give up, Eddie! If you don’t even try, you’re never going to get back to normal,” Dustin had said, his voice tight with a frustration that was really just fear.

And Steve, who had been quietly watching from the corner, had finally stepped in. “He doesn’t have to get back to anything, Henderson,” he’d said, his voice quiet but firm. “Just let the guy be.”

“He’s not trying!” Dustin yelled, turning on Steve. “You’re coddling him! We promised we’d never change, but he was the first to change! He’s losing himself!”

Eddie had just stood there, caught in the middle of their crossfire, the two closest people to him at this party fighting about him as if he weren’t even there. He couldn’t make himself react to it, so he just turned and walked out, the sound of their raised voices fading into a dull, buzzing hum in his ears.

He didn't think any of it would ever be different. Until it was.

That was the night everything went to shit again. Another gate, another wave of suffering, and he just… he couldn’t, like he couldn’t do many things anymore. He couldn’t go back into that place.

So when the group geared up to go back down, he stayed behind, with Erica Sinclair and a shell-shocked Scott Clarke, his old science teacher, who was somehow, inexplicably, there now too. Before they left, Steve had pulled him aside, his hands gripping his shoulders, and pulled him into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to hold him together with sheer force of will.

“No funny business while we were gone, okay?” Steve had said, his voice a low, rough murmur against Eddie’s ear. “I need— Dustin needs you here. We all do.”

They’d pulled apart and just looked at each other for a long moment, and it was shocking, the quiet, solid strength of the friendship that had grown between them. Steve’s hand had come up, without thinking, and gently brushed through Eddie’s now chin-length, curly hair.

When they finally came back, hours later, bruised and bleeding but victorious, Dustin had just looked at him, his eyes wide with a relief so profound it was almost painful. He’d apologized, sobbing, for everything. And then Steve was there, pulling Eddie into another tight hug, speechless. 

The end was a blur after that. When the fucking army arrived, there was a flurry of panicked running. He’d reacted on instinct when they’d tried to separate him from Dustin, a flash of his old, defiant self that had earned him another black eye and broken nose for the collection. All he could feel was a hot, bitter rage at being back in this same fucking fight with these stupid, clueless people in uniform.

And then, the image that would be burned into his brain forever: Steve Harrington, fucking King Steve, at the wheel of a beat-up truck, a look of grim determination on his face, somehow navigating the chaos to get to them. He remembers Steve jumping from the moving vehicle, a stupid, heroic, beautiful idiot, to pull him out of the way of… something. He honestly can’t even remember what.

What he does remember is later, lying on a pile of dusty blankets in the back of the truck, the world tilting crazily. He remembers Dustin and Steve hovering over him, their faces a mess of worry and relief, fussing over his now-crooked, bleeding nose and his swelling eye. And he remembers El Hopper, leaning over him, her expression almost amused, her eyes taking in his short, messy hair.

“I like your hair like this,” she’d said, her voice a quiet, matter-of-fact statement. “It’s bitchin’.”

And Eddie, despite the pain, despite the chaos, had just laughed, a broken sound, at the beautiful insanity of it all.

1988

And when it was all finally over, as soon as it was possible, Eddie wanted to run like hell out of that town.

His name had been cleared, a quiet, unceremonious affair with very little explained, but it was enough, so he didn’t mind about explanations. While everyone else was making plans for different colleges, excitedly mapping out their futures, Eddie announced he was leaving. He waited, a quiet, desperate hope lodged in his throat, for Steve to say he’d do the same. With the kids finishing high school, and Mike and El off on some adventure together somewhere, he’d hoped, better yet, he’d expected, that Steve would finally leave with him.

But Steve was constantly talking about a coaching position at the high school. About staying "just a little longer" to make sure everything was okay. Eddie couldn't understand it. He couldn’t understand why the one person who had suffered right there alongside him couldn’t seem to let go.

Eddie and Robin had tried. They’d spent weeks trying to convince Steve to leave, even if it wasn't with him. Because maybe, just maybe, despite the shared glances, the constant hugs, the sleepovers, the mixtapes, Steve didn't feel the same. Hell, for all Eddie knew, Steve could even be straight. And that was fine. He could make his gay little heart get over it. But he’d hoped they were at least friends enough to get the hell out of this town together.

But that’s not what he saw in Steve’s broken, smiling expression as he’d said, "You should go, man. For real. A city like Chicago… you’d kill it there."

So, Eddie decided he would go. He would get over it. He had survived monsters; he could survive a broken heart. Besides, he had small victories now. He ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't the mane it used to be, but it was something. He could finally gather it into a small, sad ponytail at the nape of his neck, even if loose, rebellious strands escaped constantly to tickle his jaw. It was enough. He’d thrown himself into one last D&D campaign that was hosted, ironically, in the living room of one Steve Harrington. It wasn't a grand, world-saving epic, they were tired of those. It was a smaller adventure. But seeing Max rolling dice, hearing Erica’s vicious laughter, watching the boys argue over rules... it was healing in a way Eddie hadn't expected. 

When everyone left, he decided to stay and help Steve with the cleaning up. He tossed a handful of napkins into the trash can and turned around to find Steve leaning against the counter, just watching him. Steve’s eyes were dark, tracking Eddie’s movements with a strange intensity.

Eddie stopped, self-conscious. "What?"

Steve shrugged, looking down at his own hands for a second before looking back up. "Nothing. Just... your hair. It’s in your face."

Eddie huffed a laugh, blowing a curl out of his eyes and tucking it behind his ear. "Yeah, yeah. It’s almost like it was before, right? It’s at an annoying phase, though."

"No," Steve said softly, pushing off the counter to take a step closer. He reached out, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to touch, but he dropped his hand. "It’s... it’s super shiny. Is what I mean. Healthier."

Eddie felt a flush crawl up his neck. "Well," he muttered, looking at the floor. "That's because I had a great consultant. Kind of a bossy guy, sure, but he knew his way around a bottle of conditioner."

Steve let out a wet, startled laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Taught me a lot about patience, too. Mostly patience."

They stood there in the kitchen light, for a while, staring at each other. 

"Anyway," Steve cleared his throat, breaking the tension, though his voice was thick. "Speaking of....uh, you… I got something for you."

Eddie blinked, confused. “Why?"

"Just... because," Steve shrugged again, looking suddenly boyish and nervous. "Wait here. I'm gonna go get it."

"Steve, seriously, I can't—"

"Don’t care! Sit on the couch!" Steve ordered over his shoulder as he bounded up the stairs.

Eddie sighed, collapsing onto the plush beige sofa. My God, what is going on. He stared at the stairs, listening to Steve’s heavy footsteps thudding around.

"Okay!" Steve shouted from the top of the stairs. "Close your eyes!"

"Steve, I am not doing that," Eddie yelled back, tilting his head back.

"Eddie, close them! Or I'm not coming down!"

"Jesus Christ," Eddie grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Okay, okay! I closed them! Happy?"

"You promise no peeking?"

"Yeah, Harrington. I promise whatever."

He heard Steve’s footsteps coming down the stairs, slower this time, heavier. He heard the soft pad of sneakers on the carpet approaching him. He smelled Steve’s scent, that clean, soapy smell that was always in him. 

"Okay," Steve’s voice was right in front of him, quiet and vibrating with nerves. "Hold out your hands."

Eddie huffed but did it, his palms facing up. 

A second later, a weight settled into his palms. It was heavy, substantial. His fingers instinctively curled around the object. It felt smooth, textured... leather? Hard shell? The shape was undeniable. The balance was familiar to his very soul.

Eddie’s eyes flew open and gaped, speechless.

Resting in his hands was a black, hard-shell guitar case. It wasn't battered or covered in stickers like his old one. It was pristine and definitely expensive. "Steve..." Eddie breathed, his voice barely a whisper. He looked up at Steve, whose face was flushed, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"I know you... I know you had to leave Sweetheart behind in the Upside Down," Steve said, rushing through the words, looking everywhere but at Eddie. "And I know you've been playing that acoustic one you found at the pawn shop. But... you're going to Chicago, man. You can't show up in Chicago without..."

Eddie’s hands trembled as he set the case on the coffee table and popped the latches. Click. Click. Click.

He lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in plush red velvet, was a Warlock. Not exactly like his old one, this one was a deep, blood red.

"It's not the same, I tried but…" Steve murmured, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "I know it can't replace her. But... I thought... y’know, for the new start."

Eddie was stunned he could cry, he ran his fingers over the strings, the cold metal of the frets. He felt tears pricking his eyes, hot and fast. He wanted to scream out of happiness but to throw the guitar aside and shake Steve until he agreed to come with him at the same time. But this... this was Steve saying he believed in him. This was Steve sending a piece of himself to Chicago.

"You..." Eddie choked out, looking up at Steve through the veil of his messy hair. "You bought me a Warlock."

"Yeah, well," Steve gave him a crooked, sad smile. "Who else is gonna keep the metal alive in the big city, Munson?"

Eddie stood up, completely ignoring the guitar, and pulled Steve into a crushing, desperate hug. He buried his face in the soft, familiar space of Steve’s neck, breathing him in, trying to memorize the scent of his stupid, expensive shampoo.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words muffled against Steve’s skin. “Thank you, thank you.”

Steve’s arms tightened around him instantly, solid and grounding. "You don't need to thank me, Eds," Steve whispered back, his breath warm against Eddie’s ear. "Never."

They pulled apart, but only just enough to look at each other, their faces inches apart, the air between them thick and electric with a year’s worth of unspoken things. And Eddie didn’t know what came over him, if it was the gratitude, or the grief, or the overwhelming, terrifying love, but he just… he surged forward and kissed him.

IIt was an open-mouthed kiss that Steve met with a surprised gasp before melting into it completely. It was slow and deep, a languid, searching exploration. Eddie’s tongue swept into Steve’s mouth, and Steve just let him, a low sound rumbling in his chest. Steve’s hands came up, tangling in the long, soft curls at the nape of Eddie’s neck, his grip tightening, tilting his head to deepen the angle. Eddie’s own hands slid down, finding a firm purchase on the curve of Steve’s ass, squeezing and pulling him flush against his body. They were both feeling each other all over, an aching need.

The kiss went on and on, a slow, wet, noise of their lips together until they were both breathless, their lungs burning. They broke apart, laughing, a giddy sound. Steve opened his eyes, a dazed, beautiful smile on his face, ready to make a joke.

But Eddie was crying.

Silent, hot tears were just streaming down his face. Steve’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure, panicked concern.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, his thumbs immediately coming up to wipe at the tears on Eddie’s cheeks. “Hey. What happened? What’s wrong?” He started pressing soft, frantic kisses to the tear tracks, to his eyelids, to his forehead.

“I’m just,” Eddie choked out “I’m just going to fucking miss you so much.”

And he couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t possibly put into words how this one, perfect, beautiful moment, this proof that Steve felt the same, had somehow made everything a million times worse. Because it was real. It was all real. And Steve still wasn't leaving. He was choosing to stay there.

Steve just looked at him, his own expression crumbling, looking just as devastated. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn't say what for—for staying, for waiting this long, for letting him go—but he sealed the apology with another kiss, a kiss that tasted of salt and grief and the terrifying finality of a goodbye. They stumbled backward, a clumsy, desperate tangle of limbs, in a desperate attempt to memorize the taste of each other, and collapsed onto the sofa.

1990 

Chicago in July should be considered a physical assault. It was humid, sticky, and oppressive, like they’d open the gates of hell, actually, worse than that, if Eddie remembers well his previous experience with the weather inside those gates.

Eddie was sitting on the floor of the living room, huffing softly, a bead of sweat tracking down his temple. He had abandoned his flannel shirt hours ago, tossing it into a corner, and was now wearing only a thin, white tank top that clung to his damp skin. An old fan rattled in the corner, doing absolutely nothing but pushing hot air around. He picked up a vinyl record, stared at it, and put it back in the wrong pile. He couldn't concentrate. His gaze drifted to the mountain of cardboard boxes scrawled with a familiar, neat handwriting: STEVE H. Then, his eyes found the man himself.

Steve was standing on a stepladder, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he tried to wrangle a curtain rod into place. His hair was different now, shorter than it used to be, styled with a casual precision that screamed "responsible adult." So sexy, as always. 

He was also wearing knee-length denim shorts and a tucked-in t-shirt that strained across his chest when he reached up. My God. It was doing something in Eddie's pants just looking at him.

But more than the look, it was the reality of it. Steve was finally there. It hadn't been a simple decision. It took two years. Two years of phone bills that made Eddie want to weep, of weekends together that passed too quickly, of getting very creative over the phone line when the loneliness got too loud.

And then, last week happened. The moment that felt like a scene from a cheesy rom-com he refused to pay attention to. Eddie had been working his shift at the record store, his main gig (though he told everyone it was just a "side hustle" to his music). He was organizing the pop section, humming to himself, when the bell above the door chimed.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice said. "I'm looking for the new Ozzy album. I heard the guy on the cover is exactly like me."

Eddie had frozen. His heart slammed against his ribs. He turned around slowly, praying he wasn't hallucinating from lovesickness.

Steve was there. Leaning against the counter, grinning that stupid, charming grin, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Eddie felt like his knees were going to buckle. He managed to stammer, "We're... uh... we're actually out of stock  of that one."

"Is that so?" Steve stepped closer. "Is there a waitlist or something?"

"There is," Eddie breathed, walking around the counter as if in a trance. "But... usually, it takes a while to restock..."

"That's okay," Steve said softly, dropping the bag on the floor. "Put my name down. I'm going to be around for a long time."

Eddie blinked, his vision blurring. "How long?"

"As long as you want."

Eddie had let out a choked sound and launched himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around him in a hug so tight it probably bruised ribs. He had to use every ounce of self-control not to kiss him right there, in front of the few customers and his boss. But it was fine. He had the rest of the day, and years ahead, to do that. 

Back in the apartment, the memory made Eddie smile stupidly at a copy of Black Sabbath.

"Eddie?" Steve’s voice cut through the daydream. "Hey, Earth to Munson. What’s up with you?"

"I'm organizing!" Eddie lied, shoving a record into a crate. "I'm just... dying of heat, man. I think my brain has probably melted a bit."

He threw his head back, blowing a puff of air upwards. His hair, heavy and thick, stuck to his sweaty neck instantly. He groaned, gathering the mass of curls with both hands and holding it up off his skin.

"Okay, okay," Steve said, stepping down from the chair he was using as a ladder. He wiped his hands on his shorts. "Where are your hair clips?"

"Ugh, too far," Eddie whined, gesturing vaguely towards the bedroom hallway. "All the way in the bedroom. I can't move. My legs have fused to the floor with my sweat."

Steve rolled his eyes, a fond smirk playing on his lips. "Such a drama queen."

Steve walked over, his sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. He stopped in front of Eddie, looking down at him — sweaty, disheveled, surrounded by music, sweat-damp hair framing his flushed, pretty face, pulling Steve’s focus away for a moment, into recent memories. Steve’s expression softened into something impossibly tender.

He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa, and patted the space between his spread legs.

"Come on," Steve murmured, tapping his thigh. "Let's do this one more time."

Eddie frowned, confused for a second, then realized. He smirked, teasing. "Don't you think it's too hot for that right now, big boy?"

"You are incorrigible," Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his cheeks turned a light pink. "Turn around, Munson. Before I change my mind."

Eddie chuckled, crawling over and settling into the space between Steve’s legs. He turned his back to Steve, crossing his legs, and let out a sigh as he felt Steve’s knees bracket his hips. It was intimate. Grounding.

Eddie felt Steve’s huge gentle hands gather his hair.

It was almost a ritual by now. Eddie closed his eyes, leaning back slightly. He felt Steve’s fingers combing through the tangled length, separating the curly strands with a patience that Eddie still found hard to believe.

Left over center. Right over center.

The rhythmic pull on his scalp sent a shiver down his spine, relaxing muscles he didn't even know were tense.

He remembered the bathroom in '86. The smell of blood. The buzz of the clippers. The feeling of being erased. And now... now he had this.

His hair was long. Gloriously long. It cascaded down his back in deep brown waves, reaching past his shoulder blades, heavy and healthy. For a long time, he thought he grew it out of defiance. But now? He simply loved it. He loved the weight of it and how it was a part of so many happy moments he had. He didn't think he would ever want to get rid of it again.

“It’s so long,” Steve murmured, his voice a low rumble against Eddie’s back as he wove the braid tight and neat. “So long and pretty, baby.”

Eddie smiled, a small, private thing, before saying, “Oh, that’s what you said last night.”

Steve just snorted, finishing the braid with a final, deft movement. “Yeah, well, you heard me,” he said. 

Steve tied off the end of the braid with Eddie’s own hair. He swept the heavy plait over Eddie’s shoulder, clearing his neck to lean forward. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the sweaty curve of Eddie’s neck, right where the pulse jumped. Then another to his shoulder.

"Done." Steve whispered against his skin.

Eddie let out a shaky breath, reached behind him, grabbing Steve’s chin, and pulled him forward, while he twisted his torso to meet Steve halfway, and captured his mouth in a deep kiss. It was just the beginning for them. 

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NOTES:

thank you so so much for reading! pls feel free to tell your thoughts around here or my twt account (eddiesmaster) or ao3 (getmeback)