#conversations with eddie munson

[harrywavycurly]

Hi Sarah! Love your series but I am just here to ask for a random Eddie conversation? Maybe he’s watching reader get ready for the day and they just have a catch up?💞

Hiii babes!! Awe I’m glad you enjoy the series, of course I can give you a little look at what it would be like in the mornings with you and Eddie! I hope you enjoy💖

“Hey baby I made you some coffee…what are you doing?” “Thanks honey…uh I’m putting perfume on why?” “Did…you just spray that on your ankles?” “Yes? I spray it on my neck..my wrists and behind my knees if they are showing and my ankles.” “But..why the ankles?” “You never know when they’ll be next to someone’s face so gotta make sure they smell good…oh did you put that new creamer in here? It tastes different.” “Uh..uhm yeah…wait what?…” “the coffee?…Did you use the new creamer in it?” “Oh yeah…you like it?” “It’s good…so what’s on your agenda for today? Gonna go help Wayne work on his truck?” “No I have to go to the shop for a few hours to help Eric on an engine overhaul…what about you sweetheart? Any fun plans?” “Having lunch with Max and El…they are having boy issues and as the resident wife of the group they asked if I’d give them my opinion.” “Ah yes you being the only wife makes you the go too girl for relationship advice huh?” “Apparently…I don’t know why…it took me way too long to convince you to marry me…will you help me with this zipper?” “Sure come here…but I mean I wanted to marry you the moment I saw you but didn’t want to freak you out so I just took my time.” “Took your time? You’re so annoying…will you be home for dinner? Or are you grabbing something on the way to hellfire?” “Depends…” “on?” “What you’re making for dinner.” “Mashed potatoes with green beans and chicken.” “Yeah I’ll be home for dinner before the meeting.” “Okay…I gotta go but tell Eric I said hello…I love you.” “Wait I have a quick question for my lovely wife.” “What?” “Will I get to smell your ankles later?” “You’re such a freak…I’m leaving.” “Is that a no?” “Bye Eddie!” “I love you! Tell the girls I said hello.”

[morganbritton132]

Eddie posts a TikTok that was filmed in almost complete darkness late at night. You can just barely make out the angles of his face in the moonlight when he’s like, “Run that question back by me, Stevie.”

Steve: Do you think our pets have low self-esteem?

Eddie: Right, that’s the question.

Eddie: And the answer is no. They got high self-esteem like their dad.

Steve: But I’m insecure!

Eddie: I was talking about me.

Eddie: I preform on stage and am married to one of the hottest guys I know.

Steve:

Steve: Who’s the other hot guy you know?

Eddie: You, ten years ago.

Steve:

Steve, heavy consideration: That’s a good answer.

[thepossummoldypasta]

Hidden In The Woods

In the woods around Hawkins there is a van, and in that van lives an Eddie. Not a nasty beat-up van in constant need of repair, nor is it a creepy van that looks like it belongs to a serial killer; It’s Eddie's van and that means comfort. It has a perfectly undented body painted green and a mattress in the back. Or well, he doesn't actually live in the van. It's a nice van sure but Eddie lives in a doublewide trailer with his uncle, not his van–no matter how often they joke about it. 

(and there is a small chance he’s lying when he says it doesn't constantly break down)

He’s heading to his van now actually. 

Eddie longs for the ability to teleport at times like this; he’s trudging through the woods after a particularly fucked drug deal, and all he wants is to be in the back of his beloved shitbox, wrapped in blankets and smoking a joint. 

But Eddie can't magically teleport to the van and he also can’t ban Tommy Hagan from buying his weed–who was a major ass today by the way–because he gets most of his income from the jerk. 

He also can’t park closer to where he deals, which sucks. Eddie knows Hopper looks for his van parked on the side roads, so woods it is. Boo.

It's not that much farther….

And it's a nice day...

Plus the trees are pretty…

Eddie loves fall: the trees light up so magically in the sunbeams like a leafy fire, he sees more gray squirrels dancing about the forest floor this time of year, and Halloween is just awesome. 

This Halloween especially. He led a bitchin’ Halloween one-shot with his new DnD club this year and nothing could sour his mood for almost a week afterward. Even though there was some weird pumpkin blight that year that meant no jack-o-lanterns and the controlled burns in the woods behind Forrest Hills kept him up at night all that month. 

Plus he had a really good fall break so far. 

Okay, maybe things aren't sooooo bad. Trust a walk in nature to clear his head. Now that he’s calmed down Eddie can appreciate how nice everything is. 

Wait.

Eddie definitely didn't leave the back of the van open when he left.

Maybe things are shit and Eddie is an idiot. 

Fuck 

He’s lanky and gangly and has no weapon to defend himself with, but Eddie still creeps closer to the doors. 

Hagan couldn't have gotten here before Eddie, so he’s probably not going to get jumped for selling him overpriced weed. Maybe a really smart, really lucky,  raccoon just so happened to get the door open? More likely Eddie opened the damn thing himself, completely forgot about it, and is now making mountains out of molehills…

He props a hand on the closed door and peeks around it into the dim back. And promptly reels back in shock falling flat on his ass. 

It's a total Occam's Razor moment. The easiest and most simple solution is that the universe hates Eddie Munson. Because that's definitely Steve Harrington in the back of his van. He’s snuggled deep into Eddie’s blankets and smelling distinctly more omega than the last time he saw the guy. But it's Steve alright. 

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck 

What the fuck is Steve Harrington doing in the back of Eddie’s van? He’s never even had a conversation with the guy!

What do you do in this situation! 

Steve’s obviously nested back there, and if He was completely scentless before the fall break he’s gotta be fresh off his presentation heat, so like hell is Eddie going to go barging in–that's a surefire way to get his face ripped off–but Eddie also needs to get in that van eventually! 

He Raises back up on shaky legs, poking his head fully into the back; and takes another good, hard, look. 

There is still a person in the back of his van. A whole-ass person who wasn't in his van when he left. A person who is without a doubt, Steve. 

A rustle of movement, a quick shifting of blankets, pulls Eddie back to reality. There’s a cute little chirr from the nest followed swiftly by chestnut waves of hair shimming out into the open. Eddie isn't even given time to react before doe-eyes bleary with sleep blink down at him. 

“Eddie!” 

And oh isn't that the sweetest little chirp. Eddie watches in astonishment as the omega wiggles to prop himself up against the back of the driver's seat, chirping adorably all the while.  Eddie can't decide if he’s more mystified by The Prettiest Boy in Hawkins™ cuddled up back there, or That he knows Eddie’s name. 

Now that the omega isn't completely cocooned, Eddie can smell that faintest hint of mint that Steve is throwing into the air paired with heady lavender and it draws him in. Before he even realizes he’s followed his nose and clambered into the back of the van… his van. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Eddie starts slowly. Are you comfy?” It's an innocent enough question. Hopefully, if he plays it casually, Steve won't decide Eddie’s a threat and rend him to dust for being in the poor Omega’s space.  

Steve didn't seem to understand at first cooing a cute, drawn-out  “Hi, Eddie” but eventually he blinked owlishly and replied with a smile “So cozy”. 

“That’s nice sweetheart, but how bout we get you to your nest, hmm?” the alpha tries to suggest. Oh but now Steve looks a bit confused; drawing his brows together and pouting. 

“Nest? ‘M in my nest?” Steve says (well actually he whines it, but Eddie is trying to ignore that lest his heart break). Crap what does he do now?

“I–I know you’re nesting right now, uh–but wouldn’t you be–wouldn't you feel better at home?” Eddie reasons. 

“But there’s no nest there!” Steve whines again “They wont let me have a nest! I wanna stay here” 

“Okay, Okay” Eddie soothes in a hushed voice,” you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to sweetheart” Eddie is in so much trouble. Now that he knows Steve won't be pissed at him for being so close, Eddie’s having a hell of a time not being closer.  

Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing.  

Eddie coos from a distance until the whines and whimpers peter out and are replaced by soft sleepy snuffles. 

“How did you even get here, big boy?” Eddie questions. The thought has been plaguing him, what happened while he was away?

“I was taking a walk” Steve starts, he lays his head down and his eyes flutter closed before he continues. “I needed to get away and I went into the woods. I got turned around but you saved me.”

“I saved you?” How the hell did he do that? 

“Mmm hmmm, I smelled ya” Steve hums” smelled so good so I followed.” ok, even more confused now. Eddie has an…unconventional scent–basil and tobacco leaf–he can't imagine someone trekking through the woods to find something that smells like pasta sauce and cigarettes. And how long was Steve lost in the woods, how long was he wandering, cold and alone, with only a scent trail for comfort. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Uh yes?” Eddie focuses back on reality, ready to face whatever he’s about to be asked.

“If I’m sleeping beauty, why didn't you wake me with a kiss?” nope not ready for that. 

“Would you? Uh Do–did you want me to?” Steve nods against the soft blanket pillowed underneath him.  

Oh. 

Eddie feels his resolve crack and threatens to shatter. He can't take advantage of Steve when he’s so vulnerable. Is he vulnerable? Steve isn't still in heat, his mind is sound. But he is upset.  Best to leave it be for now. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” 

Dang it.

Steve shoots up–ramrod-like–to nod ecstatically. Eddie's resolve shatters.  Absolutely not helped by Steve’s little please, please, pleases. 

“Okay” 

It's not like there's anyone around to judge him.

It’s like the movies, the way they lean in close and steal each other's breath. Steve tastes like honeyed sunshine. It sweetens the omega’s lavender-mint tea smell in a way that Eddie knows he’ll crave till the day he gets buried six feet under.  Eddie can't tell where he ends and his darling omega begins, drawn so close together that their purrs rattle in both chests. 

Only the lack of oxygen drives them apart, though Eddie tries to fight it. 

“I’ll do better next time princess” the alpha rumbles with care. 

They seal the deal with another perfect kiss. 

Hell yeah.

================================================

based on this post Special thanks to @starshideurfics for inspiring me to have Eddie call Steve sleeping beauty like a SIMP

[slowandsteddie]

Steve, has a seizure and passes out

Steve, wakes up in the hospital

Steve, immediately clocking the worry on Eddie’s face and unable to look away

Steve, forcing a smile: “sorry for being so dramatic. I was just bored and wanted out of the house.”

Eddie, making a choked sound

Eddie, glancing at Dustin who has very red eyes

Eddie: “you know you could have just asked me to take you on a drive.”

Steve, snorting: “we do that all the time. I wanted something different. This car made a cool noise.”

Dustin: “Seriously, Steve?”

Steve, pouting: “I just wanted to go in the wee-woo wagon.”

[livwritesstuff]

Honestly, Eddie doesn’t know why it had taken so long for him to realize his and Steve’s children could understand the shit that came out of his mouth.

(It took an embarrassingly long amount of time).

Even when Moe’s third or fourth word was fuck, he didn’t realize it (and she was using it mostly correctly too, which should have been a serious flag, but nope).

What made him realize it was when they started repeating the shit that came out of his mouth. 

To strangers.

In public.

The first time Eddie had been really caught off guard by something one of his daughters said was when Moe, who was three at the time, had proudly announced to an unsuspecting grocery store cashier, “Daddy says my Papa’s a DILF!”

And, like, Eddie had just heard the term for the first time, and obviously he was goddamn delighted by it because…duh. Steve. 

It just hadn’t occurred to him that his toddler might have caught it too, but little pitchers have big ears, or so the proverb suggests, and Eddie had taken it as a wake-up call that Moe isn’t a baby anymore (tragic as it may be).

He’s not the only problem though – Steve is just as bad, (if not worse, because he really doesn’t bother to check where their kids are before he starts running his mouth).

One particularly damning incident was at a restaurant, which is something they don’t even do all that often because, seriously, going to a restaurant with very young kids should be an Olympic event or something.

(The last time they all went out to eat, Nancy and Robin had made a drinking game out of all the times Steve and Eddie had to take a child to the bathroom and ended up so far gone that Eddie had needed to drive them home).

The incident started with the waitress asking, “Can I get you started with anything to drink?”

And it had ended with four-year-old Moe confidently announcing, “My Papa needs a fucking margarita.”

Thank god, the waitress had been a twenty-something college student and thought it was hilarious, but Steve had still been completely mortified.

[hitlikehammers]

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here

[munsonfamilyband]

I need more famous musician Eddie content where he’s still super fucking lame and freaks out around other musicians

Like, I’m thinking about the video of JQ getting to meet with Metallica and play with them and Hetfield asks if he wants them to sign the guitar and Joseph gets so excited about it.

Eddie at an after party or something and he left Steve (and Robin because she refused to not be invited if Steve was coming (he gave her a “job” just so she could come)) to go get them some drinks and when he comes back Steve is talking to Brian May like he’s just a normal guy. Steve had been talking to Robin about Dustin getting an internship at NASA and Brian May inserted himself so he could ask about Dustin’s job.

Eddie comes over, nearly vibrating, and Steve introduces him to “Brian, he’s an astrophysicist!” and Eddie nearly passes out when he shakes his hand as if this isn’t a member of Queen.

It becomes a theme for them at events where Steve makes conversation with these world famous musicians about real life things all while Eddie is trying to act like a normal person standing in front of James fucking Hetfield.

The eventually develop a way for Eddie to subtly signal to Steve that this is one of his heroes so that Steve can steer the conversation to music and give Eddie an in.

I just need more social butterfly Steve and his music nerd boyfriend Eddie who panics whenever Steve befriends a famous person.

[slavicviking]

The Eddie Wakes Up Alone After A Night Together With Steve trope but when Eddie drives up to Family Video to raise hell (he tries the Harrington McMansion first but his monologue is quickly and awkwardly cut short by no one being home) Steve, confused as hell, says:

"Dude, I told you I was leaving for work. You told me, and I quote, 'go get them, tiger' before slapping my ass."

Hm.

Well.

That does sound like him.

Turns out you can have an entire conversatiom with one Eddie Munson early in the morning but there is a negative one percent chance of him actually remembering it before he falls back asleep.

[steddiehyperfixation]

still into you (steddie ficlet)

Eddie wakes to the mouthwatering smell of bacon and eggs and fresh-made pancakes. He stretches lazily and heads to the kitchen to find Steve at the stove making breakfast, moving expertly between flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs and checking the bacon. A stupid kiss the cook apron is tied at the waist over his bare torso and sinful pajama shorts, and he looks just as delicious as the food he's cooking. The whole scene makes something warm and fluttery bloom bright in Eddie's chest. 

He sits at the counter and sighs dreamily, resting his chin in his hand as he watches him. “God, I have such a crush on you.” 

Steve looks over his shoulder with an amused expression that crinkles the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. “We're literally married.” 

“I know,” Eddie gushes, so in awe of this fact you'd think it was a new development even though it very much isn't. He marvels at his husband of 34 years, admires every inch of Steve's middle-aged body, every place where his time-worn skin is creased with signs of age and a life well lived and well loved. The beauty of him still knocks the wind out of Eddie, a breathless giggle bubbling up his throat. “But that doesn't mean I don't still have a massive fucking crush on you.” 

Steve huffs out a chuckle before turning his attention back to the stove, a quick duck of his head as if to hide a blush. 

Emboldened, Eddie stands and comes up to wrap his arms around him from behind. He nuzzles into Steve's neck, breathes in his salt and pepper hair and smiles into the curve of his shoulder. “I’m serious. Even after all this time, you still give me butterflies,” Eddie says, resting his hands over Steve's stomach and pressing gently to demonstrate his words, “right here, like I’m a teenager again. My aged heart still does very youthful backflips just at the sight of you, and I feel that rush of falling in love all over again, again and again, like it's the very first time.”

Eddie remembers a conversation he'd had with his uncle once, when he was much much younger and Wayne was about the age Eddie is now.  When you get older, you don't feel that type a’ love the same way anymore, Wayne had told him. It ain't the same heart-pounding, all-encompassing, get drunk off of it sort a’ giddy head-rush you get in your teens and twenties. It loses that kind a’ thrill, gets quieter. 

Eddie had found that thoroughly depressing, despite his uncle’s insistences that this was not a bad thing. Don't mean that love and attraction ain't there or that you can't feel it anymore, Wayne reassured him, it's just different is all. He'd shrugged then, his face like leather, worn and fond and bemused by his nephew’s wild youth. Old hearts get tired, Ed, he'd said. You'll get it when you get to be my age. 

Well, Eddie has gotten to be his age and he still doesn't get it. He does feel that quieter love, the kind that comes from shared routines and easy conversation and even easier silences, made up of trust and familiarity, the kind that settles into his bones like it was always meant to be there. But the thrill is still there too, as strong as ever. Steve still makes his heart race and his head spin. Eddie's stomach still flutters at his smile; his touch still sets off fireworks beneath his skin. Even now, Eddie feels a little dizzy just holding him, heartbeat faster. 

“We may get old,” Eddie continues his declaration, “but the way I feel about you never will.” He holds Steve tighter, hooking his chin over his husband's shoulder after pressing a kiss to it. “I will never get over the thrill of you, and my heart will never get tired of it.” 

“You are a dramatic old sap,” Steve says through a suppressed smile, rolling his eyes as he plates the food and turns off the stove, but then he's turning around in Eddie's arms and pulling him into a spirited kiss.

Eddie's blood feels like it's made of champagne, bubbly and fizzy and utterly intoxicated as Steve fills his senses. They kiss with the same clumsy passion they'd had at 21, too eager clashes of teeth and bruising lips. It's messy, inelegant, perfect, broken within seconds when their smiles become uncontainable. They pull apart, pink-cheeked and laughing. 

Steve grins. His eyes shine with all the same giddiness of infatuation and warmth of love as he holds Eddie's face in his hands and tells him, “I have a massive fucking crush on you too.” 

[eddiesghxst]

no eddie really is a boob guy. like he loves ur tits so much. he says they’re his best friends and he talks to them all the time and you’ve learned to just ignore him as he has “girl talk with his girls” (as he refers).

the first time he saw your tits, you were straddling him on your couch and he went blank for a moment as his fingers dug into your hips before smoothing up your sides to grasp at your chest, squeezing the warm flesh and brushing his thumbs over your nipples. “oh…oh yeah…we’re gonna be really good friends.” at the time, you didn’t know he was actually talking to your tits and not you.

when he’s had a long day he drapes himself over you and mumbles into your shirt covered chest, “can i talk to the girls? i miss them.” and when u nod and he wiggles his way under your shirt, you nearly roll your eyes at his dramatic sigh. “hi babies, did you miss me? i missed you. you look great today, i’m loving this color on you.”

you smile to yourself as you listen to him go back and forth with himself. “what’s that? god, i know, you must hate being in this restricting cage, one moment i’ll talk to her.”

his head pops up from under your shirt and your eyebrows raise in indication that you’re listening. “they want out the bra babe. said they’re feeling claustrophobic in there.” “did they?” “mhm.” “mm, well tell them i apologize, they can come out.”

he winks and then he’s gone again. “good news girls, you’re free!”

[saramelaniemoon]

[harrywavycurly]

Sarah I could use some fluff please😕

Hiii babes!! I hope you enjoy these super fluffy conversations with Eddie💖

*when I say these are super fluffy I’m not exaggerating these are disgustingly sweet*

“You think we’re good for each other?” “No.” “Eddie! What the hell?” “Sorry I meant no we aren’t good for each other…we are great for each other.” “Oh really? What makes you think that?” “Because…the kinda love we have can’t be anything but great.” “Yeah?” “Yeah…this is that once in a lifetime type shit…or at least it is for me.” “You’re going to love me the rest of your life?” “Oh yeah…you’re stuck with me baby.” “I like the sound of that.”

“You make me nervous.” “Eddie be serious I’m trying to see where your mind is at with…us.” “I’m being fucking serious you…you make me nervous because what…what if there’s a day you wake up and realize you can do so much better than me? I don’t know what I’d do if you…if you decided to leave..I mean I wouldn’t blame you but I just…I really fucking love you and it’s terrifying.” “You love me?” “Yeah…yeah I do..I love you sweetheart.” “I love you too…and there’s never going to be a day when I wake up and want to be anywhere else but wrapped up in your arms because that’s where I feel the most at home.” “You’re it for me you know that right?” “Glad we are on the same page.” “God listen to us we sound like a hallmark commercial for one of their cheesy Christmas romance movies…” “oh you know you love their Christmas movies.”

“If I dropped to one knee right now and asked you to marry me what would you say?” “What took you so fucking long.” “Wait…what? Really? You wouldn’t run away screaming at the idea of me being your husband?” “No you dummy I’ve thought about you being my husband for a while now…I mean we live together and have a cat so it’s like the only thing missing is a ring on my finger and my last name being Munson.” “Oh…uhm well then in that case….will you marry me?” “Holy shit you’re actually doing it? Right now? I didn’t mean to pressure you I’m so-” “baby you’re making me really fucking nervous can you just say yes already?” “Oh shit I’m sorry! Yes yes of course I’ll marry you Eddie.”

“You know what I think?” “Honestly baby there’s no telling…” “don’t be mean Eddie.” “Sorry Princess…what’s on your mind?” “I think that you and I were meant to meet at the exact time that we did all those years ago because the universe knew exactly what I needed and who I needed to be loved by…so they sent you to me.” “I think you’re right baby…I had no intention of going to family video that night but all of a sudden I was pulling into the parking lot and not even five minutes later I run into you in the horror section.” “And look at us now…sitting in a bubble bath in our house on a Friday night because we are an old boring married couple.” “Boring? We aren’t boring…but yeah…crazy how time flies when you’re having fun with the one you’re meant to be having it with.”

“How much do you love me?” “I hate these conversations sweetheart they always end with me doing some ridiculous favor…” “so you don’t love me then?” “Now that’s…not what I said…you know I love you.” “How much?” “So much there’s not even a word for it.” “Oh that’s a lot…does that mean you love me so much that you’d come help me plant some new flowers in the garden?” “I knew this was going to end me with me on my knees somehow.” “Maybe I’ll return the favor later tonight if you don’t moan and groan while planting my petunias.” “I make no promises…you know how much I love moaning and groaning.”

“Can I tell you something?” “Is it going to make me cry? You know how I feel about crying Eddie…” “I don’t know? It might?” “Lay it on me.” “I think we’ve been in love before.” “Oh yeah? Like…in another life?” “I think we’ve always been in love and…will always be in love…in every life we live…I sound crazy don’t I?” “No Eddie you don’t sound crazy…I know what you’re talking about…what we have just feels too…special to only be for such a small amount of time.” “Exactly….I love you.” “I love you too…in this life and all the ones that come next.”

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, zooming in close on Steve’s face: What’s that pout for? What’cha thinkin’ about, big boy?

Steve: I wish I had a nickname.

Eddie, zooming out: You do?

Steve: No, those are pet names. If you say it romantically, it’s a pet name. That’s different.

Eddie: Sure.

Eddie: But your name is Steven. Steve is a nickname.

Steve:

Steve: Did I just forget my own fucking name?!???

[thepossummoldypasta]

Big fan of newly presented omega Steve stumbling across eddies van in the woods. One of the vans back doors is slightly ajar, revealing a mound of blankets and nobody but Steve for about a mile in any direction.

Even bigger fan of alpha Eddie coming back from a drug deal and finding the prettiest omega he's ever laid eyes on nesting in the back of his van.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Eddie, eating chips and queso: you know what they should make?

Steve, minding his business elsewhere: what?

Eddie: taco chips

Steve, already certain he knows what he’s about to say: go on

Eddie: chips and queso would be so much better if they also added salsa and meat and tomatoes

Steve: those are loaded nachos baby

Eddie: no it’s not!

Steve staring in silence waiting for him to catch up: 😐

Eddie: oh hm. Yeah those exist already. Huh

[livwritesstuff]

Steve is home one day with his daughters when he realizes that his oldest, Moe, is ten.

Okay, obviously, he knew she was ten. She’s been ten for a while, as her birthday is in July and it’s now December, and the girls are discussing Christmas as they perceive it in their little girl worlds.

It’s really that Steve realizes that Moe is the same age Erica had been when he’d asked her to climb through air ducts and infiltrate a Russian military base.

It’s a realization that has Steve feeling a little nauseous, because Moe is ten and she’s plotting with her little sisters about how they’re going to stay awake on Christmas Eve to catch a glimpse of Santa (their conspiring has Steve worried for his and Ed’s own role in Christmas Eve and the way it hinges on the girls falling asleep as early as fucking possible), and she’d lost another baby tooth this morning and hasn’t stopped talking about what the tooth fairy might leave for her overnight, and she still sneaks into his and Eddie’s room after nightmares looking for snuggles, and she’s afraid of car washes and bugs, and she still wants to be read to before bed every night.

He’d been struck suddenly by how little Moe still is. Maybe he’s only thinking that because she’s his daughter – his first daughter, at that – but he still looks at that kid’s face and sees the newborn baby who’d made him a dad ten years ago.

He can’t imagine looking at her and seeing someone equipped to take on Erica had been asked to do, never mind actually asking her to do it, which is precisely what Steve had done twenty-five years ago.

It eats at him for the rest of the day.

“Just call her, Steve,” Eddie urges him after Steve brings it up for the sixth time that evening, “You clearly need to air this shit out.”

So Steve calls Erica.

Erica is in her mid-thirties now. She’s a kick-ass lawyer at a private firm in Indiana, and she picks up the phone on the second ring.

“This is Erica,” she says.

“Hey, it’s Steve.”

“What’s up,” she replies, still never one for beating around the bush.

“I just – I need to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For Scoops,” Steve says, “For Starcourt.”

Erica is silent for a while.

None of them really talk about any of that stuff anymore. They’d hashed everything out ages ago, until all that was left behind was the understanding that none of them would ever be able to truly move past it, that there would always be guilt and fear and pain they could never shake.

“Okay?” she finally says, question in her tone.

“I just…” Steve hesitates, “Look – I didn’t get it. I didn’t fully get how fucked up it was. I was the grown up in the situation and I should have put a stop to it but I was stupid and reckless, and now that Moe is ten, I can’t stop thinking about how insane it was for us to even consider roping you into that.”

“I agreed to it.”

“You were a kid.”

“You were a kid,” Erica insists.

“Eighteen isn’t a kid anymore.”

“Say that to me again when Moe’s eighteen and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Steve doesn't have anything to say to that, because Erica is probably right (though only time will tell, he supposes). Their phone call ends only a few minutes later with Erica telling him to go easy on himself and Steve saying he’d try before apologizing one more time.

“You gonna take her advice?” Eddie asks after he’s pulled a begrudging Steve into his arms.

“No,” he tells him, curling into his husband’s side and sticking his nose in Eddie’s neck so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

“Figures.”