#mm this is actually 1.6k so not a ficlet?

[ultravioletwrites]

(i love sports steddie so fucking much)

Eddie always buys the cheap seats to Steve’s games, tucks his hair into a Phillies cap, because if his face gets thrown up on the Jumbotron in Philadelphia, he’s screwed. 

Not because people will know he’s dating the pitcher, but because he’s in enemy territory. (Not to say major league sports didn’t have a long way to go as far as inclusion.)

He’s played hockey for the Pittsburg Penguins for two years now, making a name for himself as their left wing. A so-called nobody from small town Indiana who can slip past almost any D-line thrown his way. He had a decent first year, but the fans really latched onto him after ESPN started posting a “mic-ed up” series on tiktok. They always caught him chirping, blowing kisses as he passed the other team’s bench. Then there was that viral compilation video where someone stitched together all the times he shrieked “Jesus H. Christ!” 

Pittsburgh fans loved Eddie Munson almost as much as they hated the Philadelphia Flyers. And if they hated the Flyers, well, they were going to hate the Philadelphia’s baseball team, too. 

So, yeah different sport but still the enemy territory. And they’re not necessarily out yet, both Eddie and Steve craftily dodging questions about girlfriends. He sits with Wayne instead of the WAGs and other A-listers. Nothing made Eddie happier than stadium hot dogs and cheap beer with his old man while the love of his life struts around in those sinfully right pants.

And then Steve nearly gets hurt and caution gets thrown out the window.

It’s a dirty play, definitely targeted. Steve’s been working his way to a shut out and the other team is pissed beyond belief. Their pitcher low balls him a couple before winding up a fast ball that whizzes too fucking close past Steve’s face.

Eddie launches out of his seat, hat flying off his head at the sudden movement, because Steve can’t get another concussion. Would probably bench him for the rest of the season, potentially career ending if the ball connected just right. He’s screaming at the umpire to do something, amidst a sea of boos from the Phillies fans. Players get rough on the field but it’s times like these Eddie wishes they’d really duke it out like his teammates on the ice.

Wayne’s tugging on his sleeve, trying to settle him down, when Eddie hears it. Murmuring from a couple rows down and the telltale shutter of an iPhone camera. He ignores it, because his brain can’t seem to churn thoughts out besides SteveSteveSteve, stuffing his hat back onto his head and glowering at the field for the rest of the inning. The Phillies end up winning, no shut out, but the air’s still tense.

When Wayne drives him to Steve’s apartment, Eddie watches the post-game press conference on his phone, and goddamn. There’s a reason Steve Harrington is the golden boy of the MLB. He’s fiercely loyal to his team, and it’s evident in the way he speaks. Always deflects the attention from himself to his teammates, how Sinclair holds it down as a short stop and commends the outfield on their damn near telepathic communication. Never gives himself enough credit as leader of the team.

He hugs Wayne goodbye, demands that he text him when he’s home safe. 

(Wayne retired while Eddie was playing in the minor league. Once he signed with the Penguins, Eddie used his bonus for a down payment on a little plot of land and a ranch-style house in the Pennsylvania countryside. He couldn’t bear the thought of his uncle living states away and it’s about time he takes care of Wayne for a change.)

Steve won’t get back home until late, so Eddie changes into old sweats and a T-shirt and winds down for the night. He’s on the brink of sleep when the front door creaks open. Steve locks up and makes a quick detour to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take out his contacts. He’s about to drift off again when hears the faucet shut off and Steve slips into the bedroom. 

Steve slides under the duvet and loops an arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling him flush to his chest. Eddie melts a little when Steve starts nuzzling his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck and tangling the legs together. 

“Hi,” Steve grumbles. He’s always like this post-game. Warm, languid, extra affectionate.

Eddie hums and laces his hand with the one dangling over his belly. “There he is.”

Steve’s kissing along his neck now, even though Eddie’s hair keeps getting in the way. “C’mere.”

Eddie twists in his grip. He rolls Steve onto his back. It’s better like this, caged in by Steve’s arms, while Eddie splays his hands across Steve’s bare chest. Eddie brings one hand up to cradle Steve’s jaw, finds his lips in the pitch-black room and runs a thumb across Steve’s lower lip. 

“Missed you, honey,” he murmurs.

They’re too tired to do much else besides kiss, slotting their lips together lazily. Eddie rolls his hips down, not to start anything, but to savor the way Steve draws him closer, chest rumbling with each sleep-ragged groan.

Eddie’s phone’s pinging incessantly the next morning and he gropes blindly at the nightstand to silence it. His outburst at yesterday’s game didn’t go unnoticed.

5 missed calls. 23 unread texts. A slew of Twitter and Instagram notifications. And they keep rolling in. 

He drags a hand across his face, vision bleary. The words come into focus.

“Fuck.” He nudges Steve awake and together they pour over Eddie’s phone.

Pittsburgh Penguins Eddie Munson spotted at Philadelphia Phillies game. 

leftwingmunson (via Twitter): tf is he doing in Philly? 

chrishockey3 (via Twitter): do i smell a trade brewing? #rippenguins 

It’s not so bad, Steve tries to assure him. Mostly speculation, fans worried he’s ditching Pittsburgh for their rival. That is, until Eddie keeps scrolling and finds theories a little too close to the truth.

slapshoted (via Twitter): y’ALL waiT [thread below]

It’s a collection of photos from past games that have miraculously surfaced, testimonials from other fans (stans? Eddie hasn’t quite grasped the difference) about how he’s been at Phillies games for the past couple months. One particular Twitter user (goddamn you steviedelphia) tweeted out a rallying cry that made Eddie’s palms sweat.

steviedelphia (via Twitter): moots hear me out... eddie’s going for steve

steviedelphia (via Twitter): this man is in LOVE look at his face when steve almost gets hurt [pic attached]

steviedelphia (via twitter): not me bringing together hockey and baseball stantwt i love being delusional lmaO

The theory’s doing numbers, enough that his agent’s pestering him about press releases and marketing strategies and all of it is making his head swim. He feels like a hockey puck gone airborne. Eddie doesn’t know where, or if, he’ll land.

“Eds, it’s okay,” Steve says, tucking him into his side. “Our pace remember?”

He loved the fans, he did, but he loved Steve more. Having a little piece of his heart carved out for Steve Harrington where no one could touch it. Where no one could taint it. It wasn’t his supporters he was worried about, it was the no-good-only-real-men-play-sports halfwits who tuned into ESPN.

It took about a million phone calls and a metric ton of reassurance from Steve, but they figured it out. No public statements. Business as usual until they were ready. Cheap seats, hot dogs and beer with Wayne, caps pulled down low and hair tucked away. Dark sunglasses for good measure. 

(If he eventually made a throwaway Twitter account once the panic ebbed away just to follow steviedelphia and their legion of “Steddie truthers” that was his business. In their corner of the internet, he could pretend. Plus, Steve liked watching all the obnoxious fan cams while they cuddled in bed.)

They give in when the Phillies make the play offs. At the next home game, Eddie and Wayne snag seats right behind home plate. It’s the bottom of the nineth, bases loaded and clock ticking, and all Steve has to do is make sure this last player strikes out. Eddie’s hunched over in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Wayne’s fretting with an old rabbit’s foot he keeps in his pocket for good luck. Steve looks like a god up on there on the pitcher’s mound.

Wayne leans down and whispers. “You’re drooling’ a little, son.”

Eddie shoves his shoulder. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he chants under his breath.

The first two strikes are clean. The stadium’s deathly quiet. Steve wrings his hands, head ducked down. Right before he winds up again, he locks eyes with Eddie and winks.

That fucker.

Strike three.

Eddie’s vaulting himself over the barricade. He weaves his way past all the bodies between him and Steve. The announcers saying something about a rogue fan on the field and the umpire’s shouting behind him. Eddie doesn’t care. Steve’s got Sinclair in a bear hug when he sees him. Eddie throws down his hat and sunglasses, unzips his hoodie and underneath it is a ridiculously overpriced Steve Harrington jersey he bought before the game. He throws himself at Steve and then they’re kissing, a little like they’re drowning, definitely too passionately for daytime television. Steve’s got one arm secure around his waist, the other raised in the air while Eddie locks his legs around Steve.

“Fucking love you,” Eddie huffs, kissing all over Steve’s face. “My little MVP. I swear, if you go to the World Series, I’ll blow you right on home plate.”

Steve laughs, loud and bright. His hair’s sticking to his forehead, cheeks ruddy, and he stinks to high heaven. He’s never looked more beautiful.

Eddie fishes his phone out from his pocket and shoots a text to his agent, telling him his phone will be on do not disturb all night. He’ll deal with the aftermath tomorrow.

Does anyone have any athlete steddie fics or anything in the general vein? I’m not picky I just have a burning need for a steddie victory kiss that breaks the internet bc no one knew these two were an item, let alone madly in love enough to credit any and all success they’ve ever had to the other.