#90s!Steve Harrington

[pencilscratchins]

i have reached the part of the steddie hyperfixation where i make them domesticated men in their 50s. having a blast! (twitter) [ID in ALT text]

[kitchen-spoon]

Steddie strangers to lovers. They meet because they commute on the same train everyday. Eddie has the NYT crossword and he does it everyday. One day after 2 months of them riding together he asks steve for his help.

Eddie’s like ‘u look smart what do u think?’ And Steve who has been told he is an idiot or stupid or dumb every day of his life is like “its just the suit I’m not good at smart stuff like that.”

And Eddie is like ‘no way I bet you can help with the sports section at least. I mean look at me, if we’re going off stereotypes I’m hopeless.” It get’s Steve to blush and he cracks and helps.

Everyday after that they do the puzzle together, Steve eventually helping outside of just the sports section so Eddie can prove to him just how smart he knows he is.

[xgumiho]

pov: you find your old magazine collection under your bed

©xgumiho | do not repost/steal/edit/crop/sell

[eldritch-thrumming]

imagine: it’s been years since Steve and Eddie have seen each other. Eddie is still in contact with the kids, with Robin and Nancy and even Jonathan and Argyle, but he and Steve have kind of fallen out of touch. Steve buys every magazine that features Eddie, has a stack of Eddie’s tapes by his stereo, watches every televised award ceremony. He’s being supportive in the only ways he knows how. He had thought, back in 1986, that maybe they could have been something great, but he and Eddie had missed each other. That’s okay. It’s fine.

Steve’s okay, following Eddie’s career from afar. He’s got his own life to think about, his students and coaching and dating the various men and women his coworkers try to set him up with. It’s fine.

The Grammys are this weekend and Steve’s carved out his Sunday evening to watch the ceremony. Eddie’s third studio album is nominated for a whole slew of awards and fans have been gobbling up all the hints of who the album could be about. Eddie isn’t known for his love songs, but this new album consists of quite a few torch songs and ballads, each one more heartbreaking than the last. Steve’s been listening to the album on repeat for the past few weeks, imagining a world that maybe could have been if he’d been ready for it ten years ago. But he hadn’t been. He knows he hadn’t been.

On Sunday night, Steve pops some popcorn and parks himself on the couch in front of his ancient TV. He settles in as the red carpet coverage starts. He watches as Madonna and Prince and Michael Jackson arrive. He watches as Bruce Springsteen and Celine Dion and Shania Twain are interviewed by entertainment reporters.

And then Eddie appears, stepping out of his car and holding out his hand for his date to climb out after him, some actor that had just had a film premier at the Venice Film Festival. They make a good couple, handsome and clearly in love judging by the way they look at each other, the secret smiles they share when they think no one is looking. Steve tries not to take it personally, knows he has no right. It’s been years since he’s even seen Eddie in the flesh, even longer since they’ve had any meaningful sort of conversation. Fans have been speculating about this new relationship, theorizing that this is who Eddie’s love songs are all about. Watching them together, Steve thinks they’re probably right.

Halfway through the ceremony, Eddie wins the award for Best Metal Performance. Steve can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips, practically threatening to split his face in two. He watches, enraptured, as Eddie storms onto the stage, smile blinding. Steve practically holds his breath as he watches Eddie clutch the trophy in his shaking hands and stand close to the mic. He has to bend slightly and Steve’s smile grows even wider as Eddie thanks Wayne and the Party, all of them, before thanking his managers and agents and producers. Then Steve watches as Eddie takes a deep breath. The camera cuts to the crowd, closing in on Eddie’s date who watches from his seat, glassy eyes reflecting the stage lights and dopey smile on his face. Steve’s own smile falls just a little until the camera cuts back to Eddie.

“And to the man who’s inspired every song on this album,” Eddie smiles again, bright and blinding, holding his trophy up towards his date. “Stevie baby, thank you, darling.”

Steve’s face falls. Something in his chest tightens. There’s a grumbling from the crowd on screen and the camera zooms in on Eddie’s face as he seems to realize what he’s said. That he’s said the wrong name. Because that’s not his date’s name, it’s not even close. Eddie looks surprised at his own words but the camera cuts from him to where his date sits in the crowd, smile still plastered to his tanned and handsome face, clearly forced. The crowd starts clapping as the music starts to play and the presenters help usher Eddie backstage.

Steve can’t breathe. He can’t take his eyes off the screen, even though Eddie’s not there anymore. He feels rooted to the spot he’s made for himself on his couch. There’s a rushing in his ears.

He’s vaguely aware of his phone as it starts to ring in the kitchen.

when i got into the accident, the sight that flashed before me was your face. but when i stepped up to the podium, i think that i forgot to say your name. i’m on a bench in coney island wondering where did my baby go? the fast times, the bright lights, the merry-go. sorry for not making you my centerfold, over and over.

part two

[mardyart]

some more 90’s stuff (steve is trying to grow a full moustache)

[bangaveragewhitewine]

feel the magic

Steve Harrington x Reader 

Seven days before Christmas, you find yourself stuck in a snowstorm in the middle of a city you're still finding your place in. You wait out the weather with a handsome stranger.

This prompt is from @allthingsjoeq & @bettyfrommars ❄️ Holiday Prompt Party ❄️ which was so fun! Thank you ladies for sharing these ♥️

You both rush to find shelter in a bookstore or bar during a snowstorm

Word Count: 6.6k

Contents: Set in 90’s Chicago, reader & Steve are both mid-late twenties. Nothing explicit, some kisses and mentions of arousal. Some talk of Steve’s shitty parents. No physical descriptions of reader. Steve Harrington’s charm comes with its own warning.

Note: Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being my hype woman as always ♥️

Chicago in December was cold. Very fucking cold.

A million miles from the hot and heavy city you moved to in the summer, there was something about that bitter chill of the air, the frosted pavements and the warm glow of the Christmas lights decked across the city that made it feel like something right out of a movie. You never felt like you could relate to those leading ladies in the romantic comedies and the coming-of-age romances you grew up watching, more like some side-friend character who faded into the background, inconsequential to the plot and action.

It was your first winter in the city, your first Christmas too, and it wasn’t long before you realised that your grandma had been right - investing in a good winter coat was a must for the Windy City. Despite the cold, the shininess of your new adventure in a new city still held up, feeling like the city girl you had always dared to dream of being.  

With the holidays too close for comfort - just seven days before you caught a cab to O’Hare to make the journey home - you cashed in some of your overtime and finished work early to hit the city to get the last few presents for friends and family. 

The snow had started just before you left the office, a light dusting that made your shopping trip feel even more magical. You had carefully stowed your camera in your bag to snap shots of the big tree at Civic Centre and the lights around City Hall to show your Mom and friends at home. When the snow started to come down heavier and heavier, the fluffy fat flakes falling in the shot made it feel more magical. 

As you looked around, soaked in the festivity of it all, you thought that maybe for one day you could play pretend and let yourself feel like the glossy, confident main character of the movie in your head. 

By six o’clock the magic of it all had well worn off and you were ready to go home. Your wool winter coat kept you warm-cheeked and overheating as you waited in line in Macy’s to pay for a scarf and fancy hand cream that your Aunt would fake-smile at before tossing it to the side. It felt like years since you had stepped inside the huge store, some sort of liminal purgatory where time didn’t exist and it was far too easy to get lost amongst the shiny Christmas displays and the disorienting overstimulation of the cosmetics and fragrances department. 

Your head was surely going to explode if you heard some poor impression of Bing Crosby crooning another Christmassy jingle over the store’s speakers. You were feeling distinctly less festive and fun now - less merry and bright, more murderous and bad-tempered. 

Over the tinny muzak and the scratch of your scarf on your too-warm neck, you tuned into the conversation going on behind you.

“That snow is really coming down, huh?”

“Didn’t you hear? It’s some sorta weather-bomb - only going to get heavier.” 

You and every other shopper within earshot looked toward the windows, seeing the white flurry instead of the warm glow of Christmas lights. 

You became all too aware of the sheer number of bags you were carrying, weighed down with books and gifts and trinkets, the heft of your camera and the bottle of wine you had bought to sip when you got home. The overheated parts of you longed to be cool again, but this felt like some sort of karmic mockery. The tad-too-short-for-work skirt you had chanced and got away with that day felt minuscule beneath your coat as you imagined how cold a weather-bomb was going to be.

By the time you paid and politely refused gift-wrapping for your purchase, the snowstorm had thrown the city into chaos. Traffic was at a near standstill when you reached the front door on State Street, the sidewalks packed with shoppers and commuters battling through the snow and each other to find a way home. 

The subway entrance was one street away but seeing the pushing and shoving crowd cramming themselves underground made you feel claustrophobic, twisting hot panic in your gut. Maybe the stop before might be less crazy, you thought, hoping for a better chance of getting home sometime before midnight, so you squeezed away from the crowd and braved the worsening blizzard. 

The magic of Christmas had almost fully waned now, despite the snowball fights starting up amongst the gridlocked traffic. You just wanted to get home, feel your fingers and toes again perhaps. You picked your steps through the icy streets, trying not to slip or whack other flustered pedestrians with your bags; they didn’t have the same courtesy or kindness. Patience and Christmas cheer had worn thin, battered by heavy snow.

“Watch it!” one sharp-elbowed woman hissed over her furry coat collar as she shouldered past you, sending you off-balance just as a rogue snowball hit your shoulder. 

Had your feet not been aching so badly, you would have stamped like a toddler.

“Bitch.” Your frustrated whisper went unheard as you continued down the block, squinting to pick out a landmark to orient yourself in the snowy city. 

You tucked yourself into a side street to regroup and take a breath, attempting to condense your too-many shopping bags to protect the preciously picked-out presents inside. The welcoming glow of a bar sign caught your eye, a blinking beacon through the fluster of snow. 

Tucked away down the side street, The Snug appeared like a mirage. Twinkling Christmas lights blurred by the steamed-up windows winked at you, inviting you inside. It was fate.

Surely the snow will stop soon, you thought as you gathered yourself again. One drink and some fries would be plenty of time to let the streets and subways settle.

The cold air made your nose and lungs feel spikey-sore after a few deep steadying breaths. With your bags clutched safely in your hands, you picked your steps toward the almost-hidden bar, dodging patches of ice to get to the door. 

Inside was cosy-calm, with clusters of friends and a few fellow solo drinkers hiding from the heavy snow and chaos. It was quieter than the streets and packed subways, their chatter backed by songs queued up from a jukebox glowing in the corner. 

You squeezed yourself and your bags into a free booth, taking a load off with a sigh that pulled the tension all the way up from the tips of your toes.

Daringly, you chanced a look in your compact to assess the damage of a day of shopping and going head-to-head with the bitter cold front. Mascara smudged beneath your eyes, hair a riot. 

“Shit,” you murmured, pulling the attention from the man at the next table.

He smiled, sympathetic when he saw your flustered state. “You look like you’re in the right place.” 

After blowing hair from your face you returned a tight smile. “Thanks, I think.” 

His brown eyes widened. “Oh no, no... I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, horrified that he had offended you. 

You shook your head, “No, I get it. I look insane. It’s been a day.” Handbag in hand, you looked at him again, smiling a little softer at the flustered stranger. “Could you keep an eye on my bags for a sec? I’m just going to the ladies' room. And the bar.”

The man nodded, sitting back in his chair. “Sure, go for it. I’ll guard them with my life.” 

You didn’t miss his charming smile, or the pink tint of embarrassment that lingered on his cheeks after accidentally telling you the truth about just how crazy you looked. You caught the subtle once-over he gave you after your coat was removed and hoped that your sixty-denier tights hadn’t laddered. Your cheeks felt warm again as you made your way to the ladies' room, purse in hand to wrangle your messy hat-hair and fix your face. 

As you patted rose-tinted balm onto your lips, you quietly hoped that first impressions could be overwritten.

Armed with a glass of red wine and your receipt for a basket of fries,  you returned to your table and tried not to sigh too obnoxiously (or moan) at the relief of sitting down. At the next table, the brown-eyed man was looking over a piece of paper and tapping his pen against his full lower lip. 

“Thanks, Stranger,” you said, looking and feeling at least ten times better.

“Oh. You’re welcome,” he said, smiling distractedly before raising his half-drunk beer to you. 

You raised your glass in return, sharing that little smile with the stranger before plucking one of the new books from your cluster of bags to distract your busy mind.

Wine and a book in a cosy bar? Maybe the day had not entirely gone to shit.

The stranger went back to his list, and you tried not to let your gaze linger too long on his broad shoulders or his sharp jaw. He looked like he had just finished work, a few shirt buttons undone beneath his navy blazer, his coat and scarf bundled on the chair opposite him with one lonely Macy’s bag on top. You watched him push his honeyed hair back, raking his fingers through the strands falling over his forehead. It was easy to forget to even open your book to start reading in favour of being distracted by him.

There was no denying he was attractive. And there was no denying that you were caught looking when his brown eyes met yours and his lips twitched with a charming smile. 

“Steve.” 

“Huh?” Wide-eyed, and flushed-hot with embarrassment, you could not find a quick way to explain away your gazing. 

“You called me ‘stranger’ before. My name’s Steve.”

“Oh. Of course. Steve.” You gave him your name, watching how he smiled when you said it before repeating it as you had done with his.

“Pretty name. Guess we’re not strangers anymore.” 

“I guess not.” 

His mouth curved up as he lifted his glass again, taking a slow sip. Your eyes drifted to two perfect moles on his neck as he swallowed; they matched the twin set on his cheek.

Some sort of alarm started to scream in your head; you had forgotten the feeling of being flirted with. If that’s what this was. 

“Christmas shopping?” he asked, nodding to your bags. 

“Yeah, just about have everything,” you said, “Now I have to wrap it all.” After a steadying sip of wine as your fries arrived, you watched how he twirled his pen between thick fingers, names left uncrossed on the paper in front of him. “Are you stuck?”

Steve slumped back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before running his fingers through his hair again, making it messy in the most artfully effortless way.   “Yeah, a little.” He rubbed his face before looking at you again. “Um, can I pick your brains? I don’t wanna impose…” 

This was never how your day was supposed to go. As the snowstorm raged on outside, inside the cosiness of the bar felt like a whole other world miles from your planned evening of gift-wrapping and most of a bottle of wine. Instead, surrounded by soggy shopping bags, you found yourself with the attention of an Adonis-like stranger. You felt like it was some sort of fair deal from the universe.

When you made the move to the city, started afresh with this new chapter, you made yourself promise to take life as it came and not be too uptight. Maybe this was all part of the flow you had vowed to go with…

Smiling at Steve, you pushed your unopened book to the side and leaned forward on your arms, “Sure. Go for it.”

Steve relocated to your booth after a few minutes of chatting. An hour and a half later, he had made himself at home opposite you with his bright smile and dreamy dark eyes. 

The bar had become a refuge to a few more bodies seeking shelter from the bitter cold front raging outside. He didn’t need much convincing to share your booth, freeing up the table for a couple huddled together over hot whiskies.

You had insisted on sharing your fries with Steve as you gave suggestions on what he could buy for the last few names on his list. A second basket and another round of drinks had been ordered on his tab when you realised that neither of you would be going home any time soon.

With a greasy-hot fry between your fingers, you tried not to drool over his thick forearms as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, and went back to navigating Steve’s complex network of friends-turned-family.

“So he’s your ex-girlfriend’s little brother? And you stayed friends… because he’s friends with Dustin…? Who’s like your brother?” 

As you figured out who the hell ‘Mike’ was, Steve nodded encouragingly and chewed another fry.

“You got it.” His straight white teeth glinted in the warm light of the bar.

“And his sister - Mike’s sister, your ex-girlfriend, Nancy… Is Robin’s girlfriend now? Robin, your best friend?” 

“Yep. See, told you you’d wrap your head around it eventually.” His smile was proud as he nudged the fries your way again. 

You took two more fries as your reward before nudging the basket back to Steve. You tried not to focus on the way the fries had left his lips shiny, or the pink glow on his cheeks when he caught you staring. Again. 

When you realised that this serendipitous stranger who gave you butterflies wasn’t someone else’s boyfriend, you dropped your shoulders and your guard and relaxed into the booth more. You willed yourself to relax, to go with the flow. It was not difficult to let yourself sink deeper into those warm brown eyes of Steve’s as he slowly upped his flirtations and snuck his own barely subtle glances at your lips. 

He was smooth.

Steve tapped the paper list with his finger, transferring more salt and oil from the fries to the now annotated and doodled-on list. 

“So, any suggestions? He’s the hardest one to buy for, so of course I got him for Secret Santa. Again.” He leaned his head back against the booth. “He’s a little dweeb. Big dweeb now. Taller than me.”

He spoke with such fondness of the kid he swore didn’t like him. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that Steve was maybe one of the most thoughtful people you had ever met. Most of what you had learned about him had been through what he told you about his friends - where he grew up, his collection of poorly paid jobs after high school before going to college in Indianapolis, then onto Chicago. His best friends were never far behind. He would be spending the Holidays with friends and their families instead of his own, which he seemed perfectly fine about. 

He was funny too, heavy-handed with charm and kindness. You were definitely done for.

Steve Harrington seemed like an enigma, one you would happily devote hours and hours to figuring out.

The basket fries were pushed back and forth and you wracked your brains to think of a gift for this random college kid you didn’t know. The barman announced that the snow was still coming down heavily, and to make yourselves at home. You had lost all track of time, cosy in the bubble of the booth with your new friend.

His brown eyes fixed on you as he rested his chin in his hand. “All you wanted was a quiet drink and a place to hide from the snow, and now you’re helping some dork with his shopping list. M’sorry, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The butterflies in your gut swooped.

Warm-cheeked, you shrugged, “I don’t mind. It’s distracting me from panicking about how I’ll get home, or if I’ll ever get home. I’m still figuring out the subways.” Picking at the crisp ends of the fries, you tried not to get lost looking into his shiny amber eyes. “I was only going home to wrap presents anyway.” 

Steve smiled when you mirrored him, cheek resting on your hand. 

“I think this isn’t such a bad way to spend the evening, Steve.”

A pink glow - not entirely from his beer - warmed Steve’s face and he looked down at his almost empty glass. You would think he was being bashful had there not been a grin spreading on his handsome face. 

“Oh, you’re trouble.” 

You shrugged, attempting to play coy. “What were you supposed to be doing tonight? What are you missing to be here with some strange girl?”

Steve shrugged. “Well, I was Christmas shopping, like you. Killing time. I was supposed to meet my buddy for dinner and drinks, came in to use the phone to cancel when the snow got bad. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”

“A buddy on your list?” You asked, nodding to the piece of paper.

“Mhm. Eddie. He didn’t mind too much, I’ll make it up to him.” He sipped his drink again.  “He has a gig tomorrow night, so I’ll see if I can help with lifting amps and shit.”

“He’s the heavy metal guy?” you asked, remembering back to Steve labelling him as so easy to buy for.

Steve had not smiled so much in weeks, maybe months. With you, tucked away in The Snug, he basked in the ache in his cheeks, the way you laughed, how you remembered little things about him and his friends. 

“I hope these friends of yours realise how much you love them, Steve.”

He liked that blunt edge of your delivery too. 

You watched him fluster a little for the second time that evening.

“I do mean that. You’re putting so much of yourself into these presents, not just… I don’t know, throwing money at stuff. There’s so much thought in all of these.” You tapped the paper for emphasis, recognising a little of yourself in the way Steve put thought into his gifts for the ones he loved. 

You knew the sting of that thoughtfulness not being returned, or even noticed. 

Watching Steve flounder, seeing him resonate with your assessment, you felt a sinking stone in your chest. Too much. Too far. He was still a stranger, a stranger you were practically snowed in with and had probably developed some sort of cabin-fever-bond with, and you had to push it. 

“Sorry. Shit. Steve, I should just shut up. I don’t know you, or your friends. I would be so mad if some stranger just-”

His hand, his much bigger, warmer hand, reached for yours and squeezed. 

“Stop. It’s okay.” Steve squeezed again, his palm warm as it curved around your hand. “What you said, it’s true. I.. Shit.” He smiled, a sadness in his eyes you had not seen and blamed yourself for, “Here I am dumping my baggage on you.” 

Steve sighed but didn’t let your hand go. You didn’t mind; you didn’t want him to.

“My parents just threw money at gifts for me. Totally impersonal shit I didn’t need, or want. They didn’t know me or what I liked, all for appearances and shit like that.” You watched soft fondness pull at the corner of his mouth. “So I put thought into stuff for my friends. They’re my family now. They annoy the hell out of me some days, but I want them to know… I dunno, that I listen. That I hear them. And see them, what they like…”

He trailed off when you turned your hand beneath his and squeezed.

“That’s the sweetest, Steve. They’re very lucky to have you.” Your voice was a gentle murmur, loud enough for him to hear.

He shrugged, playing smooth again despite the reality check he had been dealt. “M’the lucky one. They’re buttheads, but they have my back too. Promise.” 

You nodded and tried not to flush when you looked at your joined hands. 

“Tell me something about you then, Steve… I don’t even know your last name. What’s your favourite colour?” 

He smiled again, back on some new track now after that detour to the trauma dump. “I like yellow. I usually say blue, because when I say yellow people look at me like I’m crazy or somethin’. Yellow. Definitely.”

It clicked then, the warmth of his smile and his presence glowed like yellow sunshine and the golden bulbs of Christmas lights that could warm up the most frigid places. Warm like melted butter on toast and the glow of the lamp beside your bed for reading late into the night. It made you feel warm despite the winter cold.  

“And it’s Harrington. Steve Harrington.”

“Yellow suits you, Steve Harrington.” 

You and Steve moved on to clove-heavy hot whiskies as you traded questions back and forth, learning about each other little by little. You found it hard not to fall a little bit in love with him as he became less of a stranger to you. 

He played basketball in school and swam competitively. His favourite films were Top Gun and Dirty Dancing. He preferred pancakes over waffles and didn’t like bacon on his burgers. You spoke briefly about what you did for work and focused instead on trivial things that showed each other the real you, the real Steve Harrington. 

What’s your middle name? 

Best Halloween costume? 

Most important question ever, crunchy or smooth?

He was as close to perfect as you had ever dreamed someone could be. 

Two middle names, Henry Michael. 

Maverick, or Sandy from Grease - don’t ask, I’m not drunk enough. 

Crunchy, duh. Have you tried it with honey instead of jelly?

A tiny cynical part of you waited for something about him to dislike. You could have kept waiting, kept wondering, but instead you decided to relent to the simple serendipity of it all. Maybe there was nothing to dislike about Steve (Henry Michael) Harrington, and that was perfectly okay.  

You sat alone at the table, watching Steve’s broad back as he leaned against the bar to get change for the jukebox. That golden glow of his made him like the North Star in the business of the bar; simultaneously exciting you and making you deliciously nervous. 

The first couple of people left the bar to bravely trek home through the mean cold streets a little after nine, promising to call to let the bar staff know they got back safe and advise whether others should stay or chance the journey home. Everyone had agreed to a lock-in until morning if the snow didn’t stop or if the conditions got too dangerous. 

You all waited on a collective breath for the phone to ring; drinks flowed, and conversations continued and deepened over strong drinks. Feeling comfortably blurred around the edges, the spirits stayed high despite the less-than-perfect circumstances.

The shrill ringing of the phone behind the bar pulled the air from the room, silence fell. 

Home safe. The barman gave a thumbs up and relayed the message that the streets were walkable, a few taxis were running if you were lucky to catch one. 

Steve’s searching gaze found yours as everyone else cheered. The bubble had burst. 

His smile was a little sad, matching yours despite the good news that you could actually go home. He held up a finger, ‘one sec’, and darted to the jukebox with his handful of change to queue up some songs before you had to say goodbye. 

Goodbye. 

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Steve Harrington. 

A heavy weight settled in your chest as you took stock of your bags, distracting yourself until Steve settled himself across from you again. His hand patted the smooth table top twice, head tilted to look at your face. 

“Y’okay?” he asked. “Guess it’s good that we don’t need to sleep here tonight..?”

“Mhm. Definitely. Just… trying to figure out how long it’s going to take me to get home,” you said, not totally a lie. Your smile didn’t meet your eyes, even though you looked forward to getting into your cosy bed with the brushed cotton bedsheets and your fuzzy flannel pyjamas.

“Me too. What way are you headed?” Steve said, an innocent glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes. 

When you told him where you lived he nodded. “M’not far from there. I’d… really like to walk you home, if that’s okay? Or try to find a cab…We could share?” Steve rambled a little,  his smooth exterior cracking. “Fuck it. I want to make sure you get home safe, and I like talking to you. A little part of me was hoping we’d get snowed in or something so stupid so I could spend more time with you.” 

You looked at him across the table, wide-eyed as your heart hammered in your chest. 

“Is that crazy of me? I’m coming on way too strong, aren’t I?” 

“Steve.”

You smiled, taking his hand. “That would be really great. I kinda hoped the same. I’d like it if you walked me home.”

His smile was blinding as he took your hand between both of his, warm and large. “Okay, great. Cool.” 

“Cool,” you echoed, placing your other hand on top of his like a stack as you tried not to giggle or kick your feet.

The familiar opening chords of Old Time Rock and Roll played from the jukebox, making you both grin wider at each other. 

“It’s a classic, I couldn’t not put it on,” he said.

You threw your head back, laughing happily as Steve murmur-sang along with Bob Seger, bobbing his head as he crooned quietly for you. You knew about the scar on his arm from when he recreated that scene at a party; slid too hard, right into his mother’s second-favourite vase as his friends cheered him on (then drove him to the ER).

“Don’t tell me you put something from Dirty Dancing on next, Steve,” you teased, seeing his eyes sparkle with a sly sweetness. “Steve!”

Your laugh made him feel tingly-warm all over.

“It’s not Time of My Life or She’s Like the Wind, promise,” he said, smirking as he kept his cards close to his chest. “Promise. We can go when it’s over.  If you’re ready to head out?”

You nodded, squeezing his hands before rooting in your bag for your gloves. Knowing that you didn’t have to part ways just yet made the idea of being out in the cold a little more tolerable.

“You been taking photos of the lights?” Steve asked, picking up your camera from the table after taking it out of your bag. 

He remembered that ‘new in town’ excitement, still had the photos of him with Robin in front of the tree at Civic Centre (fresh-faced and pink-cheeked after too much mulled wine). The big tree had been nothing on their own lovably wonky tree in their tiny apartment, decorated with cheap baubles and coloured lights and tinsel that shed so much . 

“Yeah, to show my Mom. Super cheesy, I know,” you rolled your eyes and watched as Steve turned it so carefully in his hands. “Might get some snaps of the snow, to remember tonight.”

As Steve nodded, an idea bobbed to the surface of your mind. 

“Steve? Feel free to say no but… Could I get one of us? To remember…”

As if you would ever forget the night you met Steve Harrington. 

Steve watched your teeth sink into your lower lip, let his eyes linger before catching your eyes. You saw the whiskey-brown disappear, swallowed by deep black pupils. 

“Only if you get me a copy of it.”

His voice was low, smooth, and made your thighs squeeze - not for the first time that evening either. Without saying as much, you knew it meant he would like to see you again, that he didn’t want to forget you either.

You kept your voice remarkably cool and calm, despite the urge to squeal and kick your feet. “Yeah. Of course…” 

He winked before leaning over to catch the attention of the woman at the next table, checking with you before he passed your camera to her with that bright charming smile of his.

The woman directed you both to lean in a little across the small booth table, taking her task very seriously. “You two look great! So cute!” she said, beaming behind the camera.

The opening bars of Hungry Eyes started up as she counted down. 

It made the perfect picture; Steve grinning as he watched a giggle burst from your smiling lips. Your head was spinning, your heart beating hard in your chest - when you looked at that photo in years to come, you would never forget that feeling.

He thanked the woman and took the camera back as you soaked the lyrics in, thinking of Steve instead of Swayze. As you tucked the camera away, you realised that the song said more than either of you were brave enough to say out loud.

I feel the magic between you and I…

When your glasses were empty, when the butterflies had settled again, you began to wrap yourselves in your scarves and coats, hats and gloves, and gather your bags and belongings before braving the cold together. 

The warmth in your bones from the bar was quickly extinguished by the bitter air outside, though you couldn’t pretend that the snow was not beautiful. A little post-apocalyptic perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless. 

“Fuck, that’s cold,” Steve hissed, his words turning to vapour as you set off together, leaving footprints side by side in the crunchy snow. 

“No shit,” you teased, giggling at Steve’s scowl.

The combination of frigid air and the alcohol in your blood made you feel delightfully dizzy. Steve’s hair was crushed beneath his beanie hat, the longer ends peeking out beneath between his turned-up coat collar and scarf. Something about how much hair he could squeeze under that fine (expensive) knit hat made you feel terribly fond and giddy about it. 

“Okay, smartass. You were such a nice girl in the bar,” he tutted, teasing you back. 

“Tricked you,” you shrugged, “I was never nice.” Your chattering teeth make your playful quips much less believable - as if Steve couldn’t see right through you. 

“C’mere. Stick by me, we’ll either stay warm or freeze together.” Hooking a hand around your arm, Steve pulled you close to share body heat. Closer than you had been in the bar, body to body, you found that you fit nicely under his arm. Spicy-warm notes of his cologne mixed with whispers of cigarette smoke buried deep in the wool of his coat.

You smiled up at him, a shiver of nervousness down your spine as you realised you were alone together - actually alone now - for the first time.

“This okay?” he asked, pink nose matching his cheeks as he steered you both through the snow. 

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. With your arm wrapped around the thickness of his torso, you squeezed gently and hoped he could feel it through the winter layers. His grin told you he did. 

You walked in silence for a while, carrying the weight of ‘when can I see you again?’ and ‘please tell me you feel that spark too?’ with all of your shopping bags. 

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?” His eyes shone, sparkled with something when he looked down at you.

“We still haven’t figured out a present for Mike…”

Steve hung his head, eyes squeezed shut as your feet slowed down. “This fuckin’ kid.”

He lifted his head after sighing so hard you swore he was going to turn inside out. 

“Mike Wheeler is going to be the death of me, I swear to god,” he said, speaking up to the sky. “He’s getting a Sam Goody gift card. Done. I don’t care anymore.” 

“Steve Harrington, you can’t pussy-out and get him a gift card,” you tutted, leaning your weight against him to make him swerve.

The way Steve’s laugh echoed through the empty snow-capped streets made your heart flutter. “You did not just accuse me of being a pussy. You’re breaking my heart here, baby.”

When he looked down at you, eyes sparkling with mirth rather than genuine hurt from your playful betrayal, you could not miss how his tongue darted out to wet his pretty pink lips. 

Baby echoed in your ears, warming you from the inside.

“You cannot get him a gift card.” Voice quiet and insistent, you squeezed him again, “Think, Steve.”

“I am.” Played-up-pathetic, Steve’s whiney voice made you double-take and giggle at him. “He’s impossible.” 

“No one is impossible. Tell me what he likes again. Don’t say ‘nerd shit’, Steve.”

Steve rolled his eyes and you poked his ribs, far too cosy and familiar with the man who was a stranger just a few hours ago.

“Dungeons and Dragons, weed,” he listed, “He writes stuff sometimes, films, uh… Taco Bell?” 

“He likes films too?”

“Mm. Studying film. Wants to be a screenwriter or somethin’...”

You hummed and looked up at the clear sky for an answer. “How about… a framed film poster?”

“Say more.” Steve looked down at you, prettier than the stars ever could be. 

You forced yourself not to look at his lips, knowing you were a weak tipsy woman at heart. “Well, what’s his favourite film? Posters are pretty easy to find, a nice-ish frame. Slap a bow on it, Merry Christmas, Mike.” 

Padded fingers tapped your upper arm as Steve thought, wracking his brains. “When they were kids, they dressed up as Ghostbusters for Halloween. Recreated it this year. Oh, you’re a fuckin’ genius!” 

Steve squeezed you tight against his side, and with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, scooped you up with admirable ease to spin around in the snow. 

“Steve!” your voice was an undignified yelp, cracked with laughter. 

“You’ve saved Christmas!” Steve’s smiling face was brighter than any Christmas lights guiding your path home. Still turning with you, slower now and more careful, he rested his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re some kinda miracle, baby.” 

Steve’s warm whiskey-tinted words whispered over your mouth. Your breath was caught, choked in a gasp in your throat, as he slowed down his spinning to ease you down onto the snowy empty road. Arms still wrapped around each other, shopping bags crushed and be-damned, you stood toe to toe just looking at each other. 

“Can I..?” Quietly smooth and charming, Steve’s eyes dipped to your lips. 

Instead of giving him an answer, using your words like a big girl, you grabbed a handful of his coat to bring your mouths together in a kiss. 

Christmas lights twinkled above you, like movie magic or fairy dust. Lips pressed and lingered, kisses slow and sweet. It was everything you dreamed it would be, better even as Steve hauled you closer still and traced his nose against yours. 

Smiling, breaths warming each other’s faces, you let Steve lead the next kiss - after all he had asked so nicely. One gloved hand on your cheek, his lips slotted with yours before he deepened the kiss with a tenderness that made your bones ache. Had he not been holding you so close, had you not been moored safely in the circle of his arms, you would have surely swooned.

His kisses warmed you, sending sparks through your limbs as his tongue grazed yours with a promise of more. You felt his lips tug and smile in response to the tiny gasping noise that escaped from your throat. Slowly, so sweetly, he kissed the side of your mouth and up to the warm apple of your cheek. 

“Wanted to do that all night,” he murmured, making sure you were steady to stand before peeling away slightly. 

“Me too.” You grinned, a giggle barely held behind your teeth. “Knew you were looking at my lips.”

“Oh yeah? Should’ve kissed you sooner then.” A smiling peck pressed to your lips as your reward, your gold star for being so observant, before you righted and reoriented yourselves for the rest of the walk home.

With most of your bags in Steve’s steady hand (the one that was not keeping you close to his side), you trekked together toward home as more frosty flakes fell from the dark night sky. 

The heat of your kiss had melted something more between you, both relieved that you weren’t the delusional one, that you both felt that same something. 

Without much traffic, meeting only a few other pedestrians trekking home in the snow, it felt like the journey was about to end far too soon. You passed and pointed out the place where you got your photo-film developed, your favourite diner, Steve’s favourite coffee place which happened to be by the bookstore you liked. 

“I don’t wanna be presumptuous,” Steve said, “But I’d love to see you again.” He looked down at your face, feeling his heart beat harder. “I’ve never met someone like you… Y’know, when you click right away?”

“I’d like that, Steve. I’d like that so much.” Butterfly wings fluttered hard in your chest as you watched his smile melt onto his handsome face. “Anyway, I want to know how that Secret Santa goes down.” 

His grin was brighter than the snow. “You have full credit for that, honey.” Smiling lips kissed your forehead, just where your hat ended. He had scribbled his number on a clean napkin back at the bar, tucked it in his pocket to slip to you if (when) you said yes to seeing him again. 

You let yourself lean into him, nuzzling his cologne-and-smoke-spiced arm before sighing. With your door in sight, you took a breath and made yourself be brave. 

“This is me, just up here.” 

You spotted the recognition on Steve’s face. This was goodnight - at least it wasn’t goodbye.

“We’re not so far from each other. I’m like.. Five blocks that way.” He pointed off to the left, somewhere you did not bother to follow in favour of looking up at Steve. 

Now or never. This didn’t have to be goodnight… 

“Hey, so I don't love the idea of you out here on your own in the snow. What if you freeze into an ice cube, or slip and crack your head?” 

As your teeth grazed your lower lip, you watched his cheek pulse as he tried not to smile at your dreamed-up worries. Your own smile was barely hidden, ducked briefly behind your thick scarf. 

“Huh. I didn’t think of that.” Steve bobbed his head, faux-thoughtful as he considered his next steps. “Pretty perilous…”

“Christmas would be cancelled…” You bit the inside of your cheek. 

“Oh shit, you think?” his brows raised beneath his beanie, a knowing smile gave him away. You couldn’t possibly match Steve’s smooth charm. 

You took a little breath in before asking the question you both knew the answer to.

“So, you might… You could stay the night? With me. If you want to.”

Steve measured himself and tried not to be too eager at the thought of more time with you, more kisses. “You sure?” he asked, glancing up at your building before looking right back at you. 

You nodded slowly, smiling when you spotted the fresh snowflakes on his lashes, dusted over his broad shoulders too. “Mmhm. I’m sure.” 

Steve smiled, closing the gap between you to kiss you again as the snow fell. “Then I’ll stay.” 

Thank you for reading💙 Likes, reblogs and comments are loved, cherished and stored in a little locket 💙

[katyswrites]

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 3

You don’t see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. It’s not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? He’s a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace. 

No, it’s not actually at the station that you see him next - though, it’s tangentially related. You’re at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection you’d seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the station’s vinyl library. It’s where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.

You don’t see him, not at first. He’s standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - he’s just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. You’re truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.

“Oh - uh, hey,” he says, quieter than you had expected.

“Hey.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:

“Your party was fun the other night -”

“Are you okay -”

You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.

“Sorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,” you say quietly.

Steve shrugs.

“Oh, yeah - glad you came. You… you seemed like you were having a good time.”

Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.

“Oh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -”

“It’s fine, don’t worry - we’ve had worse,” Steve assures.

He hasn’t said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didn’t actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasn’t for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you weren’t crazy, you had reasoned.

But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than you’ve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.

“So, uh - thanks,” you say quickly, almost mumbling.

“For what?” he asks, confused.

“For, um, getting me home safe - I don’t really remember it, but -”

He waves you off. “Oh, that - don’t worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,” he says, laughing. “You were wasted.”

You groan. “That’s…embarrassing.”

He smirks. “Honestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so… your secret’s safe with me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean - I’m surprised you didn’t tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -”

Why didn’t he? It’s leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.

“You don’t actually think that little of me, do you?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

He scoffs. “Look, it’s not my fault that you can’t hold your alcohol for shit. But, I’m not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -”

He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome, though.”

You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.

“I was in a really bad way, wasn’t I?” you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.

He nods. “Honestly? Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. You really don’t remember?”

You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.

“What do you remember?”

You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.

“Um - I remember playing Kings with everyone… and, uh…”

I remember you coming in from the porch with what’s-her-face on your arm -

“-and it gets fuzzy after that,” you say quickly.

“Oh, okay - wow, that’s pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony… and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.”

You freeze. “Wait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -”

“No way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out… dammit.

“It was pretty gnarly, but… it’s fine. Really, it’s okay.”

For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then he’s clearing his throat again.

“So… you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?” he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.

“Um - do you actually care?”

He shrugs. “So what if I do?”

“Well - no, after last weekend I’m not sure if I ever want to drink again -”

“The most famous lie ever told,” he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.

“-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,” you say quietly.

“Hot date?”

You scoff. “I’m going to Fuze Box. Nancy’s covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured I’d check out who's playing tonight.”

WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you haven’t made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancy’s article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.

“So, you don’t know any of the bands playing tonight?” he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.

You shake your head. “Nope - just figured I’d check it out, go in blind. Maybe I’ll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if they’re selling CDs or something.”

Steve grins mischievously.

“Right - well, have fun, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but he’s gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.

You’re not sure what he’s up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - it’s such a Steve move.

As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, what’s the worst that can happen?

*****

“Thank you - we’ve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!” the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.

“Lime Of Decision is… a choice,” Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.

“Yeah, that’s because their name is literally meant to be a joke,” you say absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Jason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so it’s like…funny. I think.”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.

“Which band is better?”

“Definitely hers,” you say immediately.

You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.

“I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?” she asks.

You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer you’re still nursing from the beginning of the last band’s set.

She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you haven’t spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasn’t worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -

You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesn’t seem to be here. 

There’s two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.

Darius, the radio station’s tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.

“Alright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands we’ve heard so far tonight?”

You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.

Darius’ eyes narrow.

“Dammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -”

You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced… not likely.

Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.

“Okay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. They’re a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!

You can’t help but laugh at the band’s name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.

It’s during those few seconds while you’re looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see who’s standing front-and-center.

Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.

You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But you’re just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.

You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadn’t heard a lick of music, didn’t know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.

Nancy’s eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.

“God, no! I - I’m an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,” you say, laughing nervously. You’re not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.

“Hey guys - we’re Free Beer. I’m Steve -”

A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that you’re worried you’ll go blind.

“Thanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - let’s just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?”

There’s an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.

“Alright - this one is called ‘Closer,’ I hope you enjoy.”

From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words? 

You want to hate it - you want the set to be something you’re tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, that’s not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - it’s like he was born to do this.

Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, he’s actually a good frontman. He’s charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid. 

You want to scream - of course he’s good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - it’s a big enough crowd, and you’re far enough back that he probably can’t see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.

Fuck.

*****

You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steve’s set - you’re looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steve’s band can’t be good - that would be a problem. If you didn’t know who was part of it, they’re the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. But…it's Steve.

You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?

Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, you’ll ignore him - you won’t even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, you’ll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.

You can’t exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.

You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadn’t.

Apparently, instead of the bathroom, you’ve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. It’s really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.

It’s only once you’re inside, when it’s too late, that you realize you’ve walked in on Steve.

His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. He’s wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.

“Hey, sweetheart - wasn’t expecting to see you back here.”

You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldn’t the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket ‘you guys were great’ statement. But now it’s just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?

“Oh - sorry - I’m in the wrong room,” you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.

“Okay - sure you are,” Steve says sarcastically.

“What does that mean?” you ask, stopping your retreat.

He shrugs. “Don’t know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Try to stop me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.

“Jesus, I - I don’t know if it’s like, a weird sick game to you, or you’re just always trying to piss me off - or if you just can’t help and flirt with everyone -”

“You think I’m flirting with you?” he asks, grinning mischievously.

You stop, folding your arms in indignation.

“No - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what you’re up to, Harrington.”

“And what exactly am I up to?”

“This bullshit you keep pulling,” you say, gesturing between you two. “This - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when I’m drunk and don’t tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -”

He scoffs. “Trick you? Be serious -”

“You knew I’d be here tonight - you knew, and didn’t say anything -”

“Well given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known I’d be playing, I’m sure you would’ve been front row!”

You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.

He’s smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, he’s too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. He’s taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.

“I - that’s not -”

Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. You’re marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.

“I don’t like you,” you say. 

“You don’t say?” he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?

“Stop doing that -”

“Doing what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Stop distracting me -”

“I distract you?”

You want to kick yourself.

“I - well - only because you’re so -”

“Devilishly handsome?”

“-fucking annoying.”

He cocks his head, like you’ve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.

You sigh. “What?”

“It’s just - you didn’t seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.”

A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summer’s day.

“That’s not funny,” you manage to say.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way you’re close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.

“I didn’t -”

“Sweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Don’t worry - I didn’t let you. I really thought you would’ve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didn’t remember jack shit.”

You feel like you’re making this up. He’s just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. It’s the only explanation. Because you’d never - 

“You’re lying.”

But he’s just staring at you, and you’re starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isn’t a joke.

“You’re lying,” you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.

He’s taking another step towards you, shaking his head.

“You know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what they’re really thinking when they’re drunk -”

“Veritas.”

He stops, furrowing his brow.

“I - what?”

You can’t help yourself - you just can’t.

“The phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, you’re missing the whole  -”

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re always such a -”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you’re kissing him. You don’t mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didn’t need to hear another word out of his mouth.

You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like you’re trying to prove a point. And he’s kissing you back.

Steve kisses the same way he argues - he’s aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you. 

The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steve’s labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, you’re losing. Because he’s guiding your body, and you’re responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.

No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. It’s not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, I’m trying so hard to hate you, why can’t you let me -

One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips. 

You know you should stop - but you can’t. It’s addicting, the way he’s still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this could’ve gone on for hours. That is, until -

The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where you’re still frozen against the wall.

“Yeah?” Steve calls, voice rougher than before.

“Are you decent?” a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.

Steve looks like he’s fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.

“Nope - you’re good,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again.

He doesn’t need to say it - the look he’s shooting your way is enough.

Not a word.

Robin enters, grinning.

“Hey, we were just going to - oh, hi.”

She’s spotted you, and you just know she has questions.

“Hey, Robin,” you say quietly. “I, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.”

Robin beams. “Thanks! It’s fun to see that you came out - haven’t seen you at a gig in a while!”

You nod. “Oh, yeah - I’ve been trying to get myself out there more -”

Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“- but, um - I should go.”

Robin nods. 

“Yeah - I was just coming to find Steve, we’re all going to head to WT’s for a drink - uh, do you want to come?”

She’s probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.

“No, I’m good - sounds like it’s a band thing. I should get going anyway - I’ll catch the end of this set,” you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still haven’t made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like you’re bolting.  You’re screwed.

author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[hereforanepilogue]

my second art for the Steddie Big Bang (@steddiebang)! I drew for @RedSkiesAtNight22 on AO3’s fic Growing Pains. This was so fun to work on, and what I’ve read of the fic is so excellent :)

[tinytalkingtina]

Tater tot

Written for the @steddiemicrofic bonus challenge prompt "birthday". Happy birthday @steddieas-shegoes, hope you have a lovely day :)

290 words | rating: G

Tags: Parents Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson, fluff, parenthood

Ao3 link

Steve stared through the window at the tiny bundle wrapped up in front of them, tearing up only a little at the sound of another lullaby wafting through the hospital intercom. Robert Wayne Munson remained oblivious to anything in the bassinet. The tiny blue hat perched on his head almost completely covered his even tinier eyes. His nose is so small, can he even breathe okay through those mini nostrils? “He looks like a potato.” Startled out of his spiraling thoughts, Steve snorted a watery laugh and punched Eddie lightly in the shoulder. “Only 3 hours old and already facing the peanut gallery. Don’t be mean to our son on his birthday.” Eddie looked around before he briefly squeezed his hand, stroking his thumb over the band from their illegal backyard wedding five years ago. “I never said he was an ugly potato. But he’s an oval swaddled lump, they’ve spudified him! Our-” Eddie stopped for a moment, his eyes widening before choking out “Our son. Steve, oh my G-d, we’re parents now.” Steve had been a blubbering mess alongside Robin during the entire ride to the hospital and delivery, but Eddie had managed to keep it together. Now, it was as if the floodgates opened. By the time the nurses brought their infant — their son! — back into Robin’s room, Wayne had arrived and Eddie pulled himself together enough to take the baby into only slightly shaking hands. “Hey there, happy birthday little guy, I hope you know how much you’re going to be loved, always” he whispered softly as he ducked his head down to place a soft kiss on his son’s forehead. Steve stepped in to place a kiss in the same spot, his heart bursting.

[loodppaz]

I can just imagine Eddie in the 90s, a few years into dating Steve, and he tries to grow some facial hair with... mixed results. Steve hates it cuz it’s scratchy when they kiss and Eddie keeps making terrible jokes, like:

“Hey, Stevie?”

Steve is immediately suspicious, but says, “Yeah, Eds?”

Eddie looks downright devious. “I moustache you a question.”

And without missing a beat Steve responds, “Can you shave it for later?”

And that was the moment Eddie knew he was gonna marry that man

[ahhrenata]

“The chat goes still for a second. Steve wonders if PK is out there somewhere doing the same thing: staring at the screen, at the empty message box, wondering what to say next. Waiting, for… something. Or if, like Steve, he’s just getting his breath back.”

a quick, little teaser doodle for the next chapter of @sparklyslug ‘s absolutely amazing fic The (Monster-Hunting) Shop Around The Corner ✨

It’s completely fantastic, beautifully written and such a fun and exciting read!!! i highly encourage you to go check it out if you love a ‘You’ve Got Mail’ au (with a side of the supernatural 😈). I also encourage you to give it a try even if you don’t lol you won’t be disappointed! it's been a blast working with both @sparklyslug and @boiiko on this @steddiebang project. You guys are the coolest :)

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire//biker!older!Eddie x fem!Reader//90's au

Part 12: For Whom the Phone Rings

WARNINGS PLS READ: 18+ONLY, MATURE THEMES, violence, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), creampie, jealousy, threat of violence, homophobic slurs, threat of sexual violation (does not actually happen), threat to someone's family, foul language, derogatory slurs in general, mention of a gun, financial struggle, bribes, mention of blood, ANGST, biker MC, mention of violent past, hurt and comfort. WC: 8.2k

Summary: You and Eddie take another leap in your relationship and get cozy together, while Steve rolls into high gear with the MC, biting off a bit more than he can chew. Robin takes matters into her own hands to protect Oliver, and past relationships come back to haunt. Playlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: I rarely go into these chapters knowing what will happen, and this story in particular definitely has a mind of its own now. That being said, you won't ever read about the act of sexual violation in these or any of the main characters getting killed or detrimentally hurt, because I just can't stomach writing about it. This part is definitely angsty, but I hope you enjoy ❤️

pls NO MINORS beyond this point

--------

For Whom the Phone Rings

--------

You decided that making it through the rest of the dinner with John would be too painful knowing that Eddie was in love with you and he was out there on his motorcycle waiting like some Cool Rider dream out of Grease 2. Knowing that you were also in love with him and all of the endorphins that went along with that feeling made your body tingle. You didn’t want to let go of his hand; you wanted to just walk right out with him. Yet, the business side of you didn’t want to lose John as a contact, or Richard Gere for that matter. No need to burn unnecessary bridges.

You went back to the table and gave John a reluctant, sad smile, and told him the phone call was an emergency and you had to run. He got to his feet and insisted on driving you, but you assured him that your boyfriend was coming to pick you up. You realized in that moment that’d you’d never referred to Eddie as your boyfriend out loud before, and it felt really fucking good.

Eddie was straddling his motorcycle and smoking a cigarette when he caught sight of you coming out the front door, and you both grinned like idiots at each other.

“That was quick,” he swung his leg off, taking hold of your hand so he could yank you toward him faster, cause he couldn’t wait to get his lips on you again. He pulled his leather jacket out of one of the saddlebags and opened it up for you to put on. “It’s cold out on the road, baby.”

And so you let the heavy jacket with all of it’s zippers and buckles envelope you, smelling his cologne and a hint of nicotine in the leather. You of course hadn’t brought the helmet he bought for you, so you wore his again, buckling it under your chin as he revved the bike, throwing one of the body guards a dirty look for keeping his eyes on you for too long.

The only problem was your dress. Eddie anticipated the slit that went all the way up to your hip when you mounted behind him and the material fell back, exposing your entire leg. He instantly swung his arm back to block the view of your limb from the other dudes present, palming your knee. “Scoot in as tight as you can, baby,” he said to you above the growl of the engine, his wrist working at the throttle. During the ride home, his hand kept returning to the same spot, and you rubbed his chest with your hands, pinning your cheek to his shoulder, liking the way the ends of his hair flew back and tickled your nose.

Back at the garage, neither one of you could keep your hands off of each other after Eddie parked the bike. He actually tossed the helmet skidding to the pavement when you handed it to him because he didn’t want to miss a moment of being able to cup your ass and pull your mouth to his.

“God, I love you,” Eddie breathed, parting ways only to get the key out and unlock the door, and then you both stumbled in, laughing as you playfully bit his arm. You shrugged out of his jacket and he threw that over his head to the bottom of the stairs, just as your fingers hooked into his back belt loops and you stomped up the old wood stairs behind him.

This was one of those moments you knew you would cherish for the rest of your life. Even as it was happening, your body was registering it as one of your favorite memories. This new love with Eddie, this intense urgency to get somewhere to worship each other in peace.

He tugged you inside his apartment, pushed you back against the door, and held your hands above your head, kissing you as he braced you there. Tongues were quicker to touch than lips, and then his forehead pressed to yours; adrenaline surging.

Eddie’s hands released yours and slid down to feel you, pulling your breast free from the front of your dress so that his thumb could graze your nipple. His other hand found your bare leg beneath the slit of the dress and dipped down between your legs.

“Shit, baby,” he hissed, fingering your arousal as his cock flexed in his jeans.

“See what you do to me?” You slid your hands around the back of his neck, fingers into his hair, and picked your chin up to find his mouth again.

His knuckle dragged along your damp underwear, and you had your hand down his jeans now, palming him through his boxers. Your pussy throbbed as you got a hold of the bare skin of his length, tip leaking for you.

“Get me out of this dress,” you begged against his mouth, knowing that you couldn’t reach the zipper in the back by yourself.

“I hate this fucking dress,” Eddie added, blocking you against the door, slipping your underwear aside, dipping his finger into your pie, making your breath catch. “I hate that he bought it for you.”

You pushed away from him only to try and pull the dress up over your head, but the material was too stiff, and you were only able to wiggle the lower part of your ass out.

“Stop right there, baby,” Eddie mumbled. He came up behind you to pull your thong aside and press his cock up along the warm wet silk of your slit. “Fuckkk,” he groaned, cupping the front of your throat and pulling you back.

You shivered as his tip got close to entering you; the need pulsed at your core, and you whimpered as his tongue found your ear, flicking around the outside. With his cock stiff and lifted enough to ride between your legs without assistance, both of his hands pushed the front of your dress down, cupping your breasts, pinching and twisting the nipples, making you drop your head back with a gasp. You were only wearing the dress around your mid-section now, knees weak, sighs hot and heavy.

“Are you my girl?” He grumbled it, and then blew air on your neck where his saliva was, making you shiver.

“Mhmmm,” you responded. His pelvis was bouncing off your ass as he worked his length along your dripping slit.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me who you belong to.”

You reached a hand up to grab his head, ass pressing back against his thrusts, pussy clenching. “You, baby, only you,” It was urgent; the hole between your legs begging to be fed and filled by this man, and this man only.

Eddie reached down to finger your core with his big hand, cock kicking up at the mess he found there soaking through. “I love you so fucking much. You’re killing me.”

He ducked back to try and find the zipper, but it stuck at the top. In a moment of passionate fury, he took hold of the material with both hands and ripped the back open with a grunt. The threads spit open at a jagged angle, exposing the soft skin of your back, and then he just kept pulling, yanking the material away. “Fuck this dress,” he hissed as it met the ground in pieces.

He ripped your underwear off with a single yank, the sensation of breaking material hot against your hip, and you yelped at the surprise, but then he had you on the bed, pulling his shirt up over his head to expose the wash of tattoos, and pushing his jeans and boxers down. The length of his cock bounced up, showing the thick vein underneath, the upper shaft still glistening with your juices.

He crawled on the mattress after you and you urged him closer, sealing his mouth to yours, brushing his hair out of his face. “I need it so bad right now baby, please,” you mewed, a desperate whine in the back of your throat. You felt the head of his cock knocking at the swollen folds above your entrance, and you spread your legs wide; dripping and begging.

“I need it too, baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “So fucking bad.”

You looked down to watch him hold his huge cock at the base so he could run the tip along your slit; preparing it for duty. “Tell me if it’s...too much?” He whispered it just before he kissed you again. You were sure it would just melt right in.

But then he buried the tip and your body stiffened, a tiny squeak escaping your throat. Eddie’s hand clamped onto your hip as his lips parted and his eyebrows cinched together. “Fuck, you’re so tight baby,” and he rose up a bit to look down at the way he disappeared inside of you, working the tip back and forth, taking his time. “This is all mine, yeah? No one else.”

“No one else, baby,” you gasped grabbing his neck, meeting his eyes. He searched your face, flexing his hips to sink in another inch. He had one hand braced on the bed while the other cupped your jaw, and then his thumb sank into your mouth and you sucked it.

Eddie glanced down again at your beautiful body open for him, and decided he couldn’t wait another second to own you, and buried himself the rest of the way in, cursing, feeling like he might cum right then and there. You cried out, exposing your throat for him to paint with his tongue.

He sat back on his knees briefly to thrust in hard a few times, base deep, needing to know he was deeper than anyone had ever been inside you before. Needing to look at what he did to you; the way you unraveled for him.

But then his eyes snapped to yours, needing something else.

You could see the ask in his soft dark orbs as he braced his hands at your hips, locking his length inside of you for a few breaths as the gravity of emotions vibrated in the air.

“I love you,” you told him. And then the dam broke and you said it over and over and over, and he dropped his body close, bucking his hips, his own affirmations of love flowing with each breath. You clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs as he stretched you out, digging heels in, needing him to be as close as two humans could possibly be.

The intensity of the experience mounted a quick release and soon Eddie’s face was right above you, taking your chin to turn your face. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t look away, okay?”

His pace quickened, forehead tightening, and a warmth started to spill through your body like liquid sunlight until all you could do was search his eyes and babble, “fucfuckfuckIloveyou...fuck.”

Eddie slowed for a moment. “I’m gonna cum so hard inside you, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes baby please,” you whined. “Fuck, please, all of it.”

And then he was down close to you again, slamming into you with purpose, one hand on your throat, headboard banging the wall. Your eyes locked and then you were cumming, hard, seeing white, velvet tugs rippling at your core.

Eddie felt your walls clench like a heart beat around his cock and watched your eyelids flutter, sending his release into action, the bark of an exhale in his chest.

You were riding the wave of your orgasm when you felt him tremble, his hips stuttering, pupils blown. The feel of his warm seed pumping extended the ripple affect, and you both clung to each other with aching breaths as Eddie dropped his head to find your mouth.

You palmed his cheek as he finished, eye clamping shut for the first time to take in all that had just happened. He brushed his lips on your palm, your eyelids, your cheeks, all while buried inside you; nurturing a desire in his belly to curl up and live there forever.

His jeans and boots on, denim pooled at his ankles, too ripe with eagerness earlier to even consider the seconds it would take to remove them. It was a while before he pulled out of you, and the tender way he brushed his lips across your face and neck had your ears ringing, skin buzzing. It wasn’t fair that you would automatically think the worst in a situation such as this, but you were afraid of how much you loved this man. Already considering the rejection or the thing that would inevitably go wrong, and how bad it would break you. How you might never recover from this one.

He officially had your heart and he could do whatever he wanted with it. There was no longer a decision to be made or pros and cons to consider: you were completely, utterly gone.

---------

“I hope you rot in hell you greedy cunt!” Steve said as he slammed the phone down on the receiver with a clang.

Robin rushed into the kitchen from the living room, eyes wide, hoping that Steve’s outburst hadn’t woken Oliver from his nap. They both froze for a few seconds, ears perked to listen for the sound of his tiny footfalls or a door opening.

“I hope that wasn’t your mother,” Robin chided, throwing the dishtowel in her hand over the side of the sink.

“Think bigger cunt,” he said in a much lower voice, throwing on his leather Coffin Kings cut. “They’re staying at that seedy motel over on Chestnut.”

Robin bristled, knowing it has been Tina, Oliver’s biological mom. She crossed her arms. “Do we need to get a lawyer?”

“With what money, Rob?” He braced his hands on the back of one of the dining table chairs, facing her, rolling his neck.

Robin was taking on more shifts at the hotel and Steve at his two jobs, but it felt like they could never dig out of the hole they were in lately.

Steve took a deep breath and straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Don’t worry, okay? I got some things lined up. We’ll have enough to make that pickled whore and her dog-faced pimp go away for a bit. Hopefully they overdose and fucking die---”

“Steve.”

“What? I hope they die. I’m not afraid to say it.” He snatched his sunglasses off the table and slid them over his eyes. “I won’t be back till late. I got a thing with the Kings, and then I’m at the Hammer tonight.”

He said it all over his shoulder as he was crossing the distance to the door and opening it.

“Wait,” Robin called after him. “What thing with the Kings?” He’d promised her numerous times that he wasn’t doing anything illegal or detrimental to his health for Oliver’s sake, but the Coffin Kings weren’t ones to just meet up for a casual cheese and wine picnic in the park.

He stepped outside into the early afternoon sunlight and shut the door behind him. “It’s nothing,” he told her through the open window. “Kiss my boy for me when he wakes up.”

--------

Earlier that morning, around 4am, you were tucked close to Eddie as he spooned you, the fingers of one hand intertwined with yours, his warm breath on the back of your neck. His cum sticky between your legs. You were out of the habit of sharing a bed with someone, and so your sleep was a bit restless, but every time you snapped awake and remembered where you were---a warmth came over you, and you nuzzled against him, kissing his hand.

Eddie, on the other hand, was sleeping like a bear. Knowing you were safe in his arms was like a sedative for him. He stirred briefly a few times only to squeeze your hand or kiss your shoulder, but for the most part, you listened as his heavy breathing turned into a rattling snore in the back of his throat, and it made you smile.

You jumped when the phone rang loud and shrill, and Eddie’s head popped off the pillow with a grunt, his eyes closed.

“Whoever it is, they are dead fucking meat,” he mumbled out of the side of his mouth after dropping his cheek back to the pillow.

You moved as if you were about to get out of his way so he could reach the phone that was on your side of the bed, but Eddie’s arm held fast, locking you in place. “Let the machine get it, baby,” he whispered, tongue clicking in his dry mouth, already halfway back to dreamland.

It was so cute to think about how he ran out and bought an answering machine because you asked him to. You knew he hated them, and it was something he’d done just for you, so that he would never miss a message if you called.

It rang three times before you heard beep and the machine click on, and then there came a woman’s voice you didn’t recognize:

“Um, hey Eddie baby, long time no talk…”

Behind you, Eddie stiffened. Your eyes blew wide open.

“...I can’t believe you finally stepped into the modern age and got an answering machine. Maybe people do change, I know I have,” there was a shuffling and the sound of ice clinking in a glass. “I’ve really been missing you lately and thinking about that time we went to Sturgis and we missed Steppenwolf because we were too busy fucking in the back of the…”

Eddie started to crawl over you, ready to yank the phone cord out of the wall, but you put your hand up to stop him, and he paused there, one hand braced on either side of you, hair hanging down. “This is nothing, baby, she’s--” he whispered, but then the message continued.

“...and then on the way home ate burgers in the park. Fuck, those were good times. I know you never sleep, so I figured you’d hear this message and pick up, but maybe you don’t want to talk to me anymore? I can’t say I’d blame you. Anyway, I’m coming to town this weekend for a wedding and I’d love to see you if you want to see me. I’m staying at Chrissy’s moms house, I think you still have the number.”

Eddie fell back on the bed, gnawing on his bottom lip, one hand on your thigh, waiting for the nightmare to end so that he could explain to you that it was all ancient history. He hadn’t been with Melanie in almost 5 years, and he hadn’t from heard her for at least 2, and he didn’t want to hear from her, not ever again. If he had to guess, he’d bet that she’d dumped another one of her boyfriends and was looking for comfort; the likes of which he had none to give. God, why was this happening to him? Why now of all the times in the fucking world for her to call?

He wanted to pick that answering machine up and break it in half with his bare hands.

Meanwhile, you were trying to push down the discomfort rising in your throat. This was clearly someone from Eddie’s past, someone he hadn’t spoken to in a while, but you couldn’t help the jealousy that tightened your flesh over your bones and made your tongue push against the back of your teeth.

“Anyway, maybe if you’re up for it, we can get a drink at the Hideout for old time’s sake? Well, now I feel stupid talking to this thing. Call me, okay? Same number as before. Oh, and this is Melanie by the way, remember me? The one you were supposed to grow old with?” Melanie took a moment to giggle to herself before she finished. “Okay, miss you lots. Bye bye.”

The phone clicked on her end and the message beeped again to announced that it was finally over. You and Eddie lay in the loud silence for a few seconds, and then Eddie swallowed hard.

“Let me explain? I haven’t talked to her in---”

But you cut him off, rolling over on your other side to face him, nudging his arm to open up so you could slide into his armpit and put your head on his chest, your leg stretching over his, hand palming his bicep, thumb grazing his nipple.

“We can talk about it later,” you hushed.

He pulled you close, kissing the top of your head, “she means nothing to me, baby,” he reiterated, and then it wasn’t long before you heard the purr of his snores again. His arm went lax and slipped down to the bed with a flop.

But you, you were wide awake. Blinking ever so often with the rhythm of the red light on the machine cast on the ceiling, announcing that there was a new message.

---------

In the dark corner of an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district, Steve’s fist cracked into the jaw of a guy tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth. This was not the first punch, and his knuckles were raw. The guy in the chair was a snitch who’d tried to run, but Steve and a few of the others caught up with him. He had a shaved head covered in tattoos, his eye was now swollen, and nose broken, so he was struggling to breathe through the snot and the blood.

Steve stepped back, kicking his chin up, signaling to two of the Hell’s Belles that were there. “Take his Kutte,” he told them.

One of the two women slipped a knife of of the sheath at her hip and twirled it in the air before slicing the leather of his cut off at the arm hole so that they wouldn’t have to untie his hands. They cut and yanked on both sides until the material opened up and The guy screamed inside the duct tape, drool dripping down his chin from a tiny gap in the tape.

Steve’s tattooed hand was seeping watery blood from one knuckle as he pinched a cigarette between thumb and forefinger and took a drag. “You know, Jerry Dog wants your head. He told me to bring it to him in a bag with a pretty bow on it.”

The guy had stopped trying to battle the restraints, but he glared at Steve with hard, dark eyes, shouting something that only came out as muffled noise. Two of the Coffin Kings were standing at Steve’s back, legs braced wide, hands resting on the hilts of weapons at their sides. Steve turned on his heel, following the Hell’s Belle with the torn leather vest out of the damp building and into the sunlight. She had shoulder length, orange hair with one side completely shaved, and she went by the name Ratchet.

Ratchet made sure to put the cut in the saddle bag on the back of her bike and tighten the buckle closed before she turned around to address Steve again. “I thought you and War Machine were taking a step back from the life? That’s the rumor, anyway.”

War Machine was Eddie’s nickname, and had been ever since they were young and he was always getting into fights with kids who tried to pick on him or others. Steve had been known as Taz around the MC, in honor of the Tasmanian Devil, because if he was in a mood, he’d fight anyone--even if the odds were stacked against him. The gold tooth he had was to replace one of his incisors due to the original one getting knocked out when he was 21 by a guy with metal rings on. Steve’d spit the tooth out at the time and started laughing, blood dripping down his chin like a mad man. He never though things through like Eddie did. Back in their school days, Wayne would come around the corner to the principals office with that tired look on his face as he removed his hat, and there’d be Steve and Eddie; bloody noses and swollen lips. They were both never far from each other, and neither one let the other go into battle alone.

But Eddie hadn’t gone by War Machine in years; he’d grown to hate it, actually. The things he’d done in the name of the MC as War Machine were some of the things he hated most about himself.

“I got a son now, ya know,” Steve sucked hard on his smoke, cheeks caving in, and then he exhaled to the side. “And Eddie’s just, a good guy I guess. Just cause you grown up in the life doesn’t mean you’re made for it.”

Tiger Lily—the other female biker with Ratchet--and the two Kings with Steve were also wandering around, having a smoke break and taking a piss, while they let the guy inside sweat, wondering if these were his final moments.

Ratchet tucked the long side of her hair behind her ear, her nickname tattooed in cursive on the side of her throat. “How’s Robin?”

Steve hadn’t seen Ratch in a while, but it was standard procedure for her to ask after his best friend. The two had a thing many years ago, but Ratch was a dog at the time and went sniffing too many other butts for Robin’s liking. Fucking things up with Buckley was still one of her biggest regrets.

“We’ve got our share of the shit pie,” Steve assured. “But we’re making it work. I couldn’t do it without her.” He tapped his heel on the toe of his boot and flicked his cigarette. “I’ve got a gig lined up with some rich bitch. Easy bag, some lame body guard gig. It should get our heads out of water, at least.”

“Who’s it for?” Ratchet squinted, exhaling smoke out her nose, down the piercing in the middle of her bottom lip.

“I don’t really know,” Steve shrugged. “She seems to have a lot of money to throw around, that’s all I give a fuck about.”

“Careful, bro,” Ratchet held the two fingers up holding her cigarette, chipped black polish on her fingernails. “There’s a wealthy cougar in town who likes to hire MC’s as body guards and she’s been pitting different clubs against each other. Three of Lucifer’s Own got the piss beat out of them the other weekend trying to defend her fortress. Put Donnie in intensive care.”

Steve’s mind flicked to the night Eddie was stabbed, and the way Eddie wouldn’t tell him who did it because he knew Steve would go off the rails.

“Like I said,” Steve rolled his neck, crushing the end of this cig into the mud with the toe of his boot. “I don’t care what the drama is, long as she pays.”

Ratchet respected this, offering a twitch of her brow.

“Let’s get this over with,” Steve motioned to the rest as he opened the aluminum door to head back into the building. “I got shit to do.”

The guy in the chair was struggling to breathe through some miracle opening in his inflamed and bleeding nostrils. His broad chest heaved, nearly popping open the buttons on his black and blue flannel, gasping for air, cheeks puffing out, his bald head slick with sweat.

Steve took position in front of him again. The whole cutting his head off thing was a bluff. Jerry Dog had never requested such a thing. The other two Kings, Rooster and Emmett, would toss him in the back of the utility van and dump him down at the train yard and wait for further instructions.

The guy in the chair barked something at Steve through the tape, eyes narrowing, but it only came out as a strangled mumble.

“You trying to say something to me, Inky?” Steve cocked his head, referring to the man’s nickname.

Steve reached across to rip the tape off in one quick swipe, taking some of Inky’s mustache with it. The guy wheezed, bending his head to take a few deep inhales through his mouth, coughing a few times at the greedy pulls of air his body was taking.

“I got good news, man,” Steve’s tone was sarcastic as he rested his hands on his hips. “You get to keep your head. For now.”

Inky spit. He’d clearly intended the projected saliva to land on Steve, but it hit the ground next to his boot instead. Steve looked down at the spit, and then back up at Inky. “To think I thought you’d be grateful?”

“Fuck you, Taz,” Inky sneered at Steve, his voice full of vitriol. “I never did like you. Jerry Dog is gonna let me walk, and then you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna come to your house and fuck the gay right outta that dyke roommate of yours, and I’m gonna make your kid watch.”

If Steve ever had a voice of reason that spoke to him in his head, it wasn’t about to change the impact those words had on him. There would be no more talking, no more negotiation, and no one in that room would dare to try and stop him, even if they wanted to, as he started pummeling his fist over and over into Inky’s face. At one point, Inky lost consciousness, jaw broken and slack, and the chair fell sideways, landing his head to the cement with a thunk. Steve followed, dropping on top of him, seeing red, unable to stop his fist from working, smashing, breaking.

When the other four were finally able to pull Steve off, it was too late for Inky.

---------

“Who is this Melanie bitch?” Katie came to visit you that night during your shift at the Velvet Hammer because you felt like you needed a pep talk. You’d just come up next to the bar where she was having her whiskey sour, and the ask was loud enough for Shanna, the longtime bartender and manager to hear.

Shanna had on a platinum blonde wig shaped in a 1920’s bob cut, a row of 6 tiny hoops curving up one ear, and a long, red upside down cross dangling from the other. She squinted at Katie while she squeezed fresh orange juice to make a screwdriver, and then her eyes shifted to you. “Melanie. You mean Melanie Drake? Your old man’s ex?”

You knew Eddie had a past, and you were glad for the most part. He was in his early thirties, for godsake, and if he hadn’t at least tried to commit to someone before you, it could easily be seen as a red flag. And it didn’t matter how much in love you knew you both were, or how devoted he clearly was to you—there was something unsettling about the girlfriend before you coming to town. Not just any girlfriend or one night stand, but someone he’d clearly had deep feelings for. Not only was she coming to town, but she explicitly wanted to see your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” you moved your jaw and absently straightened the little black pocket apron around your waist. “She left a really flirty message early this morning on his machine while we were in bed together.”

“Nooooo,” Katie blanched, making a yuck face. “What did you do? What did you say? What did HE say?”

Shanna passed the screwdriver and two pints of beer over to Jackie who loaded them on her tray. The dancer in the back was giving a wild show to the tune of Unsung by Helmet, sliding down the pole slowly, both legs spread wide, dropping to the floor in the splits with a head bang.

Shanna was clearly invested in the story now too, waiting with baited breath for you to answer Katie’s questions. “We just...went back to sleep. I told him we could talk about it in the morning. But then we woke up late and he had to rush out.”

Shanna and Katie exchanged a look.

“He loves me, we are good, I trust him,” you moved the four tequila shots and limes to your tray as Shanna passed them to you, and you couldn’t tell if you were trying to convince yourself or them.

“Of course he loves you, but is he planning to meet up with her, though?” Katie asked, taking the two tiny red straws out of her drink. “Cause, I don’t like that idea. Feels wrong. Sends her an encouraging message.”

You didn’t have a chance to answer before Shanna spoke up. “Melanie won’t show her face in here if she knows what’s good for her,” she paused only to rim a margarita glass with salt. You and Katie both directed your attention to hear the rest. “Years ago, she was hired on as one of the dancers for a couple months. Found out she was stealing from the other girls and giving blowjobs to customers in the bathroom.”

You blinked a few times, not liking the fact that she’d also had a job there. Katie lifted her glass to her lips but paused there, giving you a side eye.

Shanna raised an eyebro, smoky eye makeup rimming eyes that were so brown they were almost black. “And that was when she was still supposedly with your old man. I’m not even sure if he ever found out about it. Probably would’ve killed someone if he had.”

The news of Eddie being blatantly disrespected and cheated on like that didn’t sit well with you, either, and you realized that you knew nothing about this woman, how long they’d been together, and why it ended. You had to run your tray of drinks over to a table, and Katie ordered another whiskey sour while she waited.

You checked on other tables, and then on your way back to Katie at the bar, you saw Steve come in. He was an hour late, but he’d already called to let Shanna know, and one look at him told you why he was late.

While normally Steve had a charming, cheerful disposition, tonight his jaw was set at a hard angle, his eyes cold and weary. He was favoring his right hand, holding hit against his stomach. It was wrapped up, but poorly, as if he’d done it himself in a rush, red/orange seeping through at the knuckles. Normally, Steve would saunter over to see what the girls were gossiping about at the bar, and be eager to give his two cents. But, that night, he found his stool, and prepared to do nothing above the bare minimum required for his job. He lit a cigarette and checked ID’s, but made no move to add any banter to his interactions.

And no one bothered him or asked any questions because they were all realizing, perhaps for the first time, how scary he was once all of the casual, jovial exterior was removed.

----------

The rain was drizzling that night as Robin sat in her car facing the seedy motel on Chestnut, planning her words. She dropped off Oliver with Wayne for the night, and when they got there, Wayne already had cartoons on and some pigs-in-a-blanket in the oven; his face lighting up in a way they all thought the cancer had long ago removed.

Behind the wheel, facing room 11, here were two manila envelopes in her lap: one was full of cash and the other contained official government paperwork. She had a private savings account she’d been trickling money into for years. Even then, it only had about six grand in it. She pawned some of the gold jewelry her grandmother passed down to her, and a few other keepsakes she’d been saving to pass down to Oliver, and the final product was the best offer Tina would ever get from them. They were usually able to buy her off for a year or so with a grand or two, so ten grand should make her eyes sparkle long enough to sign away her rights to Ollie.

Steve and Katie had no idea what she was up to. Steve would’ve tried to stop her. He would’ve showed up and caused a scene, and his temper would get the best of him. Robin was calm. The only endgame that mattered to her was keeping Oliver safe and in her arms, and she didn’t care how broke she was or how low she had to grovel to make that happen.

She could see them through the window between the break in the curtains. Tina with her curly black hair, long and wild, wearing a tight, red spandex dress, and then her fiance Louis, shirtless, wiry muscles littered with prison ink. They appeared to be in the middle of an argument, but that was nothing new; they both thrived on chaos.

Robin also had a gun.

She strapped her bag across her body and reached in to palm the cool steel of Steve’s protection piece he usually kept in a safe in the closet. There was always the chance that Tina and Louis would try to jump her and take the money without following through on the paperwork, but she wasn’t going to let that happen; her plan was solid.

This bullshit would end tonight.

---------

It was so early in the morning when Steve’s bike rumbled around the corner to Astrid’s house that it was still dark. He dismounted right next to the dilapidated picket fence with the chipped white paint, and looked up to see that she was already on the porch in her nightgown, arms wrapped in a shawl, waiting for him. He hadn’t called to tell her he was on his way, in fact, it had been a last second decision as he idled at a stop light on his way home after work.

Steve needed comfort, and for some reason, Astrid always knew how to give it without him needing to ask.

“How’s your hand?” She asked across the lawn, even though he’d taken the bandage off and, from that distance, in the dark, there’s no way she could’ve known it was swollen and fleshly with raw patches.

He didn’t answer, he just came through the gate and made his way at a tired pace toward her, clomping up each step in his heavy boots, wallet chain jangling.

“Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand, palm up, for him to oblige. She hissed at the damage, and when she tapped his middle finger, he winced. “Honey, we need to get this cleaned and bandaged properly. It might even need a splint. Come inside. I put a beer in the freezer.” She always moved a beer from the refrigerator to the freezer when she had a hunch he was on his way so that it would be extra cold for him. She also had leftovers heating in the oven because it was typical of him to forget to eat.

Once inside the house, while he followed her through the candlelit living room to the kitchen, Steve caught her elbow and spun her around. Astrid’s eyes sought his, trying to anticipate his needs, but then what she found there was exhaustion, both emotional and physical, and a palpable sense of dread. Of fear that life would always take and never give. That time would continue to accomplish nothing but to wear us down and break our hearts.

He bowed his head, and then he dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around her legs, cheek pressing into her thigh, a sob hitching in his chest. He loved the fullness of her stomach and hips, the way his fingers sank in. She used both hands to comfort him, one stroking his cheek that was already damp, while the other combed through his thick head of hair, gently tucking strands behind his ear, tracing down the back of his neck.

She lowered to her shins and met him on the hardwood floor, scooping his head against her bosom while his shoulders jerked and the tears rolled. She was the only person Steve let himself cry in front of. Maybe only once or twice it had happened around Robin, and he always left the room to pull himself together. His father had drilled it hard into his head that crying was a weakness and it made you less of a man. It turned you into a sissy boy or a faggot, as if that were the worst thing, and set you up to be bullied and teased for days to follow. Better to yell, better to hit things, and make other people afraid so that they could be just as sad as you.

Wordlessly, they held each other there for a long while, as Steve choked on sobs and Astrid kissed the top of his head over and over, content to stay like that for hours if that was what he needed. After a bit, there were tears streaming down her cheeks as well.

"You're safe with me," she hushed.

-----

Eddie extended you an open offer to stay with him whenever you wanted, he even casually mentioned that he planned to have another spare key made so that you could come in and make yourself at home even if he wasn’t there.

Giving someone a key to your place was no small step in a relationship, and your heart swelled at the sincerity of the gesture.

But, you decided to go back to your place after your shift at the Hammer. You were tired, needed a shower, and some time to yourself. Plus, your cat Charlie had a lot of questions about where you were the night before.

Just as you were getting home, Katie was headed back out, her pajama bottoms still on. Apparently, she’d received a call from Robin that spooked her a bit, and made her want to go and check on her girlfriend, even though she had to be up early for work. She was in such a hurry, you didn’t have time to ask any questions, but you hoped that Robin was okay.

After washing your face and getting into something more comfortable, you were just about to sit on the couch to let television numb your brain for a bit when the doorbell rang.

Eddie’s head was bowed when you opened the door, one knee cocked out to the side, thumb hooked in his belt loop while the other fingers fanned out on his thigh.

“It’s a little late to be visited by a Bible salesman, isn’t it?” You teased.

Eddie met your eyes and leaned forward to brace his forearm on the door jam, white tee straining against his muscles just under the cut of his Coffin Kings leather. Not for the first time, you noticed the War Machine insignia on the front and realized you kept forgetting to ask him about it.

“I waited up,” he mumbled. “I hoped you’d come over tonight.”

“Work was exhausting, and I needed to feed my cat,” you explained. “But I’m glad to see you. Come in?”

Eddie couldn’t get what had happened that morning out of his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was give Melanie any more of his precious air, but he also didn’t want you to think he had any residual feelings for her.

The living room was dark, but for a soft light from the kitchen and glow of the TV, when you tilted your chin up to meet his lips with yours. You didn’t stay there to kiss him, though---you didn’t linger with hungry sighs like you were prone to do—you just spun on your heel to head back around the couch.

Eddie let the screen door shut behind him as he grabbed your waist with both hands. “Hey now, don’t run away from me,” he came up behind so that your body was flush with his. His mouth came down to graze your ear, “tell me you fucking missed me.”

“Of course I missed you,” you tried to shrug away from him, albeit playfully, but he was too strong; you were completely locked in place. “I always miss you.”

He released you only so you could turn to face him again, reaching up to cup your hands behind his neck, fingers dipping into the downy hair behind his ears. The kiss that came next was the kind that sent emergency bells off in your loins; tongues twirling each other, tight groans on the exhale.

You pulled back to meet his eyes before you were completely incapacitated again. “Please tell me you’re not planning on meeting up with your ex this weekend?”

“Hell no,” he responded quickly, a tightness in his brow as if it were ludicrous for you to even ask. “Believe me baby, if I never see her face again, it will be too soon.”

“What are we even doing?” You asked, throwing your hands out to the side as you stepped back to rest your hip on the back of the couch. “I mean, look at us. We’ve barely known each other for two months and everything that possibly could go wrong has. It’s just one stressful situation after the next. I’m exhausted, Eddie, and I’m sure you are too.”

Eddie brought his chin back and crossed one arm over to hold his bicep. “Are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?”

“No,” you coughed a laugh. Surely he didn’t think he could get rid of you that easily. “Believe me, I couldn’t stop being in love with you at this point even if I wanted to.”

A smile twitched on Eddie’s lips, and he came close, straddling your hips between his legs, taking your face in both of his hands. He kissed the tip of your nose, the look in his eye was tender but serious. “She never had my heart like you do. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. I’d kill or die for you, baby.”

Clothes started to come off right there at the couch, but then you remembered that Katie might not stay at Robin’s and could be home any moment, and so you moved the party to your bedroom with Eddie’s belt undone and your shirt bunched up around your neck.

Eddie was on his knees with his head between your legs in a flash, flicking his tongue right where you needed it, making you fist his hair and bite your lip as you watched.

After the first orgasm, you were on your side while Eddie held your leg up and sunk his cock in over and over, hips clapping at your wetness. You turned your head to take his mouth while he stretched you out again and again, making you whimper, and your wrist flexed at your swollen nub, another release mounting.

“Oh godohgodohgod,” you whined. Eddie’s cock slipped out briefly, and when he thrust it back in, you began to see stars.

You looked up at him as your body rocked from the impact, “no one has ever been so deep, baby,” you promised, and the admission brought Eddie to the edge, twisting you to piston his hips faster.

He barked a groan of pleasure as he emptied himself inside of you, holding one of your legs up by the crook of his arm, and your walls clenched around him, producing a mingling of cum on his shaft.

Still inside of you, Eddie grabbed your chin so that your blown pupils could meet his. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he said, sealing the words in your mouth with a kiss, hoping to bury them deep in your heart.

-------

Hundreds of miles away, a phone next to a full ashtray and a tumbler of whiskey was ringing.

Before the second ring, a guy with a military insignia tattooed on his forearm picked up.

“Yo,” the voice on the other end greeted. “This Craig?”

“Yeah, dumbass, who else would it be?” Craig answered gruffly.

The other guy cleared his throat. “It’s Gopher. Hey, listen, that chick you’ve been trying to track down? I had my guy look her up at the database over at the station. She ain’t in no Oregon, man. She’s in some podunk town in fucking Indiana.”

Craig sat down on the bed next to the gun he was cleaning, eyes hooded, blonde hair in a buzz cut. “You sure it’s the right girl? My girl?”

“No doubt about it man. She just had her license renewed.”

Craig pulled a notepad and pen out of the top drawer. “You got an address for me?”

“She’s got a roommate. Katie Clayton I think her name was.”

“Fuck, of course,” Craig worked his jaw, excitement edging in his veins. All this time he’d been nosing around in the pacific northwest while you were only a state away, right under his nose.

He should've known you’d never want to be too far away from him. A love like the two of you shared never died.

Part 13

Thank you for reading! xoxoxoxo

-------

Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @eighty6babyyy @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer @manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare @hellv1ra @chaoticgood-munson @ms1oftheboys @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @lma1986 @falling-solar-system @secretdryrose @kurdtbean @whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @dandelionnfluff @lilpotatobean2 @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @munsons-mayhem28 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @onegirlmanytales

[clonazepammer]

Ok but remember when Steve Harrington didn’t know what a lesbian was but instead of giving Robin an awkward moment he decided to become the n1 lesbian supporter without questions???

[morganbritton132]

Eddie post a Tiktok that’s like, “Steve’s away for the weekend at a teacher conference so you know what that means…”

He flips the camera around to zoom in and out on the fire truck parked in their driveway, making club music noises with his mouth. You can hear him yell goodbye to Fireman Dave before flipping the camera back around on himself. He’s a little burnt around the edges, a little manic looking as he asked, “Seriously though, let’s not mention this to Steve.”

TMZ picks up the story and obviously post something about it because the fire department had to come to a celebrity’s house. Eddie wakes up the next morning to four missed calls and seventeen unread text messages from Steve.

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[finntheehumaneater]

⭐️Radio Star⭐️ (part four! I think.)

(TW: THE WORDS “F*AGGOT” (AND “D*KE”? Maybe?) USED IN A POSITIVE WAY, and not censored like that in the actual writing)

(Part one) (part five)

Steve was going to die. He was alone, and it was crowded and cold, and he was actually going to fucking die. His head was spinning, and his hands were shaking, and he had been walking around for hours in this stupid fucking corn maze, and he just wanted to sit down—but he couldn’t find Robin. And that was a problem, because Robin kind of shut down when he wasn’t around, and that really wasn’t a good idea when they were in a public space. (He also kind of shut down when she wasn’t around, which he was doing now, but that's besides the point.)

She should have been easy to spot in a crowd—sort-of-tall, skinny, always wearing yellow sweaters or Steve’s t-shirts and jeans—but he couldn’t find her anywhere, and it didn’t help that his eyes were blurring again.

It also didn’t help that people in face-paint and masks kept jumping out at him, screaming and grabbing him. Were they even allowed to do that? Fuck, he really regretted agreeing come here.

He turned a corner and something latched onto his arm, moving out from between the corn, and Steve fell flat on his ass, sitting on a rock—which, first of all, fucking ow—and now he couldn’t breathe, gasping for air, the palms of his hands stinging from where they scraped against the dirt. 

“Shit shit shit—hey, hey…” The person dropped to the ground in front of him, and he could hear the small rock pieces shift beneath their knees as they reached over and grabbed his arms to keep him from tipping over onto his back.

Emptiness was rattling around his lungs, devoid of all air as he tried to pull away from the person, but they placed a hand on his chest and he looked up at their face. Their eyes were brown, and they were searching over his face, their eyebrows pressed together. “Hey. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

They had skull face paint on, black over their thin face, their nose, and their eyes—wait painted over their cheeks and forehead, and there was a bit of paint over their few face piercings, and Steve was too busy choking on nothing to care about staring. 

He sucked in a breath, but it snagged in his throat half-way through, making him cough and choke again, and then the person was next to him, one hand on his chest and the other around him. “Fuck, it’s okay, it’s okay…just—deep breaths, okay? Slowly.”

Steve felt himself leaning into their touch, and there were a few other people walking around them in the maze, not even looking down. He felt his breath steady a bit, and a woman in a pink sweater froze, looking over at the person next to him. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah.” The person said, their thumb smoothing over the back of Steve’s shirt. Steve just gave a weak nod and tried to keep his eyes open, even though he felt like sobbing. 

Once the woman was gone, he looked Steve over again, before sighing. “It’s Steve, right?” 

Steve flinched, looking up, albeit a little—no, fuck it, very much—confused. Some of the guy’s frizzy brown hair was falling out of the loose, low bun, and Steve had the urge to reach over and fix it, but he didn’t. He just sobbed quietly in response, hating the fact that he was now crying.

“Oh, hey, it’s okay.” The guy said quietly, helping Steve to his feet after a kid ran past and nearly tripped over his hand—which, upon Steve glancing down, he noticed was bleeding. Not a lot, it was only a scratch, but it was enough to hurt. 

Steve let himself be pulled onto his feet slightly and moved over, the person was holding his hand, and it felt wet between them, Steve's blood probably smeared onto his palm. The sleeve of their brown leather jacket was cold from where it occasionally bumped into Steve’s palm.

It was a bit big on him, covered in pins saying things like: Save water, shower with a friend, Ban The Bra! and I was there: STONEWALL RIOTS. 

There were others, but they were small and harder to read.

Steve was too busy staring at the big, metal rings on the guy's hands to realize that they were now out of the maze and in the field.

It felt dry, away from all of the people, and he nearly collapsed onto the grass. “Woah there, sweetheart,” the guy muttered, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist as Steve slumped down, his face pressed into the guy's shoulder. He smelled like cigarettes and lavender.

"Sorry," Steve whispered, but made no attempt to move, this poor stranger holding him up. "What's….?” He trailed off, looking up slightly.

“Eddie.” The guy said, helping Steve sit down on the picnic table. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Should I?” Steve suddenly felt guilty, his eyebrows pressed together.

Eddie’s face softened as he shook his head, before promptly falling off of the picnic table and onto the grass, a hand over his heart. Steve scrambled over to help him, but his head spun again. Eddie was already on his feet, anyway, picking leaves out of his hair.

His fingers worked at the bun to take it out, and fuck—was it weird that Steve wanted to touch his hair? Yeah. It probably was. “Are you okay?” Steve said quietly, a startled laugh slipping out when Eddie tried to throw one of the leaves at him, but it fell slowly to the ground a few inches away from his black boots.

Eddie grinned and shook his head, putting his hair back up. “I’m never really okay, sweetheart, but thanks for asking.” He unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it over to Steve, who nearly missed grabbing it. 

“You looked cold.” Eddie explained shortly, shrugging slightly and pulled the very front strands of his hair out of the bun. Fuck. Steve’s face was bright-fucking-red right about now. 

“Thanks.” Steve said, slipping the jacket on. It wasn’t as big on him as it was on Eddie, but the end of the sleeves still fell a bit past his palms. The leather there was worn away slightly, like Eddie rubbed at it a lot. 

Steve looked up from it and noticed the tattoos on Eddie’s arms as he pulled off the deep-orange flannel that he must have had on underneath the jacket. Why was that also hot? He tied it around his waist—and fuck, Steve remembered him, now. From the coffee shop last week. Two weeks ago? 

“Windsor’s?” He said hesitantly, forcing himself to look back up at Eddie’s eyes and not the barbed wire tattoo that wrapped around his left elbow and disappeared under the sleeve of his Van Halen t-shirt. 

“There it is, good boy. I knew it’d come to you eventually.” Eddie said, crossing and arm over his chest and tugging at one of the loose curls that framed his face. Steve really wanted him to take his hair down, but he was too busy trying not to show any reaction to Eddie’s comment. He was so fucking forward. “I mean—who could forget this pretty face, hm?” 

Steve laughed quietly and stood up. His vision wasn’t blurry anymore—and it hadn’t been super blurry, like it had been at the coffee shop. Windsor’s, it had been called—and he only remembered the name because Robin kept reminding him of it. Fuck—Robin. He was supposed to be looking for her. 

He stood up, glancing back at Eddie. “Sorry about that, you just…look so…”

“Different?” Eddie offered, and Steve nodded, looking around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie motion to the skull painted over him.

“Yeah, the face-paint will do that t’ya.” He then paused and said hesitantly. “Steve?”

Steve turned back to him, but he was still looking at the people nearer to the maze and not at Eddie, only humming in acknowledgment. 

“Steve. What’s wrong?” 

“I—nothing, just looking for Robin.” He muttered, finally looking back at Eddie, who was worrying at his bottom lip, one of his lip piercings clicking as it knocked against his teeth. “Who?” “Oh, uh…like…this tall—“ Steve held his hand pretty low to the ground, which got a laugh out of Eddie. “Kind of blonde hair, but it’s…more brown. And—I think she’s wearing yellow.”

“Wait, is she the lesbian? Who really likes sharks?”

This was enough to stun Steve into silence, and his eyes widened slightly. How the fuck did he know Robin was gay? Also—shit. “She talked about them a lot to you?”

“When you flip a shark upside down, they go into tonic mobility.” Eddie said, shrugging. 

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Sharks are cool.”

Steve sighed and looked around again, and—there was Robin. Talking to some girl in a red sweater and a pink mini skirt with fishnets and orange-blonde hair. Steve was going to fucking murder her. “Found her.”

“Ah, I see she’s found Chris. I was wondering where she had run off to,” Eddie said, patting Steve on the shoulder, but his hand stayed for a moment too long as he walked past him and nearer the girls. “Glad she’s chatting with someone and not doing what I assumed.”

Steve didn’t ask what he meant by that. “Chris?”

“Chrissy. My roommate.” He said the word…in a weird way, like he didn’t really mean it, and Steve felt his heart sink slightly, his smile that he was already struggling to keep afloat dropping. Eddie glanced over and his cheeks flushed slightly. 

“She’s a fag,” he explained quickly. “I’m also a fag. We’re not—I didn’t mean it like that, we’re just friends.”

Steve was a bit startled by his choice of words. He had never heard anyone willingly call themselves a slur in a positive way, but he kept quiet. 

“What I meant was,” Eddie continued, sighing. “She doesn’t technically live in my apartment with me. Her parents found out she was a dyke and kicked her out, so she’s been sleeping in the spare bed for the past few months. I don’t mind. I like the company. It gets kind of lonely when all your friends live half-an-hour away and only drive over on the weekends for band practice, Y’know?”

            Steve nodded and looked back over at Robin. She looked happy, laughing at something Chrissy had said. Once they got close enough, he could read a pin on Chrissy’s sweater that said, in big black letters: GOOD GIRLS SWALLOW, fight eating disorders!

She looked over at Steve, and Robin finally tore her gaze away from Chrissy, looking relieved. “Oh, thank fuck.” She breathed, tugging Steve into a hug and pressing her face into his shoulder. “I was worried you were off having a panic attack or something. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Steve muttered, squeezing her gently before letting go and turning back to Eddie. “We should go. Do you need your jacket—?” He said quietly, already taking it off to hand it back to him, but Eddie stopped him and pulled it back onto his shoulders, smoothing over the sleeves and smiling.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me next time, yeah?” 

“Is that just because you want to see me again?” 

“Mhm. Maybe.”

Robin elbowed Steve and mouthed ‘phone number’, to which Steve elbowed her back, nearly missing the small laugh that slipped out of Eddie’s mouth. His cheeks flushed slightly, but he straightened up and turned to face Eddie again. “Could I give you my number? So I can…give you back the jacket.”

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat, nodding. “I have a pen?”

“I don’t have anything to write it on.” Steve muttered as Eddie handed him the pen, looking back at Robin and Chrissy, who shook their heads. “I’ll just—,” he grabbed Eddie’s arm gently and wrote the number on the inside of his wrist. It was just pen ink. It would wash off.

“Just call me whenever, yeah? I can’t promise I’ll always be there to answer, but I’ll try,” he said, smiling as he watched the blush creep up Eddie’s neck. 

They said their goodbyes, Chrissy going off to do her own thing while Eddie went back to the maze. Maybe he worked there, too? Or he was just fucking around. Robin and Steve went back to his car, and Steve slipped into the driver’s seat, dropping his head against the wheel and muttering, “We’re you flirting with Chrissy?”

“No—“

“It looked like it.”

“She was—she was flirting with me,” Robin stuttered, and Steve saw her cross her arms as he looked back up. 

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“Vickie is not my girlfriend.” She said firmly, glaring at him slightly, her cheeks red as she looked down.

“Look, I’m not saying you can’t flirt with other girls—“

“I know, but I wasn’t flirting with Chrissy—“

He didn’t finish, just putting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. He needed to go home. They could talk about this later.

——

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, LET ME KNOW! And if you want to follow along with the story but don’t like being tagged, then you can either follow my blog, or follow the tag “Radio Star by Finn”! ⭐️

also let me know what you think I crave validation 🥺

sorry this part took so long!!! I’ve just been feeling super tired recently and haven’t really had the motivation to do much. Also thank you to @an-atlas-or-other for being the beta reader for this, <3

(If you saw Eddie’s character design change, no you didn’t. Also he’s a lot more put-together when he’s not highly caffeinated and stressed, lmao)

taglist:

@strangersteddierthings @aol19 @randombibitch @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @stillfullofshit @steventhusiast @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff @itsthestrangestthings @5ammi90 @absolutegremlin @txumxssianfox @goodolefashionedloverboi @hbyrde36

[sadghostbitch]

Go ahead and cry, little boy

written for ‘Fool’ | wc: 454 | rated: T | cw: none, I don't think | Tags: T for slight swearing, pre-steddie, no upside down AU, mentions of children abandonment, recreational drug use, hurt/comfort wannabe.

@steddiemicrofic

================

Eddie watches how Steve Harrington gets saddled with a child that isn't his.

The entire town knows what happened.

Steve Harrington dated Nancy Wheeler for a year, back in high school, until she made a fool out of him with Jonathan Byers.

And yet, here they were, seven years after the fact, with the eyes of the town on Wheeler dropping her firstborn onto her ex before fucking off to wherever she lived now.

So Eddie watched.

Harrington going to the store with the kid, buying groceries and looking like a fool while trying to buy baby shit he found on the aisle.

Harrington speaking with every mother in Hawkins, looking for advice from the fools who've done it before.

Harrington looking exhausted (and still as beautiful as ever), on his dead end job at family video, where he had raised into a management position.

Harrington on his door one afternoon, foolishly asking if he still sold drugs.

"I do. But don't you have a child now? Where are they?"

Harrington sighed, dragging a hand across his face.

"I asked Karen and the kids to babysit her, I- look, I'm tired. And I just wanted some weed, if you can't sell me that I'll just leave"

Eddie watched him while he spoke. Harrington DID look exhausted, like he'll kneel over the second he lets go, the second he leaves the tension drain of his body.

And Eddie wants to see that, he suddenly realizes, he wants to see Harrington at his most relaxed, without the stress he always seems to carry around, so he makes a choice.

============

Eddie watches Harring- Steve (he'd asked Eddie to call him that) relax on his bed, all loose limbs and hazy eyes, looking the most calm and pretty Eddie has ever seen him.

"I don't think I'm ready for this. Aileen deserves better than a twenty-something fool taking care of her instead of her mom"

Eddie startles, they've been quiet this whole time, but Steve talks, undeterred, about his kid.

"But Nancy didn't want her, you know? So she called me, because she remembered some dumb shit I told her the last time we met and gave her to me."

Stevie is crying now, still beautiful, looking entirely like the fool he is while his haze is stuck on the ceiling and the words keep slipping out.

"And I wasn't ready, but I just couldn't leave her, I didn't want her to be like me"

Eddie reaches out, sweeping the tears out of Stevie's face.

"It was hard, wasn't it? It's okay sweetheart, I've got you"

Those big, beautiful sad eyes stare at him.

"You promise?"

"I promise"

Stevie is a fool, yet Eddie still finds him lovely.