#fun day with steve

[shewrites7]

Only a Matter of Time

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary - You and Steve decide to spend the whole day together, as friends of course, and all you can do is try your best not to stare at his lips. in other words, The Three Times You Want To Kiss Steve Harrington And The One Time You Do.

type - one shot

word count [6.4k]

tags: Steve Harrington x f!reader, friends to lovers, pining, secret crushes, head over heels in love, a fun day with steve, movie dates and a kiss underneath the night sky. (no specific mention of appearance, race, etc.)

warnings: none

a/n: check it out on my ao3!!

10:30 AM

You didn't know how many more of these car rides you could take. You were sitting next to Steve in the passenger seat of his car, with three middle schoolers in the back seat that were bound to push you to the brink of insanity if they kept it up. It, meaning, the way they loved to torture you about how you felt about Steve.

They'd picked apart everything about the two of you, mentioning Steve to you when you were alone, giggling in the back seat every five minutes when car rides like these happened. You'd never mentioned to them how you felt about Steve—you weren't even sure what you felt. But, whatever they thought, they were certainly sure of it. And they were relentless.

You wondered if they did the same to Steve, if they ever made fun of him or had him blushing like you did when they'd mention his name to you. He acted practically oblivious to everything that came from the backseat, vision properly aimed at the road as he drove. Meanwhile, all you could do was try your best to look straight ahead, to not glance to your left at Steve. To not notice the way his hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, sleeves rolled up to show his forearms, or the way he tucked his bottom lip when he was really focused on the road, it coming out glossed over and pink.

God, you really had to stop. You weren't doing anything to help your case. Even if you were looking forward to today, your body tensed at the idea of close contact with Steve all day long.

You and Steve were supposed to share the day together doing fun things, like you'd do with him all the time, practically every week. You would spend the entire day in each other's company, no worries, just having a good time. It was tradition, your special thing. Today though, for some reason, felt different. Your leg was bouncing up and down and you were sure the kids had noticed how quiet you'd been. They notice everything.

After you dropped them all off at the arcade, it would be just you and Steve. Steve and you, completely alone. Nobody around to stop you from falling victim to his smile, or unwillingly letting your mind wander towards the tip of the iceberg, the fine line that echoed out to you, what if? A place you knew you shouldn't even think about, but you couldn't help it.

Steve may have never appeared to notice the mess of thoughts going on inside of you, but the others always did.

"How much slower could you drive?" Dustin called up to the front seat, voice full of attitude and impatience. He sat behind Steve in the driver's seat, squished next to Lucas and Max. Steve and you had agreed to drop the three off at the arcade before spending your Funday together, but you started regretting the decision more and more as the minutes ticked by and they still managed to come up with more to say.

"I'm going the speed limit, Henderson," replied Steve, shutting him down. You heard Dustin scoff from behind.

"You'd think he'd wanna get there faster to get to his date." The three snickered in the back in agreement with themselves.

"Date?" Steve asked, peeking in the rearview mirror with interest. You sighed. Here we go.

"The one you two are going on today, that you do, like, every week." Max's tone hinted at the supposed obviousness of the answer that left you sputtering.

"Max, cut it out, " you said, giving her a firm look. You saw her smirk flash at you evilly from the rearview mirror. She was the worst of them. "This has never been a date."

You saw her shrug. "I mean, it's practically a date." The other two murmured in agreement and you wanted to make the unethical choice of forcing them out of the car to walk the rest of the way, but soon enough you noticed Steve pulling into the parking lot of the arcade, and your thoughts were soothed when you realized you wouldn't have to.

"Enough, you guys." You rolled your eyes with a stern tone, but neither of those things masked the flush that you knew had risen into your face. "We're here now. Out."

Sensing your anger, the trio rushed out of the car and into the arcade, waving goodbye hurriedly and turning around, but not before Max threw a look from over her shoulder to you from behind the car's windshield, one that made you shake your head softly to yourself. You shut the suggestion down mentally. You had to.

Trying to pull yourself out of your thoughts and what the kids had been hinting at, you took a peek over at Steve, who seemed unfazed. Had he had any sort of reaction to what the kids were teasing about? Had he even been focused enough to catch on? Steve's face was anything but revealing at this moment, eyes following Dustin, Max, and Lucas as they hurried into the arcade.

Your heart always bloomed in your chest sweetly when you watched the way Steve looked at the kids, ones he'd grown so accustomed to. They were like his family, more than just some random preteens to him. You'd never failed to notice the way they looked at him too, like he was a safe space for them. They'd been so comfortable around him from the start, and you knew he'd do anything for the bunch of them.

It was sweet, and so Steve. He'd always been caring like that, protective and determined. At least, that's how you'd always seen him. You watched him as he watched the three of them, making sure they got in safely. Seconds passed, and then your glances at him pulled you in to study him in the same way you were helpless to ever actually keep yourself from doing, no matter how hard you tried.

Your eyes flickered over to his, and then down to his lips and up again, and you cringed at yourself as you shut your eyes tightly. You were doing it again. It was like your brain ran amuck at times like this. You weren't sure you knew how to stop it.

"Steve! Steve!" came a voice, Dustin's voice. When you looked out to the arcade, Dustin was running back towards the car, hand on his hat to keep it on his head from his pace.

Steve looked at you and then turned back to Dustin, confused. "Whoa, what's wrong?" he yelled. Dustin practically sprinted to his side of the car with a pound on the window. Steve lowered it.

"I need some cash."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Of course," he drawled, but he was most definitely laughing, hardly hesitating before digging into his wallet and handing the kid a few bucks, to which he smiled gratefully and ran off again, Steve's face wearing a warm smile at his retreating form.

You swore you had heart eyes.

Steve laughed to himself and watched Dustin leave again before turning to you, amusement glinting in his eye. He shrugged with a crooked grin that you wanted to get as close to as possible.

"Kids, what can ya say?"

You just laughed, breathlessly. You could say a lot of things.

12:30 PM

You thought it'd be dark enough in the movie theater to keep it from happening. To stop your heart from doing that agonizingly annoying thing that made it beat ten times louder in your chest and had your eyes glancing down to Steve's lips more times than you'd like to admit.

You and Steve's first destination on your traditional day of fun had been the Movies, a classic tradition. You'd been grateful that Steve had suggested the downtown movie complex. There's no way anything could have happened in a dark theater, right? Wrong, so wrong you could've laughed.

You didn't know how much time had passed since the movie started—it could've been minutes, it could've been an hour. Some action movie was playing, but to you, it was practically background noise. Gunshots and the loud whirr of a helicopter were playing on the big screen that had Steve clearly immersed in it all, meanwhile, all you're thinking about is just how much Steve's brown eyes could glitter in the low light of the theater.

Even in the darkness, you could see the way his long lashes brushed against his cheek, the way soft, chocolate strands of hair brushed against his forehead and had your fingers itching to run through them. And, of course, how his lips glistened every time he went back for more buttery popcorn. Steve's lips took up an embarrassingly large amount of space in your brain.

You needed to distract yourself. You knew that this, whatever it was, couldn't keep happening. At least not while you still were painfully aware of how you and Steve stood. Friends, and just that. You wanted to drill the fact into your mind, keep it from wandering to places it shouldn't.

You stuck your hand in the popcorn bucket you and Steve were sharing, thinking desperately that having something to snack on would shake you out of whatever was going on up inside your brain. With a feeling that spread up right through your arm like wildfire, you realized you and Steve had reached for popcorn at the same time. Your hand had grazed his, fingertips brushing against each other softly.

You turned to face Steve right away without thinking, and he was already looking back at you with a smile and a soft, breathy laugh. If only he knew the way that simple touch sent fireworks straight to your chest so quickly you swore your heart skipped a beat. You smiled back at him and looked back towards the screen, trying to pretend as if you'd been focused on the movie all along.

Then, you felt Steve come closer to you, face angled next to yours as his eyes stayed focused on the movie. He was leaning in even closer to talk to you and your body went tense in your seat.

"Hey," he whispered to get your attention, not knowing that he'd already had all of it for, like, the whole movie. "What's your rate of the movie so far?"

You scrambled for an answer that didn't make it sound like you'd been distracted the whole time.

"Good," you breathed, like an idiot. "It's, uh, it's really good so far." You'd settled on "good," a safe answer. If it'd been bad, you figured, Steve would've been talking your ear off in critiques by now.

Somehow, he leaned in even closer, and the heat from his body radiated around you, impossibly warm and steady. Your body didn't budge at all, too scared to brush against another body part of Steve and turn you into even more of a flustered, sweating frenzy.

"Don't you think the secret agent guy's a little unrealistic? I mean, where'd he get that bomb from? And how does nobody recognize him without his glasses?"

You wanted to listen to Steve, you really did. But, his breath fanned against the side of your neck and you could feel the hair that flopped in front of his face brushing against your cheek. It made it pretty hard to, but you nodded with a tight-lipped smile like you'd drank in every word.

"Totally, yeah."

You thought you'd fooled him. He'd hummed in response and didn't say anything else for a good ten seconds, but that was the last of it. Steve knew you too well.

"What's going on?" he asked with his attention now turned fully on you. "You usually chat the whole way through these kinds of movies. That's why we sit in the back, 'member?"

His eyes peered into yours with such concern and a furrow of his strong brows and Holy, he was touching your shoulder. You shrugged like the wind hadn't just been knocked out of you.

"Yeah, sorry, I don't know what's the matter." You offer him a weak smile. "I think I'm just, uhm, hungry." What?

"Sure," he said, and his voice sounded so kind and positive and not judgy because he was Steve and he was perfect.

He even went to pick up the popcorn bowl to give to you, but you reached for it too, and then you were knocking into it and popcorn was everywhere, as in, all over Steve's lap.

"Oh my god Steve, I'm so sorry," You whisper yelled, freaking out and not thinking straight at this moment, at all. Or, really, for the last couple hundred moments. You fumbled to pick up the bowl from his lap with one hand and scoop up popcorn from his lap in the other.

"It's okay," came Steve's amused voice, but you didn't stop, not when your hands brushed against his legs and not when you dropped the bowl a second time and had to re-scoop what you'd already scooped. Your face was hot and you didn't take a moment to think about what you were doing until you saw Steve shift in his seat a little. He cleared his throat a little bit from next to you, the sound almost like a coughed laugh, and you stopped your hands in their place. What were you doing?

You were all over Steve's thighs, and way too close. Too close to him, too close to his lap, too close to... What were you doing?

You were utterly horrified at yourself, and your eyes must have shown it because Steve laughed. It was sweet and clearly trying to soothe the awkwardness, but you still were frozen in place and had to quickly take a deep breath down before you forced your arms back in your lap and shamefully looked anywhere but to your right at the boy next to you.

You peeked over with dread slowly at Steve, who you made eye contact with before he started laughing to himself again, silently of course. The movie was still playing, but you hadn't watched a second of it in the past ten minutes. You were sure he could see how much you were blushing, even in the dark. You swore you could see the tips of Steve's ears flushed red.

"Steve, I'm so sorry," you said again, worrying even more when he stood up from his seat. Was this the time he decided to escape from you?

You were about to get up too, but he held out two hands to stop you. "Stop worrying, alright? You're fine, really."

He picked up the fallen popcorn bowl and flashed you a warm smile. "I'm just gonna go get us some more popcorn or something. You want anything? Candy?"

You looked up at him, shaking your head wordlessly and wanting to crawl into a hole.

"Alright, be back in a few."

He took off down your row of seats, turning back and waving a little at you before climbing down the rest of the steps.

You waved goodbye back, probably too late for him to see anyway, but cursed yourself internally because, God, you could've really gone for some skittles at that moment. Anything to forget about what had just happened. You were drained beyond belief and delirious. And the day had only just begun.

3:30 PM

You didn't know what was wrong with you today, but you knew you had it bad. You'd always felt little butterflies in Steve's presence, but it seemed like today they were just impossible to tame, and they made you do things like spill hot popcorn into his lap. Oh, and now? The butterflies were just refusing to be pushed down.

But you couldn't blame yourself, not at a time like this. Steve was being absolutely amazing, beyond dreamy. You were both at the state fair and knee-deep in fried goods and lemonade that was both sweet and sour.

Steve had spotted one of those fair games that you reminded him were an easy way to lose your money and fast, but he shook his head and started towards the milk bottle toss booth, taking your hand in his.

Ignoring the fuzzy feeling that came from his hand in yours, you shook your head as he asked the man for a set of baseballs and handed him a few singles.

"Steve, you know these are rigged," you reasoned. He looked down at you with a smirk, waving one of the baseballs around in front of your face.

"Not for Steve Harrington. Just watch."

He motioned towards the walls of the carnival booth, all lined with too many stuffed animals to name. Steve put a hand on your shoulder, pointing towards all of the different stuffed bears and more.

"Pick a stuffed animal," he said, eyes glimmering with confidence. "Any one."

Your jaw dropped as you looked at him, but you were smiling and couldn't help the way a laugh tore from you.

"Fine, fine." You took a second to look around at the options, aware of the worker waiting for Steve to take his turn.

"Maybe the pink panda bear, up there." You pointed to a stuffed animal at the very top, one that happened to be one of the biggest ones in the booth. Steve nodded easily and turned to the worker.

"What do I have to do for the pink panda up there?" He pointed to the one you'd mentioned. The man's eyes followed before his eyebrows raised as if the preposition was impossible.

"You gotta knock all six down, one shot."

Leave it to you to pick the most unachievable option. Steve rubbed a hand over his chin, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

"I have to say," he said turning to you, "you play a hard game. But I will get you that panda bear. Count on it."

He mock-saluted you before turning back towards the inside of the booth, unfazed, where six milk bottles sat stacked on top of each other in a pyramid.

He took a deep breath in and shook out his shoulders before picking up the first ball and throwing it at the milk bottles with great force. With a wince, you saw the top three bottles fall to the ground, three left standing.

"Crap," said Steve, brows furrowed. Almost with no effort, he threw the next two baseballs back-to-back and knocked down two more, but the middle bottle was left standing. You tried not to pay attention to the way the muscles in his arms flexed at each throw.

Steve was visibly frustrated, but the man working the booth seemed even surprised that he did that well. With a smile plastered on his face, he handed Steve a reasonably sized teddy bear.

"Great," remarked Steve, who was looking at the teddy bear in his hands like it was a piece of trash.

You took the stuffed animal from his hands and held it to your chest.

"It's adorable Steve, I love it."

Steve just shook his head with an annoyed sigh, hands on his hips. "It's not the pink panda you wanted."

You smiled, trying to comfort him with a hand on his bicep. "Don't worry about it, really it's-"

"No," he cut in, eyes looking determinedly into yours, unwavering. "I'm getting you that panda if it's the last thing I do."

His tone was firm and you wanted to melt at how adorably stubborn he was being. "Steve," you tried to call, to tell him he really, really, didn't need to, but he was already asking for another set of baseballs. You were all too aware of the small group of people who were beginning to line up behind you and Steve, probably watching this all unfold.

Steve didn't seem to notice. He locked his eyes on the milk bottles, a look of determination on his face that reminded you of the days you'd watch him on the Hawkins High basketball court during the heated moments of a game. He blew out a puff of air, trying to focus. He stood still for a few moments and then BAM, you blinked and all of the milk bottles were lying scattered on the floor with a single throw from Steve.

You blinked. "Oh my gosh." Your jaw was on the floor.

"We have a WINNER!" Yelled the man, his smile genuine. He splayed out an arm at the wall of stuffed animals behind him. "What'll it be, young man?"

"I'll take the pink panda bear, the big one," Steve said confidently, not missing a beat. He was grinning from ear to ear, his smile contagious.

With a nod, the man went to get the very stuffed animal you'd pointed at just a moment ago, having to get a step stool just to reach it.

He finally managed to get it down, and when he did, you could see just how huge the stuffed animal really was.

"For your girlfriend," said the worker, handing Steve the panda.

You coughed. What?

Some claps came from behind you and Steve, and you turned around to see at least twenty people standing behind you and Steve in line, watching with happy smiles on their faces. Did they think you were a couple, too?

Steve didn't make any move to correct the man, too excited and carried away with taking the stuffed animal and immediately handing it to you.

"For you, my dearest," he said jokingly, only that it didn't seem much like a joke, especially not to the worker who smiled down at the two of you like he was watching a happy couple.

The weight of the panda bear almost had you dropping to the ground. It was almost half your size, fluffy and pink with a bow tie and you absolutely loved it.

"Steve, oh my gosh," you said, trying to meet his eyes from over the panda bear. "You shouldn't have."

He shrugged, waving a hand dismissively.

"Of course I should've." He just smiled down at you with this huge grin on his face. "Anything for my girl."

He didn't stop smiling, and you could feel your knees almost buckle, but you couldn't tell if it was from the weight of the bear or Steve's words. Did he know just what he was saying? The words were playful, too good to be true, but they only sounded sincere coming from his mouth.

Your eyes got lost in his, and, in the moment, you wanted nothing more than to drop the panda to the ground and take a turn holding Steve in your arms instead.

But then you noticed all the people still waiting to take their turn at the milk can toss, no doubt watching the both of you, and you broke eye contact, clearing your throat a little.

"C'mon," you said, motioning to the right with your head because your arms were occupied with the toy. "Let's get the expert milk bottle-tosser something to drink. On me."

Steve stood still for a beat, still looking at you, before shaking his head quickly and clearing his throat with a nod.

"Yeah, let's."

He stepped to your side, put his hand on the small of your back, and you both walked forward, leaving the booth. His touch was anything but steadying.

"I'm paying, though."

You rolled your eyes softly. "Oh please, you won this for me, it's only fair."

Steve looked down at you, and to your surprise shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, fine," he said. Then, he sprinted out in front of you.

"Only if you get there first!" He hollered from over his shoulder.

"Steve!" You yelled with a laugh, voice wobbly as you tried to run with this ginormous stuffed animal in your grasp. Your head barely poked out from behind it.

With just a second more gone by, Steve had run far into the crowd of people and you'd managed to lose a clear view of him. All you could hear was his gleeful laugh that rang through the warm summer air from in front of you, and you wanted to bottle up the sound. You could never get enough of this boy.

9:00 PM

The rest of the time you and Steve had spent at the fair had been the textbook definition of perfect, if perfect included having to hide your heart eyes from Steve every time he did something you found swoon-worthy. Which, because he was Steve and you were you, was about every five minutes.

The hot summer sun had faded into the horizon, leaving the sky to turn slowly into a dark blue that had the streetlights turning on and tinting everything in warm, yellow lighting.

You and Steve were walking side by side, cheeks hurting from how much you were smiling. Steve had always had that effect on you.

He'd taken to holding both of the stuffed animals he'd won for you at the carnival game hours before, despite your protests that you could carry them both on your own. (You couldn't). But, somehow, Steve could hold both with one arm, and hold your hand with the other. A man of many talents, he'd called himself. You smiled at the memory.

Though you'd been fighting your tiredness for the past hour, you let out a yawn into the nighttime air. Steve noticed right away.

"You tired?" he asked, and you lifted your shoulders a little.

"I'm alright. Long day."

Steve nodded silently in agreement, before he stopped abruptly in his place, eyes looking off to something in the distance. "Would you be up for one more ride?"

Following his line of vision, you caught sight of the Ferris wheel that you somehow hadn't gotten to riding yet today, a sight to see with bright lights in juxtaposition to the darkening night sky.

You scratched your head with the hand that wasn't holding Steve's, acting like you were deep in contemplation.

"Hmm, I don't know," you said, the side of your mouth turning up into a smirk at Steve's annoyance.

"Well," he said, the beginning of his famous grin creeping up on his features. "I guess you don't have a choice then."

Before you could say anything, Steve was crouching down and lifting you up with a single arm, throwing you over his shoulder with an embarrassing amount of ease as he started jogging towards the Ferris wheel.

"Steve!" you managed to yell from where your head was hanging, laughter bubbling out from you. You could feel the heat rushing to your face that you could surely blame on the blood rushing to your head from hanging upside down over Steve's shoulder, and not from the feeling that shot through your body from Steve's hold on the back of your bare thighs. He ran quickly, but all you could see was his back. Not that you were complaining.

Before you knew it, Steve was setting you back down on the ground, only to grab onto your hand and pull you towards the Ferris wheel that was a whole lot closer to you now, almost right in front of you.

Steve pulled a rope of tickets from his pocket and held them out to the woman running the ride. She eyed over the two of you and then speedily shook her head.

"No riding with the stuffed animals."

You only now remembered that Steve was still holding both of them. How he had managed to carry the ginormous panda bear and you, you don't know.

"Oh, c'mon," said Steve, but the lady didn't budge. Sighing, Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. You looked down at your shoes. This man.

"What about now?" He questioned, a suggestive edge to his tone. The woman hardly glanced at the cash. Then, she pointed a firm finger at the exit.

Steve deflated slightly, pocketing the money but politely nodding at the woman before taking hold of your hand again to walk a couple of yards away from the woman.

Steve was looking down at the pavement. You put a hand on his shoulder in what you hoped was reassuring. "Don't worry, the day was amazing, we don't need to go on the Ferris wheel, Steve."

He looked up at you then, looking anything but sad. His eyes were fiery and determined in the same way they'd been when he'd been set on getting you that panda bear. And he'd gotten it.

"No, you don't worry, because we are getting on that Ferris wheel." He held the panda bear closer to him. "No man gets left behind."

Your brows pulled together, nervously. Steve turned to face the Ferris wheel, staring at it while chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. You didn't want to know what he was planning, but you knew you probably should find out.

"Steve," you called, "what are you thinking about?"

He turned back to face you, body suddenly alight with excitement. "Plan B."

With that, he tightened his grip on your hand and ran ahead, pulling you quickly behind him. And, instead of stopping at the entrance to wear the lady was collecting tickets, he bolted past her, you in tow.

"Steve!" you yelled, at the same time you could hear the lady working the ride shout at the two of you.

Quickly, Steve threw the panda bear stuffed animal he'd won for you and the other teddy bear onto the nearest bench on the ride and lifted you up onto it with an alarming strength that had you flushing pinker than humanly possible. He hopped up onto it too and hooked the chain from the bench across you both to secure you. Your jaw dropped for the umpteenth time that day.

"That was your plan B!" You yelled, out of breath from all the running. The ride hadn't stopped moving the whole time Steve had gotten you both on the ride, and you were already high up in the air.

"I got us on the ride, didn't I?" reasoned Steve, voice raised from the wind that began whipping against the two of you. Steve's hair was already wild, and he had this excited look in his eyes that had your worries fading away and your words of reason dying before they could reach your lips.

Knowing you well enough to see your shakiness, Steve grabbed onto the teddy bear and waved its arms around, pulling a smile from your lips.

"See," he grinned, handing you the bear. "How could you say no to this face?"

You shook your head as you looked down at the bear in your hands, laughter escaping you. You giggled and looked up at Steve who was laughing too, and your giggles turned into loud laughter that rocked the bench back in forth in the air as you both shouted out your laughter into the night.

It took over a minute just to reach the top of the Ferris wheel from its sheer size, and by the time you did, the ride stopped, probably to let on more people on the bottom.

As you looked out into the night, your laughter softly died from your lips as you took in everything around you. The streetlights shining, the hundreds of people down below you, and the stars glistening in the sky. You felt so close to them. The sight was perfect--the whole night was. You'd been having the greatest time with Steve, him being heartachingly sweet the whole day.

Your body was fighting against you, and you gingerly leaned your head onto the shoulder of the giant panda bear in between you and Steve, and when you peaked to your right, Steve's head was resting on the other.

You felt Steve's hand brush against you and interlock his fingers with yours. Something warm and fuzzy bloomed inside your chest as your hands rested against the fluffy stuffed animal, holding each other.

Besides the delicate sounds of the wind rushing past your ears, it was silent up where you and Steve sat. It felt almost like time stopped. You listened closely, hearing the sounds that the breeze brought to your ears. The ringing of a church bell. The music from the carousel down below. It sounded so peaceful and had your eyes fluttering shut.

Behind the safety of your eyelids, your brain started flooding with thoughts of the boy next to you, with memories from the entirety of the day. The car ride with the kids, the fiasco at the movies, the way Steve had won you the stuffed animal you lay on and was spectacularly perfect throughout all of it. He was the most wonderful boy you'd ever met and you wanted to tell him that. You didn't want to have to hide all the adoring thoughts you had about him. It was tiring. And it wouldn't last forever, you knew that. It was only a matter of time before everything came spilling out. You figured now was as good of a time as ever.

You opened your eyes and broke the silence with a soft call of the boy's name. He didn't respond at first, and you wondered if he could even hear you over the wind.

"Hmm?" he said lowly, a soft hum in response. Suddenly, the wind didn't seem so loud anymore. All you could hear was the beating of your own heart as you willed yourself to let words out, anything.

"Do you-" you paused, thinking about what you were about to say. "Do you ever wonder about the things the kids say? Or, you know, what the worker at the milk bottle game said?"

You swallowed. "Not that you have to think about it or anything you, uhm, you just don't ever have a reaction whenever they poke fun at us and I was just wondering if, ugh, sorry this isn't making sense."

You wanted to melt into your seat. Your voice had breaks and pauses in it and you made absolutely no sense. There went your chance. The silence was eating you alive.

"I, uh," came Steve's voice. "Yea. I do."

You swore you felt your heart drop. Wait, what?

"You do?" You wanted to slap yourself at how surprised your voice sounded.

"Yea, I do," he said. Both of you still leaning on the stuffed animal, all you could see was the scene in front of you. You had no idea what Steve's face looked like at the moment, and you didn't know if the fact discouraged you or made you relieved.

"And," came Steve's voice again, slow, like he was just testing the water. "I guess the reason why I never have a reaction to them is because what they're saying just ... never seemed like it was that far of a leap, you know?"

It felt like there were gears in your brain, spinning and smoking, trying to process Steve's words and their meaning. When you stumbled on what they could possibly mean, you didn't feel like it was possible to believe.

You lifted your head from off of the stuffed animal, wanting to finally see Steve's face. When you looked over at him, he was already looking at you, chocolate eyes having never looked so big, having never shone so bright. It was like you could see the stars in the night sky reflected onto his eyes.

You chewed on the skin of your bottom lip.

"Steve I-," you broke eye contact, feeling like you wouldn't be able to get out what you had to say if Steve was gazing at you like that. "I want to say something more, but I just want to be sure I know exactly what you're trying to say."

Taking a breath out, you looked back up at him again. "What are you saying?"

Steve took a moment to respond, looking down at your interlocked hands before holding yours a little tighter.

"I'm saying ... I think about us being together. A lot."

You couldn't help the way your eyebrows raised. You'd wanted this moment to happen for so long, and, now that it was, you were in disbelief that it was even remotely going well.

"And, uhm," you swallowed, "what do you think about it? Us being together?"

"I," he started slowly, eyes working around in thought. "I think that it makes sense. It makes sense, because I've fallen in love with this amazing girl and, that's what you do when you love somebody, right? You get together with them, spend every moment with them." He looked into your eyes, his hopeful and bright. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

You looked back into his eyes, nodding quickly when you realized you hadn't said anything. "Yeah, yeah I do. I guess I'm just trying to take it all in. Inside it's just ... hard to believe."

Steve frowned, softly, never judging. "What about?"

"About how you feel. I never thought ... " you didn't know what you were trying to say, but Steve took hold of your other hand and any words died on your lips.

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met. Why wouldn't I fall in love with you? How couldn't I?"

You were melting inside, putty in his hands. Steve was amazing and always had been, but this? You were helpless.

You didn't know if Steve could see how much his words were affecting you, searching his face for a sign of anything. He'd never looked more sincere and vulnerable, eyes looking down at you.

"Well," he said, voice soft. "What do you think about it?"

You offered him a smile, squeezing his hands in yours like he'd done before, foreheads touched as you leaned into him. This time, when you looked down at Steve's lips, you didn't feel like you had to hide it.

"How about I show you what I think?"

Your voice was soft and had Steve's forehead creasing against yours.

"Show me?" he asked, lips tugging upwards in a grin. You wanted to kiss that smile so badly. Press your lips to his, once and for all. So, finally, you did.

When your lips found his, it took only a second before he was pressing his right back into yours. Your hands were still holding each other's, and you moved one set of hands to his thigh, needing to steady yourself because the kiss was everything you'd imagined and more. It was delicate but full of a passion that had your chest twisting.

You moved in tandem with Steve, steady and trying to get as close to each other as you could from your seats. You reached your other hand into Steve's hair, finally getting to run it through the soft strands, the ones at the back of his neck that had him letting out a beautiful sigh into your lips. You didn't want the moment to end, smiling into his lips from pure serotonin with only the moon and stars as your witnesses.

You felt a change in the wind that blew against both of you, and you realized the Ferris wheel had finally started moving again and that you both were nearing the bottom. Pulling back from Steve, you smiled up at him. You felt like you could pull an endless amount of smiles from your chest.

"So," you asked, words soft as you kept playing with his hair because you loved how it felt, and what it did to him. "What do you think?"

Steve looked at you with so much love in his eyes that you couldn't believe you'd never noticed it before.

"I, uh..." he swallowed, cheeks flushed. "I agree."

[starrystevie]

eddie knows his crush on steve harrington is a hopeless cause, okay?

he's somehow been friends with steve long enough to know what he looks like when he's flirting, what he looks like when he has a crush, when his sights are set on someone very non-eddie munson shaped. he also now knows how to hide his jealousy in a fake smirk that he flashes steve's way when yet another pretty girl walks their way with her sights set on him and a smirk of her own.

eddie always watches as steve reaches out a hand just so to gently brush it against a lovely lady's arm with that charming fucking smile and sees how that lovely lady will always melt at the touch. and who could blame her? certainly not eddie, the same eddie who's had his own sights set on steve harrington for what feels like a life time. if anyone knows how painfully a heart can beat when it sees him from across the room and imagines a date and a future and a life with steve, it would be eddie.

but that's where it ends. steve harrington, the ladies man that he is, always stops things there with a smile and a wave thrown in the woman's direction as she walks away. it throws eddie for a loop every time. he would watch the two flirt for minutes that that felt like torturous hours for him only for it to end with a disappointed look on her face and steve turning his attention back to eddie like nothing had happened.

it makes no sense.

"i don't get it, man," he says one day as steve lets yet another girl walk away down to the opposite end of the grocery store aisle they're in. steve's turned back to staring at the shopping list in his hand and is muttering to himself instead of watching her walk away like eddie is, disbelief coloring his face.

"don't get what?" steve asks back, not bothering to look up until the silence goes on for too long. his eyes land on eddie's and he frowns slightly, shaking his head slowly. "... did i miss something?"

eddie reels back, eyebrows furrowing together and motions his arms every which way, from the girl's retreating form to the empty space around them.

"steve, you're just going to let her walk away and not get her number? she was obviously hitting on you, dude."

he watches as steve's face crinkles slightly before smoothing out and shrugs his shoulders, turning back to grab the cat food eddie feeds to the strays off the shelf. he lurches forward and places his hands on steve's shoulders to face him, watching as his eyes go wide.

"what do you want me to say?" steve shrugs again and eddie can feel the movement under his hands. "i guess i wasn't feeling it."

eddie sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face before returning it back to steve's shoulder. "wasn't feeling it... steve, i'm gay, not blind. you two obviously were hitting it off with your fucking charming lines and flirty eyes. you always do this and it makes zero fucking sense-"

"-you're gay?"

steve says a bit too loud for eddie's liking even if they are currently hidden in the pet food aisle. heat floods his cheeks and he throws a hand cover steve's mouth while shushing him to keep him from saying it again. he sees steve's eyes go even wider and feels warmth spreading under his fingers.

is steve...

"you knew this!" eddie accuses in a whisper and tries to breathe evenly while steve's gaze travels all over his face. "we talked about it with robin that one time!"

... is he blushing?

there's a sudden pressure at his side and he looks down to see steve's fingers curling over his waist. eddie takes in a stuttering breath and brings his own wide eyes up to meet steve's. it's like looking in a fun house mirror, seeing his flush creeping up steve's neck and watching steve blink in time with him. he can feel when steve tries to say something, his lips ghosting over his palm and eddie pulls back like he's been burned, but steve's hand stays right where it is on his side.

"i absolutely would have remembered if you told me that before," he says and his voice is a little breathless. "there's no way i was there when you guys talked about it."

eddie thinks back to the party when he and robin were huddled up on their couch together. argyle and nancy were dancing in their socks on the living room floor, bouncing around to some experimental track that had been badly recorded on a cassette. jonathan was sitting at the coffee table snapping photos of them, joint hanging from his lips and easy smile spreading on his face.

eddie's trying to pinpoint where steve is in this memory and that's usually the easiest thing for him to remember, but he can't...

until suddenly he can, because steve walked in through the sliding door with his shirt over his shoulder and his swim trunks low on his hips and water dripping down his chest and a cigarette behind his ear and the sunset bleeding in through the windows was painting him golden and he was walking over to dance with nancy with a wide grin pulling at his cheeks and-

"god, i'm gay," eddie had breathed out. robin followed his line of sight and nodded because she gets it like she has a steve problem of her own and that was that.

eddie focuses back in on steve while they stand in the fucking pet food aisle, focuses on the shrill jingle pouring out of the grocery store speakers and not on the way he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, focuses on the way steve can look good even in harsh fluorescent lights.

"well, now you know," is all he can breath out.

steve smiles, all white teeth and crinkled eyes, and his fingers curl even tighter around eddie's waist as he takes a half step even further into his personal space.

"you're why," steve says back easily and eddie reminds himself to breathe as the other side of his waist suddenly has a hand covering it, too. "i don't take their numbers, i don't give them mine, i don't go on the stupid dates they ask me out on because..."

the fingers dance up his side and eddie can't breathe.

"... they're not you, so why would i?"

eddie sends up a silent thank you to whoever is listening that they're hidden away from prying eyes in the pet food aisle so he can lean it and learn for the first time what steve's smile tastes like.

[hotluncheddie]

eddie, steve

.🥞✨

‘uh, the pancakes with bacon please, extra syrup? thanks.’

eddie knows that order. he makes it every saturday night, so late it’s almost morning.

but he’s never heard that voice before, never heard it so close, right by the pass window.

he swallows. turning from the sink in the back to face out into the diner, someone’s sat at the counter, right across from him.

the most beautiful boy eddie’s ever seen.

he’s looking right at eddie, cheeks slightly pink, fiddling with a still wrapped straw. he looks perfect and cozy and adorable, hair sleep rumpled and in a hoodie that swallows up his soft lines, making him look even softer.

‘coming right up.’ eddie rasps, his own cheeks colouring.

but the boy, he smiles. ducks his head, looks up at eddie through his lashes.

eddie’s a fucking goner.

-

steve can’t believe it. his eyes are even bigger this close up, big and brown and sparkling with life.

his hands are just as nice this close up too, delicate but capable as they move around where steve can see. he sticks his tongue out a little when he concentrates. it’s adorable.

he’s the prettiest guy steve’s ever seen.

he puts steves finished pancakes in the window with a little smile, rings the bell and seems to blush even harder. almost cringing at the sound. it’s makes steve laugh, he’s cute.

and they’re still the best pancakes the midwest has to offer, at denny’s, at 3am. even sober and nervous and exited like he is.

steve can’t help closing his eyes like always when he takes his first bite. always blown away by their sweet fluffy texture. and he makes his way through them a little quicker than normal, without robin to distract him.

they taste as good as normal but he’s right there. right there watching steve eat them. something about it makes him feel shy, barely daring to look up from his plate. but when he does the line cook has the softest smile on his face and steve relaxes, tucks his hand under his hoodie to rest on his stomach like normal. finished his pancakes.

when steve looks up again, the guy is staring at his empty plate, kind of stuck in space. but then he vanished for a moment and the door to the kitchen opens. and he’s coming over, picking up the syrupy plate and he has freckles, bats tattooed on his arm.

he’s so close. he’s so pretty this close.

the prettiest guy steve’s ever seen.

‘eddie?’ steve blurts, exited, finally able to read his name tag. his names eddie.

his name is eddie.

eddie’s cheeks get pink, the tips of his ears. he looks at steve with wide eyes ‘yeah?’ he asks, voice small and confused.

steve grins at him. ‘your names eddie.’ and he watched eddie’s smile bloom, he has dimples.

‘wha’ eddie clears his throat. ‘what’s yours?’ and steve feels his heart burst, feels like sunshine and crisp leaves.

‘steve.’ he says, a little breathless.

‘steve.’ eddie whispers.

‘when do you go on break?’ steve asks, heart beating in his throat.

eddie just shrugs, eyes still wide. ‘whenever. as long as there’s no customers in.’ and steve realises he’s the only one here. it makes him blush more, for some reason.

‘make us another batch?’ he asks, deciding to be brave, leaning over the counter, just to be a little closer. ‘we can share.’ and it’s so worth it. to see the smile grow on eddie’s face, watch him nod, watch a curl slip out of his bun. watch him work his magic through that little pass window. stealing glances at steve as he goes.

-

watching steve enjoy his food is even better close up. even better than eddie could’ve imagined.

they’re sitting in steve’s usual booth, eddie’s where robin normally sits, he finally has a name for the cool girl steve hangs out with. gets to hear a little about how they met, can tell he loves her, so much. it’s sweet, his eyes shining as he talks.

so is the way steve cuts the pancakes, sweet, pushing perfectly stacked mouthfuls towards eddie to have. pancake, bacon, pancake. all covered in syrup, sticky and delicious.

eddie never really even liked pancakes much, more of a waffle guy. but sitting here, watching steve eat them, laughing and smiling at things eddie says. jaw just a little soft, upper lip smattered with hair. watching steve sigh and stretch when they’re done. that hand coming to rest on his stomach again, the way it always does, every saturday night.

eddie knows he’ll always love pancakes.

-

‘how do you get them to be so good?’ steve asks, hand circling eddie’s wrist loosely, stopping him before he goes back to his job, an orders come in, he has to go. but steve needs to ask, wants to know. wants one more moment with him.

eddie smiles, takes steve’s hand and kisses the back of it. and it’s so out of place, at denny’s, at 4 am that steve giggles, almost manic. it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him.

‘they’re made with love sweetheart.’ eddie says, looking up at him from his bow, kissing his hand again before walking away. the napkin with steve’s number on tucked safely in his back pocket.

steve’s forearm scrawled in the black ink of eddie’s own.

steve goes home and falls straight to sleep. so late its almost morning, like every saturday night.

he dreams of brown eyes, and syrup.

<3

fin.

ty for reading! mwah!

@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @spectrum-spectre @stevesbipanic @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @acedorerryn @scoops-aboy86

[cldhead]

roommates <3

[kofi]

[morganbritton132]

I can just imagine after the interview airs, Eddie shows a clip of Steve standing there watching it, one hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of him nose just /so/ done with Eddie. He’s just so exasperated. Just under his breath “I’m going to get so much shit for this at school” imagine his kids or other teachers ribbing him about it

Mike is actually the one that posts the video.

It’s captioned something like, POV: Moments Before Disaster.

It is the morning after the interview aired because Steve doesn’t stay up late enough to watch it live. They are still in their pajamas as Eddie excitedly brings the recording of the show up on the tv to prove to Steve that they asked about him.

“Wait until you hear the audience when I tell them that you’re not there,” Eddie says, fast-forwarding through the first interview. “They were sad. Jimmy was too, for sure. I could see it in his – Oh, here we are.”

The interview plays out, Eddie says what he says, and Steve.

Steve just sighs so deeply.

He pinches the bridge of his nose so hard he can feel it in his toes and he sighs. He says carefully, slowly like he’s explaining basic addition to an eighth grader, “Eddie, you know how a lot of famous people date people that are significantly younger than them.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you,” Steve starts, gathers his strength and patience. “Baby, how do you think people are going to perceive what you mean when you, a famous person, say that your partner has school tomorrow.”

“…” Eddie thinks about it and then, “…Oh. Oh! Gross.”

He thinks about it a bit more and shrugs his shoulders, “No one is going to think that.”

Meanwhile, Eddie’s phone has been vibrating on the coffee table with call after call from his manager the whole time this conversation has been happening.

[stevebabey]

part one, part two, part three. this a part four. this is so accidentally long but hickies as promised, w a brief return out touch starved steve <3 mwah!

Eddie is sure his kiss tastes of uncertainty.

He can’t help the way his lips betray his nervousness in their obvious restraint. He knows he had been far more enthusiastic last night, eagerness behind every kiss. This kiss is… softer. Shyer.

He can’t help it. Because even though Steve said yes, had maybe flattened Eddie’s heart by adding a please, Eddie’s still… unsure. Still worried. Still waiting for a punch to come because that’s what happens to boys who kiss boys.

But… Steve’s hands are still holding onto Eddie’s wrists, keeping them in their place where they cup Steve’s face so gently. When Eddie had leaned in, lips grazing Steve’s, he had felt the other’s tightening grip like a silent prayer, saying come close, stay close. Even now, the grip around Eddie’s wrists holds firm.

Though it’s the last thing he wants, Eddie breaks the kiss. He draws back, savouring the moment — the sweetness of Steve’s lips for what might be the final time — with his eyes shut tight. Did I do it right this time? He thinks, he hopes. Can I kiss you and keep you?

“I’m…” Steve starts, his voice a whisper. Eddie’s eyes open. His fingers flex along Steve’s jaw instinctively. “Really confused.” Steve admits quietly.

His face is reserved. Only slight ripples of anxiety peek through. The crinkle between his brows speaks of his abundance of confusion. Eddie’s eyes drink in every expression and he can’t stop help how his eyes catch back on Steve’s lips. He stares when Steve speaks.

“I thought you— I thought you didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want this?” Eddie echoes, with a tone of incredulity, eyes darting back up to look Steve in the eye. He punctuates the last word with another touch, the pad of his thumb touching Steve’s bottom lip bravely.

Steve shivers. His eyes flutter for a moment, in a way Eddie has come to know means his strange aversion to touch is flaring up but — but Steve’s hands keep Eddie from moving away when he tries. Steve nods slowly.

Eddie swallows — tries to push down the ache to kiss him again. They’re still twisted; Steve still doesn’t get it.

Neither does Eddie though. He can’t even imagine what Steve came over to apologise for. What mental gymnastics he had put himself through to somehow be the one who needs to apologise in this situation.

“Where the fuck,” Eddie breathes softly, with an appalled chuckle, letting Steve know he wasn’t mad. Wasn’t in the slightest bit annoyed, only confused. “Did you get that idea?”

Beneath his hands, Eddie can feel Steve’s cheeks grow hotter. The colour soon follows, a glorious crimson that fills the apples of his cheeks. And sure, fine, okay, sue Eddie if he enjoys the sight a little too much. Steve all flushed in the face, ears definitely warmer than they were a second ago.

Steve starts to stammer. “You— You sounded annoyed when I was leaving.” His brows are nearly touching in the middle, drawn together in concern. “I thought you were regretting—“

Eddie interrupts to clarify, suddenly aware of where they’d gotten so muddled. “I sounded annoyed because you were leaving, Steve. Not…”

Not because you asked for a kiss. Eddie’s throat dries up. He can’t say it aloud, not just yet. The words dance on the tip of his tongue. Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to fumble them.

Even though, Steve’s sudden departure had been due to a genuine misunderstanding, Eddie can’t— he’s not… He’s got to be realistic with himself, just in case. Not say too much too soon.

Steve reads into the silent lull in Eddie’s words and in an instant, his eyes are widening in understanding. Somehow, his cheeks glow even warmer.

“Oh,” Steve says, the word doused in relief, in understanding. “Oh my god—“

The rest of his sentence is lost as a car drives by, tires groaning loudly along the tar road. It serves as a quick reminder of where they are. In public, in such close proximity. Eddie steps back instantly, hands ripping away from Steve as a lick of panic runs up his spine. His eyes track the pale blue car down the road.

They were covered by the van but, still.

“C’mon,” Steve says softly, calling to catch his attention.

The panic wavers wildly for a moment before eventually relenting, Eddie dropping his shoulders as he turns back to Steve. He’s delighted to find Steve is no less red in the face.

Steve clears his throat, “We can call a tow back at yours.”

He gestures to his car, an invitation, with a smile. Eddie’s not even sure he’s meant to say something so reassuring; a mixture of the use of we and the implication Steve would come back home with him. Would come inside.

Eddie can’t help how he ogles at Steve. He’s doing another once-over to make sure Steve isn’t a mirage about to fade. Maybe Eddie had actually crashed his van when the engine spluttered on him and all this was a weird and extremely vivid coma dream.

Except, Steve doesn’t look perfect — not like a dream would.

Eddie can tell from the flatness of his hair, he likely didn’t sleep well. He’s got a tired but kind smile on. It’s shyer than Eddie’s ever seen before.

He’s still wearing that bright green Family Video vest for Christ’s sake — if Eddie was in a coma, he had some serious self-reflection to do if his brain picked this as his dream-Steve fit.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a nod and a smile of his own. “Lemme, uh, lemme just grab my stuff.”

Eddie turns to hide his face before Steve can see it grow into a wild frenzied smile, too gleeful to contain. He pops the driver’s side door and scurries around, grabbing all the essentials; cigarettes, lighters, and tapes with actual good music on them.

Steve’s waiting for him, still in the same spot when he slides the door shut. Eddie works the rusted lock to lock it up. No, Eddie thinks gleefully, this is not a dream.

-

Steve is surprised it’s not more awkward.

Not that he wants that— honestly, this sweet in-between phase where Eddie keeps glancing over at him, brown eyes longing and like he was checking if Steve was still there, as he talked on the phone, suited Steve just fine. More than fine.

And yeah, okay, maybe Steve swooned a bit when Eddie started twirling the cord of the phone, so much like a lovey-dovey teenage girl that Steve nearly laughed aloud. He wasn’t sure if Eddie even realised he was doing it. Just leant up against the wall, stealing glances at Steve — his fingers fiddling with the cord til they began looping it over and over.

Steve wouldn’t though— laugh at Eddie, that is. It feels pretty much impossible to do anything except sit with all his giddiness, just knowing that… his feelings for Eddie are mutual.

That Eddie hadn’t regretted the kisses in the slightest. That Eddie had wanted Steve for just as long.

It’s achingly sweet to look back on that first hug Steve had asked for — knowing they had both been toeing the line, trying desperately to keep their pining to themselves. Idiots, Steve scoffs to himself affectionately, they were both idiots.

Rerunning the memory of his hasty exit last night is less of a breezy memory. Steve doesn’t want to think too hard about what malicious ideas Eddie’s brain might have spun up to taunt himself.

He must’ve thought that Steve had left for entirely worse reasons. That the reason Steve hadn’t been able to look at him because he thought Eddie was… that he regretted… Steve shakes his head. None of those thoughts are pretty.

And, more importantly, they were untrue. Steve very much liked those kisses. His only regret that night was leaving the way he did. Honest, Steve would have more kisses if he could.

Something scorches across his heart delightfully because he can have more kisses — he just has to ask.

“Okay, thank you so much,” Eddie says appreciatively into the receiver. He dashes another look over at Steve, an apology in the form of his sorry grimace. He focuses back on the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow to see the damage. Thanks, again.”

He sets the phone back in the cradle and for a moment, Steve can’t see his face. Can’t see any of the nervous contemplation. Eddie finally seems to grasp his courage and spins, fixing Steve with a smile.

“Um,” He says, a nervous chuckle leaking through. Eddie moves closer but he moves all skittish, one of his sneakers catching on nothing. He stumbles just a bit, taking a quick seat on the couch arm beside Steve.

“Wh—“ Eddie starts to say. He huffs another nervous chuckle, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might be a stupid question but what… now?”

Steve thinks for a moment. He’s considering how to go about this when Eddie blurts out in a hopeful tone— “More kissing?”

There’s an unspoken please. Steve revels in the blush that follows the words.

He smirks up at Eddie, eyes tracing the bloom of pink on his cheeks. “What? On the couch, like I’m some common whore?”

“You seemed to have no problem with it last time, my liege.” Eddie points out dramatically, all with a grin.

“And I have no intention of repeating last time.” Steve counters. Then frowns.

“Well, except for the good part.” He corrects himself. “The first part! Just- Christ, can we go to your room instead, please?”

Eddie’s on his feet in an instant. He brings his hand up to his forehead and gives a salute with enough force to rip his arm off. Then marches down the hall and disappears into his room without waiting for Steve.

Steve thinks the nerves might be getting to him.

He walks the steps he’s walked a hundred times before, crossing into Eddie’s room and pressing the door shut behind him.

Eddie’s sat on the bed, criss-cross apple sauce style. He’s kicked his sneakers off — one’s by Steve’s foot, the other on the other side of the room.

Steve swallows and toes off his own shoes. He approaches the bed, climbing on gingerly and folding his limbs to match Eddie. That familiar swoop of nerves sits oh-so present in the pit of his stomach. Steve tries to think of it as a good thing — it’s good to have something so good that he’s nervous in his excitement.

For a moment, they just sit. Staring at one another. One of Eddie’s fingers is digging into the rips of his jeans, toying with the loose strands. It gives away his restless energy.

Steve waits. He asked last time and he knows — he knows Eddie wants to kiss him. But a small part of him…

“Why is this so hard?” Eddie blurts out all of a sudden. Like before, the words seem like they’ve come out without Eddie realising, but he barrels on. “Shit, I’m so fucking nervous. You make me so nervous, Steve.”

Eddie’s eyes won’t settle. They dart around. Move from Steve’s eyes to his lips, down, to the bed sheet beneath them. Like he still isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to look. His admission makes Steve sorta wanna roll over and scream into the pillow. In a good way.

“I’m— Me too," Steve admits, a smile curling at his lips. “The- fuck, the way I feel about you honestly scares me shitless.”

Eddie seems to be both chuffed and relieved at his words.

“But I… want to kiss you,” Steve says assuredly. The next sentence he poses as a question, words a little more hesitant. More nervous. “And… and you want to kiss me?”

Across the bed, Eddie grabs a piece of his hair, twisting it nervously as he pulls it to cover his face. His usual nervous tell. Steve can’t help how he breaks into a grin when Eddie nods fervently.

“Cool.” Steve breathes. Then mentally smacks himself for saying cool. He tries to recover but Eddie beats him to it, with a question of his own. “Can I kiss you now?”

Steve answers by shuffling closer, til their knees are touching and then — like beside the road earlier — mimics the touch Eddie had given him.

Hands on either side of Eddie’s face, gentle as they curl under his jaw. Steve can feel the curls of his hair tickling at his fingertips. Another inch forward and he’d be burying his hands in Eddie’s hair. Steve bookmarks that urge for later.

Eddie looks nervous. Steve is undoubtedly making it worse, taking his time like this. But he can’t help it.

He wants to look — wants to stare, wants to devour every detail of Eddie’s face. Commit it to memory so he can picture it with his eyelids closed. What Eddie Munson looks like while waiting for a kiss.

The amount of affection that swells in Steve’s chest hits like a sucker-punch, enough he sucks in a tiny breath. He can see the smallest quiver in Eddie’s lip.

“You gonna stare all day, Harrington?” Eddie teases, but it lacks conviction when the words wobble a bit.

“Just enjoying the view,” Steve remarks, and then, finally, he kisses Eddie.

It’s the floodgate. It’s a frenzy, kiss after kiss after kiss, the softness of them slipping away in lieu of making up for missed time. Steve kisses every apology onto Eddie’s lips and he receives forgiveness a dozen times back. It’s bliss.

Eddie’s a very enthusiastic partner, to say the least. He’s a little messier with his kisses, hands gripping the front of Steve’s shirt tightly, pressing forward in a way that pushes Steve back— but Steve certainly doesn’t mind. He removes his hands from Eddie’s face to lower himself back, elbows against the comforter as Eddie follows eagerly.

For a moment, a sprout of doubt pulls them apart. Eddie hovers, not getting too close. “This is… this is okay?”

Steve grabs him by the collar and tugs him down, meeting him in the middle for another kiss. It’s a fat unanimous yes. Something glows hot in his chest when Eddie smiles into the kiss. Grins even. In fact, he has to take a moment to cheese it out, his face tucked into hiding against the crook of Steve’s neck.

Steve doesn’t mind. His hand strokes idly over Eddie’s hair, twisting in with the curls. He lets him take his time, lets Eddie work back up the nerve to kiss him again, except— with a gasp, Steve squirms at the sudden kiss on his neck, hot and soft.

“I think you were the one overdue for a hickie,” Steve breathes, hands threading through Eddie’s hair gently. He doesn’t pull him away though; lets Eddie figure out the best way to scrape his teeth against Steve’s skin as best he likes.

“Uh huh,” Eddie murmurs, barely heard. He’s too distracted.

“Eddie,” Steve tries, but it comes out far too close to a sigh. He tries again, this time with a proper tug to pull Eddie back from him.

It’s a bit of leftover King Steve the way he manoeuvres the both of them, rolling deftly so it’s Eddie upon his back and Steve hovering above him. Eddie manages to look both impressed and disgruntled at once.

Steve doesn’t let him get a word out. The pale stretch of skin down Eddie’s neck has been calling his name for too long and Steve is hungry for it. He grants Eddie one, two, three more kisses on his lips before he’s moving down.

He’s just getting started, lips pressed to hot skin when it happens. Eddie’s hands move up, skirting barely up and under Steve’s shirt, fingers searching. The unpleasant aversion prickles under Steve’s skin.

He locks up. He’s unable to do anything but; it feels helpless even as he tries to shake it off but he knows, he knows Eddie can feel it as he grows rigid under the touch.

It’s worse when Eddie tries to reel his touch back in. Steve wants to cry with frustration because it’s not Eddie— it’s fucking him.

“Don’t,” Steve pleads, his hand diving down to catch Eddie’s wrist and holding it there. He knows Eddie’s watching him closely, even as Steve’s eyes scrunch shut and he fights to fend off the uncomfortable feeling attempting to make home under his skin.

“It’s…” Steve wills himself to look Eddie in the eye, hoping the sincerity bleeds through his words. “It’s not you, Eds. Just— fuck, just… give me a second, okay?”

He releases Eddie’s wrist. Eddie nods, a minuscule motion. His brown eyes are watching Steve closely, darting all over his face wildly and after a moment, they still on his lips. Eddie makes a decision and pushes forward, planting a tender kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“S’okay,” He assures. Then gives Steve another kiss, this time on the lips, slow and sweet. Steve drinks it in, tries to savour the feeling of being kissed by someone who wants him. Wants him in every way they can have him. It's maddening.

Eddie’s hand moves an inch cautiously, testing the waters as his fingertips trace the skin of Steve’s tummy. He doesn’t flinch when Steve stiffens up again.

Like he can sense the frustration building up in the other boy, he captures Steve’s lips with his gently. Whispers against them again as soothingly as he can. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It’s like the words run across the raised hackles of Steve’s soul, soothing and seeping out the tension from every muscle. Steve can feel himself relax under the words. Feels something inside him wobble and then tip over, finally soothed, finally settled.

This time when Eddie’s hand grazes along his waist, Steve shivers in a good way— and leans in closer, kissing back. His hands clutch back at Eddie’s hair, raking through to grip it sweetly. He tugs, jerking Eddie’s chin up and exposing his throat.

“Can I…” Steve begins. It’s a tease.

“Shut up,” Eddie grinds out, hands fixed on Steve’s waist. Now he knows he can touch, that Steve isn’t tensing up or flinching away, his hands are rabid. Hungry. They crawl across the skin, leaving hot scorch marks behind that tingle delightfully. “This hickie is so overdue.”

Steve grins wolfishly.

Eddie’s neck is a thorough shade of violet by the time he’s done, chest heaving. He looks devilishly handsome when Steve pulls back to admire his work and he barely gets a moment before Eddie’s back on him, lips hot against Steve’s own.

“My go.”

This time when Steve’s getting ready to leave, he half-heartedly pulls on his shoes. It’s a pitiful attempt to slow down the inevitable. He can’t believe leaving is harder this time; maybe it’s more to do with the hickies adoring his own neck and collarbones.

“Hey, I-“ Steve starts, already feeling flush in the face. Eddie’s watching him pack his stuff up, still pink in the face, but so evidently content with himself. He’s laid back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He’s showing off the dark lovebites on his skin, neck craned proudly.

“Mm?” Eddie hums, a cheeky smile on his face.

“When I— Robin.” Steve says, flashing a hand to his neck. “She’s- she’s probably gonna ask.”

Steve swallows. He somehow gets the feeling Eddie already knows what he’s going to ask — that he’s waiting for him to say it. Eddie’s grin says as much.

“And when she does, I—“ Steve continues, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. The kisses on it tingle beneath his own touch. “Can I… call you my boyfriend?”

Eddie glows. It’s the only word for the excited laugh that punches out of him, like a gleeful goblin.

Steve thinks he might just be falling all over again when Eddie rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He pretends for Eddie’s sake not to hear his muffled shout that’s almost a squeal. His cheeks are ruby red by the time he sticks his face back out, his grin so wide it makes his eyes crinkle in the corner.

“Yes,” Eddie says, voice giddy. “Yes, please.”

And Steve’s so fucking glad he asked for that stupid hug way back when, because got a gremlin-level of affectionate boyfriend now to show for it.

-

and that's likely a wrap on the can i series for now ! i had an inkling of an idea for future but tbh i wasn't supposed to write this i like have 7 other fics callin my name. but alas! thank u so very much for the love on this, whether sending kisses to my touch starved self or talking bout needing a hug too in the tags <3 hopefully this heals all the right places <3 mwah my loves

tags below:

@original-cypher @maya-custodios-dionach @uwujinniee @attic-cat-blog @immortal-iratze @anaibis @orangeandthefairroadkill @etaka @silversnaffles @invisibleflame812 @eddie-hero-munson @jesskier @princess-eddie @impeachy @estrellami-1 @bloomingconflagration @newtstabber @iwouldsail @sundead @darksmistress @sydstroons @leethegay @superchellerific @eddielives1986 @jinxjinn @breealtair @steddieassheg0es @loopholesinmydreams @savory-babby @alittlegreyfish @izzy2210 @em9515 @killjoy-patrixtump @mrspasser @spectrum-spectre

[cuips-not-cute]

a smooch for @steddie-week day 7: free space

[bulkhummus]

i know in my heart cecil was harassing blake for the entirety of those three days and that was harder for everyone to endure than keeping a hand on the truck

[harmonictechnicality]

*my humble offering to @steddie-week (and the s4 anniversary!) | ao3 link here*

Like most bad ideas, it starts with a question. Eddie is sitting on the ground, messing with the laces on his sneakers. Tying, untying. Mindless shit.

Steve is taking up the whole damn park bench, practically laying on it. Hasn’t said a word in the last ten minutes. 

And Eddie sort of hates the silence. Would like Silence to get decapitated with a chainsaw or something equally gruesome. Needs that particular volume to die the loudest death possible. For the sake of irony, of course.

So Eddie kills it - the silence, that is. The lull taking up all this air between him and Steve Harrington.

He kills it with a question:

“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Steve’s head snaps in Eddie’s direction. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Fuck, I don’t know, man.” Steve sort of twitches, right between his eyebrows. Shoulders going lopsided, unnaturally angled. Uncomfortable.

Eddie shouldn’t be feeding off this tension so much. Judging by Steve’s body language though, the answer must be a good one. 

He leans forward, almost singing the words. “You sure about that?”

Pushing is fun, darkly playful. Eddie enjoys getting under people’s skin, crawling around till they shrivel up. Is it wrong? Morally unethical? Well… the verdict is still out on that.

Besides, he’s been around Harrington enough lately to know that it doesn’t take much to make him surrender. 

“Fine.” Steve huffs. He lifts himself to a sitting position, knees bobbing up and down. It takes all of Eddie’s leftover energy to not gloat about how easy that was - how quickly Steve caved. Teasing can (will) come later - right now, he wants answers. 

Secrets.

“So, Robin and I went to this party in the city… got pretty shitfaced.”

Eddie throws his head back. “Lame.” 

“Story’s not over.”

Oh? Interesting. Eddie places his hand over his heart, then waves it back at Steve. “My sincere apologies. Continue.”

Steve rolls his eyes, clears his throat (not that he needed to but whatever). “Anyways, she somehow convinced me to go to this tattoo parlor with her. Said her friend worked there and she wanted to visit them, so-”

“Wait wait wait. Don’t tell me this story ends with you getting a butterfly tattoo on your lower back.”

“Will you stop interrupting?”

There’s this serious expression in Steve’s eyes. A combination of dark colors and pure annoyance. Eddie is sane enough to know that annoyance isn’t something he should find endearing, but he does. On Steve.

Just a little.

He shrugs, and Steve continues. “Well, it turns out her friend wasn’t working that night. But the piercing lady was working and was like… superpersuasive.”

“Look, Munson, I don’t remember many details after that. Like I said, totally shitfaced. I just know when Robin and I woke up the next morning, we were so fucking sore. And not like, hangover sore either. We were sore in the same exact place. Right here.”

Steve’s pointer finger is gesturing at his stomach. Right in the center.

No. Absolutely not. Either Steve had severe stomach pains that night, or he’s suggesting that…

No.

“Yeah. There you have it.”  Steve says. Blankly nodding into space. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done is get a matching belly button piercing with my best friend. Jesus christ, that’s freaky to say out loud.”

The Silence sneaks up on him. Stabs Eddie in the back when he isn’t looking because he’s too busy trying to imagine Steve Harrington with a piercing of any kind. Let alone the most famously slutty kind.

Wrong, so very wrong. He should never let the words slutty and piercing clutter up his imagination while thinking about Steve. The silence has been too long now. Gotta say something, anything.

“Bullshit.” His tone is harsh. Doesn’t mean for it to be. “There’s no fucking way.”

Steve pouts, crinkles his forehead. “I swear on my car - I’m not making this up.”

And see, here’s where the bad idea comes in. This stormcloud of pouting and piercings and chest hair, it’s all becoming dangerous. That urge to provoke is in Eddie’s bloodstream. He has to tip the scale, twist the knife of chaos as far as he can. Self control is out the fucking window.

“Prove it then.”

“Fuck off, Munson.” Steve laughs, maybe scoffs. Either reaction is a little confusing. “Seriously, this isn’t truth or dare.”

The truth is already out though. It’s the dare that Eddie is hungry for. “You can’t just drop a nuclear statement like that and expect me not to ask to see it.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask.”

Eddie clamors over to Steve, all theatrics and fake agony. “Please, Lord Harrington.” He clasps both hands together, rests his cheek on Steve’s knee. Batting his eyelashes till Steve cracks a smile. “Let me see the metal that has punctured thy skin. I beg of thee.”

Steve shoves him off. “You’re such a dork.” It’s lighthearted, barely qualifies as shoving. He’s become way too decent for actual aggression these days. 

A fact Eddie tirelessly clings to when Steve stands up. Lifts the bottom of his shirt and puts it in his fucking mouth.

“Holy shit.” Eddie mutters. No time to consider how pathetic it comes across.

In theory, this should all be stupidly unattractive. The way Steve holds his shirt between his teeth. The way he mumbles incoherent shit between the fabric in his mouth. The way he keeps pointing at it, poking it.

That shiny, teardrop-shaped metal. Just… hanging from Steve’s belly button, swinging slightly with every small movement. Eddie’s eyes start to swing with it, back and forth. Back and forth. Maybe those roadside hypnotists are onto something, because the dumbest piece of jewelry has Eddie captivated.

He could just be captivated by the guy attached to the dumbest piece of jewelry. Piercing.

Jesus Christ. Eddie really didn’t think his life could get any weirder. But here he is. Staring at Steve Harrington’s belly button piercing. Fucking mouth-breathing at the sight of it. Probably seconds away from salivating. 

He really should consider seeing a licensed psychologist. Fix his terminally horned-up brain once and for all.

“It’s…” Eddie swallows, his eyelids feel heavier than his stare. “Not what I expected.”

The fabric drops from Steve’s mouth. Unevenly falls around his waist... hips. “What were you expecting?”

To laugh. To mock. Threaten blackmail for six lifetimes, maybe more.

Instead, Eddie gazing at it the way people gaze through telescopes. He peers lower, tries to see if it’s silver or gold. Hard to tell at sunset. None of Eddie’s typical instincts are sinking in. All he wants is to feel the metal rolling over his tongue or get it trapped between his teeth. See how it tastes mixed up with Steve’s skin.

“Fuck.” Yikes. Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud. Straightens up from his questionable position, does it so fast that his spine sounds like bubble wrap. “Sorry, sorry.”

What the hell is he apologizing for? Cussing? Having a skeletal structure? Christ almighty, he’s a mess.

Steve’s lips spread into a grin, doesn’t look like his own. Looks more like the kind Eddie might give after pulling off a successful decoy in one of his campaigns. “What’s wrong with your face, man?”

“My face?”

“It’s all…” Steve trails off. Sighs and sits back down on the bench. “Nevermind.”

Eddie reaches up to his cheek, understands exactly what Steve is referring to. He feels feverish to the touch, must be a shade of red that is so deep, it’s noticeable in the darkening sky. 

“Sorry… sorry.” Steve hangs his head. Seems troubled even though Eddie is nailing that particular routine all on his own.

“Think that’s my line.” Eddie jokes. 

“Right.”

Silence is lurking around them yet again. Eddie hates it, but he’s running out of steam here. The embarrassment is on display, his cheeks and neck covered in splotchy red patches. His voice is higher, somehow, as if his vocal chords are shrinking. He’s undergoing a crisis and crush simultaneously and it is not an attractive look for him.

“Just go ahead and get it over with.” Steve says. Interrupts whatever cynicism that’s currently brewing in Eddie's head. 

“Get what over with?”

“The teasing.”

“Oh that’s not… it’s um… you don’t…” Eddie can’t pick an appropriate response. They’re way beyond politeness and niceties. And any bullshit he tries to pull isn't gonna be convincing. So it’s best to stay honest. Embarrassing, but honest. “I think it looks pretty good.”

“You do?” Steve looks softer. 

“Yeah. I mean… Bowie probably has one, and he’s a fucking superstar so. Uh. Yeah.”

“Bowie, huh?”

“I like Bowie.” I like Bowie? What a beefhead answer. Eddie joins Steve on the bench, hopes it distracts from that very un-cool line. 

“I like Bowie too.” Steve messes with his hair a bit. Elbows Eddie in the side and chuckles. “You should get one.”

“A piercing?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hold your breath, man. I’m not letting that nightmare creator you described anywhere near my lower abdomen. Not gonna happen.”

Steve reaches out, runs his knuckles down the bridge of Eddie’s nose. Stops at the crease of his nostril. “What about one right here?” His voice is even, calm. Too calm for what he’s asking.

His hand is warm, slightly calloused. The only two thoughts Eddie can process without going fully catatonic. Steve’s hand is on his face and it’s warm.

Slightly calloused. 

“Uh. Dunno.” Eddie says. A hoarse whisper in reply. “Probably not.”

Steve scoots in closer, never taking his hand off Eddie’s face. Just moving it around. Exploring. He brushes along to Eddie’s ear this time. Holds the edge of it between his thumb and index finger, looking straight at it. 

“What about right here?” Steve’s eyes stay fixed on Eddie’s ear. Every touch seems natural, just questions that involve connection or something.

Internally, Eddie is dousing flames. Fanning them left and right. Running in circles, fucking clueless on how to properly calm down. Be civil. Be Dude Civil. His breathing is so rapid, he knows it. Can hear it between them, collecting space. Decides it would be best to mimic Steve. Fix his eyes only on him, borrow the stability as much as possible.

“Mmm… maybe.”  Eddie gets stuck on the ‘mmm’ sound. That’s how good it feels having someone touch him like this. Careful, yet heavy in curiosity. Rolling the tip of his earlobe between two fingers, just enough pressure to create heat. 

It warrants that sound.

Steve’s glance drifts before his fingers do. Eyes landing on Eddie’s lips, slight hesitancy before his hand follows. Eddie has to hold his breath now. Minimal oxygen is the only way he’ll survive this moment, which makes no fucking sense, but it does all the same.

“Here would look really good.” Steve slowly traces the curve of Eddie’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. The back and forth pattern is disarming. Makes Eddie’s lips part, mouth slightly open.

Just enough to speak. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

If Eddie passes out from lack of oxygen, he’ll regret it. He’ll regret not taking the risk, finishing what Steve has started. Because this surpasses friendly touching. 

This is charged in electric shockwaves.

Eddie dips in, kisses Steve before he can move his hand out of the way. Steve makes a sound, not even a surprised one. It’s sweeter, laced in relief. Eddie pushes in, wants more, whatever he can get. Has his fingers wrapped around Steve’s wrist, the same hand that’s dragging down his face, his neck. Stopping at his chest. 

Every rumor is true, that kissing Steve Harrington is like the gates of heaven opening up. That his tongue could work miracles on amateur lips with a few licks and curls. But no one ever told him about the noises he makes - and those are the best fucking part. Heaving breaths, pleased whines, each one captured with Eddie’s mouth before they get any louder.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe those are just for Eddie. Reserved for kissing him.

Goddamn, he’s delusional. Completely delirious from kissing a dude with a belly button piercing.

There’s a light getting brighter, almost approaching them. Eddie opens his eyes, quickly backs off while Steve does the same. Has to literally detachhimself from wherever his hand was busy wandering all over Steve’s body. 

Headlights pull into the nearby parking lot. Eddie squints to get a better look at the car. It’s Robin and Vickie, showing up fashionably late as always. Sure, he’s grateful that it’s just them, the queerest people in his circle of weirdos. And while they’re reasonable people with shit like this, even they’dbe shocked to know that Eddie and Steve just sucked face for a solid three minutes. Probably best to not mention the gory details, not tonight. Eddie hopes Steve is thinking the same thing.

Both of them stand up, rearrange themselves to look presentable. Less tousled and kiss-bitten. Steve spends a few extra seconds with his hair before turning to Eddie, eyebrows high. Likely a non-verbal ask if his hair is looking as godly as ever.

Of course it does. Looks even better knowing Eddie’s nails were just digging into it.

Steve is a few steps ahead of Eddie, heading for the girls, when Eddie does it again. Kills the silence with a question. 

“Can we… do this again?” It’s edging on desperate, he’s so fucking aware of that. Self control really proving to be a major downfall with him tonight. Should definitely consider taking classes, train his willpower or some shit.

Steve stops walking. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even look at Eddie as he speaks. “My place.”

Oh. That’s… wow. Unexpected. Eddie jogs up to Steve, beside him. Way too eager now, sort of buzzing for more information. Hints of excitement or maybe a smile. Anything, really. He’s at that level of weak for this guy.

Steve just keeps walking, but leans in, right next to Eddie’s ear. The same one he messed with earlier. His voice is quiet, but Eddie hears every damn syllable:

“I’ll leave the window unlatched for you.”

For him. 

Maybe Eddie isn’t completely delusional after all.

[bigdumbbambieyes]

I’m sure it’s been discussed already but it’s so funny to look at S2 scenes with Billy and Steve because Billy is so relentless with his taunting and teasing and pushing Steve around and Steve just has that adorable confused deer-in-headlights look every time

because before S2, Steve probably had nobody do that to him. no one dared to push him around or be an asshole to him because King Steve was worshipped and adored - everyone wanted to be on his good side to reap the benefits of his big house and social status. he was the one to be an asshole and push people around when he felt like he needed to

and while he’s definitely changed and softened bc of Nancy, suddenly this big blond dickhead arrives to steal his crown and just sets his sights on the pretty boy who is trying his best to ignore him and just does not let that happen

and Steve’s confusion and frustration for Billy is just so good

like look at him

you can’t tell me that Billy doesn’t love a pissed off Steve

edit: gif by @disdaidal ♥️ pls follow them for more beautiful gifs!

[m0nomercy]

Happy Valentines @paintedpatroclus !! I hope you enjoy this regency steddie as much as i enjoyed drawing it <33

[solarmorrigan]

Part 3 of... the scarf saga? Credit should very much go to @reeferree for the idea for Eddie’s gift to Steve, but damn, you all had such creative ideas! Your friends and family are lucky ducks <3

Part 1, Part 2

Alright, Eddie’s not going to say he’s proud of how he arrives at the conclusion.

It’s just, he’s thinking about what it is, exactly, he likes about the scarf, when it hits him.

He likes that Steve had clearly made it with him in mind; it’s not just made in colors that specifically appeal to him, it’s also thick and weighty, it’s soft but it’s textured, it’s just about anything Eddie could ask for in a piece of clothing.

He likes that Steve had noticed something about him—noticed that he’d been cold, noticed that he hadn’t been doing much on his own to rectify that—and had set out to offer a solution. He likes that Steve pays attention to him.

And he likes… fine, yes, he likes that it’s something Steve gave him that he can wear where everyone can see it, and if anyone asks he can tell them that Steve made it for him, and he can look at it and feel it and remember that someone had cared enough to handmake him a gift (that Steve had cared enough to handmake him a gift).

So he’s a little possessive about it, sue him.

In any case, as he’s restlessly glancing around his cluttered room, still trying to come up with the perfect gift—something that will inspire all these same feelings in Steve, something that says, “I see you (and I really hope I’m not reading this wrong)”—his eyes land on a pile of laundry, and he has the best idea.

(He hopes.)

It doesn’t really take long to make once he’s got the materials, even with the slight modification he adds—it isn’t as though he hasn’t helped make half a dozen of these before—and after that all he has to do is just… give it to Steve.

He just has to go up to Steve and hand over this thing that probably says very obvious things about how he feels about him and then wait for judgement to come down upon him, that’s all.

Easy.

Eddie decides to just get up and do it before he loses his nerve.

This is how he ends up at Steve’s house unannounced early on a Wednesday afternoon, burrowed down into his scarf as he shivers on the doorstep and hopes that Steve is actually home.

(He probably should’ve called first.)

As luck would have it, good or bad, Steve actually is home, surprised-but-pleased to see Eddie and standing aside to let him in.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Steve says, though he certainly doesn’t sound opposed. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Eddie replies, following Steve into the living room after wiping his boots on the mat (resolutely refusing to admit that he hadn’t removed them just in case he needs to make a quick getaway). “I just realized that I never got you back for the scarf, and I felt that was something I simply had to rectify.”

Steve shakes his head. “Eddie, c’mon, the scarf was a gift, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t have to do anything, true,” Eddie cuts in, “but I want to. So, here.”

Eddie pulls out the small, wrapped package he’s had tucked into his jacket and tosses it to Steve, who catches it without even shifting his raised-eyebrows look away from Eddie, the bastard.

“Well… thank you,” Steve finally mutters, looking down and turning the gift over in his hands, like the wrinkled blue paper and Eddie’s crooked wrapping job are things he needs to admire.

He tears into the wrapping paper at long last, and Eddie holds his breath as it falls away. The shirt’s gone a little crumpled, probably during its time stuffed in Eddie’s jacket, but there’s a reason Eddie sells drugs instead of folding shirts for retail.

(Actually, the reason Eddie doesn’t work retail has very little to do with his clothing-folding abilities and almost everything to do with his inability to keep from informing the customers that they are not, in fact, always right. But that’s beside the point.)

Steve lifts it out and unfolds it, unfurling the black sleeves and shaking out the white body and coming face to face with the emblem of the Hellfire Club.

He blinks at it.

He looks neither pleased nor displeased, but Eddie thinks he can guess what the immediate objection is going to be.

“Um,” Steve says, and Eddie launches into his prepared spiel.

“Alright, I know you still think you’re never going to play Dungeons and Dragons with us, even though I’m pretty sure me and Henderson are wearing you down, but that’s not why I made this for you,” he says, and Steve lowers the shirt to give Eddie a curious look. “I wanted you to have one because, even though you don’t play, you’re very much a member of the club.”

Eddie’s noticed (because he pays a perfectly normal, not-weird amount of attention) that Steve has this occasional odd tendency to hold himself apart from the group. If he thinks someone needs his help, he’s right there whether he’s been asked to be or not, but for everything else – well, Eddie would just like to hear a little less “you guys” and a little more “we.”

After all, Eddie had been absorbed so easily (breathtakingly, thrillingly easily) into the group; why should Steve, who’s been through so much with them, feel any less?

“You, the innkeeper,” Eddie gestures to the living room, where they’ve spent many evenings hanging out after playing a session in the dining room, “the driver of the chariot, purveyor of sustenance, mighty slayer of dragons–” Eddie makes this last declaration over Steve’s protest of “Eddie, oh my god,” grinning wildly because he can see Steve trying not to smile, “you’re definitely one of us. And everyone in the club gets a shirt, so here’s yours.”

Steve looks down at the shirt and then back up at Eddie. “Thank you,” he says, and he looks so damn serious about it that Eddie just has to stick out his hand with another lazy grin.

“Welcome to Hellfire,” he says, and that finally gets Steve to crack a smile, rolling his eyes as he shakes Eddie’s hand. “So, actually, it’s our dumb nerd club now, and you’re never getting rid of us.”

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t getting rid of you before,” Steve says, which is fair.

“Probably not. Also, flip it around.” Eddie holds up a finger, twirling it in a circle.

One brow raised, Steve does as instructed, turning the shirt over so he can see the back. Both brows go up this time.

Every other Hellfire shirt has had a blank back; Steve’s, however, has “HARRINGTON” splashed across the shoulders, just like the jerseys he’d worn in high school. Eddie had thought it was fitting.

“I’ll have you know that it gave me hives to make my shirt into anything even resembling sportswear,” Eddie says, reaching out and running a finger over the middle N of Steve’s last name, “but I figured since your role is a little different, your shirt should be a little different. A little more you.”

For all that Eddie had daydreamed of various favorable (and varyingly physical) receptions of his gift, he’s unprepared for the hug Steve suddenly pulls him into, arms wrapped around his waist and chin hooked over Eddie’s shoulder. It’s unexpected, but not at all unwelcome, and Eddie wastes no time curling his arms tightly over Steve’s shoulders, as if he can pull him any closer.

It lasts a long moment, and Steve gives him a quick squeeze before pulling back. He doesn’t go far, though; his hands are still resting conspicuously on Eddie’s waist, and Eddie leaves his own hands draped over Steve’s shoulders.

Steve is smiling, and Eddie is smiling, and there’s a long moment of contented quiet before Steve says, “I’m glad your hives cleared up.”

Eddie lets out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, well, you’d better appreciate what I went through for you. Anyway, I hope I got the right size shirt. You’re about my height, but you’re, uh,” Eddie lets his hands run down and curve over Steve’s upper arms, as if sketching out the breadth of his shoulders, “yeah. So I hope it fits.”

He nearly misses the mischievous turn to Steve’s smile after that, but he does not miss the way Steve pulls out of his grip, saying, “Maybe I should try it on. To check.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s probably a good – uh.”

It’s at that point that Eddie’s brain short-circuits, because Steve has stepped back, pulled off his sweater, and, in a very familiar move, tossed it vaguely in Eddie’s direction. Eddie fumbles to catch it without taking his eyes off of Steve, who is now topless in the middle of his living room, the broad shoulders and firm chest Eddie had been touching a moment ago now entirely on display, and Eddie should stop staring, he should, but he’s not even going to pretend he’s that strong.

Steve pulls the Hellfire shirt over his head, slower than anyone has any right to put on a shirt (or maybe Eddie’s brain has kicked the moment into slow motion. Maybe he’s having some kind of breakdown). Eddie’s not even thinking as he digs his fingers into the soft weave of the sweater still in his hands, probably stretching the blue (green? Teal? Turquoise? Whatever, it had looked very nice on Steve, though possibly even better off Steve) fabric even more than the t-shirt is now stretching across Steve’s shoulders.

The bare skin had been bad enough, but the shirt–

“Feels a little snug, but it’s not bad,” Steve assesses, raising his arms to check the length (to Eddie’s equal relief and dismay, the shirt is long enough that it doesn’t ride up over the waistband of Steve’s jeans). “What do you think?”

What does he think?

Steve is standing there, wearing the emblem of a club that Eddie had founded, a design that Eddie had created, on a shirt that Eddie had made, with it stretched just so across his chest and shoulders and around his arms, and he wants to know what Eddie thinks?

Eddie does not think.

Eddie panics.

“Looks great!” Eddie says, or possibly shouts. “But hey, I just remembered that I have to go!”

Steve’s face falls, and Eddie doesn’t think about that, either.

(He can’t. He can’t think about it, he can’t, because this is all going so much better than he’d dared to hope. It’s exactly what he wants and suddenly that’s terrifying. He can’t think, he just needs to get out.)

“Already? You just–”

“Yep, just remembered a very important… thing. Gotta go. Do that thing. Right now,” Eddie stutters out, turning heel and heading for the foyer. “So thanks again for the scarf, and I’ll see you later!”

“I – Okay, but Eddie–”

“Yep, bye!” Eddie calls out, giving one last wave and opening the front door just as Steve follows him into the foyer.

“You still have my–” Steve says, and the rest is lost as Eddie shuts the door behind himself and walks at a very reasonable pace back to his van.

He’s back at the trailer before he really allows any thoughts to trickle in again, and he’s banging his head against his steering wheel when he sees a splash of color in his peripheral vision. He turns to see if there’s actually something there, or if he’s given himself brain damage.

And it’s Steve’s sweater.

The sweater Eddie had been clutching as he bolted from the house and which he had tossed into the passenger seat on autopilot.

Steve’s sweater, which Eddie has stolen, after giving him a very personal gift and then panicking about it and running.

Part of him (the part that loves puzzles and stories and tricky twists, the part that can’t help but work away at problems that interest him, combined with, he suspects, the part of him that would very much like to see Steve shirtless again) wonders at the best way to salvage this situation.

The rest of him wonders if going back into hiding would be too dramatic.

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

-

Tag list: @unclewaynemunson, @infinitetrashbag, @ape31, @thehumblefigtree, @emly03. Hopefully I caught everyone? I’m sorry if I missed you, or if Tumblr won’t actually let me tag you??

[piratefishmama]

For one night only | part 1

“Huh?” Oh, how eloquent of him, truly, what a wordsmith. Steve only smiled wider, not a fake one either, it reached his eyes in a way that made them sparkle and Eddie couldn’t believe he’d just thought about a guys eyes sparkling when he smiled good lord how gay was he?!

“I’m Steve, I know you’re a metal guy, right? All that loud music do your hearing in, sweetheart?” Steve didn’t need to do homework on his clients, the company did that for him, but he did get access to the guys profile when he accepted the invite, the profile containing bits of information such as occupation, height, weight, age, etcetera.

He’d not even thought twice when the invite pinged into his inbox shortly after he’d switched his availability to SFW only, not for any particular reason. He just wasn’t feeling the need for sex. Wanted to be wined and dined, maybe flaunted, and pampered, an awards event with a gods honest rock star who might be accepting an award that night? Sounded perfect to him.

“S-sweet… Sweetheart?” He would later deny how high his voice got as he parroted that word, Christ, get it together, Munson! “Music… uh… loud, yep, yep loud music, that’d be it. Uhm… you uh… Steve, Steve Harrington. Right.” Hey, um, brain? How about you start working. Sound good? Steve didn’t remember him, he didn’t remember him, what a crushing blow, but… could he really claim to have expected anything less?

His high school crush not remembering his name, or who he was, or what he even looked like. Yeah, it was a little crushing, but Steve had always run in different circles. He’d never been cruel to him or the D&D gang, but he ran in the circles that had been cruel. Circles containing people now working in office 9-5’s or... as devastatingly handsome escorts, holy fuck.

A smile like that didn’t deserve to be judged by association, though. They weren’t in high school anymore. They weren’t in high school, and he was a rockstar. He did not have any reason to go all wibbly-kneed over the hottest man he had still ever seen. How was Steve still the hottest man he’d ever seen? He was a goddamn rockstar, he hung around celebrities every other week and here he was mooning over his high school crush again, when said high school crush didn’t even know who he was, again.

“Steve Harrington, that’s me. Are you going to let me in or are we going to go through everything in the hallway, I’m not fussed either way, but discretion is usually preferred in these circumstances.” Eddie had had his kinks listed in his profile, of course, but considering the SFW nature of the evening, he didn’t think he needed to worry about that blatant ‘Expeditionist’ kink among the others that he’d definitely looked once or twice at in interest. The security guards seemed to be fighting back smiles, professionalism an all that jazz.

“Y-yeah, yep, c’mon in Steve Harrington, into my hotel room, yep.” Jesus H Christ. He hung his head in shame as Steve let out the most charming of laughs and walked in when invited, the subtle breeze as he passed by carrying the scents of jasmine, bergamot, a note of amber undergrowth, and... God he didn’t even know but it smelled pricy and delightful. He shut the door to block out the subtle snort from the security guard on the left as he struggled to hold back his laugh, shoulders trembling as he fought to hold it back.

Shut up, Darrell.

“You seem kind of stuck on my name, should I be concerned?” Steve turned around, the backdrop of his window overlooking the city behind him, fuck, how was he still so handsome? What the shit was in the Harrington's DNA to create such a masterpiece?

“Uhm...” To tell him, or not to tell him, the band would probably blow it unless he could get to them and tell them to zip it, but... keeping it from him felt dishonest. Starting anything, even a loose acquaintanceship with an escort shouldn’t start with dishonesty, but... did he really not remember him at all?! “You... don’t remember me, do you?”

Steve tilted his head a little to the left, brows furrowing a little in thought “I’ve never accepted an invite from you before, have I?” Ouch. Alright then. A particularly vindictive little gremlin on his shoulder declared he should keep the connection a secret, see where dishonesty took them, but his little angel was thankfully much louder.

“N-no, no, uhm... we ah—we went to school together, Steve.” It was out there, in the space between them, Steve seemed surprised but didn’t answer, clearly trying to remember. “Super senior? Stood on tables and yelled at people in the cafeteria for conforming to the man? D&D club president...? Any of this ringing any bells?” Steve’s gaze dropped to the carpet, eyes searching, brows furrowed further. “It’s OK, man, it was a long—”

“No no, I... shit, I got knocked around a little in high school. The old man had me in boxing to make me a man, I guess. I wasn’t very good at it, so I uh... my memory isn’t what it should be, concussions an stuff, but... did we talk?” Oh, understanding dawned on him.

Steve used to just appear in the halls, looking like he’d gone toe to toe against a goddamn brick wall at random. Perfection painted in purples, blues, reds, and yellows but never not perfect.

“No... no we didn’t, it's OK...” and it was, it wasn’t Steve’s fault that his old man had been a douchebag. “Best place to start is fresh I guess!” He could be totally normal about this. He held out his hand “Eddie Munson.” Steve’s smile returned, radiant and kind as he reached over and took it. His hand larger, warmer, his grip strong and his fingers impossibly soft.

“Steve Harrington, nice to officially meet you, Eddie.”

Part 3

[hotluncheddie]

charm 🧚

written for @steddiemicrofic september prompt 'charm' !

wc: 548 | rated: M | cw: i know nothing about baseball, ref to a bj | tags: chubby steve, horny eddie

...

eddie is painting a miniature at the coffee table. cross legged and just having a wail of a time. 

steve padded through, flopping onto the sofa with his beer and grabbing the remote. because, right, of course, it’s game day. 

how could eddie forget. big final. good team going to the big win. down with bad team. yes. riveting. 

but, oh? What light through sporting yonder break? 

‘what’s that you're wearing?’ eddie asks, innocent and continuing to paint. 

‘my cubs jersey? that’s who’s on.’ steve answers. ‘baseball!’ he adds, doing little jazz hands. 

‘cute.’ eddie smiles up at him. 

the first inning starts with the pitcher stepping up to the plate. and, ah, yes, eddie remembers now. why he agreed to sit in here while steve watches.

the uniforms. 

…but theres only one jock eddie really cares about..

looking at his figure, he muses. ‘not seen you in that much. thought they were your favourite?’ eddie feels like the sneakiest horniest detective know to man. 

steve takes a swig of beer out of his peripheral. ‘ah well, it’s the final. shirts a, a good luck charm.’ steve clears his throat half way through. 

eddie lays down his paintbrush and stretches. humming he leans back on the sofa, right next to steve’s knee. he stares blankly at the screen for a few seconds before leaning his head back to look up at steve. 

‘what size is it?’ 

‘uh. medium, i think.’ 

‘mmmm’ 

From this angle eddie can see how the bottom most button is starting to pull. its straining, because they’re all straining. the buttons up the front are being pulled apart slightly by steves stomach, puckering. an expanse of golden skin and soft hair are just becoming visible in the upside down v of the bottom flaps. the upper v of the shirt exposes chest hair and frames steves pecs just, oh so nicely. eddie wants to bury his face between them and stay there for at least an hour. just hair and softness and the smell of his steve. 

eddie sighs, smitten and strokes the soft skin of steve ankle. 

something happens on screen, home run whatever. steve celebrates by pumping his fist. very nice, very jock. he watches steves bicep bulge under the thickness of his arm and through the tightness of his sleeve. 

eddies mouth fills with spit. 

‘you dont really wear a medium now though do you stevie?’ 

eddie shifts onto his knees, sliding closer, looking up at stave's cherub face.

‘don’t know what you mean?’ steve answers. he takes a final drink of beer, draining it and putting it down.

‘you being coy baby?’ eddie asks, fingers ghosting over steve’s inner thigh.

steves eyes go wide; glassy and pretty. tease. Eddie smirks.  

‘i mean this.’ eddie moves so he’s kneeling in between steve’s legs. grabbing a handful of belly 

‘ah fuck’ steve moans. cheeks flushing pink. eddie’s hand rucks up the shirt further, exposing more hairy belly. steve squirms, his pecks jumping.

‘well what are you going to do about it?’ steve asks, voice coming out rough and affected. he grinds his hips up so eddie feels the hardening line of his cock through his jeans. 

‘you just focus on the game now stevie baby.’ eddie directs, popping the button of steves jeans. 

[kkpwnall]

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part one | rated t | 1270 words | cw: parental death

all my thanks and love to my beloved @fragilecapric0rnn for beta-reading 💜 you're a rockstar and your feedback was so so helpful

Eddie was born under a bad sign. That’s what his momma always used to say. Friday the 13th, and in October? He never really stood a chance and neither did anyone else he got close to. He was like a black cat walking across their path. 

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

His momma was first, of course. Cursed by the fate of Eddie’s birth from the very beginning. And if he hadn’t dawdled on the way home from school that day, if he had gone straight home just like he’d promised, if he hadn’t stopped to pick a bouquet of ditch weed wildflowers for her and got distracted by caterpillars and rollie-pollies— Well, maybe he would’ve been able to tell the 911 operator she was still breathing when he found her.

His daddy was next, not much long after. Eddie worshiped him like a hero in one of his fantasy stories, the charming, devil-may-care, down on his luck protagonist who stole from the rich and gave to the needy. But the first time Floyd brought him out on a real job, just the two of them, when all Eddie had to do was hot wire the getaway car after he heard the signal (three hoots like a barn owl), Eddie panicked. Did he say barn owl or barred owl? Was that two hoots or three? Why did the wires all look the same in the dark?

When the police cars painted him in their flashing red and blue lights, he dropped the wire cutters and ran. Floyd went down in a hail of bullets behind the car Eddie had been trying to steal, and Wayne got his own life sentence when the State dropped Eddie on his doorstep.

Uncle Wayne got the worst of it, obviously. Working himself to the bone, nights and weekends, to put Eddie through school. Not to mention senior year for a second and third goddamn time.

It was too late by the time young Eddie figured it out. By the time he decided to keep everyone at arm’s length.

It’s safer that way, for everyone.

Chrissy was just the latest in a long line. And he’d only lowered his guard an inch, a millimeter, when he saw someone just as lonely and desperate for a friend. He’d only barely started to let himself have an inkling of what an actual friendship with her might be like when—

This is exactly why Eddie doesn’t have friends. He has minions. He has little lost sheepies, he has twerps and shrimps. And that’s it. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

But all that changes the day he dies.

Or maybe it’s the day he finally wakes up. His new birthday, welcomed to the world once again in a cold, bright, sterile hospital room.

And really, the way he sees it, it’s all Henderson’s fault.

The little shit wanders in every day at visiting hours and makes himself right at home. He props his cast up on Eddie’s bed, and steals the remote to change the channel on the ancient, minuscule tv over to cartoons, and then he just… camps out! All day!

The kid will not leave him alone, no matter how cold a shoulder Eddie tries to give him. He even broke down and explained everything to him. How he’s bad luck, he’s bad news. And people who get too close to him end up dead.

But maybe the painkillers they’ve got him on scrambled his brain as bad as the bats scrambled his guts, because Dustin steamrolls right over him.

“If curses were real, which they aren’t,” he posits in his professor voice, “Your dumb curse can’t try to kill me again. It already took a shot and it missed, and the worst I got was a busted ankle.”

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Dustin that’s not how curses work but—

“And what was its goal anyway? To get you alone and friendless, dead in a ditch? Well then, mission accomplished!”

Which is… weirdly comforting when he puts it like that.

Dustin brings with him a rotating cast of the rest of the fellowship. Eddie finally gets to meet Baby Byers and finds out he’s already been recruited to Hellfire before Eddie can even say hello.

More often than not, Steve tags along too since he’s already ferrying them all between the hospital and home. Usually after he’s spent some time with Red and the other kids in her room, he’ll drop by. To check on Dustin of course.

It’s not because he likes Eddie. Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know him.

All that… before… it was just some harmless flirting to keep himself from completely losing it while he was on the run from homicidal bible-thumpers. And Steve was just humoring him.

So he hides behind stupid flirtatious remarks, easy to brush off when it’s always undercut with sly winks and salacious expressions. Enough to keep everything surface level. Keep him at arms length.

It doesn’t matter that his eyes still seem to linger on Eddie, even when he hasn’t said anything for a while. Or that he brings Eddie extra pudding cups from the cafeteria. It doesn’t mean anything when he stands in the doorway trying to finish one last story or joke, until the kids almost literally have to drag him out when visiting hours are over.

Because it turns out Steve is an incorrigible gossip. And Eddie’s not about to be the one to corrige him. Not when he brings an extra dr. pepper for Eddie every time he stops by the vending machine for a coke and gleefully tells Eddie which of the doctors, nurses, and shady government agents are sleeping together.

A can of coke he taps on the lid with a peculiar rhythm before he cracks it, every time.

“What’s up with that?” Eddie finally has to ask one day, when it’s just the two of them and the Price is Right.

Steve hums this confused little sound at him, tilting his head with furrowed brows as he takes the first sip.

Eddie repeats the pattern, tapping it out on his own can.

Steve blinks a few times, first at Eddie, then at the can in his hand.

“I didn’t even realize I did that,” he huffs out a laugh. “It’s uh… something my grandpa taught me when I was a kid. Y’know just for luck.”

The blood in Eddie’s veins freezes and he’s stuck like that for a painfully long moment. Propped up against the lumpy hospital pillows with his mouth half open, staring at Steve.

“For luck.” he says flatly.

“Yeah, so the fizz doesn’t explode when you open it.”

“And has that ever happened to you?” Aiming for flirty, aiming for scathing, aiming for anything that’s not desperation.

“Well no,” Steve says with an easy shrug and a conspiratorial smile, “that’s why it’s lucky. It’s like picking up a coin that’s face-down on the sidewalk.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s face-up, darlin,” Eddie says coyly, like every alarm bell in his head isn’t ringing a deafening cacophony.

“Nah see, you gotta leave those ones for someone who really needs the luck.”

“But then you get the bad luck.”

“Nah, doesn’t work that way,” Steve says, and fucking winks at him.

Eddie wants to shake him. What is wrong with him? He’s got it all backwards and it’s dangerous. How is he walking around like this?

Whatever, it’s not his problem. Steve can do whatever Steve wants. Eddie doesn’t need to protect him from himself. It’s not like they’re friends. And really, that’s the best way to protect him.

[ part two ]

[ also on ao3 ]

[thefrogthief]

HAPPY OINGO BOINGO DAY!!!

For today I redrew what’s probably my favorite Oingo Boingo picture! :D

Click 4 quality! Original below the cut!