#eddie munson the type

[blue-blue-blooms]

Eddie Munson is the type of person that would make eye contact with you and nod his head along when you're speaking amongst a group of people and they've stopped listening to you.

Eddie Munson is the type to say, "Hey, you were saying?" when you're interrupted.

Eddie Munson is the type who would make you feel included and seen because he knows what it's like to be left out.

Eddie Munson is the type who would never let you walk behind or on the road when there's not enough space on the sidewalk for more than two people. He's linking hands with everyone and moving in a line! Or everyone's walking on the road, bitch!

#eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson the type #hawkins

[ahhrenata]

Steve tries to stay quiet while he gets ready for work, but Eddie hears him. He keeps his eyes closed and just listens- to Steve grumbling to himself when his hair doesn’t sit quite right, who starts to hum and whisper some catchy song. Eddie turns his sleepy gaze onto Steve as he shuffles around their room- watching quietly as he slips on his clothes, his shoes, a simple chain with Eddie’s ring around his neck. A warm, affectionate smile breaks across his face. Before he leaves, Steve glances at what he expects to be a sleeping Eddie, but instead, he’s met with a rasped, ‘Hey.’ Eddie sits himself up, stretches his arm across Steve’s side of the bed, and reaches, fingers wiggling. Steve crosses the room to cradle his face.

Their foreheads press, noses bump, and Steve brushes his fingers across scars and dimples.

He breathes a quiet,

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

Eddie huffs a tired laugh,

‘You know I never mind.’

Because, yeah.

Every morning Steve tries to stay quiet while he gets ready for work, but Eddie always hears him.

( another one from the poll | WIP )

#in my feels this fine morning #eddie cant let steve go without his goodbye smooch #i imagine eddie would sleep through anything #but i also like to think he lets himself wake up #he likes to watch Steve’s morning routine #which may or may not include winking at himself in the mirror when his final once over checks out #steddie #steddie fanart #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #i changed Steve’s face from the WIP.. it needed better angling #I’m not a writer so please ignore grammar and whatever other problems lol #i type like i read it in my head #so hopefully it sounds alright

[artiststarme]

Eddie “had a guy” for everything. He had a music guy, a drug guy, a guy who knew other guys, and another guy that could get a guy for the thing that needed a guy. He had a guy to get the best flannels, a guy to do his homework, finally, and a movie guy to Although his movie guy was just Robin calling his movie taste shitty and recommending all of her favorites to him so she could third-wheel his and Steve’s dates to watch them.

Meanwhile, all of Steve’s “I have a guy” guys are Dustin. Need a guy to complain to over hairspray getting discontinued? Dustin. Need a guy to hang out with you for the day while your boyfriend is out of town for a concert? Dustin. Need to hunt down an otherworldly slimy monster that eats cat and wants to kill people? Dustin.

Except if he needs to hide a dead body. That’s when he calls Robin.

#Robin is the type to help hide a dead body #but Dustin is still offended to learn that that’s where Steve draws the line #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson

[steddieas-shegoes]

Country singer Steve Harrington, who has always leaned more into the pop country side of things (think Wanted by Hunter Hayes), but wants his third album to be more true to old school country roots.

His label agrees but only if he works with Eddie Munson, a rock star who had to leave the spotlight when he got kicked out of his band for, well, rockstar behavior gone too far.

Steve isn't amused, especially because he doesn't care for metal music or rock star shenanigans. He was "raised better" and doesn't think Eddie could sit down and write songs with actual emotion and feeling.

Cue long songwriting sessions where Eddie is trying his hardest to be on his best behavior because he knows this is his last shot at being taken seriously, and Steve being surprised every time Eddie proves that he's talented as a songwriter and musician, well outside the scope of just metal and rock.

They write a song that they're both so proud of, Steve asks if he'll record it with him just for fun. The released version would just be Steve.

Eddie agrees.

It's an incredible duet, something country music has needed forever, but Eddie doesn't want that version out there.

The label genuinely accidentally releases their version instead of the Steve only version. As soon as they realize, they remove it from official places, but it's too late.

Fans have already heard it and have gone crazy over it, begging them to let the radio play this version, begging for this version to be available for streaming. The Steve version is great, but it doesn't have the emotion that's laced in the tone of them singing together.

Eddie finally gives in when he sees how happy Steve is about the reaction to it.

But the label decides they want them to tour together, have Eddie work as his opening act, perform his acoustic songs that haven't been officially released anywhere. Eddie can't do it.

He can't go back into that lifestyle. He couldn't do it to his band, who made him promise that he'd come back to them when he got his shit straight. He can't do it to his fans, who stuck by him through some rough shit, but probably wouldn't support a fucking country music career. He definitely can't do it to Steve, who deserves to have someone with him who can be trusted not to go off the deep end.

So he runs. He hides. His uncle welcomes him home, congratulates him on finally embracing his country roots.

It doesn't take long for Steve to find him.

Because he'd been more honest with Steve than he'd ever been with anyone. He told him about his childhood, his Uncle Wayne, his struggle to make it. He told him about his worse struggle when he did make it, how he got in with the wrong people, the wrong things. Prioritized the lifestyle more than his own life.

Of course Steve knew where he'd run to.

Of course Steve came to remind him what his life could be if he allowed himself to find new priorities.

Steve's lips were pretty persuasive, but not nearly as persuasive as his promises to remind him what he could have if he kept his life his priority.

"But what if I let you down?"

"You won't."

"But-"

"No. You won't. You're gonna do amazing things for yourself. And I'm gonna be there to see it happen. That's all."

And he was.

They co-wrote Steve's entire album while Eddie worked on recording his own original songs. He liked that it was an old school rock and roll feel, some blues, some country, some hints of metal sneaking in on a couple songs.

He called his band to come help him with a song, hesitant to even ask, but they came. Of course they came.

He called his Uncle Wayne to play banjo on a song, worried that he wouldn't like the heavier electric guitar notes over it. Of course he loved being involved.

When their tour started, he let himself actually feel nervous.

But instead of running, he looked at the man who supported him through it, even when his own career was on the line.

Of course Steve was there.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #drabble #rock star eddie munson #country singer steve harrington #what a wild tag that is to type #if yall were in my brain you'd be begging to get the hell out of it #i swear to god #i had this idea forever ago and was like YES YEARNING PINING ENEMIES TO LOVERS #and then just got bogged down so here #someone else do that

[morganbritton132]

Eddie post a Tiktok of himself sitting in his car. He’s not looking at the camera, but passed it. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, and he watches, and he nods to himself like, Okay. When he addresses the camera, he says, “You know, back in ‘86, after a series of events and an accumulation of concussions, my boyfriend- now husband - started having some health issues. Understandable. You can only get hit in the head so many times, but we handled it. We did what we can. We try to be safe. We go to the appointments, he’s takes his meds. We got an alarm for the house, got the service dog for the epilepsy. We don’t take unnecessary risks so-“

Eddie cuts off with a smile that is just clenched teeth and an almost laugh that’s incredulous all the way through like he cannot believe this. He flips the camera around to show Steve hanging up Christmas lights on the outside of the house, “So why. Why is my fall-risk husband on the fucking roof.”

<- Last Post | Next Post ->

#Eddie: you’re going to fall and die #Steve: then I’ll die doing what I love. having a better house than fucking Diane down the street #steve the type of guy to have an imagined rivalry with a neighbor. Diane is actually a super nice woman #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #Eddie Munson Tiktok saga

[lapinelantern]

They moved in together in 1990

#I wanted to give Steve a similar body type to me bc he’s literally just like me!!! #transmasc #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #lapine lantern #my art #trans steve harrington #body positive #body image #let my boy be happy #we love him a little bit more tummy #big hips Harrington #as a trans man with big hips i-

[somnambulic-thing]

Eddie x afab!reader

E +18, biting ahead, not proofread, pure stream-of-consciousness ramblings

---

Walking up behind Eddie when he brushes his teeth in the morning, hands placed on his waist and biting his shoulder until goosebumps rise against your palms before you walk off to get dressed.

When he sneaks his hand into yours while you walk home from a night of adventure and silly shit with friends you lift your tangled fingers up to your mouth and softly bite a knuckle, then another one before you drop your hands back down again.

Eddie is lying on his stomach, writing, reading, doing whatever and you crawl up to the stretch of his leg, sliding your hand along the lean muscle up to the hem of his pants and boxers and you pull to free enough soft pale ass for you to sink your teeth into before you leave him to his task again.

A warm summer night and there are no sleeves on that old Black Sabbath shirt anymore. You watch him stand across the lawn with a beer in his hand, talking and laughing and revealing inked skin and a hint of chest whenever he raises his arm for a sip and suddenly your legs move and they don't stop until you're mouth to skin. He hisses softly but you don't stay for long, already making your way in the direction of the parking lot.

"Hey, uh, hold my beer for a moment?" You barely hear from behind you and smile to yourself, anticipation rippling between your shoulder blades and thighs.

He slams you against the side of the van and swallows the air escaping your chest in a small hmpf with a greedy kiss. A knee presses between your legs, his chest hard against yours and he cradles your face in his hands like something precious that's not fragile at all.

"Oh, what got into you?" you pant against his cheek as he presses his forehead against your temple and his thigh against your cunt. The pad of his thumb finds your lower lip and pulls it down, forcing its way between your grin and traces the ridge of your bottom teeth.

"The fucking Jaws theme should follow you around-- ah," he gasps when you suck him in and bite down. "Fuck- alright, okay, turn around."

He's not waiting for you to follow his commands but makes you. The van feels dusty under your palms and greets you with the residual warmth of the evening sun. Teeth graze from your shoulder up to the nape of your neck while he rids you of the clothes below your waist with hasty, shaky fingers and lets them drop to pool around your boots. The soft clink clink of a belt buckle, the harsh rustle of fabric as he doesn't even bother with his fly.

"M' going to eat you alive, sweetheart." Hot words born from steaming breath against your skin and then the sweet sting as he takes the first bite out of his promise.

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie munson x you #I just typed that straight out of an itch on my shoulder #blurb #I'm blurbing can you believe it people?

[missingthemantaray]

new to small town life, steve harrington, who has been cut off from his family, told to make something of himself for once, yelled at about how easy his life is, how little they ask of him and how ungrateful he is, exiled to hawkins (the town his dad bought drunk one night as a gag).

there he meets robin, the sarcastic, mean, and wonderful owner of the motel steve is staying at (ew.)

and eventually eddie, the patronizing, unaware of personal space, and lovely (god, so lovely) guy who is going to help steve acquire the permits and grants to renovate the motel with robin, bit by bit who has big brown eyes and wild hair and wears basically the same tight, ripped jeans and loose button down with rolled sleeves everyday, while steve primps and styles and steams.

they fall in love, obvi, but not without a healthy dose of reality check for steve, family drama (boo, harringtons!), the best friendship (with a couple moments of shudderworthy attempts at more), steve cringing at eddie’s musical inclinations, meeting the rest of the town (mayor hopper, his wife, joyce, the gang of children steve is unsure of which parent they each belong to, and who make sure he never eats at benny’s alone (though he would maybe like to, just once!), the workers of the town-staple that is benny’s, jonathan (cook, high always) and argyle (waiter, high always, slightly more functional, but with more insane storytelling where you can’t tell if he’s making it up or telling the truth), the editor in chief of the hawkins paper, nancy, who has taken over the paper and declared that serious journalism must prevail in hawkins (think rory gilmore taking over the gazette and everyone going crazy because she took out the poem (i know, too many AUs at once))), an open mic, demolition in the motel with sweaty, gorgeous, hairy steve, lots of skin car routines, mental health crises, full blown disownment, happiness, love, friendship, joy, community, and small-town loving!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(steddie, ronance (robin helps nancy learn to love the mundane, nancy helps robin deal with change) (😭), lowkey jargyle (ive only heard of the drama of FoH and BoH star crossed loving and i live, but this would be decidedly less drama, they would simply be dating, like no labels but they love each other and kiss and hang out), lesbian eleven (she’s everything), a flirtation with byler (why not!), steve finding family, gayness, etc.)

#schitt’s creek #stranger things #my venn diagram #steddie #stranger things s4 #steddie AU #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #the fruity four #spicy six #steve x eddie #ronance #came to my brain and had to type #insanity #patrick x david #not editing #or rereading #the girls that get it get it

[transvampireboyfriend]

ok concept: Steve is intrigued by Eddie in the Upside Down deal, and after he saves him he sticks around for his recovery, Eddie becomes part of the group, you know the drill.

But from the start, from that very first terrifying weeks where Wayne does not leave his nephew's bed side, Eddie is NEVER alone. Which is a good thing, mostly. People flock to him, he's a natural born leader and he fits right in with that role.

It's partly why Steve is now enamored with him, after seeing him wrangle the kids without them even knowing what's happening. After seeing him charm all their parents in a town where everyone who doesn't know him, hates him. After seeing him comfort Max, cheer up Lucas, relate to Mike, encourage Dustin, endear himself to Will and El.

And if that wasn't enough he bolsters Robin just by being so unapologetically himself around all of them. Steve is more than just impressed, and he tries to make it known. He frequently thanks Eddie, he makes sure to always hear his opinion, he asks him about his interests, he's there if Eddie will be.

But they're NEVER alone. Not after movie nights, not at their workplaces, not at Hellfire, not at hospital appointments, not even at Eddie's place, there's always someone else around, it's never just the two of them. No matter how hard Steve tries.

No matter how many soft smiles, or meaningful looks, or even shoulder touches, hip checks, loud laughs, hair mussing, you name it, they're always interrupted. Or maybe it's just never enough for Steve.

And he's so frustrated that he doesn't even realize that Eddie notices, notices how Steve huffs or blushes or just generally switches tracks when someone interrupts their little moments. And he interprets this as Steve struggling with liking Eddie, so he doesn't push.

And of course it all goes on for longer than it should UNTIL! Steve tries calling Eddie, just on a random weeknight, since the night prior he had tried his best to ask Eddie out after he loaded the kids in his van to drive them home after movie night, but, you guessed it, they got interrupted again. So he's determined to fix it, he wants Eddie to know he's interested.

And Steve feels so silly, this shouldn't be this hard, he shouldn't be pouting because Eddie doesn't pick up his phone. But he just stares at his ceiling until it gets dark, until he can't stare anymore. And finally he grabs his keys and heads out.

It's late, early, whatever. He just wants to drive somewhere, nowhere. Until he sees a familiar van parked under the stars outside of town. He pulls over and sees Eddie inside.

"Steve? it's three am!" Eddie says, a little scandalized,

"Yeah!" Steve answers in the same tone, "Are you okay? What happened?"

Eddie huffs, "Just an insomniac now"

"Sorry, man"

"Yeah, me too. Looks like we're on the same boat"

Steve half nods.

"Want a cig?" Eddie offers,

So, Steve parks his car a bit ahead, walks back, gets in. He tells Eddie he wishes he could tell him it'll get better, but he's awake at three am too isn't he? They share a few cigarettes.

And they talk, finally, no one interrupts them. Finally, Steve can ask about all that intrigues him, finally, he can be sure he's the one making Eddie laugh, finally, he can hold Eddie's gaze long enough that it's crystal clear that Steve wants more, and finally, Steve asks Eddie out as the sun rises.

#steddie #steddie headcanon #eddie munson #steve harrington #this is rambly and not really organized but i think i have a shoulder injury and it hurts to type so this is what u get #also guess which 80s song i have on repeat today lol #.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHT

in which graves are dug up, walls are built, and nobody knows what happened in the bathroom that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4.6k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

8:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: hey, do you guys remember the first night they met? 

BIRDIE: you mean when we took her to the bar to meet everyone and they very clearly fell in love at first sight? no, doesn’t ring a bell. 

DINGUS: stop being such a fucking smart ass

NANCE: @DINGUS What about it? 

DINGUS: she just called me asking me about it. said eddie was nice until you guys went to the bathroom. apparently he acted differently when you guys came back, but i can’t remember anything about what was said?? did eddie actually start acting differently??? 

BIRDIE: i remember that! thought it was weird or eddie just started overthinking? i dunno. i was in the bathroom obviously.

ARGYLE  😎: oh i remember that night very clearly brochacho

ARGYLE  😎: kind of surprised you don’t, dude

JOHNNY: Oh God yeah @DINGUS you’re living up to your namesake dude

NANCE: You really don’t remember, do you? 

DINGUS: @NANCE and how the fuck do YOU remember? you weren’t even there, nance. you were in the bathroom as robs put it.

NANCE: Best friend privileges. You really might want to remember, Dingus. 

BIRDIE: @NANCE message me real quick? 

DINGUS: hey! no fucking whispering! that’s not fucking helpful! @JOHNNY @ARGYLE  😎 what did i say? 

NANCE: @BIRDIE I will. Let me call Eddie first.

—

HOUR EIGHT - 11:00 PM

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop - you were trying to sleep. If anyone asked you, you could have honestly defended yourself. The couch was uncomfortable, your back aching as you repeatedly twisted back and forth to just try and find a minute of rest. Your mind was reeling, still replaying all of your moments with Eddie leading up to this night. Suddenly, you were overthinking it all. You couldn’t differentiate between things that really happened, or things that you’d simply blown out of proportion due to your innate need to spin the narrative of Eddie being the villain. 

“Yeah, I… I think she’s sleeping.” 

You hadn’t even heard Eddie opening his door finally, your back facing the hallway as you stayed curled up tightly. His footsteps are heavy as he gets closer to you.

“She’s… uh, she’s on the couch.”

Immediately, you can hear a shrill voice shouting over the line. It’s hard to miss. You can imagine the way he’s wincing, holding the phone out from his ear in an attempt to not let her scolding damage his ear drums. 

“I didn’t think she went to bed!” he hisses, trying to stay quiet, under the impression you’re still asleep, “I- Jesus H. Christ, Nance! Calm down, calm do-” he’s cut off as the anger over the line still leaks into the calm air of the room, “No. No, I wasn’t- I was going to let- Nance. Please, can I get a fucking word in?” 

You hold your breath during his pause, and the clear scolding, Nancy’s scolding, finally ceases. 

“I wasn’t going to let her sleep on the couch,” he says slowly. You almost turn over, almost face him and show him you’re very much awake and not sleeping. “I didn’t think she’d go to bed while I was in there. I thought… I thought- Jesus, I thought at worst, she’d snoop through my shit. Maybe go for a walk or something. I didn’t- I just… Fuck, I needed space. It’s just been a long night.”

Nancy’s voice is no longer audible, but it’s clear he’s listening to what she has to say. You’re nearly overcome with guilt; you’ve done plenty of things wrong, but to eavesdrop on a private conversation? It might be your worst crime against Eddie yet. 

Suddenly, he says, “It’s just been a lot.” 

Something in his tone has changed. It’s gone soft, whispering from his lips in sudden muted blue. It’s a type of sadness you can’t quite place – it’s the kind of mourning you’d seen in his eyes in the photo. 

Nancy must say something, because he hums in response. It’s obviously not good enough of an answer for Nancy over the phone, because her voice grows back to audible levels, less shrill, more stern. 

Eddie answers with words this time. “I… I think I do.” 

He thinks he does what? 

“I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

He’s more sure in his answer the second time around to the unknown question. The guilt grows. Inflating, turbulating, ready to crack your ribs. The vines are no longer there to hold you together.

You’re put out of your misery when Eddie murmurs out a bye, Nance and you can hear his phone snap shut. If it were just a mere few hours ago, one hour ago, you would have made a comment about it - you would have joked again about what year it was, how maybe the two of you should get to sleep so first thing in the morning, you could drag him down to the Apple store to get a normal phone like the rest of you. But you’re not a time traveler, and Eddie is still an ocean away from you. 

And you’re not a strong swimmer. The water’s were rocky, were vicious, and if you dared to try and backstroke to his side of the water, you’d surely drown. He had to come to you. 

You’re praying he comes to you. Eyes tightly screwed shut, still resembling a ball on his old couch. 

Please reach out for me, your mind screams, please wake me up. Please tell me to come back to bed with you. Please tell me we can forget all the words said in the kitchen. Please, please, please. 

You don’t know where the pleading comes from. But whatever gods and goddesses may exist, whatever higher power in the Universe that would normally ignore you, hears out your silent pleas. 

His hand is warm when he first grabs your shoulder. 

It’s not rough, surprisingly gentle as fingertips press into your clothed skin and the first shake comes. It’s hardly enough to rouse a truly sleeping person. And Eddie realizes this as the second shake is a bit more firm, moving you a little more with a soft whisper of, “Hey, wake up.” 

The command isn’t as harsh as you’re used to from him. It’s crushed velvet, smoothing over your skin like the blanket you’d previously pondered for, making the guilt begin to deflate. A slow release of air and the accompanying feelings of dishonesty and disloyalty leaves your chest weathered when his next whisper comes not only louder, but closer.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get up,” he insists, but all you care about is his cologne. He never changed it from that first night. Always something warm, always something spiced. And you hate it, because it’s still the feeling of coming home from a long week, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll carry you if I have to.” 

That makes your sleeping facade crack. Your lips betray you - one twitch, and Eddie knows you’re awake, pressing you to roll onto your back. 

“I know you’re awake now. Let’s go,” you can hear the dimples in his tone. You can picture the lazy smile, the shining eyes. With your eyes closed, you can pretend you never had to meet mean Eddie. When you’re not looking at him, it’s almost as if the man you initially met still exists, to have and to hold, to make inside jokes with as you let the scenery around the two of you fade to black. 

You crack your eyes back open to find him looking down at you just as you’d expected, but not nearly with as much mischief or mirth as you had craved. 

The Eddie you first met is gone. He’s not coming back, and you can’t live with your eyes closed. Hell, maybe he had drowned in that ocean between you two as well. 

Maybe if you took the leap, just attempted to take on the waves, you’d meet him somewhere at the bottom of it all. 

“I thought you said you’d carry me?” you tease. 

His hand. His hand is still on your shoulder, and his palm is still searing you. You couldn’t pull away from its burn if you tried. 

“I’d carry you if I had to,” he corrects, “You’re awake, therefore, I don’t have to.” 

“I don’t know. I think my legs may be broken.” 

Eddie says your name firmly. It takes you off guard, momentarily distracts you from the way he squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you out here.” 

You decide against putting up any further fight. You’re just happy he’s talking to you again. How odd and peculiar that feeling is. 

You rise from the couch and take him in. He’s no longer in his jeans, having traded out his earlier day clothes for something more comfortable. A pair of comfortable grey sweatpants, one or two sizes too big with the drawn string pulled to its limit and tied into a knot. He’s wearing a faded band shirt, loved in every way possible: it’s been cut along the bottom to shorten it in length, several holes torn along the torso and in the neck hole, the once black fabric now a stormy shade of grey far darker than the sweatpants. There’s a logo across the chest, peeling away at the edges. 

“Deftones?” you ask, squinting to make out the words written amongst the logo, “What is that? A band?” 

He chuckles, almost in disbelief, before he realizes you’re serious, “Wait, you’ve really never heard of them?” 

You shake your head, “No, are they any good?” 

You’re still making no move to stand, Eddie towering over you as you tilt back to meet his gaze. The disbelief is morphing, ever changing, pulling in and out of his features like the sea against sand. Like the waves of his self-imposed ocean that taunts you. You only dig your toes into the sand, you only stand at a far enough distance to not get your feet wet yet. You’re not ready to dive in. You’re not brave enough yet. 

His chuckle this time isn’t in disbelief. 

“Yeah, yeah. They’re great. I can show you them later, if you just come to bed.” 

The game of teasing and begging is over, and you refuse to push your luck. He’s talking to you. Normally. You finally stand and shrug off that hand on your shoulder, finally trying to get your wits and not glance down at the waistband of his boxers. 

“Okay, lead the way,” you gesture before spinning your upper body around with your feet planted in place, a soft crack coming from your back. 

There’s no words exchanged in that brief walk to the bedroom; there’s nothing else to really say. The fight happened, Eddie locked you out, you’re both having to start from square one. The ocean still calls to you, and there’s nothing you can change about it. 

His room is the same as it was hours ago, when you’d locked yourself into it. A little messy, a little boyish, but comforting all the same. 

“A couple ground rules,” he finally breaks the silence. Oh, this oughta be good. “One, no more looking through my shit for…. Uh, magazines.”

“Trust me,” you hold up a hand in defeat, “Learned my lesson the first time. You can keep your gross Playboys.” 

His brows wrinkle in minute irritation, “Gross? They’re not gro- You know what? Whatever. Yeah. Stay away from my gross playboys. Second rule, I have enough pillows we can make a… wall, I guess?” 

You have to bite back your amusement, you have to remind yourself of the roar of an ocean. Maybe if you taste the salt on your lips again, you’ll remember that this is all temporary. 

“Sounds good to me,” you agree. 

“Obviously that means staying on your side of the bed. And it’s not a big bed, obviously, so-”

“What side of the bed do you prefer?” 

“Excuse me?” 

He’s dumbfounded despite the question not being a hard one. “The bed – which side do you prefer?” 

“I, uh, I-” he brings a hand up to the back of his neck, a nervous habit as he rubs his curls that are matted at the nape, “The left, I guess? Or I mean, if we’re looking down at it, it’d be the right, but…” he waves his hand in the general direction of the side he’s referring to, the one closest to the wall, “You know.” 

A nervous Eddie is a sight to behold. The fidgeting, the flush of his neck and cheeks, the stuttering sentences. He’s nervous about sharing a bed with you. 

“Perfect,” you offer a smile, although you don’t think it does much for him considering he’s looking down at the ground in bashfulness, “I prefer the right side. I just refer to them by left or right when you’re laying down, by the way.” 

You don’t have to add that tidbit – you don’t need to reassure him that your mind works in the same way as his in the slightest. But you do, and the red of his cheeks lightens. 

“Cool,” he murmurs.

“Cool,” you echo. 

The awkwardness can be afforded as the two of you straighten out the comforter, not needing to focus on shaking hands or fluttering chests as Eddie climbs in first and begins to rearrange his spare pillows as a barrier. His sweatpants slip down a bit lower as he does this, and you catch sight of the band of his boxers.

The band of his boxers pressing into the jut of his hips. The streak of alabaster, soft and unmarked unlike his arms, and the coarse patch of hair that interrupts the center of it all. 

“Have you ever considered getting hip tattoos?” you blurt out, and immediately, you both freeze. 

You really need to learn to think before you speak. 

“Uh… what?” Eddie chuckles nervously, presenting an opportunity to redeem yourself. 

He didn’t even have to catch you staring. You’d outed yourself.

And yet, you choose to double down, to take the embarrassment in stride as if it doesn’t phase you, “Hip tattoos. Have you ever thought about getting some? I think they’d be pretty sick.” 

Your self-destruction pays off when Eddie smiles up genuinely at you. Sugar coated sweetness, a bit of authentic amusement. 

“You’re right. They would be pretty sick.” 

He should have mocked you for staring at his hips. He should have taken the opportunity to embarrass you and run, but the tides are shifting between you two, and you keep taking two steps closer to his ocean. The sand only grows colder and colder the closer you get to the edge, and it has your mind reaming with the possibility of what it would feel like to recklessly dive in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to say that again, this time into the microphone,” you make a fist, an invisible microphone in your grasp as you thrust it out towards Eddie. 

He laughs. He laughs, and its reverb travels through the caverns of your chest. Suddenly, you’re sipping a watered down Amaretto Sour and his breath smells of Jack & Coke, and the lowlights of the room have become treacherous bar lighting as you lean into his shoulder, sitting side by side on bar stools. 

The echoes still carry as he swats away your hand, eyes squinted with the mirth you’d be seeking out since he ‘woke’ you up, “Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.” 

“Yeah, a funny idiot.” 

“Oh, now you’re just pushing it too far.” 

“Too far? I don’t think I’ve gone far enough.” 

Why don’t we ever hang out? Why don’t we ever banter like this when out with the others? 

It’s so easy, easy to continue to giggle as you turn out the bedroom light before crawling into bed with him, feeling his warmth radiating even through the pillows between the two of you. Pillows, oceans – they all have started to feel the same. 

Once the two of you have settled, you on your side and Eddie on his back, a nicer sort of silence blankets you. It’s almost as soft as his voice when he woke you, almost the same type of crushed velvet if you don’t reach out to it. But if you were to touch it, brush your fingertips over the material with intention and inhibition, you’d find the roughness. Roughness that mimics sand amongst an ocean’s waves, a roughness that says there’s more to be spoken about. 

“The bed’s nicer than the couch,” you speak out loud rhetorically, not necessarily to him, but to the coarseness. To the sand and to the fake velvet, “More comfortable.”

“I know,” he answers to fill the space. I know, meaning he’s slept on his couch. 

It makes sense. It’s his couch. But your mind runs rampant with the scenarios. Did he discover this through afternoon naps after hard shifts? Or maybe after one too many night outs that ended in collapsing face first into the cushions because he was too drunk to make it to his bedroom? 

You jump when he sits up suddenly, “Fuck.” 

“What’s your problem?” you twist from your position of your back facing him, squinting into the darkness.

“The photo.”

“What photo?”

“Photo evidence, you idiot! We have to send a photo to those fuckers.” 

You had nearly forgotten that this is what this is; your friends and a bet are the pushing force behind this all. It’s not fate, it’s not the moon bringing two tides  together. You didn’t happen upon his beach because you two decided to give this, whatever this was, a fighting chance. 

You sit up next to him, crinkling your nose, “My phone’s in the living room, I think.” 

“I can go get it.”

An offer of chivalry you didn’t even have to ask for. 

Same as him sharing the bed. Same as him paying for your meal when you forget your wallet, or catching you when you trip up steps outside a bar. You really wish the list would stop growing. 

He’s shuffling out of the bed, down the line of pillows and off the end of it, before you can even protest. You didn’t even tell him where the godforsaken phone might be besides that it’s in the living room. That doesn’t stop him. 

It feels like an eternity, but is probably no more than a full minute, before he’s returning back to the room. He’s looking down at the phone, your screen lit up and basking his face in the only light in the room. 

“What is it?” you can only assume the chat is messaging for a photo, by the scrunch of his brows and the small part of his lips. 

“Nothing.”

That was the first thing that made your stomach drop.

The second comes when he returns to the bed, fighting his way up into his original position, handing the phone over to you as you glance at the notifications. 

A notification from Steve. A private message, not sent in the groupchat. 

STEVE-O: i’m sorry, i really don’t know what happened that night. the others won’t tell me either so they’re kind of useless. whatever it was, i don’t think it was you, though, honey.

Honey. Mother fucking Steve Harrington, and his need to use nicknames. 

“All good?” Eddie asks, as if he didn’t just have access to this message, as if he doesn’t know what Steve’s said. You don’t know why the thought of Eddie seeing Steve’s careless nickname throws you over the edge. You just assume he’ll take it out of context, that he’ll spin it as a weapon against you. 

“Fine,” you curtly reply, opening your phone and ignoring the message, going straight to the group chat and opening your camera. Your heart is still racing in terrible inconvenience as you glance over your shoulder at him, “How do we wanna take it this time?” 

“I don’t know about you, but I personally just love to take it laying down-” 

“Are you trying to make a sexual innuendo right now? Because if so, stop. It’s terrible.” 

More giggles, more chuckles, more taunting waves of a daunting ocean that is scaring you less and less. Maybe the jump is worth it. Maybe the initial chill will break and show you warmth. Maybe it would never be cold to begin with. 

At least he’s teasing you, which is a good sign. You lay down in the same position as earlier, this time Eddie propping himself up to peek over the wall of pillows so his face is in the picture. 

It’s too dark to really see your faces very clearly. You can still make them out, to be fair, but it’s hard. You have to strain your eyes quite a bit to make out the mess of your hair and the indents of Eddie’s dimples.

Eddie’s dimples. His dimples. Oh God, he’s smiling.

“Turn on the flash,” he reaches over, invades your space with boy and spice and nostalgia to tap on the screen himself and do as he had just requested. 

“What was the point of telling me to do it, if you were just going to do it yourself,” you grumble, trying to yank the phone out of his reach. He only leans further, pressing into the boundary of pillows, his collarbone knocking against the back of your shoulder. 

Warmth. So, so much warmth. It occurs to you that it’s not just the smell of his cologne that feels like a long week’s homecoming; his touch and presence can manage to do the same, when he’s not being a pest of course. 

“Shut up and take the photo,” he bickers before giving up and settling back into his pose. He even adds to it, throwing up a peace sign with the hand not holding him up.

You can’t help but tease him for it, mimicking the motion with your own hand and failing at holding back your tittering. When you tap the button to take the photo, the screen flashes white and you both immediately groan before rubbing your eyes. 

“Fuck.”

“Wow, bright idea.” 

“Was that a pun?” Eddie stops mid eye rub, side-eyeing you, “Fuck off. That was a terrible pun.” 

“I never said my puns were good!” you try to defend yourself, blinking to bring relief to your scorned irises and focus on the photo of the two of you, “I said my jokes were good.”

“Puns are jokes.” 

You completely ignore him, and instead sigh deeply when you see the photo, “We need to retake it. No flash, this time. They can adjust brightness on their own time.” 

The photo is terrible, truly. The photo captures the moment somewhere between your enjoyment of copying Eddie and the pain the two of you had brought upon yourselves. Squinty eyes, coiled lips. Two peace signs of two drastically differently sized hands. 

Don’t you dare, you scorn your mind at that trail of thought, don’t even start that comparison.

“Why?” Eddie protests, once again beginning to lean over and take a closer look at your phone, chest brushing your shoulder again, “Oh, c’mon, it’s fine – just send it so we can sleep before they bother us again.” 

You just shake your head, already reopening the camera app and being sure to adjust the settings. No blinding this photo. 

“Say cheese, pretty boy.” 

It’s not until you’ve tapped to take the photo that you both realize what you’ve said. 

Pretty boy.

Eddie is leaning in still, just as he is in the photo you’ve taken, and both of you look far too happy to be sharing a bed. The words – the nickname, the compliment – are still formed on your lips in it. If the flash was on again, you’d see the blush of his reaction. 

Neither comment on it. You won’t lean into your embarrassment for a second time tonight, and Eddie isn’t in the business of teasing you cruelly anymore, it seems. 

You can hear him swallow hard before he asks, “Is that one good?” 

“Fine,” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Um, yeah, it’s good. I sent it.” 

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

The awkwardness is stifling. Heavy and drowning and goddamn stifling. 

You toss your phone far too quickly onto his nightstand, wishing the bed would swallow you whole. 

If you two were friends, it would have been mindless teasing. The same as when Steve calls you honey, or Robin rambles about how hot you look on a night out. But you two aren’t friends.

You two aren’t friends because of some mysterious change that occurred in Eddie while you went to the bathroom. You haven’t forgotten the burning question, and the longer you two lay there, the more you let it consume you rather than regret. 

“Hey, Eddie? Can I ask you a question?”

He’s laying flat on his back as he answers you, hands nervously wringing on his stomach, “You just did, but sure.” 

It should be a good thing. He’s still teasing you, it’s still a good thing. But all your questions die in your throat. 

What happened when I went into the bathroom that first night?

Why did you turn so cold towards me?

 Was it my fault?

Why aren’t we friends? 

The last one doesn’t go down without a fight. It reverberates and battles you, it tries to pull you into the ocean head first. 

Why aren’t we friends? 

“Do you still drive a motorcycle?” 

That sure was a funny way of asking what you needed to. 

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly puzzled by your random question, but nevertheless he says, “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” 

You’re picturing him stalking away from you again, without so much as a goodbye, straddling the bike and tucking his head away into the motorcycle. The last glimpse you’d ever had of everything he could have been to you. It’s enough to make your eyes water, your bones shake, your toes curl into coarse sand until they bleed. 

The next time you hear his voice, he’s whispering your name. You don’t respond, and so he tries it again, saying it a bit louder this time. 

“I know you’re not asleep. No one can fall asleep that quickly.”

“I can,” you snap, still choking on his waves and personal mourning, a yearning you need to find the grave of once more to bury – for good this time. 

“Clearly, you can’t,” he shuffles, but you don’t check to see if he’s sitting up. (He’s not, he feels like his back is glued to the bed). His voice is back to crushed velvet and kindness, vulnerability and softness, a sort of home you can never return to, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

That piques your interest. You turn, laying on your back and looking at the same ceiling as him in that moment, “For what? Earlier in the kitchen? Or at the bar?” you feel his flinch, and are quick to add, “Because consider it water under the bridge, okay? You’re forgive-”

“I mean for everything. I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. Ten letters, four syllables. It means a whole lot more than it should be capable of. 

“Everything?” your voice is hardly audible as you turn to look at him. He’s half hidden by the wall put between the two of you. But if you squint, if you adjusted the brightness, you wonder if you’d see his eyes shining with the same remorse yours burn with. You wonder if you’d see the dirt caked under his nails from also digging up graves he shouldn’t have tonight. 

“Everything.”

Ten letters, four syllables, one leap of faith. The ocean isn’t as cold as you’d thought it would be. 

—

BIRDIE is typing…

DINGUS: i swear to god rob. if you’re not about to tell me what the fuck i did that night, you better lock your phone and just go to bed. 

BIRDIE stops typing.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #i gotta stop with the metaphors lol #i know it would notify them that robin stops typing but i think it'd be so funny to watch her lil bubble of dots disappear #robin was ready to scream about them sharing a bed

[ahhrenata]

GO TIGERS GO 📣

@chocoarts has once again blown my mind by bringing my little steddie lines to life. I don’t even have words to describe how in awe I am of choco’s skills. The lighting, the colors, the style, EVERYTHING is just so breathtaking- I’m forever grateful and honored to collab with you 💕

Concept: I say both of us! I said a pre-s4 steddie pep rally and you specified s2 :)

Literally everything else (including Reefer Rick 🤩): @chocoarts

the bare-bones sketch i sent under the cut:

#guys it’s young Pedro as reefer Rick #my life will never be the fckn same 😍✨🤩 #the little yoda pin ✨ #y’all don’t understand when I say I laid face down trying to process this piece when choco sent it #I still keep covering my face trying to keep all the screams and emotions inside while I type this up #you’re seriously the best choco #I’m so glad I met you #collab2.0 #pineyoufools #steddie #steddie fanart #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #s2 steddie #inspired by a photo of cliff in bring it on where he’s reading at the game lol

[artiststarme]

Steve had always wanted a dog. He wanted to cuddle on the couch, tug of war with old socks, and play catch in the yard. Most of all, he wanted a friend that would love him unconditionally.

So when he and Eddie got their first rundown house on the edge of Hawkins, he wanted to get a dog. They had a yard, savings in the bank, and plenty of time to spare between Eddie’s gigs and Steve’s school. He wanted a dog.

Eddie, though, wanted a cat. He was never a huge dog-lover. He didn’t really like the way dogs seemed so attached to their humans, they were too needy. He wanted a cat that kept to itself 23 hours of the day before finding its favorite person for minimal scritches and pets before disappearing once again to be a cat.

They were at an impasse. Neither one was backing down and after a two day silence streak, they reached a compromise. They would get a dog. Eddie could be reasoned with on the condition that they got a golden retriever because if he got a dog, you better believe it was going to be Steve’s twin.

With his acceptance, Steve brought home a puppy and named her Cinnamon. In a need to wreak havoc however, Eddie called her Van Halen and she only ever answered to that.

Years later when Van Halen was fully trained, Steve got his revenge. Eddie brought home a cat named Ozzy and Steve saw his chance. He called her exclusively Cuddlebug and from then on, she only answered to that.

It was so much worth it, seeing the grimace and full-body sigh Eddie took whenever he called her name. He learned the hard way that Steve holds a mean grudge (and usually gets payback in unexpected ways).

#Steve is a dog person and I will fight you on that #Eddie is very wary of getting on Steve’s bad side #He once forgot to unload the dishwasher so Steve took all of the dishes from the cabinets and put them on the table and counters #then watched Eddie put all of those AND the dishwasher dishes away while reading a magazine on Tom Cruise #Steve is the passive-aggressive type that you don’t know he’s mad until it’s too fucked up to fix it #stranger things #steddie #headcanon #steve harrington #eddie munson

[steddieas-shegoes]

Eddie had heard plenty of stories about Steve losing fights.

He had the concussions to prove it.

But what Eddie saw with his own two eyes was far more impressive than whatever version of Steve had let Jonathan Byers and Billy Hargrove win.

He’d seen how quick he was to defend the kids, defend Nancy and Robin, even defend Eddie when he barely knew him. He’d thrown himself head first into the mix, nail bat in hand or not.

So when Eddie asked about it, Steve shrugged it off.

“Everyone loses fights.”

Sure, everyone does. But he’s seen Steve win against literal alternate dimension monsters.

No way a human teenage boy or two could be harder to beat.

But he let it go. If Steve insisted on it being a couple of genuine losses, so be it.

But Eddie doesn’t let things go. Especially not when it comes to Steve.

“I guess I just don’t understand how you lost to Jonathan. I mean had he ever even been in a fight before?”

“No. But neither had I.”

“But you should’ve won that fight with no effort. No offense to Jonathan, but he’s scrawny and doesn’t even punch right.”

“I don’t know. Why are you so hung up on this?”

Well, because this wasn’t simple. Eddie could tell Steve was hiding something, he just didn’t know what.

“I guess because no one else ever asked you.”

Steve stared at him, probably trying to figure out how to avoid answering.

“No one seems to ever ask you about you.”

Steve looked down at the floor.

“They don’t need to.”

“You deserve to have people care. So I’m gonna care for now and then I’m gonna have a chat with your idiot kids about relational reciprocity.”

“What?”

“They have to show they care about you as much as you care about them. That’s kind of the deal with friendship.”

“Oh.”

Oh? Did Steve genuinely not know that?

Jesus Christ.

“So?”

“I think I just wasn’t good at fighting.”

“Nah. That’s not it.”

Eddie could see Steve thinking.

When he finally spoke, he wasn’t making eye contact. Eddie reached his hand out towards his face, cupping his chin and lifting his face so he had to look at him.

“Try again, Stevie.”

Steve took in a shaky breath.

“I wasn’t good at fighting for me.”

Eddie nodded. “Why’s that?”

“Just didn’t seem like I deserved to win. I deserved the hits I got.”

“Why?”

“Because I was awful. I said shitty things or did shitty things. Or with Billy, I knew I had to let him take it out on me and I guess I thought I deserved it. I dunno.”

“Mm.”

He released Steve’s chin, watching as his head dropped back down and he seemed to curl in on himself.

Eddie couldn’t allow that to happen.

So he pulled Steve into his lap, smirking to himself just a little when he let out a yelp of surprise at the manhandling.

“So all this time, you’ve put your body and mind and future on the line for everyone else without a second thought, but when you had to protect yourself and only yourself, it’s not worth the effort? Am I understanding correctly?”

Steve didn’t respond, but then again, Eddie hadn’t really expected him to. He was too busy hiding his face in Eddie’s chest.

“That’s what I thought. So who taught you that you’re not worth fighting for? Who told you that anything you’ve done wrong should be considered a debt owed to whoever wanted to raise their fists? Who made you believe that your mistakes could only be absolved if you let them get punched out of you?”

Steve was crying; He could feel the cold wetness seeping through his shirt.

“You tell me who it was and I’ll make sure they know how it feels to lose a fight.”

“Just me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

He let Steve sit with the words for a few minutes before speaking again.

“You did some not great things as a teenager, as many teenagers tend to do. Have you seen the way Mike talks to people? He’s a shithead. But do you think he deserves to get concussed from a punch to the temple?”

Steve shook his head.

“Dustin gets an attitude anytime we don’t immediately bend to his will and calls us names all the time. Do you think he deserves to get a plate smashed over his head?”

“Of course not.”

Steve’s voice was quiet.

“You have more than made up for any mistakes you may have made in the past, even without the punches being thrown at you. If I have to tell you that you deserve to be treated with kindness and respect every day, then I fucking will. Hear me?”

“Hear you.”

Steve was staring at Eddie, tears still silently and rapidly falling down his cheeks.

Eddie wiped them away and gave him a small smile.

“You have no idea how special you are. But that’s gonna change.”

“Okay.”

Eddie placed a kiss on his forehead before he wrangled him against his chest again, moving his legs so he could relax completely.

“Just relax, okay? I got you. You’re worth protecting.” Eddie sighed softly. “You’re worth everything.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #this was literally typed on my phone in the 15 minutes it took Liam to change out of his hockey gear #so it’s not substantial and may have mistakes #just thought a little brain worm needed an escape #headcanon #stranger things

[morganbritton132]

Eddie’s live-streaming in his studio when Steve comes into the room like, “Did you hear about Lydia Martinez?”

Eddie: Who?

Steve: Lydia… Dude, she sat behind you in Click’s class

Eddie: ????

Steve: Tuesday/Thursdays?? 1985????

Steve: Big Farrah Fawcett hair. Green eyes. Great… *gestures* boobies. She was sweet! Really cute. Let you copy her homework. You know.

Eddie:

Eddie: Yesterday, you forgot what the password on your phone was but you remember a random person we went to high school with?

Steve, rolling his eyes: You know her though, right?

Eddie: Clearly not!

Steve: Well, she died. Heart attack.

#Steve later that day: You remember Lydia? #Robin: With the great rack? yeah #Steve will remember the most random memories in great detail #but has just completely forgotten his own ssn mid-writing it down #this is actually based on this one time I forgot the code to unlock my computer but could type it in using muscle memory #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 7 - Mall and/or Job

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,884 | rated: G

“Munson Residence, wha'd’ya want?” Eddie groans into the receiver.

Whoever this is better be someone super fucking important to have woken him up with their damn ringing. He’s surprised Wayne didn’t wake up too, but it’d be kinda hard to hear the phone over those snores.

“Eddie! Thank god,”

Oh. Steve! Very important, actually.

“Oh, hey Steve, what’s up?”

“Eddie, can you do me a huge favor?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s wrong?” he immediately spirals into what all could have gone wrong, what could be going wrong. Everything dark blue and cold, vine-y and the flashing of red lightning—

“Nothing, nothing–well, something.. Can you please run to my place later today and grab my lunch? I forgot it this morning and I know I’m not going to be able to run back and get it and get back in time to eat it before my break is over.”

“Your lunch?” “Yeah, I packed one this morning but left it on the counter. There’s a key under the mat and everything.” Eddie barks out a laugh, “Tryin’ to get robbed, big guy?”

“I don’t care about any of the shit in that house.” Steve scoffs. He shrugs even though Steve can’t see him. “Fair enough. Sure Stevie, I’ll bring your lunch; when do you want me there?” “Dude, you’re the best; My lunch break is right at noon, can you be here just before then?”

“Got it. Five to noon at Family Video.” he drawls out as if he’s writing the information down.

“Uh, actually…not Family Video..”

A short two hours later, Eddie finds himself among a throng of people inside Melvald’s. He has to fight his way forward at first, but the crowd thins out as he gets closer to the registers.

Damn, he’s not even that far into the store and he feels like he’s ran a mile.

“Ms. Byers!”

“Oh! Hello Eddie, what brings you here?” “Steve called and asked if I could drop off his lunch to him. Do you know where he is? I didn’t even know he was working here.”

Joyce just grins at him. It’s weirdly mischievous. “Only temporarily, he’s near the back of the store. Just head back there and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“Uh..thanks. See ya later Ms. B.”

He wanders toward the back of the store through the aisles, but stops up short when a fake white picket fence blocks his path.

The whole back corner of the store has been covered in fake felt snow, a couple of those fake plastic trees like Steve’s (though these are a normal size), a candy-striped ‘North Pole’, and dozens of paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling between what seems like hundreds of string lights.

And there, sitting in the middle of it on a throne that looks suspiciously like the one he used to use during Hellfire, is Steve. Dressed in a Santa suit. With long white beard, big ol’ belt and buckle, shiny black boots..

“Psst!”

He’s got something stuffed into his Santa jacket to give him the right shape, and even some small half-moon glasses, but those sparkling eyes, the freckles, that one swoop of brown hair stubbornly sticking out from under the fuzzy brim of his hat, that’s all Steve.

“Eddie!”

Santa Steve is fully enraptured by whatever story the kid on his knee is telling him, their hands waving every which way but somehow missing smacking Santa right in the face. Steve just continues to nod along, then gives them a hearty “Ho Ho Ho!” when they try to squeeze their tiny arms around his fake belly.

“Eddie!!”

He glances over at the sound of his name, and sees Robin waving frantically at him from her spot at old school music stand-turned-podium. She’s got on some sort of outfit that honestly looks like it was supposed to be a jester costume, where’d she even get that from?

His feet start toward her, but his eyes fall back on Steve Claus, now posing for a picture with the kid who’s smiling so wide it looks like his face will split in half.

Managing to take his eyes off Steve for a moment, he sees Jonathan behind the camera, and that Argyle kid is crouched in front of Robin, talking to the next kid in line to see Santa. All three of them are wearing matching jester costumes.

Eddie steps up to her podium after Argyle and the new kid pass in front of him to see Steve, “Family Video not paying enough, Birdie?”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, the extra cash doesn’t hurt. Joyce asked us to help out.”

He nods at her, and finds his eyes drifting back to Santa Steve.

This kid is much more shy than the last one, tilting her head down and taking short glances up at Steve’s face.

Steve is saying something to her, a low comforting sound that Eddie can only make out the tone of. His one hand covers the entirety of her upper back, and his thumb is moving up and down to try and soothe her nerves. His head is ducked down to be more level with her, looking at her over those half-moon glasses.

Suddenly, the girl’s head snaps up and Steve leans back a bit. “Yeah?” he hears him say.

The girl grins, nodding her head like crazy, then she too is squeezing Steve into a hug. It’s so unfairly endearing, he can actually feel his heart swelling in his chest.

Robin speaks up then, “So..?”

“So?” he repeats dumbly.

“So wha’d’ya think, Munson?” 

“Does he need a Mr. Claus?”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“Uh, wait, I mean Mrs.–Do you have— is someone going to—”

Eddie chances a look over at her…she’s wearing a smug, shit-eating grin. She leans toward him conspiratorially and mumbles out “I wouldn’t mind a Mrs. Claus myself.”

She leans back, still looking smug, but there’s a note of panic in her eyes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “So would he.” he mumbles out himself, jerking his chin towards Steve.

Robin only shrugs “You never know.”

“You never—what do you know, Buckley?” he asks, stepping closer and pointing an accusing finger into her still smug face.

“I know that there’s some mistletoe hanging above the breakroom door.”

He’s confused for just a moment, then understanding floods through him, “You little—”

A short whistle interrupts his incoming tirade, and Eddie can see Steve Claus moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry folks, it’s time for Santa’s Cookie break!” Robin calls out over the long line of people. “He’ll be back in 30 minutes though, don’t you worry!” the smile falls off her face as soon as she turns her back to them.

Eddie follows her, Jonathan, and Argyle toward the back rooms, “I’m gonna take a nap.” She says, “Tell Santa to grab me before he goes back.” She waves toward a door as she passes it and from the sprig of greenery hanging above it, this must be the breakroom. 

Robin takes a right down a turn in the hall, and Jon and Argyle push out the back door of the building.

He expects more of the same when he opens the door to the breakroom, for Steve to huff and grouse about the kids or the parents or something, but when he does, Steve is grinning ear to ear as he combs through his (now removed) fake beard.

“Hey Santa Stevie.”

“Eds!”

“I’ve got your lunch.” he holds up the brown paper bag for Steve to see. Steve nods, and lays the beard out on an empty chair, taking off his hat and glasses too and setting them both on top before stepping forward to grab the bag. “And you have hat hair.” Eddie laughs.

Steve’s free hand jumps to his head and scruffs up the long hairs, making them stick up every which way instead of just being plastered down on his forehead.

“Better?”

“Sure, big guy.” Eddie pokes Steve’s fake belly.

Steve chuckles, then heads to a table in the corner where he dumps out his lunch bag.

“So what’d Past Steve pack for Future Steve?” Eddie asks, plopping down in a chair kitty-corner from Steve’s. “Bologna and mustard sandwich, Doritos, and half of a leftover Hellfire cookie.”

“And a Coke,” Eddie says, taking a can out of his jacket pocket, “I grabbed one for you from your fridge.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve smiles warmly at him. “You want some?”

“No way dude, you gotta get your energy back after dealing with all those kids, right?” Eddie says, waving him off. 

“Eh, some of them are little assholes, but most of them are really well behaved.” he’s ripping his sandwich in half, “Gotta impress Santa, right?”

He offers him one half, and Eddie takes it.

“It’s really not a bad gig, though the beard is itchy as hell…”

Steve starts talking about some of the kids who have come by in the last couple days of them doing this, having started on that past Monday, the 1st.

There were the kids asking for baseball bats, Lincoln Logs, Malibu Barbie, Rockstar Barbie (“Barbie’s a rockstar now?”, “Barbie can be anything, I guess.”), all the usual things.

Then there were kids that asked for actual Santa stuff, “I don’t want my mom and dad to get a divorce.”, “I wish I had some friends.”, “I want my grandpa to get better.”

“Makes me wish I actually was Santa, y’know? Then maybe I could actually help them.”

Eddie’s heart is definitely getting way too fuckin’ big for his chest.

He puts his hand on Steve’s forearm where it’s resting on the table between them. “You are a good man, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s face flushes nearly as red as his suit. “Thanks, Eddie.” he glances above Eddie’s head then, “I better go wake up Robin, if she naps too long on top of the potatoes, she gets cranky.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, better get on that.”

Steve stands up and tugs on his hat, not bothering to put on the beard and glasses yet. The fuzzy white band smushes a lock of his hair onto his forehead. 

“Hold on,” Eddie stands as well, reaching forward to tuck the hair under the bottom of Steve’s hat. “Now you’ll be ready to see your adoring public.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, walking with him toward the door.

And of course, Eddie forgot all about the damn mistletoe until Steve’s arm stops him in the doorway.

‘Jesus H. Christ…’

He glances over at Steve, then up at the offending plant.. 

Eddie looks back down, out toward the rest of the store where they’d be clearly visible in the doorway.

“I guess you owe me one, huh big boy?” Eddie chuckles, ‘Stupid plant, stupid Robin, stupid Ed–’

His thoughts are cut off when Steve tugs him back into the breakroom, moves him against the wall, and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. The opposite to the kiss he’d given Steve three weeks ago.

Steve leans back, a smirk on his lips and a pink flush on his face. “Now we’re even.” he winks, then turns out the door to wake up Robin.

i may have actually kicked my feet and giggled about this one lmao

also, rockstar barbie mentioned here is from the 1986 Barbie and The Rockers set

also, also, i'm getting rid of the 'pre' before the steddie up top, you all know what's happening and where this is going lol - it's steddie.

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

#santa steve!!! #i feel like all the entries today are going to have something to do with a mall santa type situation #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddiemas #steveddie #eddeve #robin buckley #jonathan byers #argyle #joyce byers #wayne munson #st #stranger things #st ficlet #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #noelle writes

[jadewritesficshere]

Bathroom

Eddie Munson x female!reader

An unserious moment becomes serious talking about love.

Warnings: peeing (NOT watersports, you quite literally just pee in front of each other), fluff

The trailer door slams open as you rush inside. You and Eddie had been stuck in traffic- thanks construction. What normally would have been an hour drive back from Indy took three.

And you had to pee. There was no place to stop after the last city, and you didn't have to go then. The usually empty roads to Hawkins were flooded with people going on detours. You couldn't even pull over and just go in the country due to the amount of people.

You rushed to the bathroom and shut the door. Your bladder was screaming at you. The chill of the toilet seat didn't even bother you as you sat down.

You were about to go when the door popped open and Eddie strolled in. "Move your legs i gotta go too," Eddie said unzipping his jeans. Your mouth dropped in shock for a second," What? No!" Eddie scoffed," I won't pee on you. I've got great aim."

You crossed your arms," Eddie, my thighs are too big. This bathroom is so tiny, I wouldn't even be able to spread my legs enough."

Eddie opens his mouth to argue but you speak again," Just go in the shower." Eddie gasps and throws a hand against his chest," Weren't you the one who said not to go in the shower? The hypocrisy!"

You roll your eyes," We aren't currently showering Eds, the shower is to get clean-" "You can pee and then get clean! You're in the shower and cleaning already!"

Your bladder screams in protest again," Eddie just wait for me to pee and then you can. Or you can use the shower."

Eddie grumbles but turns towards the shower. Theres a moment of silence between you both before you both start going. Eddie is the only person you would feel comfortable going in front of.

The relief your bladder feels is immediate. You hang your head for a second as you sigh, your hands clasped in front of you. The feeling of a hand on your head causes you to glance up. Eddie's eyes lock with yours as you both continue to go.

"What?" You narrow your eyes at him. "Just was thinking," Eddie starts but you cut him off," Eyes on the stream!" Eddie's vision darts back to where his stream had inched closer to the edge of the tub. "Whoops." "Great aim huh?" You chuckle, grabbing his hand off your head and holding it in yours.

Eddie smiled slightly," You thought i had good aim last night." You both chuckle as he squeezes your hand slightly," Nah I was just thinking. For better or worse yeah? Sickness and in health? We should add those who pee together stay together or something."

Both of your streams come to an end as you stare at Eddie. Your heart beats faster suddenly. Eddie tucks himself back in his jeans as you clear your throat. "You wanna marry me?" You ask quietly. You had hoped but...

Eddie's head snaps over to you," You didn't know?" You shrug as you grab toilet paper. "Hold on- shit!" Eddie stubs his toe against the sink as he quickly turns it on to wash his hands. You clean up as he scrubs soap quickly over his hands. He rinses it off as you stand back up, pulling your pants up. He haphazardly dries his hands on a towel and grabs your face in his hands.

You can still feel some water and soap on his hands drip down your cheeks. "Baby," Eddie's brown eyes stare into yours, " I love you. So much. I thought I made that clear, but if you have a single doubt then I havent done my job well. I. Love. You."

Eddie nods once before kissing your forehead," I would do anything. Even the gross things. Like letting you pop my pimples. Or rubbing your back as you throw up. Or holding your hand while you poop."

You wrinkle your nose," Ew. You've never held my hand while I pooped before." Eddie nods gravely," I would be willing to suffer thro-" you slap his arm in mock offense as he breaks down in laughter, causing you to join in.

Eddie grins at you," Yeah, no seriously. I would do anything for you. I would fight Vecna again- which was probably the worst thing I've been through. But I would do it again, willingly, for you. In the worst of times to the best of times, I want to be with you. You already own my heart and I would carve it out of my chest and hand it to you. My heart beats for you."

You smile at Eddie and pull him in for a hug," And I love you. I love you with my whole heart, mind, and soul. Every fiber of my being screams my love for you. "

You lean into his hold, swaying slightly as he hugs you. "I love you so much," Eddie mumbles. You pull back to look at him," Did we just say our vows in a bathroom?" Eddie barks out a laugh," I think we did."

Eddie grins at you and removes a ring from his hand," I'll get you a real one later, but uh since we already said our vows. Figure i should ask if ya wanna marry me." "Yeah, I guess I'll marry you," you feign nonchalance as you excitedly grab the ring and slide it on your hand.

You both laugh slightly, the love radiating from you two. You shake your head and grin, because only Eddie Munson would propose in a bathroom. And only you would say yes.

#Is this gross i find it sweet anyways hi #This is based on a convo me and a friend had once “those who poop together stay together” #I dont think this counts as a piss kink but then I was like shit what if it did fjshsksk #Anyways Eddie would absolutely propose in a bathroom he is 100% the type to do it casually as the moment arises #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson/reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie Munson/you #Eddie Munson fluff #Jade is Talking #Stranger Things #Yes this is the post I was thinking of when I said wait what do people consider gross cause this isn't gross to me but