Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Lazy afternoons in the woods vibes for the @steddiecaz zine, based on Le Printemps by Pierre-Auguste Cot (I only cried 3 times doing the foliage and drapery!)
Huge shoutout to the incredible artists, writers and moderators who made it all possible <3 you guys rule
Written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt “years” | wc: 444 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: canon divergent after s4, future fic, modern day, grumpy old men in love | title from the song by Mother Mother
———
The itch of nostalgia gets to Eddie sometimes. It sends him up the creaky attic stairs to pull a green Rubbermaid bin out of storage. Even among all the boxes they’ve accumulated through the years, it’s easy to find the right one. Steve’s neat handwriting on the side proclaims it to be full of “Eddie’s journals: 1986-1992.”
The notebooks weigh a ton, and Eddie isn’t as strong or as stable as he was in his youth, so he doesn’t bother trying to get them downstairs. He sits on a dusty camp chair, sweating in the early fall warmth, and is transported back in time.
As he flips through the pages, he remembers those days vividly. Snippets of song lyrics and melodies, often scribbled in the dark upon waking from a dead sleep. Little doodles of potential tattoos to replace the ones lost to scars and skin grafts. Plans for a new Hellfire campaign. Recipes for the simple meals Steve would cook and drop off for Eddie and Wayne. Movies that Steve recommended, songs that Steve liked, books that Steve had never read but needed to.
Eddie smiles at how soon his love for Steve becomes evident in his writing. Months before he put a name to the feeling, even longer before he dared to bare his heart to Steve, their mutual fascination already leapt off the page. It’s an unexpected blessing to have documentation of those days, now that he’s older and his memory isn’t as sharp.
He’s a few notebooks in, humming to himself as he rediscovers one of the first openly romantic songs he ever wrote for Steve, when his husband’s voice floats up from the main floor.
“You better not have broken a hip up there!”
“Nah, just my neck!” Eddie hollers back.
Steve’s snort is audible as he reaches the base of the ladder. “I’m not carrying you down. Your corpse will have to rot up here.”
Eddie catches the genuine worry on Steve’s face as he appears from the trapdoor. It quickly melts into mild exasperation, his very favorite of Steve’s expressions.
“I thought you were looking for the Halloween stuff,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes as he settles on the floor beside Eddie. “Not camping out on memory lane.”
Eddie sighs dramatically. “What could I do when the greatest love story the world has ever known is right here at my fingertips?”
“Oh, yeah? Whose?” His eyes sparkle when Eddie glares down at him.
“Can’t I be a sappy freak on our anniversary?”
“You’re my sappy freak all the time and I love it.” Steve squeezes his hand. “Come down, before our dinner gets cold.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
July Prompt: Years | Word Count: 444 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Lingering Upside Down Physical Disabilities | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Reconnecting, Confident & Flirty Steve
His cane digs into the grass, the rain overnight making the ground a little soft for Eddie to navigate easily. Nothing goes easy for him, so he expected nothing less. At least it has cleared off for the day, leaving the sun warm on his back.
Eddie truly never thought he'd be back here. In this town. Hell, in this state. He bailed before the stitches came out, putting it all behind him as much as he could.
Now, he's thirty-three, sometimes feeling eighty-three.
The days are often long, but he'll never take them for granted.
He's not sure how Henderson even tracked him down, but he did, and when Eddie opened his mail to find the wedding invitation, he decided he wouldn't ignore it. Henderson went to the trouble to find him, and well, the least he could do is show up.
The kid's getting married.
It's a big crowd, and Eddie hopes he'll blend in. Go unnoticed, even. It's hard, his cane draws the eye, and there's nothing he can do about that.
Sometimes, you can't get the things you lost back.
His muscles, those tendons. His good name. If he ever had such a thing. Because sometimes — well, sometimes things just stay fucked.
Eddie slides into the last row of white chairs, laying his cane over his lap.
The wedding was nice. Henderson looks happy and healthy, so in love with his beautiful bride. Eddie picks at a slice of cake at a back corner table, alone.
A hand grasps his shoulder, "You cut your hair."
Eddie looks up, smiling. Steve Harrington. He hasn't seen him in years. Over a decade.
"Steve Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve's hand slides down Eddie's arm before clutching Eddie's hand in an awkward grasp that maybe once wanted to be a handshake. Steve sits, and Eddie turns in his chair the best he can, facing him.
Steve rests his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, staring at Eddie. Grinning.
"What?" Eddie asks.
"You look so different," Steve says.
"You don't," Eddie banters back, and Steve waves him off. Even with a couple threads of gray at his temples, Steve still looks like he always has.
"How's life?" Steve asks.
"Honestly? Really good," Eddie answers, and Steve's smile somehow widens.
"That's good. Married? Kids?" Steve asks.
Eddie shakes his head, "Nope. Nobody. How many of these kids are yours?"
Steve laughs, "None. Still single and ready to mingle. Maybe I'll connect with somebody interesting here," Steve says, dragging his finger through the icing on Eddie's plate, sucking his finger into his mouth. Eyes never leaving Eddie's.
Fuck. Maybe things can go easy for him.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! ❤️
written for week 2 of the @steddiemicrofic july challenge
prompt: years | wc: 444 | rated: T | tags: post Vecna, Eddie lives but no one knows, Steve refuses to give up hope despite everything, second chances, open/ambiguous ending | also on ao3
To everyone else in the room, he’s just a guy on a stage. To Eddie, he is a harsh reminder of the reality he’s spent years trying to forget. A memory he never completely managed to erase, now suddenly breaking free from where it’s been locked away. Flooding him all at once with the sorrow and pain of another lifetime he never got to fully live.
“Hey, uh,” the guy says and clears his throat. “This is a song about missing something you never really had.”
On the first strum of his guitar, his eyes fall shut, like maybe it’s easier for him to pretend that he’s alone in the room. And then he sings, lips caressing the mic as they spill bittersweet words that feel like they were taken straight from Eddie’s own heavy heart.
It's unfair how at ease he looks despite the melancholy he carries through the melody he plays, the softness of his features clashing so violently with the image that's been imprinted on Eddie’s mind.
Because the last time Eddie saw him, he was dressed for war. With deep worry lines on his face, wearing a scatter of barely healed scars and bruises from earlier battles like medals of dishonour, determined to fight and win no matter the cost.
The last time he heard his voice, it almost got lost in the ringing echo of another, choked-up and trembling with anger, before it faded into a pleading whisper against his ear.
‘Stay with me,' he'd begged but Eddie couldn’t make that promise.
Not because he didn’t want to but because they wouldn’t let him. Patched him up and shipped him off to bumfuck nowhere. New identity, new start, new chance at life – that’s what they promised him in return for his silence.
It’s been so long.
But here he is, Steve, and it feels like not a day has passed since they last stood across from each other, despite the years so clearly visible on both their faces. One singing about loss, the other finding himself again after all this time drifting through a life that wasn’t his.
The song ends on a when not an if, like a happy ending is inevitable.
And finally, their eyes meet.
To everyone else in the room, the guy smiling back at him is just one in a crowd of many. To Steve, he’s the missing piece to a life that never felt complete without.
There he is, Eddie, with tears in his eyes but alive. Just like Steve never gave up believing he was.
And now that he’s finally found him, he won’t let him slip through his fingers again.
Prompt #15- "Calgon, Take Me Away!" | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Chronic (Canon) Injuries | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Eddie & Corroded Coffin | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, And Is Living His Dream, It's Not Easy, But Easier With His Friends
The water is still warm.
It'd been on the verge of too hot when he'd sunk into the tub. Now, Eddie lifts his leg out of the water, knee breaking the surface, displacing the remaining bubbles. The tub in his hotel room is huge, bigger than any he's ever seen, and there's a spectacular view out the windows.
A mountain range, all blues and greens and whites.
This is relaxation.
The door to his room bangs open, then closes again.
He squeezes his eyes shut. He spoke too soon.
Gareth bounds into the bathroom, and perches himself on the large edge of the tub.
"You taking a bath?" Gareth asks, stating the obvious.
"No, making soup," Eddie snarks dryly, folding his washcloth, placing it over his eyes. He just wanted an hour to relax. To maybe work some of the knots out. The tour is killing him. His whole body aches. He's stiff in places he didn't even know he could be.
Sure, he knew it'd be hard. He knew that he'd have limitations after the bats. He knew that. He did. And yet. He may have vastly overestimated his readiness for months on the road. It's harder than he ever expected it might be.
Their first album exploded. It was wholly unexpected, and happened by word of mouth, a snowball effect. They were nobodies. Unprepared for what was about to happen to them. Eddie's raw hurt and anger at what had happened to him somehow spoke to the masses in a way he couldn't have predicted.
It was supposed to be his catharsis. His letting go.
Instead, it was a rocketship he strapped himself to, unwittingly.
Now, he's feeling the pressure. The label already wants a second album. Eddie doesn't have a second album. It took him five fucking years to write this one. They weren't even a band anymore. But Eddie called them, his friends, with all the songs already penned, just because he just wanted to get them on tape.
Jeff suggested renting a studio for a few hours, and that wasn't a bad idea. Eddie had the money. The settlement was a nice little nest egg he'd squirreled away. So, they recorded them. All professional-like. In over their heads, but having fun, nonetheless.
And Eddie figured that was that. They shopped it around, just for fun, and found a taker willing to release it, promote it.
Willing to pay them.
Now, here they are.
The old saying that you have a lifetime to write your first album, but only have six months to write your second, is no fucking joke. But Eddie's not pushing himself, no matter what the label wants. Not right now. Eddie wrote the first one with raw fucking feelings, chronic pain, and a pen.
Until he has something else worthwhile to say, he's not saying shit. If they are one and done, so be it. This is already more than he could have ever dreamed, even in his wildest dreams.
His knee starts to shake, a familiar tremor going through his hamstring. Eddie reaches for it, but Gareth's hands beat him to the punch.
Squeezing, working the indented skin, where muscle is missing underneath. At first, just living through the ordeal seemed like he'd won. It wasn't until long after that he realized what exactly he'd still lost.
And it was substantial.
"Thanks," Eddie says, and he hears the door open again. "Calgon, take me away," he mutters under his breath, but he's not annoyed. Not really.
He lifts an edge of the washcloth, peeking out. Goodie. Finding a spot on the other side of the tub.
"Taking a bath?" he asks, and Eddie laughs.
"Making soup," Gareth corrects.
"I already ate," Goodie says, fingers skimming the water, flicking some in Gareth's direction, and it makes Eddie laugh.
"Where's—"
And the door opens and closes a third, and hopefully final, time.
"—Jeff."
"We're having Eddie soup," Goodie says, filling Jeff in as he adds to the crowd. Eddie hadn't realized bathing was a spectator sport.
"Are you okay?" Jeff asks, finally saying what they must all be thinking to have gathered in this way, "Do we need to adjust the schedule? We can. We can do anything we want."
They can't adjust the schedule. Tickets have been sold. But they can't keep going like this. No, Eddie can't keep going like this. The rest of them are fine. They're still young, and in one piece.
"Do you think Ozzy would sue us if we incorporated a throne into our stage show?" Gareth asks, and Eddie hadn't considered that as an option. He can't imagine sitting, but that honestly might help. Even if he only does it half of the show.
If he only uses it when he really needs it.
"He doesn't own the concept of a chair," Goodie says dryly.
Eddie's been very open about his limitations. Obviously, he couldn't say he got attacked by bats from hell, but with his lyrics? There's no question that he's been through some shit. The scars are evident. Especially the ones on his face, his neck.
The long, jagged one across his jaw.
There's no running from those.
He's scarred, inside and out.
But the guys are always ready to help him through it. He upturned their lives, even if he never intended to. He couldn't have predicted anybody would hear this album when he called them to help record it.
Partly, just wanting to see his friends. Partly, because he couldn't imagine anyone else knowing all these personal things about him.
Jokes on him. Now, the world knows.
They're on a tour, Eddie's heart wide open for consumption, while Eddie's body is revolting. All the physical therapy in the world can't replace muscle. Can't erase scars.
Can't roll back time, to before the bats.
Eddie rests his head against the cool porcelain.
"We can see about a chair," he relents, knowing that they will take care of it. Take care of him. Always.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
rated e | 444 words | no cw | tags: older steddie, established relationship, fluff and smut, laughter during sex
📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆📆
He’s had years to memorize Steve’s body, to know every curve and mole, to recognize the gasps and the whimpers as pain or pleasure. Years to figure out what he likes and what he doesn’t. Years to know that they work well together in every way, even the ways he never thought.
Like now, like this. They’re probably too old for this, but Steve’s always been flexible and willing.
Even at nearly 50 years old, he’s got one leg on Eddie’s shoulder, pushed almost to his own body. Eddie’s knees creak as he fucks into him hard, but Steve just closes his eyes and smiles. He loves this.
“You love this,” Eddie says, only slightly breathlessly. He’s been going to the gym a few times a week with Jeff, just to keep his body moving and muscles working. And so he can keep fucking Steve for as long as their bodies will allow. “Always have.”
“What? Getting fucked?” Steve grins up at him, wrinkles at his eyes crinkling. “You know I do.”
“Showing off. Trying to be better at this than me,” Eddie squeezes his hip as he slows for a moment. Not because he needs to, but because he wants this to last longer and it won’t if he keeps going like this. “Like you haven’t proven both of those things already.”
“Lot of talking for someone who’s supposed to be making me come.”
Eddie laughs. Steve reaches up into his recently buzzed hair.
“I miss it a little.”
Eddie keeps a slow rhythm, leaning down more when Steve doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the position.
“Me too. But it’s kinda nice not having so much of it,” Eddie reaches up to hold Steve’s hand against his head. He closes his eyes. “Change is good sometimes.”
“Now you sound like a fortune cookie,” Steve giggles. Even after so many years together, Eddie revels in making him laugh. Especially during sex. “But you look handsome like this. Might need to marry you all over again.”
“Yeah?” Eddie kisses him. He can’t help it. He really landed the hottest guy around, got to keep him around for all this time, got to marry him. Gets to fuck him, get fucked by him, do whatever he wants with him. “I could arrange that, sweetheart.”
“Might be ridiculous. We just did it a few years ago,” Steve curls his fingers and groans when Eddie hits his prostate. “I’ll do it if you want to.”
“I’d marry you every day,” Eddie ends his sentence on a moan. “You close enough?”
“Yeah, c’mon, love.”
Years may pass, but Eddie never stops learning and loving Steve. In every way he can.
Rated T, implied established Steddie. This will be jossed in a few days but I had to get it out of my head. Title from Echo and the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon".
--
Gun in a pocket holster. Lockpick set takes care of the wrought-iron gate. Steve treads carefully through the graveyard, cool breeze on his face. He might even feel a little badass, if not for the tote bag full of cleaning products slung over one shoulder.
There’s no sound other than the stirring wind through the fallen leaves. Owls might have called out once upon a time, but no more. The migratory patterns have changed since the initial blasts. Dustin and Robin explained it at length but Steve appreciated Mike’s breakdown: even the birds understand they should stay the fuck away from Hawkins.
He knows the way by heart at this point. It’s too spooky this late at night to visit any other graves. He's pressed his hand to his grandfather’s headstone a couple of times as he passed; avoided looking at Billy’s. Barb and Benny Hammond are in another section. Steve heard Bob Newby’s ashes were scattered somewhere else.
Up ahead, next to the grave he’s here for, a lone figure stands. Steve starts, biting hard on his lip so as not to yelp. His friends would be livid to know he’s doing this alone, but he still takes precautions. In addition to the gun, headphones are looped around his neck. The Walkman is queued up, Echo and the Bunnymen laying in wait. But through his panic, Steve can assess what he sees. Not Vecna, nor Eddie Munson, as he was. The version Steve still has bad dreams about; reaching for, and failing.
Steve approaches slowly, noting the figure exhaling cigarette smoke straight up into the sky. Short blond hair beneath a watch cap, simple black overcoat. No rings on his fingers. No visible indicators of Eddie, before.
“Evening,” Eddie says without turning around. Steve comes up along his side and tosses the tote bag on the ground.
Steve steals the cigarette, wordless, and takes a long drag. He holds it until he thinks he can feel the nicotine reach his toes, then hands it back over. Eddie snorts quietly, taps Steve’s ash onto the damp ground.
“So it’s been you,” Eddie says, gesturing at his headstone. It’s desecrated again, like Hopper said. BURN IN HELL in dripping red paint.
Steve can’t bring himself to acknowledge it. “They know you’re here?”
“Nah. They’re used to my bullshit. I sneak out now and then, go on walkabout.” Eddie says this last part in a truly terrible Australian accent. “I tell them I stick to the woods, on the rare occasions that they catch me.”
Steve smiles. “My favorite criminal.”
Eddie turns and looks at him. No matter how much government-mandated camouflage he’s trussed up in, his eyes are the same. Steve doesn’t know how anyone could look at them and not feel pinned to the spot, not recognize Eddie and all he is. But then, he’s probably biased.
“What about you? Breaking and entering. Illegal possession of a firearm, I assume.” Eddie takes another drag and shrugs with one shoulder. “Impressive.”
“Yeah, they’re sure gonna throw the book at me for voluntary cleaning,” Steve spits back. He kneels down to get out his supplies. “You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything for a few moments, watching as Steve digs through the bag. Acetone, bleach, bottle of water, scrub brush. Rubber gloves. Rags. Then he squats down close and gestures to his own name, chiseled into stone.
“It’s not often you get to muse on your own mortality while you’re still alive,” he says gently. “Not like this.”
The weight of these nights, the gun against his hip, all of it, start to climb up Steve’s stomach toward his throat. “It doesn’t bother you? Dustin still comes here once a week, man. He shouldn’t have to see this shit. Neither should you. I don’t get how –”
“They’re just going to do it again, baby.” Eddie says. “You fix it, they break it, again and again. I don’t see how that’s not worse. Maybe you should stop doing this to yourself.”
Steve pauses. He doesn’t know, he thinks, how to stop. Stop fixing. Stop trying to make the world a little less ugly. For Dustin, for Eddie. For himself.
“So we leave it?”
“I’ll be honest, Steve. I don’t really see it. I know it breaks Henderson’s heart, and that, in turn, is an arrow into mine. We’ll be able to tell him, soon. I’m working on it, I promise. Full disclosure, if they don’t give me the go ahead by the end of this week I’m going to ask you to help me make contact anyway. Enough with this shit.”
Eddie tips back to sit down, legs crisscrossed, and Steve does the same.
“I look at that,” Eddie says, “and I see what could have been. No matter how much things suck right now, I’m here.”
“Yeah,” Steve says. He wishes the birds would come back. He wishes some beautiful, forlorn call could cut through the terrible stillness. Through this long wait.
He leans into Eddie, into this chance they’ve been given. Into the promise of a possible future, hopefully sooner rather than later.
“You are,” Steve says. He focuses again on Eddie’s dark eyes, on what cannot be hidden, and presses their lips together – warm, and chapped, and alive.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Carol Perkins
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Situationships, Toxic Relationship, Name-Calling, Dom/sub, Power Dynamics, Collage, Evolving Tags, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobia, Neurodiversity, Steve Harrington is on the spectrum probably, Anxiety Attacks, Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Just college student shit, Being meanies to each other for no reason, controlling parents
Summary:
Steve was determined to remain unbothered by the fact that a random guy could not remember him by his face alone. It really didn’t matter. Steve was being vain again, wasn’t he? It was absolutely ridiculous to assume that anyone would remember him simply by glancing at him in a campus hallway.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
As much as Steve hates hearing his new friends talk shit about Tommy and Carol, he understands it. They were bullied. They made a lot of people’s lives miserable so, he accepts it.
It’s a bit harder to accept when the younger kids do it because they didn’t even know Tommy or Carol, but he grins and bears it for exactly one reason.
There is a not-zero chance that Dustin would try to orchestrate a reconciliation if he thought it’d make Steve happy and…
Steve did - for a while, at least - successfully keep Robin away from the Hagans by suggesting she take her lunch break every time he saw one of Tommy’s brothers in the parking lot.
He thought he was being subtle.
Robin apparently thought he was sending her away so he could indulge in his new-found bisexuality and flirt with boys without an audience.
Steve knows that’s what she thought because she poked her head out of the back one day and asked, “Did you actually get a date or are you just as bad at flirting with guys as you are at flirting with girls?”
This is followed by Steve being horrified and disgusted, and Tommy’s brother, Theo, laughing his ass off in the comedy section because - “Ew! And you could’ve made sure he was actually gone first! And Ew!!!”
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
kaledo-art
tangentwithtanner
izzy806
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
