toothlesscomet
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Steve’s still figuring Eddie out. Like how he'll wheedle and give Steve shit for an offhand remark or tone of voice. It’s not like Tommy, where there was always something darker looming behind his cocked brow or narrowed eyes. The wrong kind of look meant tipping the scales towards an inevitable violence.
With Eddie the wrong look will get cigarette smoke blown in Steve’s face. The wrong words will get teased and playfully flipped back in a way that makes it feel like Eddie’s gently humbling him. Like each time Steve’s face goes warm with embarrassment it’s another strike to the long-dead King Steve. It’s mostly harmless. It’s intriguing. It’s the type of game Steve wants to understand so he can play it back.
Or, a totally unoriginal post-s4 summer fix-it fic where Steve questions what he’s scared of, what he wants, and where Eddie Munson fits.
Plus—how did Eddie learn how to braid hair?
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Steve usually marks other chefs as off limits. Too much baggage, too much drama, but this guy? They’re not even in the same culinary orbit. Would it really be so bad to hook up with a shelter kitchen line cook who looks like trouble incarnate?
He could probably swing that. Right?
The guy purses his infuriatingly perfect lips and blows a lazy stream of cigarette smoke directly into Steve’s face.
“You’re late.”
Well. That’s fucking rude.
(the chef au)
Bookmarked by toothlesscomet
26 Aug 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
pure art. for free?? going to think about this one forever actually
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Steve needs a date to his ex's holiday wedding, and Eddie agrees to go if they can be "the worst dates possible for each other" while still being convincing as a (fake) couple. Shenanigans ensue with holiday fluff, mistletoe, smut, and the classic fake-dating miscommunication.
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Even though Eddie's name has been cleared legally, he's still very much on trial in the court of public opinion. Dealing drugs isn't a lucrative occupation anymore, and getting a legitimate job in a town who still considers him a killer isn't much of an option, either. Eddie is beginning to think skipping town and starting over somewhere no one knows his name is the only chance he has left. Steve has another idea.
AKA: Steve gets Eddie a job as an anonymous columnist at a local newspaper.
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“Don’t have a coronary, Harrington. I think I can handle standing in place and rotating at a negative speed all on my own.”
Steve tilts his head, assessing him in a way that Eddie wants to memorize, maybe chisel its likeness into stone and construct a new Parthenon to house it.
“Take off your shirt.”
Eddie’s heart flips. “What?” he asks, mouth dry.
“Think you can handle it by yourself, 'big boy'?” Heat floods Eddie’s face at the callback. “So prove it. Take off your shirt.”
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Eddie hadn't planned on living. He wouldn't have thrown himself into the mouths the beasts if he'd thought he would have to suffer through the consequences. But he did and he does. Now, he's holed up in the (un)dead police chief's secluded cabin with none other than the former King of Hawkins as his handler. Maybe the bats were the easy part, it's Steve Harrington he has to survive.