#Sporting Event

[powerupcomicstonight]

[starsontheceilingcomic]

Coming Of The Bowl

[scrapesaladofficial]

10 Must-Try Utah Running Events in 2024: A Runner's Ultimate Guide

Lace up your sneakers, marathon maniacs—it’s time to hit the pavement! I’m so excited to share with you my top picks for Utah running events in 2024. As a Utah native, and someone who’s pounded the pavement (and trails) all over the Beehive State, I can tell you that Utah is a runner’s dream come true. Did you know that Utah hosts over 500 running events annually? That’s right – we’re spoiled…

[arelliann]

Roller Derby Eddie and his “normie sport” boyfriend

Full contact sports prompt for @steddiesportsau squeezing in right by the deadline, also for anon who requested sports steddie

[beritybaker]

Somebody To Kiss It Better 💖

Rating: T | Word Count: 2,561 | CW: Injury, Language | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Flirting, Post-Vecna | ao3 For @steddiesportsau week two. Prompt: Sports Injury.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“It’s not funny, Robin,” Steve grumbles.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious,” she says, leaning across the counter at Family Video to get a good look at the stupid mask strapped to his face.

He shoves her away. “My broken nose is hilarious?”

Clearly struggling to contain her giggles, Robin attempts a more serious expression. “Right. Okay. So it’s not funny you broke your nose. But you have to admit that the circumstances are a fucking riot.”

“What, that I tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face?” He was thinking a better descriptor for his situation might be mortifying.

“That, and the fact that you face-planted because Eddie—”

“For the last time, Rob, stop trying. It’s never gonna happen,” he interrupts, though he can feel his face heating up under his nose guard.

She scoffs. “Only because you’re a huge wuss.” With a smirk, she goes on, “He’s into you, too. I bet if you went over to his place right now and told him what happened, he’d ask you out just because he feels bad.”

“I don’t want a pity date!” Steve snaps. 

“It’s not a pity date if he’s wanted to do it since March.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sure he likes me.”

“Uh, because I have eyes?” Robin snorts. “And Dustin said so, too—he told me Eddie keeps putting characters in his campaign that sound like super horned-up versions of you.”

“Yeah, well, Dustin doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Steve counters. He’s aware it’s a weak argument, considering the kid somehow managed to clock his crushes on both Robin and Eddie within a couple days of seeing him interact with either of them, but he’s not about to let Robin gain any ground in this discussion.

“Well, regardless…are you at least gonna admit to me that you were distracted, and that’s why you fell?”

Steve glares. “No, I’m not.” He doesn’t need to admit it; she knows the truth already. She just heard from his own mouth that he happened to look over and see Eddie, and that the next moment his legs tangled up under him and his face hit the court. He’d landed on his racket, too, bending it beyond repair and giving himself a nasty bruise on his hip.

He knows now that he shouldn’t have mentioned the detail about seeing Eddie, because Robin’s never going to let it go, and it’ll be added to her list of reasons he should just buck up and go for it (her own Vickie-based hypocrisy be damned). But what he’ll definitely, absolutely, never in his life admit is that what had really caught him off guard was Eddie in shorts.

It makes sense. Obviously he would be wearing shorts. It’s mid-July, and this week’s been a scorcher. But Steve is a simple man, with simple desires, and for months, one of those desires has been to see a little more skin from Eddie Munson. The fact that he happened to see it while he was playing tennis at the park with his dad was just unfortunate timing.

He’ll never forget that moment as long as he lives. It’s bound to be the most embarrassing thing that happens to him in his entire life, seared into his memory as a series of snapshots.

The hollow thwap of the ball against his racket as he returns the serve. His eyes instinctively darting to the parking lot at the short blast of a car horn. Doing a double-take as he recognizes a mop of hair and a brilliant smile a couple feet above a pair of denim cutoffs. And then…

Another thwap. A wide-eyed dive. A painful crunch.

The only blessing is that Eddie didn’t see it. He was ducking into Jeff’s car by the time Steve’s dad called out his name and rushed over. Eddie definitely didn’t hear it, because even if Steve isn’t about to agree that his crush is reciprocated, he knows by now that they’re good friends. If Eddie had noticed Steve wiping out and subsequently bleeding all over the place from a crooked nose, he would’ve sprinted right over, too.

“You’re impossible,” Robin scoffs, turning away from the counter to browse.

“And you’re annoying,” Steve counters. “Even on your day off, I can’t get away from you. Weren’t you and Nance supposed to have a sleepover?”

“I have to find something to watch! She needs an education, and she doesn’t have the privilege of getting one on the job.”

“So you’re holding her hostage now, too? And she’s not even getting paid for it?”

Robin makes a childish face at him. It’s one she knows he can’t return at the moment, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to sorting returns.

That’s where they stay for a few minutes. Both of them are silently absorbed in their tasks, until the bell chimes to signal someone else entering the store.

Steve automatically looks up. And just like he did at the park, he does a double-take.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin calls from the thriller section.

Steve glances her way. Her eyes meet his, and even seeing only the top of her head, he can tell that god-awful smirk is back.

“Hey, Buckley! Thought you were off tonight,” Eddie replies.

“I am. Just here for the goods,” she explains, raising a couple tapes and waving them where he can see. “And keeping Stevie company.”

“But of course. There’s no separating you two,” he chuckles. Then he turns to Steve and freezes at the sight of him. “Oh, damn. Holy shit.”

Steve tries not to close his eyes, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s concerned gaze. It adds insult to literal injury that he’s wearing those goddamn cutoffs again—and they show off even more thigh than Steve remembers.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Broke my nose,” he mutters.

“Holy shit,” Eddie repeats. “How?”

“Fell.”

“You…fell? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it,” Steve says. He shoots a warning look at Robin when he hears a derisive snort. She disappears behind the shelf.

“Man, that blows. How long do you have to wear that thing on your face?”

Steve shrugs. “Couple weeks. Doctor wants to make sure nothing knocks my nose out of place while it heals.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Oof. Sorry, man.”

Don’t apologize, Steve thinks, biting back the actual words. It’s not like I fell because you didn’t measure the inseam before you took scissors to your old jeans, or that your legs are way more toned than I imagined they would be, or that I want you to throw me up against the wall like you did in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, or—

“So, what’s new?” Eddie asks, cutting through Steve’s thought spiral. “Other than the broken nose.”

Steve clears his throat. “Not much.”

“Same here,” Eddie sighs. He approaches the counter and slumps against it, leaning forward on his elbows. Pursing his lips, he goes on, “What time are you off? You wanna hang out later?”

“I’m closing.”

“Isn’t Wednesday usually Keith’s night?”

“He’s busy, apparently. Asked me to switch.”

Robin reappears at Eddie’s elbow. She puts a few tapes on the counter and says, “He’s got a date.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Good for him.”

“Yeah. At least somebody around here can get one,” she jokes. Then, with a significant look, she adds, “Right, Steve?”

He glares back at her. “Yeah. Lucky guy.”

“I don’t understand how you’re free, Harrington,” Eddie muses. “You got more natural charm in your pinkie finger than I’ve ever seen from Keith. You should be taking somebody out every goddamn night.”

Robin snorts. “You should’ve seen him when we worked at Scoops. He was striking out left and right. It was so bad, I kept a running tally every day of how many girls rejected him. The record was twenty-two.”

This time, Steve is exasperated enough that he does close his eyes for a moment. He’s not sure what’s worse: Robin making pointed comments around Eddie or recounting past misadventures to him.

“Oh, there’s no way.” Eddie turns to him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. “You were striking out?”

“The hat covered up my best feature,” Steve huffs, vaguely gesturing at his own head.

“Oh, in that case,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. His smile remains, and it even softens after a moment. “Well, those girls didn’t know what they were missing.”

Steve’s lungs seize up. Once again, Robin catches his eye, her brows so high on her forehead they’ve disappeared behind her bangs. He narrows his eyes at her—a nonverbal warning to shut the fuck up—then turns to the computer to add her rentals to her account.

Out loud, he says, “I’ll take the hat over this damn thing.” He doesn’t have to point at his nose guard; he’s learned over the past few days that it’s the only thing anyone sees as long as he’s in the room.

Eddie tilts his head and shoots him a sympathetic grimace. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it definitely is,” Steve says. His deadpan delivery draws a laugh from Eddie that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“Look on the bright side. Wearing that thing should keep your face lookin’ as pretty as ever, right?”

“Oh my god,” Robin mumbles. It sounds involuntary.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, interpreting her frustrated outburst as some startled realization.

She confirms that she hadn’t meant to say anything by turning to Steve in a panic and stammering, “I’m…gonna be late! I said I would meet Nancy at six-thirty, and it’s almost”—she looks at her watch and deflates a little—“a quarter to six.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He glances at Steve in clear is she okay? amusement, then says, “You got forty-five minutes, and you’re worried about being late? Where are you s’posed to meet her, Timbuktu?”

“Ah, no. Her house.” Robin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I just, uh…I have to pick up snacks, too! See you guys.” She’s already halfway out the door before the words are out of her mouth.

Eddie stares after her, looking bewildered. “What the hell was all that about?”

“No idea,” Steve lies.

There’s a quiet moment, where the only sound is the computer’s keyboard clacking under his fingertips. He figures Eddie must be lost in thought, because after spending enough time with him, he’s noticed that those are the only moments where Eddie stops talking—and sometimes not even then. Like with Robin, he finds it endearing. More than once, he’s caught himself grinning like an idiot as Eddie rambled about D&D classes or a Judas Priest album.

When Eddie does eventually speak, he says the last thing Steve expects. “You know, you kinda pull it off.”

Blinking rapidly, Steve looks up from the computer. He slowly turns to look at Eddie. “What?”

“The nose thing. It’s weirdly cute on you.” He sighs a laugh and shakes his head. “Listen to me. ’Course it is—you’re Steve Harrington. You could be wearing a goddamn bunny suit and you’d be able to make it work.”

Steve stares at him for another moment, at a loss for what to say. “Thank you?” he tries.

“It still sucks, though.” Eddie pauses. He’s leaning on the counter again, though now he has his hands splayed across it, fingers drumming idly. “Did they tell you how long it might take for the bruising to clear up, too?”

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, Steve stammers, “Uh, y-yeah. Few days, apparently.” He goes back to sorting tapes, desperate for something to distract him from the ongoing butterfly swarm in his stomach.

“Hm.” Another pause. “Think it’d heal faster if you had somebody to kiss it better?”

Steve fumbles with a small stack of tapes, dropping a couple. He has to take a deep breath to recover before he can lean down to retrieve them.

In that second, though, Eddie has already leapt over the counter. “Whoops! Allow me.” He squats and starts picking them up, and…

Holy mother of god.

This is too much. It’s too much for Steve to handle, having Eddie crouched on the floor in those fucking shorts, right in front of him, with his skin taut over his quads and the denim hugging his crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. All Steve can do is stare as his breath becomes hopelessly shallow.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he lifts his arm to hand the tapes over. When he does, his eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Whoa. Stevie. You doin’ alright?”

Steve swallows, trying to summon an answer.

“Um. Earth to Harrington,” Eddie says with an anxious smile. He waves the tapes across Steve’s field of vision. “You okay, man?”

“I saw you at the park,” Steve blurts. He isn’t sure why. The ER doc told him he didn’t have a concussion, but maybe his brain got a little banged around, after all.

Looking outright worried now, Eddie rises and sets aside the tapes.

“The other day. I was playing tennis with my dad at the park and I saw you.”

“Okay…”

“That’s why I fell and broke my nose.”

Eddie blinks and shakes his head in a startled little expression. “Okay, Stevie. You lost me.”

Finally, Steve has reached his breaking point. He whirls around and starts pacing away from Eddie, raising his hands to tangle in his own hair. “It’s those goddamn shorts.” He turns on his heel to face Eddie again, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why the hell do you have to wear those things?”

Eddie puts his hands up defensively. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“‘What’s wrong?’ You look too good in ’em, that’s what’s wrong!”

Instantly, Eddie’s confused look melts into one of total understanding. A gradual smirk stretches his lips. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you fell on your face…broke your nose…because you saw me walk by in shorts?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses.

Eddie lifts both his gaze and his hands to the sky, as if overcome with religious passion, and cries out, “Holy fucking shit, finally!”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Steve. Stevie. Harrington.” Eddie walks over and lowers his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders. “I’ve been tryin’ to get you to admit to checking me out for weeks. Gonna be honest, I was starting to think your stubborn ass was never gonna cop to it.”

“You—what?”

“Christ. I was worried I was gonna have to break down and ask you out before you did.”

Steve stares for another moment before demanding, “Why the hell didn’t you?!”

Eddie falters. His smirk morphs into a sheepish grimace. “I, uh…I may have bet Henderson that I could hold out until you admitted it.”

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. But he’s smiling. “I’m gonna kill that little creep.”

“At least let him pay up first,” Eddie says. Then he clears his throat, which gets Steve to open his eyes. “That said, through…you free tomorrow night?”

Steve meets his gaze, skeptical. “You wanna take me out looking like this?”

Eddie giggles and nods. “Technically it’s my fault. I gotta make it up to you somehow.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

fourth line, best line

for @steddiesportsau prompt 'first line' (i know the title is misleading, just trust me)

rated t | 2,577 words | cw: injury | tags: modern au, hockey au, getting together, happens during a time skip just go with it, love confessions

🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒

The buzzer echoes in his skull. He didn’t notch a point tonight. Not a single one.

He didn’t even drop the gloves.

He’s gonna end up sent back down to the farm team, he can feel it.

“Munson!” A voice yells from behind him as he walks down the tunnel to the dressing room. “Hey.”

Steve is a good captain, a great hockey player, and a beautiful man. His number will almost definitely be in the rafters someday, and he’s got a long career in the NHL waiting for him when he retires from playing. He shouldn’t waste more than what’s required on pep-talking Eddie through a shitty game.

“Yeah?” He asks, trying not to sound like he’s a second away from crying.

“That pass in the second was a beauty,” he says with a smile.

It’s like nothing phases him, like they didn’t just lose 5-1 against their biggest rival.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Steve pats his shoulder. “Gonna lose sometimes. You gave 100%, that’s all anyone can ask.”

Eddie doesn’t think Steve watched the same game he did. He knew he didn’t give his best. Steve did, because Steve always does, but Eddie doesn’t even think his best came to this game at all.

“I got lucky with a pass, that’s it.”

Steve shakes his head. “Half of hockey is luck. You knew what to do with it, which is more than I can say for some players.”

A lot of guys would give their left nut to get a compliment like that from Steve Harrington. Eddie is one of them.

He knows he’s blushing, but he hopes it’s hidden under the flush of the exertion from his last shift. He’s dripping sweat despite barely breaching five minutes of ice time for the entire game.

“Thanks,” Eddie squeaks out. Steve’s probably just being nice, giving him a compliment to take with him on his flight back to the AHL. “I’ll work harder next time.”

Steve looks like he wants to say more, but he’s taken to the side for a post-game interview. They lost, but Steve’s charm is enough for the interviewer to focus on more positive parts of the game instead of what they probably planned on asking.

Eddie makes his way to the dressing room, probably for the last time this season.

He may get another call up if someone gets injured, but he won’t hold his breath.

****

one year later

“Harrington against the boards…usually wins these battles, but it looks like he’s waving at the bench. Don’t know what that’s about.”

Eddie’s watching the game at his apartment, stuffing his face with chicken parm from his favorite restaurant down the street. He’s carb loading before their early afternoon game tomorrow.

Steve’s been off this entire game. He’s slower, hesitant where he’s normally aggressive, hasn’t put his body into blocking shots the way he normally does. Anyone who plays hockey or knows hockey knows what this is.

He’s playing through an injury. When you’re this close to clinching the number one spot in the playoffs, your top center can’t be injured. Eddie winces when someone checks Steve into the boards on his way to the bench.

He goes down hard, way harder than he normally would. He’s slow to get up.

Eddie’s holding his breath. Sauce drips onto his shirt.

It’s his ankle. Dammit.

There are a lot of impressive things about Steve Harrington. He’s a good captain, a great player, a beautiful man. He also defeated every odd against him his rookie year when he came back from a shattered ankle that led to two surgeries and a four month recovery process that most doctors didn’t think he’d ever finish. He did and he came back even better than before.

He’s played for years with minimal issues. One concussion a few years ago that left him day to day for about a week, one upper body injury that benched him for three weeks at the beginning of a season. Eddie can see this is different.

This is his career.

Eddie can’t stop watching as Steve limps off the ice, down the tunnel, and out of view.

“Seems like we won’t be seeing Harrington back tonight. Hopefully his goal earlier boosted his team enough that they’ll pull off the win without him,” the announcer says.

Eddie’s walking his takeout container to the kitchen and trying to find his shoes before he even realizes what he’s doing.

What is he doing?

He’s not gonna be the guy they call up. He’s not even the guy they called up earlier this season when Byers broke his toe and missed three weeks. He’s definitely not gonna get the call to help fill a gap for Steve.

His phone buzzes, but it’s just Wayne asking if he’s watching the game. He replies quickly, tries not to give the old man any hope. Wayne always believes in him more than anyone else, always has, even when he got cut from his 12U travel team.

They do manage a win without Steve, but the commentators spend most of the third period discussing the likelihood of their chances at the Cup diminishing without Steve on the ice. They act like he’s dead, like he’s already been written off.

His phone buzzes again.

Stevie: Don’t freak out. Going to get some scans

Eddie rushes to the door, freaking out. He hits call before his feet have even hit the stairs outside his apartment.

“I said don’t freak out, love,” Steve sighs into the phone. He sounds like he’s in pain. “It might just be a stress fracture. Couple weeks and I’ll be back.”

“Could be more though?” He asks, feeling like he might be sick. This was supposed to be Steve’s year. He was gonna go all the way, lead this team to a big win.

“Maybe. But I’m okay.”

“Didn’t look okay,” Eddie is in his car, waiting for the bluetooth to connect before he pulls out of the parking garage. “Looked pretty bad. Wayne even texted me.”

“He’s a worrywart. I told them to move Hagan to my spot and call you up,” Steve says casually. “I dunno if they’ll listen, but be ready in case.”

“Steve. I’m not playing without you there. I’m on my way to you, not the damn team.”

He should know better than to expect Eddie to put hockey above him.

“Ed,” Steve sighs. “Your career is first. We talked about this. I’ll be fine. It’s not like you can perform surgery.”

“Surgery?! You need surgery?”

“No! I don’t know!” Someone is heard in the background and then a siren. “Are the sirens necessary? Jesus, that’s dramatic.”

“Are you in an ambulance?” Eddie’s voice pitches higher in panic.

“It’s ridiculous. Someone could’ve just driven me when the game was over,” Steve explains. “I can walk, so it can’t be that bad.”

“You can’t put pressure on it, dumbass!”

“Is that Robin?” Eddie feels relief wash over him. If Robin’s there, he won’t be allowed to brush it off at the hospital. “Let me talk to her.”

“No. You two are gonna inspire against me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, a fond smile creeping across his face despite his anxiety.

“We aren’t gonna conspire against you, sweetheart. I just wanna know the facts. You’re blinded by your Must Give Comfort No Matter What Disease.”

“Dumbass two, it’s definitely broken,” Robin says into the phone while Steve argues in the background. “He’s being so brave. But it’s gonna be eight weeks minimum even without looking at x-rays.”

“Knew it,” Eddie smacks his hand against the steering wheel. He’s driving on autopilot, heading straight for the hospital he knows Steve’s being taken to. He’s three hours away if there’s no traffic, maybe less if he takes the shortcut he knows when he’s closer. “So he’s done for the season.”

“Absolutely. Not worth the risk unless they get to the final round, and even then I’m pretty sure it won’t be worth it. He’s defeated the odds once, but he’s still got plenty of time to defeat them next season.”

Another call comes through for Eddie and he’s tempted to ignore it.

It’s his agent.

“Call you back in 10.”

He kinda knows what’s coming before he even answers.

He’s still shocked when he hears himself say he’s already on his way.

****

The team misses Steve like a limb.

It’s not that they aren’t good without him; They keep winning for the most part. His absence is felt, though.

It’s just tough to be a team without a proper captain.

Wheeler tries, but he just doesn’t have the room like Steve does.

Eddie feels like a visitor, and it’s no one’s fault. They all know him from his last stint and attending a few games to watch Steve, but adapting a new player into the lineup is hard.

He fits okay on the fourth line, even manages an assist in his first game.

His strength is faceoffs. He wins nearly all of them, might even have the highest average in the AHL. Steve’s always been jealous of it, especially because he didn’t even start playing center until he was 16 and it’s all Steve’s ever played.

Eddie stays with Steve while he’s called up. It’s what makes the most sense.

It’s also the longest they’ve ever been able to spend together at once.

Ever since their first date, they’ve pretty much been on a hockey schedule. Other than Christmas and one week over the summer when they were still so new that anything more would’ve been too much, they’ve only had random days that line up to spend time together.

To fuck, basically.

It’s easy. Wayne warned him that living with someone changes your perspective, but he just falls more in love with Steve by the minute. He’s fun, even when he’s hobbling around in a cast, barely leaning on the crutches he’s supposed to be relying on for at least two weeks. He’s smart, beats all the hockey guy stereotypes with his clever wit, even if he does misuse words sometimes.

He’s kind. He spends a few hours every other day at the children’s hospital, no media, no other teammates, just him.

“Not like I’ve got anything else to do. And I love seeing the kids. They’re funny,” Steve shrugs. “Plus, some of them play hockey and tell me all about their games.”

Eddie knows he’s probably way more in love than Steve is with him, but he’s gonna ride this out as long as he can. Steve could have anyone, an actress or supermodel or another NHL player, but he’s choosing a fourth line call-up who forgets to put his dirty laundry in the basket.

Steve watches every home game in a suite, and every away game on tv. He calls Wayne sometimes during the away games, but neither of them tell him exactly what they talk about.

Eddie scores his first NHL goal the same night he’s told he’ll be sent back down.

It’s bittersweet.

He knows it won’t change anything.

It’s still exciting when it happens, and he points up to the box he knows Steve’s watching from, then at one of the cameras for Wayne. The goal horn has never sounded so victorious.

He doesn’t notch another point the rest of the game, but he didn’t expect to.

He gets the puck after the game, poses for a picture for socials, and fist bumps everyone on his way out. He’s thankful for his time, proud of himself for being the guy they called up and kept up for so long. Maybe Steve had a lot to do with it, but they wouldn’t have risked their season on a guy they didn’t think could help.

Steve’s already outside waiting for him, beaming with pride.

“That’s my boy!” He yells.

Eddie’s heart flutters.

“Figured I’d put on a show before I go back,” he says, hating that his tone is so sad.

Steve’s face falls. “Go back? After the way you played tonight?”

Eddie shrugs. He kisses his cheek before he unlocks the car.

“It’s a business. I’m only two games away from having to sign league minimum and I’m not producing enough for them to do that,” Eddie explains even though Steve definitely already knows that. “Maybe next year.”

“Fuck next year!” Steve is mad. “You’re our best fourth liner now. You just need the chance!”

Eddie’s tired. He’s a little sore from taking a puck to the wrist and a stick to the neck. There’s nothing to argue about, and Steve’s not even trying to argue with him, but it still presses on Eddie’s nerves.

“I’m okay with it. Really,” Eddie is. He’s used to this back and forth. He knows he’s lucky to get a chance to shine once in a while. “They’ll do great without me.”

“But I won’t.”

Eddie closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

“You will. You’ll be back on the ice soon and you won’t even have time to miss me. Plus we’ll have most of the summer,” Eddie explains.

“I’m not going back on the ice.”

Eddie’s heart stops.

“What are you talking about?” He manages to ask.

“I’m done. I wasn’t gonna announce it until the season was over. I have a fracture that needs more surgery and it’ll take another 8-10 months of physical therapy just to be able to do normal things, let alone hockey. And there’s only a 20% chance I’d be able to play competitively at all after, let alone the level expected of me. It’s not fair to the team to drag this on,” Steve says it like he’s practiced it. Maybe he has. There’s barely any emotion in it, like he’s pushed it far enough away that he doesn’t feel the pain Eddie knows he must feel. “I’ve got a statement ready. The team knows.”

“They didn’t tell me?” Eddie feels tears pooling in his eyes. “You didn’t tell me.”

Steve cups Eddie’s neck, kisses his forehead. “I didn’t want to distract you from playing. And I don’t want this to ruin the high of the night.”

“Steve, this is so much more important than me scoring a goal.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Steve admits quietly.

“I want the same for you,” Eddie says back. “Hockey is everything to you.”

“Not anymore.” Steve takes a shaky breath. “I think it’ll always be important to me. It was my childhood and my career and my passion. And it’ll always be that, I guess. I’m sure I’ll stick around as a coach or recruiter or something. But since I got to have you, you’re all I want.”

Eddie’s heart starts beating much faster, probably dangerously so.

“I love you, Eddie. I love you more than anything. More than hockey. More than Robin, but you better not tell her that.“ They both laugh. Steve grabs his hands and kisses his knuckles. “I can live without hockey. It hurts, but I can do it. I can’t live without you.”

Steve’s career is over. It hurts Eddie to know he overcame so much just to have everything shortened way before his time was actually up anyway.

But his life is still happening, and he wants Eddie to be a part of it.

“So you’ll come with me?” Eddie asks.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Steve replies.

“Even though this is the best I’ll probably ever be?”

Steve smirks. “Fourth line, best line, right?”

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesportsau.

We Know What You Can Do

Prompt #4: High School Sports | Word Count: 1348 | Rating: M | CW: Mention of Weed, Nearly Fade to Black Sex | Tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Time Skips, Pre-S1, Post S4, Steve Harrington Needs Something From Eddie Munson

1981

"Just ask him!" 

Eddie is standing behind the line of trees, cigarette pressed between his lips, listening to the bickering that's happening on the steps leading up into the woods, just outside the track, on the outskirts of school property. Usually he's alone out here, but today he's fairly confident Harrington and Hagan are trying to work up the courage to solicit his services. 

Fucking freshman. 

Well, tough luck, boys. He doesn't even have his lunchbox on him today, and even if he did, he doesn't sell to little goody two-shoes, anyway. Rich kid narcs. Not in their pressed polos and penny loafers. They'd fold like cheap suits if caught, and he's not stupid.

So, he doesn't step forward, doesn't do anything, because it's fun to listen to them argue back and forth, knowing they aren't gonna get what they want from him. Eddie relishes saying no. He's gonna savor the build up, only to crush their dreams.

Suddenly, Hagan is pushed forward into Eddie's line of sight.

Eddie just raises an eyebrow as Hagan wipes his hands on his jeans. Oh, this should be good. 

"We have a question," Hagan says.

"We? You have a toad in your pocket?" Eddie asks, taking another drag off his cigarette. 

Hagan reaches backwards, and pulls Harrington into Eddie's line of sight with a fistful of his shirt.

"Ah, we. The boys who think they're gonna rule the roost of Hawkins High."

Hagan scoffs like he's offended, but Harrington just smiles. But neither say anything. If they have a question, they have to actually ask it.

"Ask me what? Use your words," Eddie says, because he enjoys watching them squirm. And will enjoy it even more when he gets to say no and they walk away empty handed. 

"So, like, we've seen you. And we know what you can do," Hagan says, as Harrington shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "And if we paid you, we were wondering if you'd be willing…"

Hagan trails off, and Eddie's getting bored of this. If they can't say it, they can't smoke it. Those are the rules. Eddie has lots of rules, and he enjoys enforcing them.

"Uh, you know that Paul broke his ankle, right?" Hagan asks, changing the subject, and Eddie just stares at him.

Yeah, he knows Paul DeWitt broke his ankle jumping out of the back of a pickup. That's what Eddie heard anyway. But he's not sure why that matters. Do they think some pot is gonna fix him?

"I guess I've heard that," Eddie says. He's seen him on crutches in the hallways, but it's not like he knows the kid. 

"He was on our relay team," Harrington says.

Now Eddie's really lost.

"Okay, and…?"

"Would you take his place?" Harrington asks, looking at Eddie from beneath his coiffed, and far too hairsprayed, bangs. 

"Say what?" Eddie asks with a barking laugh. They can't be serious.

"You're fast! You used to win the blue ribbon during every track and field day in grade school! I remember!" Harrington says, voice getting louder and louder.

Eddie just laughs harder, "I thought you two wanted to buy weed. You want me to run? On purpose? No fucking thanks."

"C'mon. Please. We made it to State, but now we're one guy short. We'll give you twenty bucks," Hagan whines.

"Not my problem," Eddie says, and this is the dumbest thing he's witnessed in at least a month. Did they really think he was gonna join their little sports cult? For twenty bucks? Unreal. "The answer is no."

Hagan wilts, and starts bitching under his breath that they could have gone to state as freshmans and now if they go it'll have to be with Craig Pollard and he is slow as molasses. 

He can't believe they honestly thought Eddie was an option. He pushes off the tree, and starts walking away.

"Wait!" Harrington yells, "What if I paid you in another way?"

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. This should be good.

"What are you gonna do, Harrington? Suck my dick?"

Harrington flushes, a blush coloring his cheeks, "No! I mean, uh, Coach Griffin said if we could convince you he'd give you a C in PE. You'd pass."

Eddie pauses. He's failing Freshman PE for the second goddamn year in a row, and he really doesn't want to take it for a third time next year. 

God help him, he's actually being tempted.

"One race?" Eddie asks, and Harrington bounces on the balls of his feet.

"One track meet," Harrington says, "we'd have to practice the handoff. That's the only part that's hard."

Eddie thinks about it. One track meet, and a little practice time might be worth it if he doesn't have to take PE again. He can run. He is fast. They aren't wrong about that.

"Fifty bucks, the C, and no promises that we'll win."

Hagan pumps his fist in the air, and Eddie already regrets this decision.

1987

"Coast is clear."

Eddie slinks around the corner of the gym, and slides through the door being held open for him. He walks across the wooden gym floor, his shoes making the wood creak with every step. He still hates being here. He never thought he'd come back after everything that happened.

But here he is.

He looks up at the banner hanging in the gym. The one that haunts him.

State Track & Field. 1981. State Champions. Tommy Hagan. Steve Harrington. Tim Killan. Eddie Munson. 

It horrified him when it went up, and it horrifies him now. Nobody said there'd be a banner.

And now it's his greatest shame that he ever let those two doofuses talk him into running a fucking race for fifty bucks and a passing grade.

Eddie leans against the wall under it. This is another stupid decision, and if they get caught, they'll revoke his diploma that they very reluctantly gave him in the first place after that goddamn Spring Break from hell. 

Steve leans the ladder up against the cinderblock wall and climbs. Eddie holds onto it, and watches as Steve unhooks the banner, and tosses it over his shoulder before climbing back down. 

When he reaches the floor, he grins, "There. It's gone."

They'll probably replace it. Eddie knows that. But he appreciates the effort, nonetheless. 

Steve shakes it out, and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape. He grins, eyes all soft and locked on Eddie's. It's stupid, and silly, but Eddie's fucking smitten. God help him. 

Sometimes it's hard to reconcile that the kid who asked him to run in that race is somehow the same man that Eddie's so fucking in love with today. It doesn't seem possible.

"I think you asked for another form of payment," Steve says, and before Eddie can ask what he means, Steve is sliding to his knees in front of Eddie. Fingers working open his belt buckle, and then his jeans. "You wanted me to suck your dick. I guess I still owe you."

Steve Harrington doesn't owe Eddie anything. He saved his life. And then, for reasons Eddie still doesn't understand, he decided to stick around and love him. 

If they get caught doing this, the stolen banner will be the least of their concerns. But for some reason, Eddie can't find it in himself to say no. Not with Steve kneeling before him, that stupid green banner draped over his back, and his hand wrapped around Eddie's cock.

Then he sinks down, taking Eddie into his mouth. It's not the first time. It's not the twentieth time, but Eddie's never gonna get used to this.

"Goddamn, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve pulls off and laughs. 

"I don't default on my debts, Munson."

Eddie touches the side of his face. He could say lots of things. Soft, mushy, sentimental things. He lived. Steve Harrington made sure of it. But Steve knows all those things. They've had those conversations during all the healing. Late at night, whispering in the dark.

Instead, he smiles.

"Well, then. You better pay up, Harrington. With interest."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesportsau and follow along with the fun! 🏃‍♂️

[stone-cold-groove]

About Horses. Grow Ahead Books | TWA Flying Library - 1969.

[gloomysoup]

getting back up (it's not always easy)

written for week 2 of @steddiesportsau prompt: sports injury | rating: gen | word count: 1825 | tags: hockey player!steve, rockstar!eddie, slight angst, mild hurt/comfort, fluff | ao3

���� - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🏒

Eddie walked on stage with his best friends to the sound of cheers. He accepted the award and stepped up to the microphone, smiling brightly. This was everything they had been working toward for so long. If you had asked them way back when, playing covers in Gareth’s garage, they never would've believed they'd actually make it to this moment. But the universe has been good to them the last few years. They've made a name for themselves. They've built something amazing, with people they love.

Eddie never would have believed this would really be his life.

“Wow, this is… this is insane,” Eddie began, eyes flickering from the award in his hands to his band mates beside him. “We never in a million years thought we'd make it here, to this stage, with an award in our hands for something we created together. This is just absolutely mind blowing. There's- there's so many people to thank. Producers and the label, of course. Our fans, who are some of the best people ever, really. We never would've gotten this far without them. Uh… our inspirations. My uncle Wayne, who always believed in me. Gareth’s mom, for letting us play in her garage even when we sucked. My, uh-”

Eddie's phone started ringing loudly in his pocket. He'd thought he turned it off. He frowned and slid it out just enough to see the name. Robin. He shook his head to clear it and silenced the call. Whatever it was, surely it could wait until after they were done here.

“Sorry about that. Um… I want to thank Steve, my-”

His phone went off again. And again. Rapid fire texts from Robin. A video. Eddie frowned.

“I'm so sorry,” he apologized as he glanced at the most recent message.

It was bad, Eddie.

His frown deepened as he went back a few messages, fully aware that everyone’s eyes were on him.

His stomach dropped.

“I'm so sorry, I- I have to go.” He handed the award off to Jeff, who was next to him, and rushed off stage. He was barely aware that Gareth was following him as Jeff took over speaking. Blood was rushing in his ears. He pulled his phone fully out of his pocket as he pushed through the door and into the empty hallway.

“Eddie? What's going on, man? Is everything okay?”

Eddie shook his head, opening Robin’s messages.

Eddie answer your phone

It's Steve

He got hurt.

*attached video*

It was bad, Eddie.

Gareth watched over his shoulder as he clicked on the video. It was a clip from the game. The game Steve was currently supposed to be playing in.

Eddie watched in absolute horror as an opposing player slammed into Steve, causing him to trip over one of his teammate’s sticks. His skate got tangled with a third player, from the opposing team, and they both went careening into the boards just behind the goal. What made it worse was Steve didn't get up.

The video cut right there. Eddie didn't know what happened next. He frantically clicked Robin’s contact to call her back as he sped toward the doors to the parking lot, Gareth hot on his heels. He was just glad that Steve was playing in the same city as the awards this time. Eddie doesn't know what he would've done if he hadn't been close.

Gareth snatched the keys just as Eddie pulled them from his pocket. “I'll drive. Where are we going?”

Eddie shook his head, putting his phone to his ear. “I don't know yet.”

The line barely rang for a second before Robin was answering, her voice full of panic. “Eddie, did you get my messages?”

“Yeah, I just saw them. Where is he, Robin? Is he okay?”

“They took him straight back to the locker room, Eddie. He didn't even sit on the bench. I- I haven't been able to get back there to check on him yet. It didn't look good, Eddie.”

“Did he get up? Please tell me he got himself off the ice, Robin.”

“He did. Eventually. It took a minute, though. He was holding his arm. I think it's his shoulder.”

Eddie ran a hand over his face while he and Gareth got in the car. “He's still at the arena,” he said to Gareth, who started the car and pulled onto the road. “I'm on my way, Robin.”

“I'll meet you at the front after I check on him. I'm heading back to the locker room now.”

“Okay. I'll see you soon. I just hope he's okay.”

“Me too.”

They got off the phone and Eddie dug his palms into his eyes. This could not be happening.

“What did she say?” Gareth asked quietly after a minute. “Is he okay?”

“It's not looking good,” Eddie whispered into the dull silence of the car. “He- he didn't get right back up, Gare. Robin said it took him a while to get up off the ice, and- and he was holding his arm the whole way off. I- I'm scared. That was a really bad hit.”

“I'm sure everything will be okay. Steve’s tough. He's taken lots of hits before. Nothin’ can keep him down for good.”

“Yeah, but he always gets right back up.” Eddie’s voice shook. “He didn't get back up this time.”

They were pulling into the arena parking lot after what felt like an eternity to Eddie, but was really only twenty minutes. Gareth was definitely speeding a little. Eddie launched himself from the car just as Robin opened the main door into the building.

“Did you see him? How is he?” Eddie asked immediately.

“I did see him. It doesn't look great, Eddie, but he's been worse. I promise, it's not as bad as you think it's going to be.”

“Where is he?”

“Locker room. They're just finishing the initial check up. He’ll have to see the team doctor when he gets back, though, to get an official diagnosis.”

Eddie followed Robin through the building and back to the locker rooms. He could hear the cheers of the crowd in the rink just before the buzzer signaling the end of the period went off. He knew the other players would be back in the locker room any minute.

He pushed his way through the door, and there was Steve, wincing as the team’s athletic trainer stretched his arm up. His expression schooled as soon as he saw Eddie, though, replacing the wince with a soft smile.

“What are you doing here? I told them not to call you.”

“Robin called me before you were even off the ice. Are you okay?” Eddie turned his attention to the trainer. “Is he okay?”

“I think it's just a sprained shoulder, but he’ll have to get x-rays and confirmation from the team doctor just to be sure.” The trainer released Steve’s arm to get in his bag and pull out a sling. He carefully put Steve's arm in it and gave him strict instructions to leave it on and not use that arm as much as possible. Steve nodded along, but Eddie knew he was going to have to make sure Steve actually listened.

Steve’s coach was the first one through the locker room doors moments later, making a beeline right for Steve.

“How ya holdin' up, kid?” he asked, eyes tracking immediately to the sling.

“I'm fine. Don't think I'll get to finish out the game, though.”

“Don't worry about that. Stayin' healthy is more important.”

Eddie’s phone went off again. A text from Gareth, asking how Steve is. Eddie shot off a quick response and slid his phone back in his pocket while Steve and his coach finished talking. As soon as the coach had walked away and Steve started to stand up, Eddie pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in the side of Steve’s neck and sucked in a large, shaky breath. All he smelled was Steve. His sweat and the deodorant he applies in spades every game. The laundry soap he used to wash his uniforms. Eddie fought off the tears that burned his eyes.

“Ed?” Steve whispered, hugging him back the best he could with one arm. “You okay?”

Eddie nodded into Steve’s neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just glad you're okay.”

Steve sighed softly, bringing his good arm up to hold the back of Eddie’s head. “I'm sorry if I scared you.”

Eddie shook his head a little, trying to keep his sniffle quiet as the rest of the team started to filter in. “I saw the video. You- you didn't get up.”

“I know. I just- it happened so fast. Knocked the wind out of me. But I got up eventually. That's what matters, okay? I’ll always get up, even if it takes a little while, because getting up means coming home to you.”

Eddie sniffled again. “I hate sports.”

Steve let out a loud laugh and kissed the side of Eddie’s head. “I know you do, rockstar. Come on, help me get out of the rest of this gear. I'm sweaty, and it's starting to get uncomfortable. We can watch the rest of the game together from the side. How's that?”

Eddie pulled back, resting one hand on Steve’s cheek. He sighed heavily. “Well, if you insist on staying.”

Steve just smiled back before Eddie was helping him out of his gear and back into the suit he wore in. He left the jacket off, and they sat side by side on the bench with the rest of the team while waiting for the start of the last period. Eddie rested his head on Steve’s good shoulder, holding his hand tight. None of Steve’s teammates batted an eye. They were used to Eddie being around, and no one was about to make him leave Steve after his injury.

“So… how did the awards go? I hope I didn't ruin it for you.”

Eddie gave his hand a squeeze. “You could never ruin anything for me. I'd much rather be wherever you are.”

Steve smiled. “I'm glad. You didn't answer my question, though.”

Eddie glanced up at him. “A Quest for You won best music video. But that probably had more to do with you than us.” Steve chuckled at that.

“You deserve it, babe,” Steve said, turning his head a little to kiss Eddie’s hair. “I'm proud of you.”

Eddie lifted his head to properly look at Steve. “I love you.”

He's not sure he's ever meant it more.

By the morning, headlines all across the country will have Eddie’s name in them. Everyone will be talking about how he rushed off the stage during such an important milestone in his career with no explanation.

Two days later, that explanation will come in the form of a new headline.

NHL Hockey Player, Steve Harrington, Out on Injury For Regular Season; Hopes to be Back for Playoffs.

[thefreakandthehair]

hat tricks and other scores.

written for week two of @steddiesportsau and @steddiemicrofic prompt: ‘score’ wc: 351 | rated: teen & up | tags: hockey player!steve harrington, hockey player!eddie munson, alternate universe- hockey, friends to (gonna be) lovers, minor sports injury, light hurt/comfort, cuddling

Steve Harrington is a terrible patient.

When he has a cold, he refuses to sit down. When he has a fever, he refuses medicine. And when he blocks a snipe of a slapshot with his thigh and ends up out for a few games to rest, well, he’s kind of a nightmare, honestly.

Eddie should have expected this, probably. He’s played with Steve for years so he knows how Steve gets when he can’t play. Even when it’s temporary and cautionary, he just can't help himself. He won’t rest if left to his own devices, so Eddie invites himself over unannounced to Steve’s condo with takeout that he knows Steve won’t say No to.

He knows a lot about Steve, and maybe that’s because he’s a little bit in love with him, sure, but it’s mostly because they’re the team’s dynamic duo… and no one can prove otherwise, as far as Eddie’s concerned.

As predicted, Steve lets him in, annoyance on his face melting away the second he smells the chicken parm in the little aluminum container. They sit on the couch, side by side just like they are out on the ice, or in the locker room, or on the plane.

They’re side by side a lot, Eddie realizes.

Eventually, Steve gets antsy again, complaining about how stupid it is that he has to sit out when it’s fine. It’s a muscle contusion, man and I've played through much worse.

“Yeah, well, I don’t make the rules. Forget Coach, if Robin hears that you’re not listening to her instructions, you’re not gonna see the ice again this season.”

Steve grumbles but eventually sighs, leaning… not back, like Eddie expects, but sideways, dropping his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“I hate this,” Steve mutters, defeated, and Eddie’s heart clenches.

“I know,” he agrees, experimentally draping his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Just means when you’re back out there, you’re gonna have to like, score a hat trick or something.”

Eddie smiles quietly to himself when Steve scoots closer. It’s not his own hat trick, but it feels like he’s just scored something bigger.

[katyawriteswhump]

cuddle therapy 💕

For @steddiemicrofic prompt, ‘score,’ and @steddiesportsau week 4 prompt, High School or College Sports.

Summary: Steve managed to score a college sports scholarship, even after presenting Omega. When injury 'ruins everything,' Alpha Eddie is (unexpectedly) there for him.

Words: 351; Rating: T and up; Tags: O!Steve, A!Eddie, hurt Steve, tennis, college, h/c, snuggling, angst and fluff with a happy ending.

💕💕💕💕💕💕

When Steve discovered his latest physio session was with Eddie, he nearly fled.

He’d such a crush. They’d flirted outrageously at a college party. Idiotically, Steve had gotten too buzzed to hook-up. The Alpha had chivalrously delivered him home.

That was last month. Before Steve screwed up his tennis season—his entire life—and stopped partying altogether.

Steve perched on the examination-bed, wide-eyed, feet swinging nervously. The trainee-physio gently manipulated his arm.

“Like before,” said Eddie, “any pain, I’ll stop. Score it out of 10 for me.”

Steve’s shoulder stabbed. He smothered a squeal.

“Steve?”

 “2 out of 10.”

Eddie settled beside Steve, humming uneasily. “You’ve scored all your pain 2 today. You sure?”

Steve bit his lip. He couldn’t lie to a mega-hot Alpha radiating protective vibes. Even one reminding him rotator-cuff tears healed slowly. Steve couldn’t train, let alone compete, for months. Eddie wasn’t gonna tell Coach otherwise: “You’ll damage yourself more.”

Steve sniffled then the truth exploded. “It’s so unfair! Presenting Omega blew my dreams in baseball and swimming. I won a college scholarship for tennis—an Omega-friendly sport—and this happens. I’m pointless,” he sobbed into Eddie’s shoulder.

Huh? Oh shit.

He’d pretty much burrowed into Eddie’s side—totally inappropriate.

It was nice here tho’. Cosy.

Safe.

He hooked his uninjured arm around Eddie’s neck, snuffling for Eddie’s scent beneath their blockers.

“There’s more to life than tennis.” Eddie gently patted him. “Music’s my first love. Then my uncle got injured at work. I decided to study physio. Now I’ve two passions. Maybe you’ll find another while you heal.”

You?

Steve snuggled deeper. A purr escaped him, answered by a rumbling growl.

“I’m liking your chosen therapy,” said Eddie, “but we’ve violated a ton of rules.”

“I should go?”

Peeping up, Steve’s sinking heart leaped.

Eddie’s smile melted him. “You’re my last appointment. How ’bout we grab take-out? Continue this at your digs?”

Steve let Eddie carry him to his car, where they scented each other without blockers. Then home, for their first proper healing snuggle-session.

When he returned to tennis, Steve had two loves, Eddie three.

Each knew they scored top.

💕💕💕💕💕💕

my steddie fic on AO3

[uovoc]

I forgot that Ranma 1/2 starts out as plausibly being about sports before it gives in to its final form of total chaos and absurdity

[egophiliac]

ok so as someone still relatively new to TWST (and someone just taking the events as they come to EN instead of keeping up with the JP side) and as a Jack Howl simp

I am of the (CORRECT) opinion that he should absolutely get an Applepom look because... fwuffy. and hat with ear holes. and he'd be SO insistent that he's used to the cold and doesn't need it but he will take it once it's insisted on because he's polite and won't refuse Gramma Felmier

Also I think a fun twist on the "someone's sled breaks and their plushie tears so they have to come up with another idea" bit from the other event is that Jack goes wolf mode to pull the sled (because as said in his starsending wish he pulls sleds back at home on breaks to try and get faster as a wolf!)

I'm biased though because I need more Jacc in my life

Thoughts?

thank you anon for bringing the mental image of harveston Jack into my life. he would be SO fluffy...so warm...he would haul so many apples...

also while I love the imagery of him pulling the sled, I feel like that would probably get them insta-disqualified. :( unless they can somehow 1) convince the judges that this enormous talking wolf is actually a very well-made plush, and 2) get Jack to go along with it (I do think Jack would instantly respect Marja as being more alpha or whatever and would have to, like, choose between his sense of JUSTICE, or going along with cheating at this sporting event so an authority figure doesn't get mad at him) (...wait this is just the plot of episode 2 again) (DANGIT)

[tmninjagirl]