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part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

#steddie #trans steve harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevie harrington #fem steve harrington #trans fem steve harrington #femme steve harrington #female steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #transfem stevie harrington #fic #mtf steve harrington

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stevieweek · 13 days

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We’ll Help You

Started as Steve and Robin platonic soulmate fluff. Devolved into *vaguely waves hands* whatever the fuck this is. I considered writing more but realized it would very quickly become Just Words, instead of a story, and I want y’all to have this because personally I think Steve and Robin are Goals in this one. As it is, there will not be a part 2 to this one… at least, not one written by me! If y’all want to do something by with this, go right ahead; just tag me in it!

“Bye, Mom, Dad, I’m going to Steve’s!” Robin calls into the house.

“Have fun!” Her mother calls back.

“Use protection!” Her dad yells.

“Dick!” Her mother yells back.

“That’s what I’m saying!” He says.

Melissa sighs. “Richard,” she says, faux-sweetly, “Robin and Steve are not together. She’s told us this many times.”

“Yeah, and neither were we when you-”

“Richard!” Melissa takes a breath. “Bye, Robin. Have fun, okay?”

“Okay,” Robin says, and closes the door, getting into Steve’s car with wide eyes.

He chuckles at her expression. “You good?”

“My parents have scarred me.”

Steve makes a face. “What, did you walk in on them?”

“No, they were talking about when they had me! I don’t need to know this, Steven!” She hisses back.

Steve just snorts, shakes his head, and drives on.

Robin is suddenly hit with a familiar, unwelcome pain. “Fuck,” she hisses, bending over and clutching her stomach. “Steve? I need to turn around.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?”

She wants to cry. “I, uh. Just started? And I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Oh.” A pause, “What medicine do you usually take?”

She blinks. “Um. Advil?”

“Okay. Then I’ve got you covered.”

“No- Steve, it’s not just-”

“Robin,” he says calmly, “I’ve got you covered. I’ve got supplies at home.”

She blinks at him. “Since when?”

His cheeks pinken. “Since we became friends? I just… I dunno. I knew we were gonna be forever, y’know? And I want you to have access to anything you’ll need. So I got some stuff.”

“What the fuck,” she whispers, tears beading in her eyes. “What the fuck, Steve, I’m gonna cry, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Steve shrugs. “I just want you to have what you need.”

She sniffles and leans her head against the window. “Fuck, I love you.”

Steve smiles, puts a hand on her arm, squeezes gently. “Love you too, Robin.”

They get back to his house and get settled in on the couch. “I’ve got a heating pad, if you want it,” Steve offers.

Robin blinks at him. “Marry me.”

Steve laughs. “I thought that’s exactly what we’re trying to convince your parents isn’t happening.”

“I don’t care,” she responds, groaning in relief when she positions the heating pad. She collapses back into the corner of the couch. “I want to have a dick.”

Steve laughs. “You can’t even look at a dick, Robin.”

“I could if it was mine,” she argues nonsensically.

“You don’t want a dick,” he assures her, then pauses. “If you were a guy, would you still like girls? Or would you still be gay?”

“I… don’t know,” she says, thinking. “I mean, there’s people who were born one gender and are the other now, right? And they still like the same gender. So I would too.”

“Okay, but are we talking you were born a guy? Or you’d turn into a guy? Cause if you were born a guy, that might change things.”

Robin groans in frustration. “I wouldn’t care, as long as Satan stopped throwing parties in my uterus every month.”

Steve snickers. “I can’t fix that, but I do have chocolate ice cream.”

“And again I say, marry me.”

He smiles at her, affection shining through. “We’d be the best platonic husband and wife ever.”

Robin smiles, best she can through the pain. “Only if I’m the husband.”

“Okay,” Steve shrugs. “I can be the wife.” He pauses for a second, then asks, “Is that… is that something you’d want? Being a guy?”

Robin hums. “No. Much as I hate certain things that come with being a woman, I definitely wouldn’t want to be a guy.” Steve hums, frowning, and Robin shifts on the couch. “Hold on,” she says, “I know that look. What’re you thinking?”

“Just…” he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t get what the big deal is? I don’t have super strong feelings about being a guy. There’s nothing telling me, this is who you’re supposed to be.”

“Okay,” Robin says slowly, carefully, “and how about your feelings on being a girl?”

Steve shrugs. “Same. I don’t care either way.”

“Huh,” Robin says, and leans back. “That’s… I mean, that’s okay, obviously, but that’s not… what a guy would typically say.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Right, ‘cause you’re such an expert on guys.”

Robin groans and thinks her head on the cushion. “Okay, so call someone. Call Eddie, he’d know, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve says, and hops up from the couch. “Hey, while I’m over here, should I order a pizza?”

Robin snickers. “Call Eddie first. Maybe he’ll come over and it’ll be the three of us. Actually, don’t even tell him, just invite him over. I wanna see his face when you tell him.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Robs. Eddie, hey! Wanna come over? Pizza and ice cream with me and Robin?”

Robin hisses at him, so he says, “Sorry, ice cream’s been spoken for, actually. Wait, Robs, are you sure? The whole tub?”

“Do not test me, Steven,” comes her response.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, if you want to get one for the two of us to share, that would be great. See you in twenty? Okay, cool. I’ll order the pizza. Bye!”

He orders the pizza without a hitch. He’s promised delivery within fifteen minutes and wanders back over to the couch, where he grins at Robin. “Wanna pick a movie before Eddie gets here and can veto it?”

Robin grins back. “You know I’m gonna pick something you hate.”

“I know.” His smile turns more genuine. “As long as you’re happy.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

He waves her off. “Course you do. You gonna pick?”

“I’m surprised you doubted me,” she says, and picks something he hadn’t realized he had.

The pizza arrives a short minute before Eddie does. They all eat before Robin makes Steve and Eddie sit so she can recap everything.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, shrugging. “I just don’t care.”

“So our question is,” Robin says, “do you? Is there something in you that says you’re a guy, or would be wrong as a girl?”

“Definitely,” Eddie nods, studying Steve. “Y’know there’s people in between? Who aren’t really a guy or a girl?”

Steve’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “They go by they or them, and a lot of times they’ll change their name to be something more in-between too, like Avery or Taylor.”

“Huh,” Steve says, tipping his head back to stare through the ceiling as he thinks. “So… so if I were to do that… and maybe go by Stevie-”

“Then we’d call you Stevie,” Eddie nods. “We’d say they’re so cool, they have a nailbat, I’m so glad I’m friends with them.”

“Oh,” Steve says. His voice is shaky.

“Stevie,” Robin murmurs. “You’re crying.”

“Oh,” he says again, wiping his face and giving a little laugh. “Sorry. I dunno why. I think… that makes sense.” They look at Eddie, then Robin, holds eye contact when they say, “That’s who I am.”

Robin’s tearing up, too. “Nice to meet you, Stevie,” she whispers.

They choke out a little laugh and move to sit next to her, pulling her into a hug. “Love you, Robbie.”

“You too,” she whispers. “Hey, can I still call you dingus?”

Stevie laughs. “Sure, Robs.”

“Cool.” She beams and pulls them into a tight hug. “‘M glad you figured this out.”

Stevie giggles. “Me too.” They turn to Eddie, “Thanks for helping me figure this out.”

Eddie smiles warmly at them. “Anytime,” he promises. “And hey, now that you know, there’s plenty you can do, if you want to.”

Stevie furrows their brows. “Like what?”

“Well, you could grow your hair out, or cut it. You could change your wardrobe. You could get makeup, if you wanted. Anything that’ll help you feel more like you.”

Stevie frowns. “I don’t know what feels like me.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie says, smiling first at them, then at Robin. “We’ll help you.”

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#steve harrington #transfem stevie harrington #stevie harrington #non binary steve harrington #platonic stobin #trans steve harrington #questioning Steve Harrington #fic

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