Wordy, Nerdy & Dirty

I have a proclivity for writing naughty words about nerdy subjects and thinking dirty thoughts about bad British boys, indecent Indiana Sheriffs or Outlaw Metalheads, and any other man who needs objectification. Old enough to be your mother, just so ya know.

[shares-a-vest]

Eddie, with his head on Steve's chest, quietly snoring as he sleeps. Completely unaware that Steve is wide awake, grinning to himself as holds Eddie close with one arm, his other hand held out as he wiggles his fingers.

Admiring Eddie's rings that had been slipped onto his own hand before his boyfriend finger-blasted him into oblivion.

[shares-a-vest]

Steve at WSQK hosting a midnight call in show about sex and relationships.

He uses a silly pseudonym and lowers his voice to a sultry whisper, to disguise himself and set the mood. His becomes a cult favourite, a shared secret around town.

Rumours swirl around Steve's age group that he might be the host because, well... Some of the advice this radio love guru is giving out is very specific. Steve earned a reputation for a reason *wink.

Eddie listens. Oh boy, does he.

Huddled under the covers with his radio on low (even though his uncle is mostly at the Plant at that hour), Eddie has developed an embarrassing crush on the host. Context clues have helped him figure out it is someone around his age but, with three separate senior year books at his disposal, he can't quite pin down who it might be.

Imagine his surprise when he realises it is Steve (who he also has a crush on). Is it still two separate crushes if someone is masquerading as an Anonymous Radio Sex God?

Anyway, he about near falls out of bed when he hears Robin chiming in and a very Steve-and-Robin squabble ensues, live on air.

Now, if only Eddie can turn Steve's advice back on him...

[chaoslunaire]

Based on this publication Eddie doesn't really know where he's going; the alcohol is clouding his mind, he can't remember where his damn bed is, and he's too tired to keep looking. He stops in front of a bed that looks comfortable and decides it will be his for the night.

He slips into Steve's bed, settling in comfortably, and Steve, who was starting to drift off, suddenly sits up.

“What the hell are you doing, dude?” he asks, puzzled.

“I'm going to bed, because I'm tired,” Eddie replies.

“You're in my bed!”

“Yours, mine, what does it matter in the end?”

Steve keeps arguing, trying to make Eddie understand that it’s his bed and he’d like his spot back, but Eddie isn’t listening anymore; he slips an arm behind him, grabs Steve's forearm, and yanks him close.

“Shut up, Harrington, and give me a hug,” Eddie grumbles.

Steve wants to protest; he wants to tell him that he doesn't feel like cuddling him, that he just wants to be left alone in his bed, but he has barely opened his mouth when he closes it again, because Eddie is shifting, settling against him, and their bodies seem made for each other, or it’s just Steve, so deprived of sleep (and physical contact) that he’s trying to convince himself of it. Anyway, it’s been a long time since he’s slept with anyone, and Eddie feels warm against him, so... maybe he could just give him the damn hug.

Steve pulls away (eliciting a grumble from Eddie) to pull the blanket up over both of them, before wrapping his arm back around Eddie’s waist and pulling him closer. If Eddie wants a hug, Steve is going to give him a hug.

[fxckmarrykill]

steve harrington who develops this random habit of walking around checking if his sleeping friends are still breathing after vecna's death; it just helps him sleep better, really. reassures him.

robin, curled into a ball on the couch at the radio station, yeah, he should check, just to see if she hasn't suffocated herself in that weird position she sleeps in. still breathing, she's fine.

mike and will, oh look, they're holding hands under the blanket, which is none of his business, but that's kind of cute, still breathing. he double checks will and max, just to be sure.

eddie- god, he sleeps like roadkill, face half buried in his makeshift pillow. he's fine, still breathing, hair all over the place.

dustin's curls meshed into the sleeping bag. good, still breathing- drooling, too. but he's fine. fingers almost touching el's, smooth bastard. she's good, too.

lucas, nance, jonathan. all breathing. all fine.

now steve can peacefully go back to sleep.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Strike a Deal

Prompt #6 - Family Video | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Recreational Drug Use | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steve & Corroded Coffin, Steddie (If You Squint) | Tags: Pre & Post S4, Family Video, Time Jump, Steve & Eddie Strike a Deal, Open Ending

January 1986

"No, no, no. No way. You already have twenty-two dollars in fees," Steve says, snatching the tape away from Eddie Munson.

"C'mon, man. What's it to you? Is it coming out of your pocket? Did your family buy Family Video?" Eddie asks, planting both of his hands on the counter, leaning towards Steve. Taunting him.

Steve holds his ground, leaning back into his face, "I know you're bootlegging them, Munson."

Eddie bites out a laugh, right in Steve's face, "Yeah right, Harrington. You think I have money for two VCRs?"

"No. I think," Steve says, spinning around, tapping on the keyboard, "Charles Goodwin has two VCR money. He owes me seventeen dollars, by the way."

"Charles? Never heard of him," Eddie says, shifting his weight back and forth. Steve knows he's got him. He's definitely on the right track.

"Oh really?" Steve asks, still tapping away. He'd linked these accounts together months ago. "How about Gareth Jones? He's up to eleven dollars. Or Jeff Williams? Four dollars."

"I'm not sure you should be giving out all this sensitive information about your customers," Eddie says, and Steve rolls his eyes.

"I'm not giving any of you any additional rentals until you pay up."

"Harrington."

Steve isn't moved. "Munson."

"Fine," Eddie huffs, and swishes around, banging the door too hard as he flounces out, in a whirlwind of hair and bad attitude.

"Four dollars," Jeff Williams says, pushing four dollar bills across the counter at Steve. Steve just keeps his arms crossed. 

Steve can see Eddie Munson's van in the parking lot, and he's not an idiot.

"Where's the rest of it?" Steve demands.

"I owe more than four dollars?" Jeff asks, and Steve tilts his head back, sighing.

"No. They do."

Jeff turns and looks out the plate glass windows. 

"Uh, I don't know them?" Jeff says, voice lilting up, as if he's not really sure about that statement.

"Sure you don't," Steve answers, finally grabbing the four dollars, and shoving them into the register. Moving over to the computer, and pulling up Jeff's accounting. Marking it as paid in full, begrudgingly. 

Jeff taps the two tapes on the counter, and Steve rents them to him. Even if he doesn't want to. Even if he knows exactly what they're doing. 

The note is wedged under the BMW's wiper blade. It's just a crude drawing of a VHS tape and an address. Steve knows it's them. Knows he shouldn't even care what the freaks are up to, but he's curious. Sue him. 

He parks in front of the house, and Eddie Munson is waiting in front of the garage, smoking. Steve saunters towards him, and Eddie pulls up the garage door, letting Steve duck under. It's all dark, and Steve suddenly feels a gnawing pit in his stomach that he's been set up. 

Eddie makes no sudden movements though, and just presses his finger to his lips, telling Steve to be quiet.

He opens the back door, and there's an immediate set of stairs leading into the basement. Steve follows him, careful to be light on his feet, and down there are three other guys and a lot of video tapes.

One of them is sitting in front of a double-VCR set-up.

"If you wipe those fees, Goodie said you can borrow anything you want," Eddie says, and Steve scoffs. Who's Goodie? Well, Charles Goodwin, he supposes. Doesn't matter. Steve works at the video store. He can already borrow anything he wants for free, and in better quality than a bootleg.

But he looks closer. And they have things that they didn't get from Family Video. Hardcore things.

"Where'd you even get these?" Steve asks, and Eddie taps a case.

"Indy," he says, "we've got accounts all over."

"And you're selling them?" Steve asks, and Eddie laughs.

"You know how long it'd take to make multiple copies? No way. This is for our own personal enjoyment. And we'd share, if we can strike a deal."

Steve looks at him, studying his face, seeing if he's bullshitting or not. Eddie's a freak, and Steve has no business trusting a word he says.

But.

"You don't want pornos? Fine. Quarter of weed a month," Eddie offers. "You wipe our fees, keep us in tapes, and I'll keep you stocked."

Steve thinks about it. Then, he demands: "Four sleeping pills a week."

Eddie doesn't react for a moment, then says: "Two."

"Three," Steve counters, and Eddie sticks out his hand. Steve shakes it.

Between the headaches and the nightmares, three good nights of sleep a week is well worth making a deal with Eddie Munson.

April 1986

Steve turns the key in the lock. Somehow, Family Video is still standing. He boots up the computer, and slowly types: Eddie Munson.

When Eddie's account comes up, it's mostly squeaky clean. Steve had made sure of it. Their deal really saved his ass over the last few months. There's a lone dollar fee for not rewinding the last tape he'd rented. Steve deletes it. He also marks the two movies that are currently late as returned, before moving the account to inactive. 

Then, he scrolls through Eddie's account history. Like he's going to learn something new about him from the tapes he'd rented. Unfortunately, he doesn't.

Steve's not sure when, or if, Hawkins is going to be normal enough for renting videos, but if it does bounce back? Well, nobody needs anything else to dig into about Eddie.

"You're here earlier than we planned. Whatcha doin'?" Robin asks, waltzing through the front door.

"Just some housekeeping," Steve says, and clicks back to the main screen. Planting his elbows on the counter, leaning over. He yawns. He's not sleeping well. Again.

"Ready to board this bitch up?" Robins asks. Keith fled or is dead. They don't know which, and Steve nods.

When they leave, Eddie's friends are loitering around Steve's car.

"Here," Gareth says, pressing a baggie into his palm. 

Three pills. 

"A deal's a deal."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Note: Does this follow S4 canon? Or is Eddie just over there healing? Whatever you prefer.

The fee for not rewinding, at least in Chicago, really was $1 in 1985.

[scoops-aboy86]

Corroded Coffin’s lead singer Eddie Munson gives MTV a tour of his “luxury mansion.” Everyone expects groupies, jacuzzis, the usual rockstar life. Instead it’s a medieval castle full of nerd stuff.

There is one guy who could be a groupie, but he’s dressed so… preppy. He’s sprawled on one of the many comfy couches and working on a Rubix cube, tongue poking out a little in concentration. Munson doesn’t introduce him, just calls out, “How’s it coming, sweetheart?” The guy doesn’t even look up, just flips him off; Eddie laughs and moves the tour along to the next room, which contains a full Olympic sized pool with a Star Wars themed mosaic floor.

What draws all the attention though is a coffee kiosk set up inside Munson’s home that’s a clear spoof on Starbucks. It’s a fully branded and decked out coffee “company” named Penta-Dollar, with a logo that has a white pentagram etched on a red sand dollar by a black tentacle holding a tattoo gun, curling around from behind the sand dollar. Once the footage airs Starbucks sues, and Munson has good enough lawyers that it basically just becomes a matter of cease and desist.

A few months later Munson launches his own coffee company called Malicious Compliance Coffee Co., with a logo featuring a hand that’s obviously modeled after Munson’s giving a thumbs up sign. Of the rings on the hand, two are some of his signature decor: a skull and a cross surrounded by skulls. But the middle ring, instead of his signature pig ring, is an octopus. The branded hot beverage cups feature photocopies of the legal decision from the case with “Starbucks” and “Penta-Dollar” blacked out.

It’s such a big stir that it takes a long time for anyone to comment on the fact that, uh, wasn’t that Olympic gold metal swimmer Steve fucking Harrington chilling on Munson’s couch like he lived there?

And doesn’t Harrington have a small sand dollar tramp stamp tattoo??

Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed): @a-drop-of-magic @cosycryptid @gambita7x @grtwdsmwhr @hamiltonswiftie

@hehimmommy @hiei-harringtonmunson @iridescentrylandgrace @mascarponedaydreams @motherofpirates

@mrsjellymunson @sofadofax @stevesscoops @steviewashere @th30ra3k3n

@wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls @bananahoneycomb @connected-dots @cryptid-demon-antics

@readerlev @revevivant

[motherofpirates]

Robin: There were like signals...

Yeah, you know, like a brush of the knee, a bump of the elbow

A shared look...

It all just accrued like a snowball rolling down a hill until it was obvious...

[ifitshaleitsgay]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Author: Thisusernameisunavailable Explicit Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings M/M Eddie Munson/Gator Tillman Tags: Modern Setting, Bartender Eddie Munson, Top Eddie Munson, Boot Worship, First Time Blow Jobs, Wet & Messy, Coming In Pants, Loss of Virginity, Anal Sex, Gator getting fucked in his stupid backwards hat, Bottom Gator Tillman, Character Typical Homophobia, Gay Eddie Munson, Boot Humping, Multiple Orgasms, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Overstimulation, Barebacking, Rimming, Eddie Munson has a dick piercing, Daddy Kink, Daddy Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Gun Violence, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Messing with subspace: danger edition, Neither of these men should be in charge of anything, Public Blow Jobs, Bathroom Sex, Prostate Milking, Spanking, No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Animal Death, Threats of Violence, Blackmail, Face-Sitting, Begging, Orgasm Delay, Angst with a Happy Ending Part 1 of Love is Blind

Summary

In a weird turn of events, Eddie Munson ends up working in a bar at the edge of Stark County in 2018. A bar that's frequented by cops, creeps, and the son of the most formidable sheriff that Eddie's never heard of.

sleaze fanart

[mrsjellymunson]

The Anniversary

Written for the first of the @steddiemicrofic 3rd year anniversary celebration prompts, three | WC: 333 | Rating: E | POV: Steddie, but ambiguous | CW: 18+, SMUT, NSFW, MDNI, explicit sexual content, allusions to homophobia

Steddie masterlist | General masterlist

“Baby, it's our third anniversary. I know you can do this. Will you try? For me?”

“Please, I– I don't know if I can.”

His voice is strained, he sounds in pain. But he loves his boyfriend, so he's willing to try. 

It's been a hard three years. 

To start with, they dallied around each other for ages, too shit scared to admit how they felt in case the other didn't reciprocate, and wasting so much time in the process. 

Then, they had to navigate coming out to their friends, revealing their relationship, and deciding how much affection they could safely express in public. 

After, there was the excitement, and anxiety, around shared accommodation, not least the necessity and extra expense of renting a two-bed lest people asked questions. 

But it's also been amazing. Joyful. Wondrous. Having a loving boyfriend to come home to, to build a life with, and give just as much love back to in return? Worth it.

But this boyfriend isn't above asking for demanding what feels like the impossible.

He’s already made him cum twice. First with his mouth on their shared sofa, cumming in his pants as he humped himself against his leg. 

Then again in the shower as they cleaned up, this time with fingers in his ass as his wet body trapped his still-sensitive cock between his belly and the cold tile. 

And now, as his beau rails him into their shared mattress, their hard work and adoration and devotion flowing between them, he falls over the precipice one final time as the love of his life spills inside of him.

He's rewarded with tender kisses peppered all over his sweaty, aching body, knowing the aftercare will be just as sweet. And yet his boyfriend is still somehow of the opinion that he's the lucky one, as he squeezes his ass cheek one last time and mumbles into the crook of his neck,

“Thank you, baby. I knew you could do it. Best. Gift. Ever.”

Thanks so much for reading!

Who did you put where? (I couldn't decide so I thought I'd let you choose 😉)

A/N: Hmm, I only have 333 words for this most meaningful of microfics, what shall I concentrate on? *slams hand on table* SMUUUTTT!!!

Tagging my lovely lovelies: @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @swiftievibez @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland @3rd-conchord @bellalillyrose @steve-loves-eddie @justalotoffanfiction @gracieheartspedro @kellsck @eddiesecstasy @chronicles-of-koystee @cheesesandwichsanto @eddiessweethrt @emxxblog @slutforpumpkins @mama-likes72 @thatsonezesty13 @steddiefication @ali-r3n @spacecadet-dot-net @r-a-t-p-a-t-t-o-o-t-i-e @gregre369 @dmv49 @allsteddie

[steve-loves-eddie]

I fucking LOVE this!!

[kassy-djomunson]

i have a lot of things to say

[dearwalker]

New Eddie content? In this economy?? 😭

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Married Platonic Stobin

EVERYTHING UNDER THE CUT IS HURT/NO COMFORT EXPLICIT:

cws: dead dove, main character death, steve harrington dies, body horror, blood, gore, open wounds, grief

~~~

There’s a small band of gold on her left ring finger, with his initials engraved on the inside. 

Each and every morning, she presses the inside of the ring into the soft pad of her thumb, branding his letters into her skin. She smiles. 

Holding out her thumb to him, and he hers, they line up the indents, proof of their everlasting devotion. He smiles back at her. 

She wears flame retardant work gloves during the apocalypse, so she keeps the ring on. He holds his weapons with bare hands, so he slips his on a chain around his neck.

When her gloves are off, she twists the band around and around and around, repetition a small comfort in the face of faceless monsters. His shoulders relax when the glint catches his eye. 

He always drops the bat after a fight, and she always turns to watch him pat his chest, pushing the small circle into his sternum. They rest their foreheads together and sigh. He loves her, and she loves him.

Her bare hands are braced over his exposed chest, and their rings being so close to one another should fill her with sweet, sappy relief. 

But the ring with her initials on a chain wrapped around his neck disappears into a gaping wound between his protruding ribs.

The ring on her finger engraved with his initials is slippery with his blood, flowing under her hands, between her fingers, and up to her elbows. 

She presses hard. He screams and spasms, and she feels the ring slip off her hand and nestle inside him.

Really, it's always belonged next to his.

Red seeps between his teeth when he gasps her name. She watches it trickle out the sides of his mouth into his matted hair. Her ears ring with the memories of their vows as she breathes the familiar words into his temple. 

They are alone under a red streaked sky. He’s pale and shaking beneath her.

More red gushes from a wound on his side, coating her jeans where she’s knelt next to him. She is wet with him, drenched in him. 

Snot drips from her nose onto his opened bones, her tears soak into his chest next to his heart and he is drenched in her. 

Each and every night, hidden under the safety of their blankets and wrapped around each other like two halves to a whole, he presses the inside of his ring into the soft pad of his thumb, branding her initials into his skin. He smiles. 

Then he holds out his thumb to her, and her to his. They line up the indents, proof of their everlasting devotion, and she smiles back at him.

Now he uses the last of his strength to lift his thumb. There is no R.B. for her to see, but she sobs, and he knows she sees it anyways. His S.H. isn’t branded into the pad of hers, but she presses it to his, and he feels it anyways.

He loves her, yet he stops breathing.

She loves him, and she screams.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Boy Howdy

Prompt #2 - Crop Top | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: E | CW: Frotting | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie, Eddie & Wayne | Tags: Post S4, Getting Together, With A Little (Unwitting) Help From Good Uncle Wayne Munson

"Ed, I don't think—"

"—just do it!" Eddie snaps, and the snip sound of scissors cutting through fabric fills the room. Fucking finally.

Eddie looks down, and there's a vertical line up the side of his shirt, and he turns so he can see it better in the mirror, and then places his fingers at the level he wants it to be cropped to. He'd already ruined three shirts trying to do it himself, and reinforcements were needed.

The first one was way too short.

"Right here," he instructs, and Wayne shakes his head, but cuts upwards until he's under the line Eddie is marking.

"I don't know why you couldn't do this your damn self," Wayne grumbles, and then carefully, reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, snips around Eddie's waist in as straight of a line as he can manage.

Eddie just smiles, and toes at the shirts he deemed destroyed as they lay crumpled on the floor. He needed help. Obviously. And Wayne drew the short straw via proximity to the problem at hand.

When Wayne's done, he hands Eddie the scrap of fabric and the scissors, "I just don't know why you wanted to ruin a perfectly good shirt."

Eddie smirks, and that's that. He turns in the mirror and the sleeveless shirt looks even better now. It shows off his scars, and part of him wants to remind this godforsaken town that he nearly died trying to save them all.

They won't care tonight, and that's fucking fine. He's so gonna rock anyway. 

On the stage of The Hideout, Eddie struts around feeling confident. Sure, it's no arena. It's not even a big crowd. It's a handful of drunks that definitely aren't metal in the slightest. Still, they sound good, for them, and when the gig is over he's loading up stuff in the back of his van.

"You looked good," comes the familiar voice, and Eddie turns, smile already split across his face. He hadn't even seen that Steve was there tonight. Usually he's too busy to come out and play these days. He wants to be a teacher, like an absolute lunatic.

"We sounded good," Eddie corrects, reaching for Steve.

Steve laughs, warm hands sliding against Eddie's bare skin as he hugs him back, "No. You looked good."

"Ouch," Eddie answers, kneejerk, before he realizes what Steve's actually saying. Maybe. Maybe not. 

He doesn't know. Things have always been kinda weird between them, like if one of them would just take a single step forward that maybe everything might change. 

So far, nobody's made that move.

Unless.

Unless Steve is making it right now.

Eddie pulls back from the hug, offering Steve a smirk, showing off a dimple, "So, I looked good, did I?"

Steve's hands are still clutched against Eddie's lower back, but he glances away, down at his feet, smiling. 

And okay. Yeah. 

Steve pushes his hand up under Eddie's shirt, under the cropped fabric, and glides curious fingertips all along Eddie's scars. Steve has his own, of course, but Eddie got it worse. From the bats. From the town.

But right now? Right now he thinks maybe he's won after all.

Because there's kissing. So much kissing.

Eddie's never had a hook-up like this. Not that he's had all that many, but still. This is new. Steve's fingers grazing his skin, like he's trying to map every part of him. Carefully. Thoroughly.

Eddie doesn't mind. Because it's Steve. And Steve knows exactly how he got all these scars. Steve knows what Eddie went through, what they all went through.

Nimble fingers unbutton Eddie's jeans, hands pushing them down Eddie's thighs, and then Eddie's shoved back onto the mattress with a bounce.

Steve giggles, and unfastens his own jeans, wiggling them down his hips, before crawling on the bed, covering Eddie's body with his own. As if he's too desperate for them to get fully undressed. 

Eddie has no complaints about that.

Steve licks his own palm, and wraps his fist around both of them, grinding his cock up against Eddie as he works his hips. Eddie grips both of Steve's shoulders, and it's all he can do to hold on for the ride.

"Good?" Steve whispers, hot breath against Eddie's ear, and Eddie nods.

"Real good," Eddie answers, and relishes the feeling of Steve's cock rubbing against his own, Steve's firm grip guiding the way. It's a little too dry, and a little more friction than Eddie prefers, but it's Steve.

Of course it feels good.

Eddie has wanted this since they were knee-deep in Vecna's bullshit and he'd realized Steve Harrington is not at all a bad dude to be around.

Steve's still jerking them off, hips working, thrusting against Eddie.

Eddie moans, and Steve sucks in a breath, then comes all over his hand, Eddie's cock, Eddie's stomach. The slip has now changed, and Eddie lets himself chase after Steve. His own orgasm hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

Steve giggles, resting his head in the crook of Eddie's neck, his weight a welcome sensation.

Eddie blinks his eyes, trying to adjust to being awake. Steve Harrington. The first thought is he was dreaming, but he knows better. Steve Harrington came home with him last night after their Hideout gig. 

"Hey," Steve says, right on cue, and Eddie turns.

Steve's standing in the doorway to Eddie's room, two mugs of coffee in hand. But more importantly, he's wearing one of Eddie's failed crop tops, the one Eddie deemed too short.

But on Steve, it looks amazing. All that dark hair covering his stomach, his scars, sleeveless to show off his arms. Which are far more defined than Eddie's.

Eddie swallows.

This shirt wasn't right for him, but it is right for Steve. Boy howdy, is it ever.

"Hey," Eddie says back, sitting up, holding out his hands for the mug, and the soft smile Steve gives him makes his stomach flip. 

And Eddie's ready. Beyond ready.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: Header image is from Airheads. Finding what I pictured in my head for Eddie's crop top was harder than expected. So, this had to do, lol.

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Knot | Word Count: 586 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Steddie | Character Study, slice of life, making up for lost time

Eddie was thirteen the first time he visited a beach. Uncle Wayne drove him to Lake Michigan for a weekend, thinking the sun and waves would soften the anger in him, a sandy panacea for all the hurt his parents had caused him. Wayne had let him sit alone with a book for a couple of hours before dragging him into the water, splashing him while Eddie stood there and took it, stoney faced. Until Eddie had snapped and splashed back, harder, meaner, and Wayne had grabbed him and held him while he cried in the waters of Lake Michigan.

He has some money these days, so now he swims in oceans instead of lakes.

Even under an umbrella he feels the heat on his skin, warming his sore muscles, making him sleepy. He drops his book onto his lap, his eyes slipping closed until he hears screaming and he wakes in a panic. But it’s fine, just Gareth’s boys out in the water, climbing all over their dad so he can throw them up into the air letting them land with a splash into the gentle waves.

“Here,” Steve says, helping him up from the lounger, and out into the sun. He spreads a towel on the sand and Eddie lays down on his front as directed. He hears the pop of a lid as it’s flicked open, the sound of sunscreen being warmed between Steve’s palms, and then strong hands are on his shoulders, massaging and kneading.

Eddie rests his head on his arm so that he can watch his friends playing in the water. He’ll go for a swim later, when the beach is quieter, when he can take his shirt off and not have to deal with the stares and whispers of the beautiful people of California.

He closes his eyes, let’s himself drift under Steve’s touch, let’s the smell of artificial coconut and salty air soothe him. The waves pick up and the sound of them lapping on the shore reminds him of that day with Wayne. A day where he finally let go and let himself be seen. A day where the Munson doctrine was temporarily drowned in Lake Michigan while he cried into his uncle’s chest. He learned it was okay to be vulnerable, you just had to show your soft parts to the right people. People who wouldn’t use it against you. People like Wayne. 

People like Steve.

It’s still new, this thing between them. So much time wasted, so many years they could have had together if they’d just taken notice, just been brave. “Better late than never,” Wayne had said to him. The thought of never makes him feel cold. Never would have been like living in a world where the sun never rises.

Steve’s hand runs over a painful knot in Eddie’s shoulder and he groans from the pressure. Using a cane helps his leg but hurts his shoulder; Steve knows that because he knows Eddie’s soft parts.

“I love you,” Eddie says, the sound of it smothered by a wave hitting the shore, but the pressure on his back pauses just for a moment, long enough to know he was heard.

They haven’t said it yet, it felt too early for declarations. They weren’t teenagers, they’ve been around the block. But so much time has been wasted. 

He feels a soft kiss on his shoulder and he smiles.

“I love you too,” Steve says.

Even over the crash of the waves, Eddie hears it.

[beritybaker]

Little Lions

for @steddiemicrofic june 2026 prompt, "pride"

rating: G | WC: 481 | ao3 tags: future fic, parent steddie, family fluff (the tooth-rotting kind)

The patter of feet on the stairs precedes a yellow blur past the entrance to the living room. Steve smiles to himself as he marks the page in his book and sets it aside, knowing he might lose his place if he doesn’t take care of it now.

Sure enough, he hears giggling from around the corner, followed by a badly contained whisper: “I don’t think he saw me!”

“What’s he doing?” an identical voice hisses from above.

Steve doesn’t look, but he assumes whichever of the twins is downstairs takes a peek into the room, because there’s a pause before she replies, “He’s just sittin’ on the couch.”

“That’s perfect. Sounds like a great opportunity for an ambush.” An impossibly wider smile stretches Steve’s lips at the sound of Eddie entertaining the girls’ new obsession.

The onesies had been a birthday gift from Papaw Wayne, who not only puts up with daily rewatches of The Lion King while Steve and Eddie are at work, but who managed to spin the obsession into an interest in real-life big cats. Every night for the past week, they’ve begged Steve to read to them from an issue of National Geographic in lieu of a bedtime story, and they’ve started spouting off fun facts at every opportunity.

“Dad, did you know a mountain lion can jump more than forty feet? That’s almost bigger than our yard!” was parroted to Eddie while he was buckling Gwen into her car seat yesterday.

“Girl lions do all the hunting, Mr. Chief Hopper,” was deadpanned to Jim at Steve’s birthday party, after they overheard him insinuating he was a better shot than Nancy.

“A lion family is called a pride, too!” Beth chirped to Robin on the way to the festival in Indy last week, swinging their joined hands back and forth.

“Bengal tigers roar so loud you can hear it…well, I can’t remember, but it’s really far away.” They mentioned this one to Eddie yesterday, too, as he did his best to corral their lack of volume control away from Steve’s migraine.

At the moment, Steve is sure Eddie knows how not-sneaky they’re being, but he still plays along and stage whispers, “Alright, my little cubbies…”

The girls titter and protest. “We’re not cubbies!”

“Oh, that’s right! My apologies to the powerful lionesses,” he amends, which makes them laugh some more before he continues, “On the count of three.”

Steve tries to brace himself for the roughhousing without making it too obvious. He’s lucky his migraine is gone, so he can enjoy his family’s wonderful chaos.

“One…two…”

The twins stifle their giggles, getting ready to pounce.

“Three!”

Both girls run into the room at top speed, little voices roaring, with bared teeth and clawed fingers. Eddie is on their heels. Steve puts on an exaggerated expression of terror and lets them tackle him into the couch cushions.

[sheneedsrocknroll92]

I AM FUCKING SCREAMING AND CRYING. EDDIE CRUMBS PEOPLE AAAHHHH!!!!!! 😭😭❤️❤️

MY BOOOYYYYYY

I JUST SJDKDJF AAAHHHHHH THE FUCKING RINGS SJSKDJJF

[scoops-aboy86]

Eddie’s out at a gay bar, sees the most gorgeous man he’s ever clapped eyes on nursing a half finished beer at an otherwise unoccupied table, and can’t resist offering to buy him a drink. The man looks at him with droopy hazel eyes, and he seems… Well, he seems sad. But he smiles, and accepts, despite being so far out of Eddie’s league it’s ridiculous.

His name is Steve, newish in town and recently single. He catches Eddie noticing the tan line from a ring that’s no longer on his finger and adds, “I was married. I’m… not anymore.” (Eddie guesses it must have been a rough divorce.)

Steve is bisexual, he also mentions hastily with a faint blush that tells Eddie the attraction might actually mutual.

They chat for a few hours, comparing their early lives growing up in small towns (Steve in Indiana, Eddie in Colorado) and their current jobs (Steve works in an office doing something the only explains as “really, really dull,” Eddie in a local community center organizing afterschool activities for local kids and DMing for a couple different youth DnD groups) and music tastes (neither of them are huge fans of what’s playing in the bar). After a while, Steve admits that he’s in a rut.

“You looking to change that, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, and part of him wants to jump up and down and punch the air at how smooth that came out holy shit. Because Steve smiles shyly back (it’s like the fucking sun coming out a from behind a cloud) and says that yeah, he’d like that.

Fast forward to next morning. Eddie wakes up drooling on a perfectly hairy chest and a pounding in his head that doesn’t actually hurt, it’s just loud. Knocking, he realizes eventually, and reluctantly hauls himself out of bed. Whoever it is at this unholy hour of… uh, 10am, can just deal with the fact that he’s answering the door in his boxers, covered in hickies and scratch marks, and with bedhead so wild it makes him look several inches taller than he actually is.

Only to be informed by the woman at his door that she knows Steve is here because she tracked his phone to this location. “Oh! Not like that,” she adds hastily when Eddie’s eyes go wide. “No, I’m not, like, a jealous girlfriend or anything, that’d be weird, he’s like my sister. I mean—well, it’s hard to explain. But, anyway, look, I know he’s been having a rough time since his wife died, and I’m glad he found someone to, um, keep company with, he’s way too fucking picky if you ask me—It’s just, I really can’t afford the time off to keep babysitting right now, so if he could be, like, alive by the time school gets out, that’d be good…?”

And oh god, Eddie is trying to absorb all that. Steve is a widower? Jesus H. Christ, at some point last night Eddie had moaned that whoever his ex was obviously hadn’t known what a good, perfect, wonderous thing they were giving up. Steve is picky, but picked him? Oh, that’s giving him butterflies. Steve has a kid? Well, Eddie is good with kids…

Suddenly there’s a groan behind him and Steve shuffles up to wrap an arm around Eddie’s torso in a loose but affectionate hug. “Thanks a lot, Robin,” Steve complains, his voice still rough from sleep, “I hadn’t told him about the twins yet.”

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