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shares-a-vest · 8 months ago

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Pineapple Breath & Onion Boy (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.2k | Rated: T for Flirtatious Banter/Suggestive Language | cw: Mild reference to Period-Typical Homophobia (if you squint - Eddie is just conscious about being affectionate with Steve in a public space), Food Mention, Inferred Smoking (Eddie is playing with a lighter)

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Pizza, Contemplating the Future, Side Clarkson, Pet Names, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Domestic Fluff, Lightest Angst in the first half

Note: Working on my drabble yesterday had me rudely confronting myself with a Drafts. Buuut it gave me the motivation to come back to this one! Yay writing!

-🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕-

Eddie leans back on one of the faded red plastic chairs outside Gino’s Pizzeria and flicks his cigarette lighter.

He then turns it off, then back on again. Then off again… Anything to distract himself from the desperate grumbling in his belly – a feeling that has grown painful now that he can smell pepperoni wafting outside.

The chair gives a warning wobble beneath him, the back legs of the thing holding his weight as he looks up at Steve, who looks all cozy in his cream-coloured corded sweater and maroon jacket. Even if he is standing there with his arms folded and a frown knitting his brows as he looks on down Main Street.

Wayne and Scott had disappeared in that direction a few minutes ago, trekking down the block to fetch their Chinese takeout, while Eddie and Steve waited for their pizzas.

Pizzas plural. Because Eddie refuses to partake in Steve’s new and frankly, disgusting preference for pineapple.

It has been their little quartet’s Friday Night routine for a couple of months now and Eddie thinks he must end up looking the same each and every time: staring up at his boyfriend. Steve looks pretty as a picture as his eyes glisten under the streetlight and his breath puffs out in a feint cloud in the crisp night air.

He looks a dream, really.

Not that he ever looks anything less, thank you very much!

Eddie knows Steve is lost in some thought, the kind that pinches his brows together and downturns his mouth into a mindless pout rather than one that is truly grumpy.

At least Eddie thinks it’s all that before Steve sucks in a breath and sighs, deep and wistful as his beautiful hazel eyes grow bigger.

That look makes Eddie tip forward in his chair with a sharp snap. He shoves his lighter back into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, frowning himself now as he tilts his head to the side, hoping to catch his boyfriend’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

He is met with silence for a moment before Steve gives a soft and wistful sigh.

“You think when we’re old, we’ll be like Wayne and Scott?” Steve asks, still looking down the street.

“Jesus Christ, no!” Eddie scoffs, “I don’t plan on gettin’ old.”

Steve whips around and looks down at him with an even deeper frown and, yep – that’s a Worried Pout.

“What?” he near whimpers.

Eddie jumps up, groaning a little as his back pangs with deep regret over him tilting back on that stupid rickety chair. He waves a hand nonchalantly.

But Steve doesn’t budge. He looks hurt.

Eddie steps into his personal space and offers a small smile - one that he knows will showcase his dimples and make Steve melt like mozzarella cheese.

“Y’know what I mean,” he clarifies, “I do not intend to become some old fart, whose idea of a good time is going on a fishing trip while his boyfriend collects frogs.”

Steve somehow tightens the fold of his arms as he looks him over.

“Eddie, you like looking for frogs,” he retorts, his brows easing up a little, “Anyway, don’t you think they’re cute?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Oh, here we go.”

“I mean it,” Steve defends, “Scott gets home from school and putters about for a while. Then, he finishes up some work exactly one hour before Wayne walks in the door. And then, they go about deciding on their takeout order – even though they always get the same thing! And when we get home, they’ll eat in front of the television, Wayne will clean up and then they watch the TV until Wayne starts to doze off and they go to bed.”

He finishes up with a sigh and looks back down Main Street again, appearing a little sheepish now as if he got a little too carried away with his longing there for a moment. It’s a look that tightens something in Eddie’s chest – one that makes him step even closer.

Or at least as close as he should get to his boyfriend out on the main thoroughfare of Hawkins.

He sucks in a breath and looks ahead too, wanting to kiss that look off Steve’s face.

But for the moment, he settles for a bump to the shoulder.

“We’re gonna be all that one day, aren’t we?” he says just above a whisper.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, upbeat but nonetheless quiet.

Eddie leans in, “Follow me, sugar.”

He tugs on Steve’s jacket sleeve and promptly spins on his heel to disappear around the corner of the building. The dumpsters behind the local pizza shop aren’t the most romantic of settings – but sue him for having a Rolodex of potential public makeout spots at the ready.

Eddie can feel Steve’s warm breath on his neck as they reach the far end of the building, sending a shiver down his spine. He turns to lean against the wall and palms around for any part of Steve to come along with him.

Steve crowds him against the building and as soon as he pushes them flush together, Eddie becomes all too aware of how whisps of his hair stick to the cool brick behind him. He gasps.

“Oh, no! What if I lose my hair!” he shrieks.

Steve grumbles, insulted, “What if I lose my hair?”

“Wha-cha – Stevie!” Eddie splutters, “My hair is just as important as yours!”

Steve smirks and reaches for his hairline, brushing back his bangs. He scrunches his nose.

“Hmm,” he hums with closer inspection, “It’s looking okay… for now.”

Eddie hisses at him.

“Get your damn dirty paws off-a me,” he grouses. Eddie flicks his bangs back into place with an exaggerated hmfph before he straightens up and snakes his arms around Steve’s middle, pulling him tighter still, “Steve, I promise as I stand here before you, behind the hallowed halls of Gino’s Pizzeria – ”

“ – Eddie, the owner’s name is Frank.”

“Fine! Frank – he of bountiful cheese and delicious tomato sauce. I do declare that I will still love you, even if I turn into a balding old grump with a permanent frown and bad knees.”

“And will you still love me if I become a middle school teacher, all chipper and cheery?”

“Meh, that wouldn’t be so bad,” Eddie shrugs.

“What if I grew a moustache?” Steve grins.

“That’s taking it too far!” Eddie practically shouts, squeezing the air out of his boyfriend in the process.

Steve gives a wheezing giggle as he runs his thumb and index finger over the soft stubble he has above his plush top lip. Eddie captures the mocking digits in his own hand and bites down, earning a wicked whine.

Steve shivers and gives a warning, “Edward…”

“Now,” Eddie begins, lowering the register of his voice, “Ravish me!”

Steve leans forward and presses the most chaste of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll ravish you later,” he pulls back and winks.

But Eddie recoils, nearly knocking his head back against the pizzeria’s brick wall.

“When you have pineapple breath?” he spits with a dramatic grimace.

“Says you, Onion Boy.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, “We’re both stinky.”

The rusty bell of the pizza shop’s front door sounds and Eddie is sure Wayne and Scott have already made it back, always more efficient in calling ahead with their own takeout order.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Steve smiles, lacing their fingers together.

#how i wish that there were more text colours to choose from on tumblr 😭#looked back through my writing and up til yesterday i han't written anything since the start of september??? HOW???#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #clarkson #wayne munson #scott clark #clarkson ☕#steddie fanfic #lily writes a fic

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

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@steddiemas Day 13: Snow Day (Winter Wednesday)

wc: 2.4k | Rated: T for flirtatious banter and a post-spicy-times premise | cw: A very brief (and mild) exchange alluding to Period-Typical Homophobia Tags: Stuck in Snow, Car Breakdown, Post-Coital, Getting Interrupted, Multiple/Switching POVs, Established Relationships

This is equal parts Steddie and Clarkson, so I'm tagging Queen of the Clarkson hive, @unclewaynemunson. Also thanks to @rocknrollsalad for not only indulging my Clarkson thoughts and cheerleading me on, but for also providing me with some Scott Clarke crumbs in the form of the Stranger Things comics.

Steve awakens to cold silence with a hand in his hair, fingers gently curling and relaxing in tandem with the steady breathing of the person beneath him.

Eddie. It’s Eddie. And it’s also Eddie’s winter coat, a kaki parka whose slippery material threatens to fall to the car floor as soon as he shifts a little.

He grimaces, aware now of the jeans pulled down to his mid-thigh that would expose his bare ass if it weren’t for the coat protecting his modesty. He is without a shirt too and quickly becomes aware of a tacky coldness sticking between him and his partner. Steve startles and props himself up on his elbow.

He grimaces because he is sticky. He feels sticky.

“Eds,” he mumbles, voice feeling – and sounding – like gravel.

He smacks his dry lips and gulps as he attempts to sit up in the cramped darkness of the backseat of his car.

“Mrmphf,” Eddie hums between another low snore, the hand occupied in Steve’s mussed hair now falling to his partner’s bare chest.

“Eddie, we fell asleep,” he continues, rubbing his eyes enough that he can make out the time on his watch.

He feels his eyes bulge out of their sockets.

“We’ve been out here for hours!”

“So?” Eddie stirs, argumentative despite still being half asleep.

Steve hikes up his pants and bites back a shudder (and a chilly shiver). That tackiness is a problem for Future Safe-At-Home Steve, he thinks as he searches for his shirt.

He’d tossed it off (hours ago, it seems), back when Eddie had pulled him into the back cab as music blared from the radio – a stupid alt station that falls in and out of frequency that Eddie insists is worth listening to. Then he remembers, Eddie situated him in his lap, as they tend to do when they make out in his car.

But the making out didn’t stop there and instead continued with Eddie unzipping his jeans, eagerly pushing them down and –

Well, his next thoughts explain his nakedness, his tackiness and the fact that they’d passed out moments after Dio had stopped screech-singing about…

Steve looks at the dashboard, practically diving into the driver’s seat to check the ignition. Eddie yelps behind him and Steve feels a rush of air that makes him think Eddie probably attempted – and failed – to kick at him.

“You almost kicked me in the balls!” Eddie hisses.

“And I’m freezing my balls off!” he shoots over his shoulder.

Eddie gasps at the thought and Steve can’t help but laugh for the split second it takes him to adjust into the driver’s seat properly and look at the Beemer’s ignition, right where his keys are dangling away.

Oh no.

“Eddie, we left the radio on!” he shrieks, his voice reverberating off the windows and creating a ringing in his ears.

“So?” Eddie says again, sounding like a goddamn parrot as makes a mountain of noise, palming around for some clothes.

“So!” Steve mocks back at his boyfriend, scrubbing his hand over the nearest window.

It’s snowing outside now, so much so that all he can see is white fog. He cranes his neck to get a look at the tires but soon gives up and instead settles for pinching his nose. He breathes in and out for a few moments, preparing himself for the inevitable disappointment of not starting the car.

And yeah, it does not work.

Eddie jumps into the front seat, jostling the whole front cab as he wrestles on his boots, distracted enough to not mention the barking yelp Steve gives.

“You fell asleep,” Eddie quips, shucking on his black crumpled long-sleeved shirt and coming back up with a wicked grin, “I rocked your world, baby, so you need your beauty sleep after that. Naturally, I followed suit because you’re just so warm and cosy and hairy.”

Steve turns to find Eddie making grabby hands at his still bare – and cold – chest. He half-heartedly slaps his hand away, earning a pout.

He’ll tease Eddie about the phrase, ‘Rock your world’ later.

“Maybe we can walk back to Johnny’s Gas Station?” he wonders aloud, the suggestion eliciting a groan of protest.

Wayne bolts upright at the sound of the ringing phone and, before he knows it, Scott is grumbling away next to him.

“You just elbowed me in the stomach!” he complains but all Wayne can focus on is the phone.

He jumps to action and glances at his alarm clock radio. It reads 3:46 am.

The cold air of the trailer hits his legs and he looks down to find himself in merely his boxers. He looks at Scott, who is now upright and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Their blanket falls away and Scott shivers from the exposure.

They make eye contact and his partner blushes, sending a flurry of their calm and quiet evening at home into Wayne’s tired noggin.

Eating dinner, watching TV all cuddled up impossibly close on the couch and then –

Ring… Ring…

Wayne shakes his head and heads for the kitchen. Clothes (and those other recollections) can wait.

“Wayne Munson,” he answers, voice gruff to an almost comical level he’s sure Eddie would make a quip about.

“Hey, Uncle,” Eddie sighs on the other end, greeting him in the typical fashion he does when he has done something wrong.

“Are you safe?” he asks instantly, turning to find Scott dressed in a blue flannel set of pyjamas and holding the pair of sweatpants he had long discarded on the bedroom floor.

“Could you come get us?” Eddie asks.

His heart skips a beat. He looks at Scott, who mirrors his panic.

“ – My car!” Steve’s panicked voice cuts in, sounding close enough to the phone, the kid must be listening in.

Scott steps forward to hand over the sweats.

“Jeans,” Wayne mouths back.

In a flash, Scott has turned on his sock-covered heels and doubles back, grabbing his beige parka from the coat rack on his way.

“Huh?” Eddie grunts. There’s some incoherent bickering before the boy sighs, “And we need a tow… Steve’s car battery croaked it.”

Wayne sucks in a breath of relief but also bites his tongue and readjusts his grip on the phone.

“It was your fault!”

“No, it wasn’t, Stevie.”

Wayne rolls his eyes at the mischievous lilt in his nephew’s voice on that last one and moves to look out the kitchen window, only to be met with snowy darkness. He’s pretty sure he can tow Steve’s BMW in this weather. There’s no way he’d leave such an expensive car outside, nor would the boy let him.

“Alright,” he says, voice clipped, “Tell me where you boys are at.”

Whatever happened, Eddie and Steve are in for a lecture…

All Eddie can see when Wayne pulls over to the small clearing-come-makeout spot are trapper hats, his uncle’s scowl and Scott Clarke’s snow goggles. He groans and throws his head back, jostling his and Steve’s conjoined form.

“Eddie,” Steve warns, “I gotta unzip us.”

Eddie grumbles and drops his arms so his boyfriend can reach behind him and unzip the giant winter coat he had managed to coax himself into as well. He thinks they haven’t even been back at the car for all of five minutes but, as always, Wayne has come to his rescue quicker than he said he’d be.

But, as he watches his uncle open his car door and round to the back truck bed, Eddie can spot Wayne’s bristling shoulders a mile off – old Army jacket and snowy weather, or not.

He grits his chattering teeth as best he can, standing still with his hands in his pockets as Steve abandons him to give an endless torrent of apologies and offer his assistance.

“Eddie,” Scott nods.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Maybe he should chance it with his uncle, his inevitable grumpiness and Steve. Scott is all winter woollies and moustache as he removes a red tartan trapper hat, one that matches Wayne’s and is likely the one he used to give Eddie himself back before the old man ever owned anything kid-sized.

Scott offers the hat but Eddie shakes his head and gives a gloved, two-finger salute.

“Scotty,” he mumbles as politely as possible before catching Wayne’s eye.

“We’ll talk about this,” Wayne begins, waving the eyelet end of his tow rope (even with Steve close on his heel), “Later.”

Eddie looks at his partner and finds Steve nervously running a hand through his hair.

The pair turn in unison, Wayne pointing and offering instructions that Steve promptly follows and they once again leave Eddie standing with Scott, who rocks on his heels and very obviously ogles his uncle's ‘handiwork’.

He shudders and takes a step forward to block Scott’s adoration from his line of sight. But the man soon follows and Eddie huffs out a laboured breath, readying himself for an overly cheery chat.

How his uncle started dating a Chatty Cathy, he’ll never know.

“We were asleep, anyway,” Scott offers.

Eddie feels a blush creep up his neck to his snow-bitten cheeks, recalling how he and Steve had been peacefully sleeping away in the Beemer before this whole (admittedly embarrassing) situation started…

Or more, a situation they found themselves in the middle of.

They watch in silence as Wayne and Steve work in perfect sync, shovelling away the snow built up around the car’s tires, before attaching the hook, placing the Beemer into neutral and firing up the truck.

“I could have helped, you know,” Scott offers, still looking out the window, finally deciding to break the silence that has befallen the car.

Well, a silence that exists besides Steve Harrington’s snoring in the back seat, which started up a mere few minutes from the clearing the boys were stuck at on the outskirts of McMillan’s farm.

He glances at Wayne in an attempt to gauge just how gruff he is.

What type of gruff it is, too.

Wayne sighs and readjusts his hands on the steering wheel.

“Could have driven too,” he can’t help but add.

“No bother,” Wayne says before shooting a look in his rearview mirror.

“Might surprise you, but I was as silly and eager as they are too, once upon a time,” he chuckles, “I’m sure you were too.”

Wayne only grumbles.

Maybe that wasn’t the best point to make right now.

“What’s the matter?” Scott asks – even though he’s sleepy, he knows Wayne prefers to get straight to the point.

He reaches over the middle console to take the hand Wayne is now resting on his thigh. It probably isn’t the safest move considering the weather but, with Steve’s car in literal tow, they are moving at a snail’s pace.

“I worry about them,” Wayne replies, squeezing his hand, “Goin’ out and...” he trails off before changing the subject (so, if Scott knows his partner, he should consider it dropped, for now), “Besides, they interrupted our night.”

Scott smiles to himself as he continues to look out the window, watching a snow-drenched Hawkins pass them by.

He stays like that until they arrive back at the Munson’s. They stir the boys and reassure Steve that as soon as the weather passes, his car will be worked on. In the meantime, Wayne secures a tarp over the maroon Beemer and rouses the boys inside with zero promises of his famous hot cocoa.

And, just like that, Scott finds himself in bed with Wayne Munson once again, cuddling up to spoon his partner and hoping he won’t get an elbow to the ribs this time.

“No funny business,” Wayne whispers over his shoulder and Scott catches a flash of a smile.

“Not even a little more hanky-panky,” he teases, squeezing his middle.

He presses a kiss to Wayne’s pyjama-clad shoulder (a flannel set he’d gifted him at the beginning of winter).

“And you call me a dirty old man,” Wayne quips before sighing, “Don’t think we’ll get too much’a that now that the boys don’t have a car between ‘em.”

He shifts on the spot and readjusts his arm under his pillow.

“Is that what’s got you all grouchy?”

“We’ve only got so much time over the holidays, is all,” Wayne says with a hint of sadness that sounds more like he has to admit to being disappointed.

“What about you get the boys to work on the car together,” he smiles into his shoulder, “That’ll get them out of the house.”

Steve all but runs into Eddie as he exits the bathroom, finally warmed up and wearing his old Hawkins High sweater.

At least he intends to stay warm, an idea that begins to quickly fade considering Eddie won’t budge an inch as he munches from a bowl of Honeycombs – his go-to emergency snack in lieu of hot cocoa.

Eddie points his spoon in the direction of Wayne’s bedroom and glares as milk drips from the end of his utensil.

“You hear that?” he bites conspiratorially.

“What?” Steve asks, lightly pushing past his boyfriend to dump his towel and soiled clothes in the hallway hamper.

“They’re giggling,” Eddie recoils.

“They’re cute,” he chuckles, “Anyway, shove off! I’m gonna start freezing my balls off again.”

Eddie darts out of the way, his disgruntled frown turning serious.

“Yes, shoo!” he hisses, “Go get all toasty. I’m very concerned about what your balls have endured this cold dark winter night, Big Boy.”

He taps at his shoulder with the commanding spoon before jabbing him with it.

“You think Wayne’s really mad?” Steve can’t help but ask as he throws back the bed covers in Eddie’s room.

“Nah,” Eddie drawls, abandoning his bowl on the nightstand, “You’da seen that vein on the side of his head explode.”

He all but cackles at his joke and beats Steve to get under the covers first, twisting them all about as he flops down.

“And you think he’ll get me a good deal on the car?” Steve wonders, adjusting the covers as he slips under them too, “It’s more than just a cooked battery, it turns out.”

“Hell, he’ll probably get us to work on it,” Eddie gripes as the two of them snuggle in, limbs intertwining on instinct, “I’m sure there’s some lame lesson we are supposed to learn from tonight.”

“And what would that be?” he teases.

“Don’t make me say that screwing each other’s brains out in the back of your car is something we shouldn’t be doing,” Eddie whines.

“You mean, ‘rocking my world’,” he giggles into his boyfriend’s not-borrowed yellow sweater.

#i'll cross-post to ao3 when i finally think of a title 😅#i miiight write a sequel to this that's the next morning #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #scott clarke #clarkson #have to incorporate them this month!#steddie fic #lily writes a fic #steve x eddie #steddiemas #clarkson ☕

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

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Prompt: Bringing someone home (Discord Drabble) @bowtieandflannel I fear I have a resurging case of Clarkson brainrot. Also yeah, sorry to the stwg but this is once again probably not a drabble.

Eddie shuffles into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and needing a caffeine hit (or three). He blinks hard and rubs his eyes, vision clearing enough to see a figure standing at the stove. His mouth waters at the smell of bacon, praying that his uncle has save him some.

"Hey, Wa-ay – AHHHH!"

He screams and claps a hand over his mouth at the sight of Scott Clarke, funky bowtie-wearing middle school teacher and all-around dork of a science nerd, standing in his kitchen making breakfast.

"Oh, gosh!" Scott says, dropping the egg slider in the pan as he jumps back and clutches his chest, "Wayne said you weren't home!"

"I am," he takes a moment to frown before going back to gawking to the point his eyes might fall out onto the cracked linoleum.

"He's um..." Scott looks out the front window.

"I need to..." Eddie thumbs to the door.

"Yeah!" Scott agrees with great enthusiasm.

Eddie whips around at break-neck speed to fling open the front door and the accompanying fly screen, thoroughly testing the hinges. He's sure he will receive a scalding from Wayne soon enough.

He braces himself, perhaps not nearly as much as he typically would because Scott cries out, "Oh golly, the toast!" as the fly screen smashes shut again, the metal frame rattling away.

"Oh, shit!" Wayne cusses, looking uncharacteristically spooked as they make eye contact.

See, it's things like this that are bolstering Eddie's growing assertion that Scott Clarke should one-thousand percent not be cooking in their kitchen in a pair of boxer shorts and one of his uncle's flannels, saying things like "gosh" and "golly".

Wayne meanwhile, looks as shocked as he oughta be, sitting on the edge of the second-hand couch they have out on the porch.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak but again, he has nothing.

"Boy," Wayne says, stern with a warning finger, "Don't you start!"

"Why is Scott Clarke in our kitchen!" he shrieks, promptly smacking his mouth shut when his uncle shushes him.

"You told me you wouldn't be home."

"I wasn't. But then... Steve... work... eh!"

He gives up on the whole speaking words thing and pinches his nose. Maybe if he applies enough pressure, his brain will explode and he won't have to think about his uncle waiting on bated breath for him to leave the house, giving him the all-clear to bring a goddamn date home.

A date...

He winces.

"Darn it, Eddie!" Wayne says as he rubs at the back of his neck, "I guess I should'a told ya. This whole thing is..."

He stops and nods, grumbling as he looks down at his worn grandpa-like slippers. Eddie's heart sinks. That's the same look he's seen on his uncle's face many times. And each and every time that look has had something to do with Wayne feeling like he screwed up as Eddie's parental figure.

"I just need..." he struggles.

"Time to think it all over?" Wayne asks.

He nods meekly, flopping down to sit with his uncle. Wayne pats him on the knee, neither of them saying anymore.

That is until the fly screen squeaks and they both look up to find Scott fully dressed and gesturing inside.

"Uh..." he hums and Eddie looks down, forgiving of his awkwardness - he feels like an asshole, now, "Breakfast is ready."

He hums to himself and looks towards Wayne's truck.

But Wayne stands and steps towards him.

"You're staying," he insists before turning back to Eddie, "And you're coming inside too."

"Can I um..." he really does feel like a goddamn kid again, "Can I eat in my room? I, uh... I just need to think about things."

"Thought is essential to our growth as human beings," Scott muses.

#eddie not being chill in any way #clarkson #scott clarke #wayne munson #eddie munson #lilys drabbles #stwgdailyprompt #clarkson ficlet #clarkson ☕

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shares-a-vest · 1 year ago

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Prompt: A warm cup of tea (Discord Drabble)

Wayne barely gets in the front door to shuck off his shoes before Scott is right next to him, haphazardly attempting to remove his winter coat.

"It's freezing out," his partner says, following up with an audible shiver that he supposes is meant to be sympathetic.

"Don't need to tell me," Wayne grumbles, relenting as he allows Scott to indeed, remove his coat and place it over the nearby dining chair to dry out.

He's covered in snow, even though he tried to park his truck as close as possible to the trailer's front steps.

"Wasn't expecting you so early…" Scott explains, taking his empty lunch tin too, "But dinner shouldn't be long. Go sit."

He gestures to the recliner, looking like it's sitting an inch or four closer to the radiator than it was when Wayne left for his day shift. He frowns, hoping Scott didn't turn the heating on too early.

He only just settles down, admittedly warmed already, when Scott returns and pushes a steaming mug into his hands.

"It's too late for coffee," Scott explains, answering his frown when he takes a sip of the beverage.

"Where'd ya find some tea? None 'round here..." he asks, looking up to find his partner smiling back.

"Melvad's," Scott quips with a mischievous glint in his eye as he perches himself on the armrest.

"Good to be home," he says, taking another sip before offering a small smile.

#wayne munson #scott clarke #clarkson #lilys drabbles #stwgdailyprompt #clarkson ficlet #clarkson ☕

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

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A little Clarkson ficlet for @unclewaynemunson's birthday. Happy Birthday! 💖💖💖 The little Clarkson hive is absolutely one of my favourite things in the ST fandom. Just a quick exchange where Scott and Wayne flirt excitedly talk about Hawkins mysteries like they are about to go become a ghost-hunting duo.

Scott chuckles, "Y'know, those boys have asked me some very strange questions over the years."

Wayne almost spits out his coffee, slurping at the rim of his mug. Today he'd chosen his California mugs (which he has a matching pair of), perfect to share with Scott on a warm and sunny Spring day.

"Who, Eddie?" he scoffs, incredulous.

"Eddie was a perfectly fine student, though a bit of a handful for a new teacher," Scott remarks, giving the same overly enthusiastic (and not at all true) academic appraisal of Wayne's nephew he always takes the time to give.

Scott raises his mug to his lips to cover a smirk.

Wayne shakes his head, looking over to the grassed area in the middle of the trailer park where Eddie is sitting very close to Steve ("leave me alone, Old Man, he's not my boyfriend") Harrington. The poor boy looks bored stiff, practically falling asleep on his nephew's shoulder as he excitedly debates Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair over god knows what.

"The others," Scott clarifies. "Not Steve, I think he spent most of his time at the back of my science class talking to girls. No, the boys have asked me so many questions over the years - that I'm happy to answer, of course. But it seems interesting to me that bombarding me out of class time, even coming to my home over the summer, coincided with all sorts of things."

"Scott," Wayne can’t help his warning tone.

Scott shifts on the park bench, his feathers thoroughly ruffled at the thought of not being able to talk about something. Wayne sighs and gestures for him to continue.

"What?" he says, excited as he leans in. "Don't you read the Weekly World News? Or any of the reporting about the 'earthquake'," he uses air-quotations just like Eddie does, "I mean, those letters in the paper…"

He bumps his shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows. Since last Spring, the remaining residents in Hawkins have relentlessly questioned the state of the town and the supposed earthquake that nearly destroyed it. Though Wayne grumbles, thinking about the sprinkling of letters directed at Eddie.

"I thought you were a man of science?" he asks, cocking his head, egging him on.

"I am," Scott starts, cautious. "But I can also correlate evidence together to posit a theory that at least holds enough merit to warrant a discussion."

Wayne smiles, "That copy of the Weekly World News isn't mine, y'know."

They exchange a look and laugh. Wayne catches Eddie talking loudly about Bilbo Baggins so he settles in, resting his chin on his hand. This conversation is going to go on for a while yet - not that he minds, of course.

Scott glares with a teasing glint in his eye.

"Fine," Wayne admits. "I might glance at it occasionally. But I still think Elvis is well and truly dead."

"Sure," Scott nods. "Want to join me in a little research session in the library archives?"

"I'd better go find my library card," he enthuses, fishing in his flannel pocket for his glasses.

#wayne likes his nerd boyfriend being a nerd thanks for coming to my tedtalk #i hc that scott totally taught eddie and steve when he was fresh out of teacher's college (or whatever the mid-70s equivalant is)#clarkson #scott clarke #wayne munson #clarkson ficlet #lilys ficlets #clarkson ☕

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

Text

*presents this little Clarkson ficlet to you in a heart-shaped box

Wayne walks back to the trailer at a snail’s pace as he flicks through the pile of mail he’d just collected. His boots scuff along the loose gravel as he walks carefully so as not to stumble. He’d toed them on in haste, not bothering to zip them up because he needed to get to the mailbox at the front of the Forest Hills driveway before his nephew. They hadn’t received a letter from his no-good incarcerated brother since before Christmas, so he was expecting another. And it could come at any time and he wanted to spare Eddie the anguish of the grovelling and self-involved drivel his brother always spewed.

Sure enough, as he flips past another bill (the secret government only paid for new trailers for each resident and didn’t bother about the increased utility costs), there’s a letter stamped with a faded Indiana State logo. He tucks it in his flannel breast pocket and stops short of the steps of his home at the sight of the next letter.

He recognises the writing immediately.

As a hot rush creeps into his chest (panic, hope, whatever - he doesn’t know), Wayne stuffs the envelope into his back jeans pocket and checks his watch. He’s got a good hour before he has to be at the mechanic for a quick morning shift.

He makes himself a coffee (and Eddie a cocoa while he’s at it) and goes to sit on the old floral recliner Claudia Henderson had given him last year when everyone was regrouping after ‘the earthquake’. Wayne smiles as he opens the envelope, trying not to think too much about Scott Clarke’s name on the return address. He opens the letter and skims to Scott’s sign-off that includes a little heart. His heart skips a beat.

Shit. It’s Valentine’s Day.

Just then Steve Harrington pulls up in his marron Beemer and steps out wearing a pale pink shirt and holding a single rose. And then Wayne can’t stop thinking about how his nephew has probably forgotten the day too.

The Munsons weren’t exactly known for romantic gestures.

“Hi Wayne,” Steve says meekly as he steps onto the small porch.

“You boys have plans today?” he asks, nodding at the rose.

“Yes,” Steve says, shielding the flower a little.

He huffs a small laugh and gestures to the door. “Eddie’s up.”

The boy beams and heads inside.

Wayne abandons the letter as he stares out at the trailer park and watches his neighbours putter about, getting in the cars for work, and walking up to the mailbox. He sighs with relief when he sees Susan Mayfield smiling and chatting away with her daughter as they get into their car.

It is a warm day, considering it’s February.

The front door bursts open and Eddie steps out, skipping down the steps.

“Adios, Wayne!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Did you remember to give Steve a card today, boy?” he calls, frowning.

“Yes,” his nephew chimes, holding an envelope up sky high. “You want me to read my super-dirty Valentine’s message to my beloved Prince?”

“Dude! Shut up!” Steve shrieks from the front door.

“No thank you,” Wayne laughs as Steve rushes out past him.

“Bye, Wayne!” he hurries, scurrying away and shaking his head as Eddie laughs with that cheeky grin that gets him into far too much trouble for his own good.

“What?” Eddie says as Steve hops in the car. “I just want you to know how horny you make me, Stevie.”

Wayne shakes his head and makes fleeting eye contact with Steve who just fires up the car in haste, looking mortified. His nephew sure had a bad habit of making him hear things he wish he didn't. And making everyone, even his boyfriend, very uncomfortable.

Even though he teases with that grin, Wayne thinks his nephew is brave. It makes him worry sometimes. Okay, it makes him worry a lot. And he worries about Steve too, in this small town with everyone's narrow-minded thinking, with most of the townsfolk still thinking Eddie is a murderer.

He watches as the boys drive off, waving them goodbye and doing the same again when the Mayfeilds pass by.

Once they are all out of sight, Wayne leaves his (still full) cup of coffee and heads back inside. He checks his watch again and reaches for the phone. Scott probably won’t be at school yet.

He dials Scott’s number and as it rings, he moves to the reminder pad on the fridge and starts scribbling a note to tell Eddie he won’t be home for dinner.

#let me just dip my toe into clarkson just this once #as a treat #clarkson #scott clarke #wayne munson #steddie: valentine's day edition #(just tagging that so i can keep all my valentine's nonsense together)#clarkson ☕

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