#handy eddie munson

[kitchen-spoon]

Steddie where Eddie moves into a small house in a retirement mobile home park. He is the youngest guy there and is pretty handy. All the old ladies in the neighbourhood start to talk about him when he begins to offer his handyman skills to them as well.

One day after finishing up winterizing Mrs. Harrington’s water supply to her trailer she invites Eddie inside for some tea to warm up. Winter hadn’t hit yet but it was already nippy out she told him. Once inside she invites him to come over Sunday night to join her and her friends ‘book club’. At first Eddie politely declines but once she explains to him that its all the old ladies in the neighbourhood sitting around drinking wine, smoking joints, and gossiping he’s in.

Enter Steve who visits his grandma every Sunday for dinner and sometimes stays for her gossip sessions with all the other bitties in the neighbourhood because the snacks are always great. Steve is surprised that week when the door bell rings and a hot long haired pierced man covered in tattoos is standing there instead of another old woman handing him her coat and cane. Steve sputters for a moment but then his grandmother is coming up behind him explaining this is the young man who fixed her water supply for her.

“Well um, thank you for that.” Steve nods awkwardly, watching over his shoulder as his grandmother waddled away back to her friends. “You didn’t have to come though, sorry if she twisted your arm about it, she’s stubborn.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with a small chuckle.

“It’s okay I really don’t mind.” Eddie smiled easily, inching his way into the house and Steve’s personal space. “Smoking weed with a bunch of old ladies and gossiping about my new neighbours sounds like a great way for me to spend my Sunday.” He winked.

“I- yeah it is pretty fun.” Steve agreed having not moved at all. “The snacks are always great too, you’ll have to try Betty’s blondie cake it’s always my favourite.” Steve leaned in to whisper conspiratorially.

Eddie beamed back at him, eyes roving all over Steve’s face before pausing at his lips for a second then darting back up to his eyes. “Lead the way then big boy.” Eddie bit his lip at how red Steve’s face got, he decided to push it slipping his hand into Steve’s.

“Yeah- uh sure yeah.” Steve nodded dumbly staring at their connected hands for a moment before snapping out of it and tugging Eddie along. “Everything is set up in the living room, I just got the fire going to so it should be warm.”

By the end of the night Eddie and Steve were melted into one another on a small single seater in the corner of the room. They watched as all the ladies gathered their coats one by one as their husbands came to collect them.

“It’s sweet.” Steve sighed unprompted, his head lolled against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie made a questioning noise so he continued. “Seeing their husbands come walk them back home at the end of the night. They aren’t annoyed that their wives are giggly and a bit wobbly they are just happy they are happy and want to be there to take care of them.”

“You are a sappy stoner Steve.” Eddie teased, he moved his hand over and dropped it onto Steve’s thigh giving it a squeeze. “Can’t say I blame you though, it is very cute to see.” Eddie sighed before unsticking himself from Steve’s side and making his way to the door himself. “I better get going, no husband to come walk me home”. He blushed at the implication of his own words.

“I’ll be your husband.” Steve blurted then immediately turned red. “I mean- I meant that I uhum-“

“You can walk me home Steve.” Eddie smiled wide and teasingly. He looked his arm through Steve’s and tugged him through the door, waving goodbye to Mrs.Harrington with a promise to be back next week.

The walk was short considering Eddie was only 2 houses down and one across. They kept their arms looped the entire 3 minutes they walked, and once they reached the door Steve still hadn’t let go.

“Well goodnight.” Steve spoke first, ducking his head away. He took a deep breath then looked back to Eddie determination on his face when he spoke. “See you next week?”

Eddie smiled but shook his head, “I was hoping sooner, how does Wednesday sound?” He moved in closer his hand sliding down to Steve’s waist.

“Wednesday is great I love Wednesday.” Steve nodded frantically then cringed. “I mean I don’t actually love all Wednesday’s just this one because we are-“

Eddie cut his rambling off with a kiss. He leaned in and connected their lips, his free hand coming up to cradle the back of Steve’s head.

Steve melted into the kiss, his body going lax in Eddie’s hold, “Thanks for saving me from embarrassing myself further.”

“Anytime sweetheart.”

[hellfire--cult]

i had to.

[morganbritton132]

Okay but after that flight twitter threat. Do Eddie and Steve see that threat at some point? Who shows it to them? What are their reactions? Do the gossipy news pick the story up? Does Eddie get asked questions about it in interviews?

I Love it and I have so many questions

They do see it!

Steve actually sees it first because Robin saw it first. She sent him a screenshot of the thread, but conveniently left out the tweet where the person realized it was Eddie and Steve. She texted him like, “This you?”

Steve’s like, “Whoa, you can’t have a conversation anywhere nowadays. It’s worse than when the FBI was actively bugging our phones.”

Robin texts back, “Hi to the FBI agents currently bugging our phones.”  

Steve says, “Yeah, hi.”

And that’s that for Steve.

Eddie, however, tracks down the original thread and Corroded Coffin’s official twitter account responds with a picture of Eddie’s ‘vintage’ SpiceWorld Tour t-shirt that he got in ’98 when the fruity four went to their concert. He’s like, “Yeah, they’re not very metal but are you gonna tell me that The Lady’s a Vamp isn’t an absolute banger? I think not.”

Then he goes to bed.

And the internet does what it always does and jumps to a conclusion that’s based in nothing. People are trying to figure out if Eddie was sitting next to his husband or if there is a cheating scandal on the horizon. The OP doesn’t remember what Turtleneck looks like and Eddie hasn’t posted anything since he reminded people about his interview.

By morning, the gossip sites are running stories about his rampant cheating. Eddie is throwing away ten years of marriage to his sick frail husband for plane sex with – gasp – a woman! Or a younger man! Or John Travolta of all people.

Eddie responds to all this with a Tiktok.

In the video, he starts out filming an article on his laptop about how he’s in New York right now cheating on his husband. He pans from the article up to Steve shoving their stuff back into their suitcase. Steve’s hair is a mess. He’s half-dressed and clearly tired, and there’s a line of hickeys tracing up the scar on his neck.

Eddie zooms in on them before panning up to Steve’s face. Eddie says, “Babe, did you see this? I’m cheating on you.”

“What, right now?” Steve asked, clearly just humoring him. He deadpans, “I’m devastated.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I thought I was coming to New York to do a silly little interview and spend some time with my husband but, nope. I’m currently having sex with – Matt Damon. Really? If I’m blowing up my marriage, it’s not with actor equivalent of plain toast.”

“I’m embarrassed for you.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”  

[comfortablynumb]

Last guesses of who’s gonna die in vol. 2:

I think it’s gonna be Murray, Max, Jonathan, and Eddie. Any other guesses?

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader x Eddie Munson requested by anon 18+

There were so many perks to having two boys as roommates. As messy as they could be, as loud and semi-annoying, there were definitely more positives. 

Eddie was a great cook, always sending you to work with a tub of leftovers. Steve brought doughnuts home after his shift, warm and waiting for you on the breakfast bar. They were both tall enough to reach the top shelves, Eddie was handy with a wrench and Steve liked all the movies and tv shows you did. 

And then, there were nights like these. 

“Fuck, deeper, please—”

They would happen now and then, more often than before. When the sun sunk behind the apartment block across from the living room window. When it got dark enough to hide your feelings, tucking them into the shadows the glow of the tv screen made. 

“Right there— ohmygod,” a gasping breath interrupted, a cut off moan, a curse before a prayer. “Steve.”

It started with wine, lukewarm and cheap, after parties and you buried the memories under hangovers the next day, let the awkwardness die with a shared pizza delivery and your legs on the laps of boys, crushed between them on the sofa. And then? Well. It just… kept happening. 

Another whine, a soft laugh, the slick sounds of a tongue of skin, the buzz of something battery powered. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, Eddie.”

It was a sinful sight. Nothing short of salacious, really. The movie on the screen forgotten, a bowl of fallen popcorn on the floor, the air buttery and kernels trapped under pushed couch cushions. Your shorts somewhere you couldn’t see, bare legs spread wide, a dirty sight, your thighs shining wet in the blue-purple light of the television. 

One boy sat next to you, a pretty thing, pink cheeked and not as sweet as he looked. Steve had one big hand wrapped around your upper thigh, pulling a leg over his as he pressed himself against your side, nosing at your cheek as he spoke low and dirty in your ear. There was a vibrator in his hand, slender and cherry red, the soft silicone pushing through your folds to nudge at your entrance, a teasing thing that had kept you on edge for an age. 

It wasn’t as big as him, wasn’t as thick as him. And he knew that. Steve tutted, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth and he grinned when he pushed the toy in, eyes lighting up at the way your jaw fell open. You whined, canted your hips forward and hoped the other boy would take pity. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie crooned, “she’s just cryin’ for it, huh?” 

Eddie leaned in again, resuming his position between your spread legs, kneeling on the floor with the called blankets and popcorn. He looked just as pretty as Steve, curls messy from your own hands, cheeks tinged red from the way Steve had been bossing him around. He hummed when he brought his hands up to press into the insides of your thighs, thumbs pulling at your folds so your cunt spread open for him. 

He groaned, watching the slow slide of the toy going in and out, in and out. Steve wasn’t giving you every part of it, a deliberate move that kept your eyes glassy and your lips pouting. 

The way they liked. 

“Steve bein’ mean, huh?”

You nodded, rocking your hips forward again but Steve just huffed out a laugh and only gave you the tip. You groaned, fisting Steve’s shirt to pull him closer and you hid your face in his neck, stubble on your cheeks, his cologne on your skin. 

The way you liked. 

“Nuhuh,” Eddie warned, swiping a thumb over your clit. You keened, gasping into the line of Steve’s jaw, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of two pairs of hands on you, the vibrations filling your cunt. “Lemme see that pretty face and I’ll help you out, yeah?”

You emerged , cheeks hot and eyes heavy lidded but both boys cooed in praise, Steve squeezing at the dough of your thigh whilst Eddie pressed your clit a little firmer. “There she is,” Eddie grinned. He kissed your tummy, peppering his lips down until they brushed over coarse curls and pressed into your folds. You could feel his tongue touch the toy Steve was still pushing into you. “Such a good girl, isn’t she, Steve?”

Steve smiled, almost lazy and you’d think he wasn’t affected by any of it if it weren’t for the tent in his sweatpants, the hard length of his cock twitching every time you let out a noise. “The best girl,” Steve assured you. “Gonna make some pretty sounds for Eddie, honey?” Another kiss, this time behind your ear. “You know I like it when you get loud for us.”

Neither boy let you answer. Eddie dipped his head back down and dragged his tongue over your clit at the same time Steve pressed a button, the vibrations kicking up a notch. You cried out, too loud for the tiny apartment but Steve swore, hitching your leg higher over his lap until he could rock his lips against your thigh. He pushed the toy in, the silicone too small to reach the parts of you that he could, but you knew if you were good, you’d get to ride him into the couch after. 

“Oh, she’s so good,” Steve drawled, his tone soft enough to be a little mocking. It made your toes curl. “Feels nice, doesn’t it, honey? Eddie’s mouth on you, yeah? Is he doing that thing with his tongue?”

He was. Eddie was holding your other leg, your calf dangling limply over his shoulder as he kept his tongue flat, dragging it over your cunt slow and firm, again and again and again, sucking and kissing when he got to your clit, all while making the filthiest noises. You could hear his lips smack, could hear the slick, wet slide of his tongue through your folds, all while the buzz of the toy droned on. 

“Tell me,” Steve reminded you, pulling the toy out completely and leaving you empty. You whined, eyes clenching shut and you tried to grab Steve’s wrist but he tutted, moving out of reach. “C’mon, baby, tell me how good Eddie’s tongue is.”

“S’good,” you slurred and god you sounded drunk, you sounded wrecked. “S’really, really good Steve, oh shit—” Eddie took the opportunity to push his tongue inside you, groaning at the way the toy had you all stretched out, making you close to crying. 

Not to be outdone, Steve caught you in a kiss, demanding enough that your head tipped back into the sofa cushions and you moaned, mouth parting for him to do as he pleased. He kissed you hard, kissed you soft, kissed you mean until he was using his tongue over your bottom lip to soothe the sting of his teeth. All the while, Eddie was kitten licking at your clit, getting a little slower now that Steve was teasing too. 

The vibrations came back between your thighs, the toy still slick with your own wetness and Steve trailed it, buzzing, around your entrance, teasing at your hole. You whimpered, mumbling curses into Steve’s neck as you clung to him, thighs shaking in Eddie’s hold. 

Steve hummed and you could hear the smile on his lips. He nosed at your hairline, dotting kisses over your too hot skin. “I know, baby, I know,” he cooed. Eddie laughed between your legs, lips kissing at your clit, your folds. “Just need to come for us, yeah? Come on Eddie’s tongue and we’ll fill you up in every way you want, honey.”

[munsonluhvr]

Tattoo artist!Eddie x body piercer! Reader who have a shit ton of sexual tension ✨ I’ve been on a tattoo artist!Eddie pick lately ahah

TATTOOED ON MY HEART

a/n: omg wait is tattoo artist!Eddie actually a thing?? how am I just learning about this???? time to go down a rabbit hole LOL. hope u enjoy; hopefully this isn't *too* much smut then u were expecting...

contents: tattoo artist!eddie munson x body piercer!reader. with the arrival of a new tattoo artist, eddie munson, at your tattoo and piercing studio, it's clear that the two of you have intense chemistry.

If it wasn’t for the new tattoo artist, Eddie Munson, who sits off to your right on one of the tattoo tables, you probably wouldn’t have had to move the piercing dot which shows where you’ll piece the skin so many times. His gaze has a way of making you feel unnerved. 

“What if it hurts?” Robin, your freckled friend who sits underneath your touch on one of the tables, whines. Robin frequently comes in to the studio to get something new pierced, shamelessly taking full advantage of the discount you give to your friend. 

You blow out between your lips, frustration brewing inside you. You never have had to move the piercing location multiple times; you normally get it right on the first try. This isn’t the first time you’ve pierced Robin, let alone pierced anyone, it’s what you do for a career for god’s sake. The only thing that’s changed is Eddie’s presence, showing itself as the cause for your mess ups.  You hold the fine tipped marker in one hand, staring at Robin’s earlobe. “It won’t hurt, Robin, but if you keep wiggling and I end up stabbing your neck with the needle then that will definitely hurt.” 

Off to the side, Eddie laughs while shaking his head. “That’s one way to reassure your client.” 

You roll your eyes, not needing his advice on how to pierce someone, a task he knows nothing about as a tattoo artist - your crafts are completely different with very little overlap. 

“He’s right, that wasn’t very reassuring.” Robin mumbles, looking down at her hands that rest in her lap. With her thumb, she chips away at her already chipping blue nail polish. 

You toss a look at Eddie, a scowl brewing on your face. Though, the harsh look softens when your eyes connect with his, his big, brown eyes looking back at you. He raises his hands in defense, “I’m just saying.” 

 “Don’t you have some scary biker dude to go tattoo or something?” You retort playfully. 

Eddie shrugs, a smirk on his face, making no attempt to leave. “Sure, a whole bunch of ‘em, but it’s awfully entertaining to watch you pierce.” He folds his hands in his lap, leaning back in his seat, his eyes trained on you. 

Your stomach does a flip, your skin becoming flushed. You turn your attention back to Robin’s ear. You take a deep breath, steadying your hand to replace the dot on Robin’s earlobe. At last, you place the tip of the marker in a place that you feel satisfied with. You allow Robin to look at the new location, which she approves with a single nod. Taking the sterilized supplies, you line the piercing needle up with Robin's skin. "Take a deep breath and exhale on the count of 3."

Robin inhales, then exhales and after you count down, you take the opportunity to pierce the her skin with your needle. She tenses, hissing like a cat, then she relaxes. "How does it look?" she asks, glancing up at you.

You smile softly, stepping back to look. "Like I did an amazing job." Robin laughs, and lifts the mirror up to her face to get a look herself. You're too busy watching your friend admire your handy work, and she's too busy looking at herself, to notice that Eddie has approached you from behind, peering over your shoulder to get a look too.

"Amazing job, indeed." Eddie mumbles next to your ear. You jump slightly, an intense wave of heat creeping over your body. You clear your throat, side-stepping away from Eddie. You positively hate the way he makes you feel.

Robin glances up from her reflection, looking between you and Eddie. Her eyes meet yours and she raises her eyebrows, a questionable look on her face. You knew what she was thinking though: who is this guy?

After a minute, Eddie slinks off to another part of the studio, leaving you and Robin alone.

"Okay, are we going to talk about the obvious tension between you and that guy, or are we just going to ignore it?" Robin asks, cocking her head at you.

"His name is Eddie, and I'd rather not."

Robin groans softly, shaking her head. "It's obvious that he finds you attractive, y/n. And you aren't so slick with hiding your feelings either."

You frown. "What are you talking about? I don't like him, I barely know him. He's just the new tattoo artist for the studio."

Robin waves her hand in your direction. "Regardless, he's into you, since you can't tell that on your own." You roll your eyes, beginning to clean up your space. "Sure."

After Robin leaves the studio, quite pleased with her new piercing, you begin to close the shop. Eddie, who is finishing up a tattoo with one of his clients, still accompanies you in the studio. As another 30 minutes passes by, you sit in the back room, a magazine in your hand, as you wait for Eddie to finish. In the distance you hear the cash register beep, and the door bell jingle shortly after, signaling that Eddie's client is gone. Seconds later, Eddie enters through the back room's doorway.

The thing about Eddie is that he's gorgeous; tall, dark and handsome. The second the owner's of the studio introduced you to the new tattoo artist, you were smitten, though you were determined to not let Eddie catch on to that. Eddie, however, was a little more bold, in pretty much everything that he does. He's charismatic with the other piercers and tattoo artists that work alongside you both in the studio, and awfully friendly with his clients. His personality, coupled with his good looks, intimidated you and you find yourself sometimes shutting down in his presence.

"How'd the tattoo come out?" you ask nonchalantly, not looking up from your magazine. Your heart thumps against your chest, and you tell yourself to play it cool.

Eddie opens the fridge that's placed in the far left corner of the backroom, grabbing a glass bottle of coco-cola, and moves to sit across from you at the table. "Pretty good. He seemed happy with it which is all I can ask for as a tattoo artist." You hum, but say nothing else, simply flipping to the next page of your fashion magazine.

Silence takes over the break room and you find your mind wandering to what Robin said earlier: did Eddie really find you attractive? Curiosity takes over you, and you decide to test your friends theory. You bend your upper body forward over the table, leaning on your elbow, your chest on full view.

Eddie swallows, his eyes immediately diverting to your exposed chest. Similarly to you, Eddie found you attractive the second he met you, though when he attempts to flirt with you, he's met with sarcastic, playful banter. Nonetheless, he's committed to get to know you. He even believes you may like him too.

Eddie clears his throat. "Was that your friend you pierced today? You seemed to know each other more than just clients."

You nod. "We are very close friends. She appreciates the discount I give her so she comes to me for all her piercings." You glance up at Eddie through your eyelashes and are met with his gaze.

Eddie only nods, your eye-contact entrancing him. After a second, you look away, closing your magazine. "Well, I suppose we should close the studio. People tend to try and come in for a tattoo or piercing at the last minute if we don't make it look like we're closed."

You stand up, turning towards the sink that's in the break room as well, cleaning up some of the dishes and trash that has accumulated over the day and was left behind by the other employees of the studio.

Eddie, who's eyes are now trained on your backside, has the urge to test if his assumptions about you liking him are true. He's wanted to make a move on you for the longest time, so what's stopping him now?

Eddie stands up, moving around the table to stand beside you at the counter. Without asking, he jumps in to help, drying the dishes that you put on the rack to dry. There wasn't much cleaning to do to begin with, so with Eddie's help, the work is done quickly.

You angle your body towards Eddie. "Thanks for the help."

Eddie nods, a small smile on his face. "No problem." There's only a few inches between you and Eddie, and you can smell his cologne radiating off of him.

Without giving much thought, Eddie reaches out, his fingers working to brush strands of your hair away from the frame of your face, and tucking them behind your ear. "You're really pretty, you know that, right?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes diverting away from his gaze. In your lower abdomen, lust and attraction fills you fully, your heart beginning to thump against your chest again. "Thank you," you mutter.

Placing his finger up to your chin, he lifts your face and gaze to meet his. Instinctively, he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. You have no idea why, but as if he asked you to, you open your mouth, letting Eddie's thumb be engulfed by the wetness of your tongue and softness of your lips. His eyes widen, and he steps closer to you, closing the small gap that existed between you.

Time stops, allowing you to live only in Eddie's presence. He places his thumb on the thickness of your tongue, and you move your head back and then forward, letting his finger slide in and out with ease. Eddie's mind is filled with dirty thoughts about you on your knees, or legs spread wide open, your eyes locked on his.

You part your lips, letting Eddie's thumb slip out. He's quick to find another point of contact with you, cupping your face with his large hands, bringing your lips onto his. You sigh softly, the tension beginning to slip away. It's then that you realize how badly you've wanted this, how many times you pictured this very scenario while Eddie tattoos one of his clients in the booth next to yours.

Eddie's lets one of his hands wander down to between your legs and under your skirt, his fingertips grazing your cunt lightly over your panties. He wants so badly to just take you right there, against the backroom's sink or across the tabletop. But he refrains, wanting to take his time with you.

You sigh against his lips, your head leaning back in pleasure and anticipation. Eddie takes the opportunity to kiss the length of your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin lightly. You grasp on to his bicep, steadying yourself; his touch making you feel light-headed. Is this what you've been missing out on the entire time?

With his nimble fingers, Eddie moves your panties to the side revealing your slick pussy. His stomach twists at the feeling, realizing your wet because of him. Without a second thought, Eddie plunges his fingers into you and you part your legs further, letting him gain access easily. You shudder against his touch, the feeling of his fingers exploring you is euphoric.

You become breathless quickly, Eddie's rhythm working against your core making you sweaty and your knees wobble. Your moans become more frequent and louder, and you hope no potential customers enter the shop. "Fuck, that feels so good," is all you're able to say.

Your hips move back and forth against Eddie's touch, begging for more and more. Pleasure courses through your torso, your thighs beginning to tremble around Eddie's hand.

"I always thought that you may like me," Eddie mumbles, his lips dipping down to your collarbone. "I guess I was right." He curls his fingers in just the right way, stroking your most sensitive spot. Your mouth parts, and you reach behind you to grip the edge of the sink to keep your balance.

You screw your eyes shut, your breath becoming more rapid. Without you being aware, Eddie kneels in front of you, replacing his fingers with his mouth. Once you feel his lips and tongue on you, your hand darts down to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his hair.

Eddie's stomach twists; he wishes this this moment could go on forever. Eddie laps against you, each stroke of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge. His tongue swirls, against your clit, a burning intensity growing in your lower abdomen. You whine, gripping the edge of the counter harder.

Eddie's hands travel up, holding your waist. One of your hands creeps down to your waist, your hand placing on top of his. You peer down at the same time that Eddie peers up, bringing your eye-contact together. His brown, puppy like eyes look up at you, sparkling against the dim lighting in the backroom.

Eddie pulls back away from you, his grip tightening around your waist. "Come for me," he says, moving back onto you.

Almost immediately, you finish, shuddering against Eddie's touch. You sigh heavily, the feeling of the pressure escaping your lower abdomen, bringing you relief. Eddie hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling them up your legs as he stands up. Eddie, who is quite pleased with himself, wonders what his next move should be. He desperately wants to keep going, his cock still wondering what it would feel like to be buried in you, but he wants the tension between you and him to continue to grow. He wants nothing more than to make you wait, to pine for him until you need to crawl towards him, a burning desire to fill yourself with his cock.

You, however, are ready to go, your hands reaching towards the buckle on Eddie's jeans. Just as you begin to fumble with his belt, he grasps your hands in his.

You frown, wondering why he's stopped you. Doesn't he want you to touch him too? "I-I want to do you now," you say, your voice coming out low.

Eddie shakes his head, a daring look on his face. "Not now, not yet." His words leave you bewildered, wanting to ask a hundred questions. What does he mean, 'not yet'?

He steps forward, placing a light kiss on your cheek. You blink, wondering what is happening. "To be continued." He mutters, then slips out of the break room leaving you alone in the studio.

If there wasn't tension before, there's definitely tension now.

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

[stevesbipanic]

Ok some people actually asked for a fic so here it is the March 15th Steddie fic.

Let it be known that Eddie Munson is drama kid.

Every play and musical that Hawkins High put together he was in, he even played Romeo in his junior year. He had 24/7 access to the drama room which he of course used for Hellfire and took great joy in using the props for his campaign, especially the throne.

Being a drama kid meant he had access to their old costumes too, this came in handy for Eddie's more public displays of goofiness. Eddie loved history and he loved making people laugh so it was no surprise to the Hellfire boys when on the 15th of March Eddie showed up in a full Roman getup complete with toga and laurel wreath.

Eddie had giggled to himself when he showed the boys his prop knife and told them his plan to "stab the emperor". He had just finished telling them when his victim came round the corner.

"Emperor Steve your rule of tyrany is over." Eddie cried as he jumped in Steve's way and "stabbed" him.

Steve blinked at Eddie and for a moment Eddie thought how annoying it'll be to get blood out of the toga when Steve punches him. Much to Eddie's suprise however, Steve giggles.

Eddie doesn't think he's heard a more adorable sound and it certainly didn't help to quell the metalheads crush on the jock.

"Oh no! Eddie how could you betray me this way, my closest advisor!" Steve plays along, Eddie blushes at Steve even remembering his name, his first name at that, the jocks usually call him Munson when they shove him around.

"Sorry Stevie but it had to be done, you're too pretty to have so much power." Eddie flirts pushing his luck.

"I knew my looks had an effect on you, Eds," Steve winks as he fake dies before laughing and continuing his walk down the hall.

Eddie was half frozen in shock at Steve flirting back that Gareth has to slap him back into reality.

"Dude was Harrington flirting with you!?"

"Boys, I think I've been murdered myself."

[deathbecomesthem]

Eddie Munson x gn!reader | 1.2K

+18 ONLY - Minors Do Not Interact

Warnings: A handy over jean shorts and some nipple play.

A/N: This is a reupload with a lil bit of sprucing up. When I originally wrote it, it was dedicated to @courtingchaos, and that feels appropriate yet again.

---

The unseasonable weather drove you down here, to the riverbed, where toes can dip in swirl at the cool water. Eddie was thrilled at the suggestion. It’s been too hot, and it always felt better sitting on the damp rocks. In his desperation for relief, he had cut away at an old pair of jeans that were just a little too tight these days. When you caught sight of them, he misunderstood your wide-eyed gaze. Drool gathered in your mouth while you took in the way the shorts hugged at him, emphasizing parts of him that have only been in your imagination all these years.

“Do not even fucking say it –“ his hand is out, eyes closed as if bracing for impact, “I know it looks stupid, but it’s too hot and the air conditioner took a shit.” He thinks you’ll make fun of him, but you can’t even form a thought. Your brain is on fire, burning with ideas. Flames licking at the inside of your skull with thoughts you try to avoid entertaining. While you’re still looking for words, any words, he huffs and reaches into the – very fucking tight – front pocket of his shorts and pulls out a black hair tie. Can it be worse? Yes, he can reach his arms up, exposing that trail of hair that starts at his navel, while he tugs his soft curls into a low hanging bun.

He's right, though, it’s hot and humid in his place. Even with the impure images whizzing through your mind, you can’t stay here. Movie night is out. You still struggle for words while he’s shaking his head and grabbing his sneakers.

“Don’t argue, we’re going to the river. I’m over this heat.” So you nod in ascent. Sure, let’s go to the river. “Are you ok?” He’s finally noticing the glazed-over look in your eyes, the mouth slightly open. It’s just Eddie. Yes, but you suddenly have the urge to unhinge your jaw and swallow him whole.

“I’m fine,” you try not to do it, try not to give him a shy smile that gives away your filthy thoughts. It inches across your lips anyway, and you can feel heat rising from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears. His eyebrows pinch, a barely detectable movement of consideration at your behavior. So, you divert, “why not grab some stuff? Stay at my place after the river, my air works fine.”

His face betrays his own thoughts, when he dips his eyes to your chest heated and sweaty in the stifling heat of his apartment. With a throat clear, and an awkward bouncing step back, he runs through the rooms grabbing essentials before you both head out into the summer air.

--

The current moves the water, ever flowing cool relief in the heat of the summer. Right now, with the moon reflecting off the ripples, the paths along the bed are empty. The stars of this summer night are putting on a show, bright and sparkling. It feels like magic is in the air, the smell of dirt and showy blooms hang all around. And his scent. It’s there, his sweat and smoke with the faint hint of oil that never quite leaves his skin.

“You know what that is?” he’s pointing up to the night sky while your toes dance along the top of the water’s surface, “that constellation right there, the one that looks like a whale?” he’s moving his hands as if you can follow the path and see the image he’s trying to create with the movement, “that one is called ‘your mom’.”

“You fucking idiot,” you push him away from you, hand pressed against his sweaty forehead, while his laugh echoes out into the night. You try to poke at his side while he’s distracted, but as usual, he’s too fast. He always sees it coming, and you find your hand in his, stopped in its tracks, the cool metal of his rings pressed into your skin.

The cover of the dark outside of the glowing moon does nothing to hide the look you both share. And his eyes shoot down your body again, an involuntary gesture that feels like permission. You lean forward placing your open lips against his mouth and wait for him.

A clash of lips, tongues, and teeth. No gentleness, the fire was lit at the first glimpse of him tonight. At the thought of the shorts you break away and let your eyes take him in. They’re tighter now as his hard length fights against the soft denim. You bring your eyes back to him while you take your hand from his and place it firmly on his bulge. He moans at the feeling, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Is this ok, Eddie?” Your hand rubs up and down, feeling the shape of him for the first time. The muscles of his thighs tighten as he whimpers out his answer.

Affirmative, “yes, please,” whining from the back of his throat. With every stroke you feel the denim at the tip of his ever-hardening cock get wetter. The sounds he’s making are so sweet to your ears. They feed the desire already pulsing deep inside your gut.

“Does it feel good? Is this why you put on these little shorts tonight?” You can feel his cock jump at your words and his whine turns to a low growl. Oh, it must feel good, because his own hands are working under your shirt and searching for something to hold onto while his face nuzzles into your neck. His teeth take the skin of that tender place below your ear.

“It feels so good. I’m never taking these shorts off again.” He’s rutting up into your hand while he tweaks a nipple. When his head dips down and attaches himself to your peaked bud, your hand falters. His hot tongue flicks against you, and you’re both lost in the feeling.

“You gonna wear those little shorts around even when you stain them with your cum?” You stutter the words out around a moan at the shots of pleasure from the feel of his teeth against your sensitive chest. With every swipe of your hand, you find the slit of his cock and rub against it over and over until his mouth drops your nipple and opens in a cry of delirious bliss.

He lets out a whining moan with each thrust of his release, his forehead pressed against the sweaty skin of your chest. You both sit that way for a moment, skin sticky and breathing heavily with only the moon and the stars witnessing what just took place in that quiet spot at the river’s edge.

You break the silence, as a laugh rips through your chest that startles Eddie. It brings him back from wherever his mind went at the moment of his euphoria, and he pulls his sticky forehead away from your skin and finds his own laugh. You sat there with your shirt pulled around your neck and Eddie’s jean shorts soaked with his cum. Like teenagers seeking out any possible way to release the sexual tension.

“So, Eddie,” you’re pulling your shirt back down while he assesses the damage he’s done in his shorts, “how about we go back to mine now, yeah?”

[harmonictechnicality]

thinking about Steve digging into a KFC bucket around Eddie, who is about to snap in half at the sight of it. Just seeing Steve Harrington sink his teeth into a chicken thigh, sucking on a drumstick bone, swallowing the most ungodly-sized bites he’s ever seen. His eyes are fucking locked on Steve’s lips that are extra shiny from all the grease. Eddie can’t even touch his own damn food because his stomach is in knots from this weirdly erotic and carnivorous circus act.

Steve smears the grease off with the back of his hand, staring hard at Eddie. “What?”

“Huh?”

Dumb. Idiotic. Why is Eddie suddenly experiencing the same level of flusteredness as the varsity cheer squad around this guy? It’s just Steve. Steve eating meat…

Thick, juicy, noisy meat in Steve’s mouth. His mouth that looks so-

“Dude, try some.” Steve waves a half-eaten chicken wing in front of Eddie’s face. He’s smiling as he chews, looks honest to god tipsy from how much he’s enjoying this meal.

Eddie shrugs, pops his knuckles to keep his hands busy. “Not hungry.”

Which is a big, fat lie. He is hungry. Thoroughly starving to see Steve in angles that are banned from biblical literature.

“Christ on toast, Harrington, close your mouth. I can see your fucking tonsils from here.” And yeah, that’s a problem too. Eddie could draw the inside of Steve’s mouth from memory by now. Could make himself a handy little diagram on how stuffed it could be if he just-

“Can’t help it.” Steve interrupts. He tears another piece of meat off and chomps as he speaks. Says something that actually breaks the last bit of dignity in Eddie’s soul. “It’s finger lickin’ good.”

Right, yup. Okay. Eddie is all impulses after that. His gaze drops to Steve’s slick hands. His ears only able to process words at a caveman baseline:

‘Finger. Lick. Good.’

Yeah. That does sound pretty good to him. Really good, actually.

So Eddie reaches across the table and takes Steve by the wrist. He opens his mouth, swirls Steve’s index finger over his tongue, sucking on it for way too long. Makes a loud slurping sound as he returns Steve’s hand back to him. He’s pretty sure Steve gasped at the contact, but couldn’t exactly focus on anything other than the taste of salt and grease and skin.

As Eddie sits back down in his chair, he examines Steve’s face. Red everywhere. Up his ears, down his neck. He isn’t moving either - like Eddie’s little stunt just paused all the muscles in his body or something.

He should run. Avoid getting beat up by a guy who’s a former jock. Besides, Eddie Munson is somewhat famous on cowardly shit like running away. It wouldn’t exactly be unheard of for him.

But he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie dabs the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Takes a deep breath in. Smiles sweetly over at Steve, sweet enough to feel playful. Edging on mean.

“Looks like it wasn’t false advertising after all.” Eddie tosses the used napkin at him. Isn’t trying to make Steve flinch, but it happens anyways. “Finger lickin’ good is an understatement.”

“Understatement?” Steve studies his finger, the one Eddie just used like a jolly rancher, then smiles wide:

“Should be mandatory with you, Munson.”

[mrsjellymunson]

Candyman, Candyman, Candyman

A Valentine’s Eddie Munson 5+1 fic

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader, Eddie Munson x gn!reader, Eddie Munson x masc!reader, Eddie Munson x you

Summary: The Valentines 5+1 that nobody asked for (not even me 😆) Five times you get to give Eddie a kiss, and one time he kisses you back

W/C: ~2.1k

C/W: SFW, FLUFF. Kissing, a pet name. This is pure fluff, but my blog is generally 18+ so I’d prefer it if you were over 18. Reader wears lipgloss. Reader and Eddie are both over 18. Inspired by this supersweet fic by @hellfirenacht which I hope it’s okay for me to mention! I wasn’t planning to write for Valentine’s, but here we are, so thanks for the inspo. Also, I should probably mention at this point that I have no idea how candygrams actually work 🫣

To anyone looking from the outside, you’re a preppy honours student, but you have a dark and curious side. You’re usually all pressed shirts, woven fabrics and tweed, but you’ve sometimes been known to wear those starched shirts pulled a little too tight, and you occasionally add a chain belt or some chunky boots.

You don’t tell anyone that on the weekends you like to experiment with heavy eyeliner and leather accessories. Or that you’ve been spending a lot of time recently staring at one fellow student in particular a little more than is absolutely polite.

So when you accidentally overhear a private conversation about a certain metalhead, and the opportunity for helping out with the school’s annual Valentine's fundraiser presents itself, you sign up as fast as you can.

Once a year the school allows students to organise cards and candygrams to be sent around for Valentine’s Day. It lasts the full school week, and the premise is fairly simple. The pink and red fliers have been floating around for weeks already, declaring:

MONDAY Send a lipstick kiss on a heart shaped card $1 TUESDAY Add a lollipop $2 WEDNESDAY Send a card and blow them a kiss! $3 THURSDAY Send a card, plus a kiss on the cheek! $4 FRIDAY For when you’re really serious! Send them a card, and a kiss on the lips! $5 Sign Up In The Cafeteria!

Only the week before, Eddie Munson had been on a tirade in the lunchroom about the commercialisation of human affection, and the unrealistic expectations of binary, monogamous relationships.

You think perhaps he shouldn’t be one to talk, given the content of that conversation that you eavesdropped on involves Eddie's band mates knowing he’s never been kissed. They’ve pooled their resources and plan to surprise him during Valentine’s week.

Everything’s anonymously ordered, so no one knows who’s sending things. And you’ve finagled a position on the volunteering committee that allows you to choose which volunteers deliver which messages. Handy.

You’ve also invested in a new red-tinted, strawberry flavour lipgloss. It’s all going well so far. The only thing you can’t predict is whether or not Eddie Munson likes strawberries…

Monday comes around quickly. Kisses on cards day. Quite a few have been ordered and there are lots to get delivered around the various classes, so there’s four of you from the fundraising committee delivering them to his class.

Thanks to your position on the committee, you know it’s your lipgloss on Eddie’s card. When you sidle past his desk to deliver it to him you watch him pull back slightly, his eyes open wide, shocked that anyone would send him anything. You guess he’s more used to pranks and jokes than any genuine affection, and it hurts your heart.

You want to give him a hint as to whose kiss is on his card. Trying to be as subtle as you can, and making sure he’s watching you, you catch his eye and bite the side of your lower lip ever so slightly. It puffs your lips out a bit and you see his attention is drawn to your mouth. Success?

There’s a general clamour in the class as recipients and observers alike wave their cards and ponder the potential senders, but Eddie’s quiet for once. He’s tentatively running his fingers over the edge of the card, not picking it up or pulling it towards him, treating it like it’s a potential threat. Just before your group leaves to attend another class, you see him subtly runs his fingertips over the shiny stain.

You don’t know it but later, when he’s alone, he brings the card up to his face to get a closer look at that lipgloss kiss, and he swears he can smell strawberries…

Tuesday means lollipop day. You and your fellow volunteers have more cards to deliver, this time accompanied by little heart shaped candies on sticks. Again, quite a few get delivered, and again, you make sure you’ve got Eddie’s.

As you enter his classroom for the second day in a row, your face is coy and you give him a little smirk. You make your way around the class, distributing cards and candies.

To Eddie’s ongoing surprise, you stop in front of his desk again. As you hand Eddie his card, there are a couple of whoops and hollers from his friends behind him. It’s not part of the deal, but you can’t resist, and before you pass Eddie’s candy to him you press one flat side of the lollipop to your lips, handing it over quickly afterwards, saying, “Enjoy your candy, Eddie.”

Wednesday - blow a kiss day. There’s fewer orders for this service, so only two of you today. You blow a couple of short kisses to others in the room, making it quick and perfunctory.

Again, Eddie’s shocked when you stop in front of his desk, seeming to look to each side of him in an attempt to work out whether you’ve really chosen him again. You pass him his third card, and when you blow Eddie his kiss, it’s slow and seductive, your lips pursing and smacking against your fingers, and you blow across them long and slow, making sure your breath reaches his face.

His classmates erupt, and Eddie’s certain he smells strawberries again…

Thursday. Kiss on the cheek day.

There are fewer orders today, and you're the only volunteer delivering to Eddie’s class. It’s a little awkward and you feel very ‘on show’, but as soon as you see Eddie is in class your desire to put your plan into action overrides any awkwardness.

You give one girl a peck on the cheek, she’s cute and blushes before saying a quiet, “Thank you.”

A jock on the other side of the room is next. He’s less gallant and tries to turn his head at the last moment, but you’re wise to such tricks and he doesn’t get the lip contact he wants, earning you a scowl from him and a round of applause from his cronies.

You can see Eddie’s friends almost vibrating with excitement as you turn and step towards him.

His cheeks flush and he squirms as he realises you’re stopping next to his desk. Again.

You try to reassure him, and say quietly, so almost no one else can hear, “Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll be gentle with you.”

You bend at the waist, puckering your lips and slowly bringing them to his soft, milky white skin. You plant a slow, strawberry-scented peck to the side of his face, leaving a shimmering red stain just next to where you know your favourite dimple resides.

He turns almost the colour of your lipgloss, and the cheers of his classmates serenade you as you smile to yourself and leave the class for another day.

Friday - kiss day!

You’re thrilled that you’ve managed to wrangle everything so that you get to do a ‘five dollar’ delivery with Eddie. Your planning couldn’t have gone better.

You’re more excited than you would ever admit, a heat collecting in your belly as you try to walk as calmly as you can to his classroom.

He’s the only recipient today, making this a really big deal in front of the entire class.

There’s a couple of whistles and yelps as you enter, some of his classmates clearly aware of what’s to come.

You decide to tease the rest of the class a little, walking around the desks for effect, as everyone’s wondering who it’s going to be.

Eventually, you stop in front of Eddie’s desk. His friends are yelping the loudest, but the whole class is emitting a low chorus of ‘oooooooh’s.

Eddie holds his hands up, palms out in front of him, and, giving you - and, you suspect, him - an out, he mumbles quietly,

“Whoa. You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

He starts stuttering something about the patriarchy and antiquated societal notions of romantic expectations and subservience, but you’re barely listening, your concentration fully focused on his lips, practically salivating at the thought of finally getting close to those delicious, plump, pink pillows.

You give him what you hope is a reassuring and soft smile as you clasp your hands behind your back and begin to lean forwards.

Eddie leans back as you move. It must look comical to the outside observers as you lean in, eyes closed and lip pursed, as he moves backwards at the same rate, eyes as wide as saucers and doing a great impersonation of a rabbit in headlights.

Eventually, his back against his chair and his chin pulled down as far as it will go, he has nowhere left to run.

You keep leaning forward, the fronts of your thighs connecting with his desk helping to stabilise you.

Feeling your nose gently bump his, you turn your head almost imperceptibly and continue forwards, allowing them to slide past each other.

Your lips finally connect.

A tiny amount at first, barely touching, you feel your lower lip press against his, and then your upper.

His mouth is warm, his lips velvety and soft, not chapped and rough like some others.

It feels so good.

You press forwards a little more, connecting more of your flesh with his.

The whoops, hollers and whistles from the classmates fade from your hearing. You do however hear a tiny whimper from the boy in front of you, and you don’t know it but he’s closed his eyes.

You stay like this for a moment, you enjoying the sensation you’ve been dreaming about for weeks, Eddie sitting stiffly in front of you.

But then, with a soft moan that only you can hear, you feel Eddie’s lips relax and purse, and suddenly he’s kissing you back, gently and subtly, your lips moving in harmony, hot breaths mingling and surrounding you in a warm cloud.

After what feels like a delicious eternity, you hear the teacher loudly clearing their throat behind you, and you realise your time is more than up.

Although it’s probably only been about five seconds, it feels like it was long enough for your whole world to tip on its axis and stop spinning.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss and slowly stand back up, rolling your lower lip inwards a little and feeling your cheeks, and other areas, heating.

Behind him, Eddie gets slapped on the back by Jeff and Dougie, and Gareth is clapping loudly and shouting affirmations.

The room has erupted into a clamouring, yelling mess of applause, but neither you nor Eddie are paying much attention.

His lips roll inwards too, and the very tip of his pink tongue peeps out as if to taste you.

He gifts you an incredulous half smile, that dimple you love so much almost making an appearance.

You back away, bashfully, spinning on your heel before you turn back, almost forgetting the final part of your job, and add,

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie.”

It’s the end of the week, and you’re in the parking lot after school. You’re standing with a gaggle of other volunteers, laughing, giggling, discussing how well the fundraising has gone, exchanging horror stories of some really bad kisses, and one person even trying to shove their tongue in.

Eddie waits until you’re on your own, heading to your car.

He steps beside you just as you reach your door.

“Hey, Candy.”

You turn, leaning back against your car, and you can’t help but smirk at the cheesy nickname.

“Hey, Eddie. Did you have a good Valentine’s Day?”

“Uh, yeah. I did, actually. Thanks to a certain someone. I mean, I know you can’t tell me who sent my gifts, kisser-client confidentiality and all that. But, I just wanted to say thanks.”

Your belly flips. He continues, waving a hand nonchalantly,

“You know, for all your hard work. With the fundraising, I mean.”

“Oh right, of course.”

For a moment you’re disheartened. You thought he might mean something else.

But then he steps closer, into your personal space, one of his large boots slotting between your pumps.

“I’d like to know if I could, uh, make another donation? How many kisses can I get for, say, twenty dollars?”

His warm, broad hands come up to ever so gently cup your cheeks, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones and his eyes flitting between your eyes and your mouth.

Your breathing stops as his face moves towards yours.

He pauses, and looks into your eyes one more time, as if waiting for your permission. When you hold his gaze and smile slightly, he moves his mouth until it’s over yours, slowly, gently connecting your lips again. It’s soft, sweet, delicious.

Unexpectedly, you feel the tip of his tongue gently skimming across your glossed lips, but you willingly part them to allow him access.

His tongue pushes past your lips and enters your mouth, slow, tentative, gentle. You hear him moan slightly again, and feel the vibrations against your lips.

Your tongue comes to meet his, your lips and tongues sliding comfortably and dancing together. It’s in the oh-so-romantic situation of the parking lot, but neither of you care.

You reach to grab at his belt loops, pulling his hips flush against yours, just as he breaks the kiss and looks at you, smiling. His lips are glossy and glittering with your lipgloss, and you both smell of strawberries.

You like it.

Breathily, you smile at him, as your arms come up to hook around the back of his neck, and say, just before he leans down for another kiss,

“For you, Eddie? There's no charge…”

Thank you so much for reading!

Please reblog if you enjoyed this.

A/N & disclaimer: I don't agree that peer or societal pressure should be used to coerce or force anyone into doing anything they don’t want to do. And absolutely no one should have their first (or indeed any) kiss forced upon them in public. But this idea burrowed into my brain and I had to run with it. This is fiction - I cannot stress that enough - and if anyone demands you do anything like this with them, in public or private, without your full and ongoing consent you can and absolutely should refuse.

Also, I have an ‘Everything Taglist’ now, so if you’d like to be on it to see more stuff by me let me know!

Taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician

[joshlmbrt]

Beautiful Boy. truck driver!dad! e. munson x mom!reader.

w; this one is long - i apologize, r is intended as a female but i try to be nondescript as best as i could ( i use the pronouns she/her BUT you can always change if you’d like <3 ), i don’t know much about soccer so pls ignore how i absolutely demolish it, mentions of cheating - not eddie, jason is mean - as always - but this time it’s uncalled for, chance is non-verbal, little injury, eddie absolutely loses it in front of parents and kids - but it’s needed honestly, eddie’s self-deprecating thoughts, fluff ending

thank you @reidsbtch & @officerrrfriendly for beta reading !!! i love u both.

an; thought about this little idea and i love the idea of truck driver!eddie so im continuing the alt au! i hope you guys love him just as much as i do 🧸 (if u seen the post ab me taking a small break - no u didn’t … jk, after this i won’t post for a while </3 just wanted to post this.)

Eddie hated being around people.

Not just people. But people he knew and went to school with - the ones that called him a freak.

Although, Eddie had found you and he was the first one out of anyone - when he finally put his mind to it and graduated - to get married.

So, everyone who made fun of him, suck it!

“Hun, can you get his duffel bag out, please?” You slip out of the car, opening the back door. Sometimes he missed his van - the one you despised and desperately told him to trade in for this mini van - but then he realizes how much it actually came in handy.

You hold Chance’s hand when he hops out of the car, kneeling down and tying his shoes. Whenever Eddie would tie them, he would immediately walk away and find you, wordlessly holding his foot out - Eddie never got them tight enough. They would always untie in the middle of the game.

“You’re gonna do so good, baby! I just know it.” You switch to tie the other shoe. Eddie circles around the car after locking it, placing a hand on Chance’s head.

“Absolutely. He’s a Munson.” He smirks down at the boy. It took a little time for Eddie to realize that being a part of the Munson Bloodline wasn’t all bad like people had made him believe.

Sometimes they would lose - but in the long run, they somehow always win in the end.

His win - you and Chance.

There’s a whistle that had been directed towards the small group of you, Chance, and himself. It caused Eddie to look up quickly. It wasn’t the type of whistle to catch someone’s attention that you had been friends with for a while - no - it was a whistle little boys did when they seen a woman they thought was pretty.

“Oh, my bad.” The smirk was familiar and made Eddie’s blood run hot.

Jason Carver.

Divorced three times and had two kids (They both are the same age - you can be sure what had happened there and why they both are the same age) . He's married again, but she’s at the car getting the chairs out and small cooler with capri-sun’s for the little tots and beer for Jason.

It wasn’t allowed, but it was Jason Carver, and sometimes someone’s privilege was so blindingly noticeable.

You peek up at Eddie, watching as his jaw clenches. “Eds,” You say. “Eddie,” He finally looks down at you. You shake your head. “He’s not worth it. Don’t waste your breath.”

He can distinctly hear Julia - his new wife who was most likely about to hit him with divorce papers - complain as she shoves the chairs into his arms. His eyes peek up, watching as they both walk away. He only nods, looking back down at you.

“Breathe, Eds.”

And suddenly, he could breathe again. There was a shudder to the first breath he took - but it felt nice. Rather than holding it in anger until he passed out.

You give him a small smile before fixing Chance’s green shirt. You press a quick kiss to his forehead, standing and holding a hand out for him. He immediately slips his hand into yours, following you towards the field.

Eddie glances around, scratching at his neck when he passes a group of people who peaked in high school - better known as the basketball and football team.

There were a couple of them that were fine - not as rude. And he was sure that the whispers he heard wasn’t about him in particular, but there’s some side of him that feels as if the hushed conversation was about him - or worse, his little mini me.

Chance had been quiet. He doesn’t know why or if it will ever change - a part of him hopes it does because he wants to hear his tiny voice. But if it never changed, Eddie would still love him either way.

And if anyone - including a kid - said anything about it, he’s not afraid to go to jail after knocking out some teeth and lose his job over it.

He drops the duffel bag, kneeling down in front of Chance. “Remember what I told you?” He tilts his head. “This is supposed to be fun, just remember that.”

Chance smiles and nods. He looked grown - the tooth that he had lost making a slow comeback.

“Now, go get them, Champ.” He stands, clapping as he runs to meet the rest of his team.

You peek over at him, smiling softly with a fluttering heart and pink cheeks. He peeks over at you, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and crossing his arms over his chest, lifting a brow at you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He chuckles a bit nervously. He still gets a bit nervous when you stare at him like you’re falling in love all over again - which you are, even more than before.

Of course, Eddie’s had relationships - even situationships - and even if they didn’t last that long, he always felt confident in the relationship, never boyish and giggly to where he could swing his feet like a school girl.

But with you, he feels shy, excited, nervous, and loved.

You shrug, slipping your arms around his, resting your chin on his bicep. “I just think you’re so handsome.”

He flushes and suddenly feels hot in the cool air. “Even with this scuff.”

“Especially with the scuff,” You grin. “And I thought I wouldn’t like your haircut, but I do.”

“I’m glad,” He nods, leaning over and pressing one, two, three pecks against your forehead. “It was just getting in the way when I would roll the windows down to smoke,” His scruff tickles against your forehead. “Especially when I would forget or loose the rubber band.”

You nod a bit and lift up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to go get the mini cooler out of the car.”

“I can do that.”

“No, I got it. Stay here and make sure no one gets our spot.”

He smirks. “Yeah, because you’ll end up feeling bad for someone and move.”

You roll your eyes and pat his bottom before walking off. He smiles and turns back, watching as they Hawkins and the other team - Defenders - give high-fives before the game starts.

“So, Munson,” He feels someone brush up against his side, his nails dig into his skin that was covered by his black sweatshirt. “How’s the married life?”

“You mean the same married life I’ve been in for 5 years now?” Eddie rocks on his heels. He doesn’t know if that would help, but he’s hoping it does so he doesn’t cause a scene in front of all the kids and parents who already judge him enough even if he’s not that same, hyperactive person anymore.

“It’s wonderful. How about your third wife? Or… is it the fourth?” He wonders out loud. Jason chuckles, blue eyes turning to stare daggers into the side of his face. “Or do you already have the fourth one picked out?”

“You’re such a-”

“Hi, Mr. Carver,” You cut the conversation short. You didn’t like Jason at all, but it’s better to kill him with kindness than to egg him on with words. “Seems like James and Aj are getting the hang of soccer.”

He watches as you bend at the waist, Eddie moving slightly to cover where ever his eyes might land, pinky circling into the belt loop of your jeans.

Jason rolls his eyes at that, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Learned from the best,” He nods. “What about Chance? Since… Eddie’s gone most of the time.”

“Dustin, Lucas, or Steve comes and practices with him. Jonathan does sometimes as well, and Robin,” You shrug. “He has a bunch of people who help him.”

“I bet it gets lonely sometimes.” Eddie’s ears ring when he hears the words and the whistle blow.

“What?”

“You know… When Eddie’s gone. How many days is he gone?”

You lift a brow, eyes staying on Chance’s jersey. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You step closer when you feel Eddie’s finger tug on the belt loop of your jeans.

“Well… I could keep you company sometime, you know,” He tilts his head. “It’s not okay for Chance to have a father that disappears a couple of days and then pops back up for a day.” There’s a pause. You both were going to ignore him.

Jason is the type of guy who wouldn’t back out of an argument until there’s a physical altercation between him and whoever falls into his trap. Eddie knows this because it’s happened before.

Jason wouldn’t stop pestering him - and the next day after seeing his father on the news for a physical altercation, breaking-an-entering, DUI, and Drug Holding, it only made it worse.

“Looks like you might actually have something to look forward too - seeing your Daddy behind bars when you get locked up with him.”

He can’t remember when his fist went flying and when it broke Jason’s nose, but after that, Jason would say something’s and Eddie would retaliate with words.

Jason would back down because he remembered the pain that the rings had caused and the cracking noise he had heard.

But now, he didn’t seem to remember what that felt like - and maybe he needed to be reminded.

“Maybe that’s why he’s a bit slow.” Especially now when he said those words. Jason Carver officially sealed his fate.

“What did you just say?” Eddie turns to him.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Jason shrugs. But he did. “Just… you know, he doesn’t talk. He’s not that smart with his-”

“You don't want to finish that sentence, Carver,” Eddie grits out. There’s a hot flash that keeps going down his whole body, the feeling of breaking that nose again, ruining the nose job he had to have because of his rings. “You remember what happened before. I’d hate to ruin the nose job you had to have in 10th grade. Then you’d have to spend another thousand just to get it busted again.”

Jason’s brows shoot up, a small teasing smirk on his face. He notices some parents’ eyes looking at them. Eddie’s voice had raised a smidge and he didn’t even notice.

“Is that a threat, Munson?”

“Try promise, Carver,” His eyes narrow at him. “You peaked in high school and can’t let it go. You even work there.”

Jason’s jaw clenches at that. “I didn’t-”

“You did,” Eddie cuts him off. There’s a small smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips knowing he’s got under his skin now. “You just don’t want to admit it. And it’s honestly sad. So, what you’re going to do right now is turn around, walk away from my wife, and stop talking about my son. Because it won’t be pretty if you don’t.”

“Eddie.” Your hand grips his arm. He looks at you and shakes his head before looking at Jason.

Jason clicks his tongue, darting his eyes out at the field as he nods a bit. You look between the two. “Alright… I’ll let you win this one,” He hums, hands on his hips. “Because at least my kid isn’t a freak.”

Eddie flinches at the word, fist clenching at the usage and who it was shot at. He wouldn’t have minded if it was meant towards himself, but his kid? One who couldn’t even defend himself?

His hands land on his chest, pushing him away. Jason stumbles on his Nike’s. “Carver, I mean it. Walk away before you say something you’ll regret. I’m so close to beating you into the ground.”

Jason stares at him and he believes him. Eddie’s staring at him with eyes that were dark, his hands balled into fists at his side - so tight that his knuckles were white.

Jason’s eyes glances over at you. And just because he needs to get in the last words so his ego isn’t hurt and knocked down a couple of steps, “Call me if you ever get lonely, babygirl.” His lips pucker and smack together before he gives Eddie one last grin, turning around.

Eddie almost swings at the back of his head to knock him off guard, his arm raising. You grab his arm, pulling it down quickly. “Not worth it,” You say, hand resting between his shoulder blades. “He’s not worth going to jail, Eds.”

Eddie watches as he makes his way towards Julia, plopping down into his fold out chair. He grabs the can, taking a gulp and wiping at the corner of his mouth where some had slipped. His blue eyes turn and meet Eddie’s, a small smile that curls at his lips.

“Just one punch?”

“No,” You turn him towards you. “He’s just trying to get a raise out of you and it’s working - don’t let him win this time like he always does.”

Eddie glances around, eyes meeting with some of the parents that quickly look away. His eyes then connect with yours and suddenly he feels his inside soften and his face slowly release its tension, the lines disappearing from his face.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

You shake your head, giving him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He opens his mouth but is cut off by the whistle, eyes cutting over to the field. He sees number 8 sitting on the ground, his heart dropping.

His mind was wondering else where and his son is hurt.

He’s walking out onto the field before his mind even registers what his feet are doing and kneeling down. Chance had tears rolling down his cheeks, his small hands covering his knee.

“Hey, Champ,” His heart breaks at the sight of his watery eyes when they quickly dart up at him before looking back down at his hands. He flinches when he feels your hand on his back, rubbing up and down. “Can mommy and I take a look?” He whispers.

He feels a bit claustrophobic when he feels the two coaches looming over his shoulders along with the small kids staring at him.

Chance nods slightly, removing his hands from his knee. Eddie’s hand reaches out and holds his leg, looking at the scratches. “Looks like you just need a quick wipe and bandaid.”

Chance sniffs and slowly stands, bending his leg.

“You wanna wait til we get home? I accidentally forgot the first aid at home.” The little boy nods, sniffling again.

Eddie reaches up and wipes away his tears softly. “You’re so brave. I’m proud of you.”

This causes Chance to smile, cheeks lifting a bit. Eddie gives him a swift peck to the top of his head before standing. “Go get ‘em.” Chance nods quickly.

Eddie grabs your hand, walking off the field and standing on the sidelines again. You lean your head on his shoulder.

“Eds?” He hums a bit. “I love you.”

He smiles a bit, nodding. “I love you.”

⭒

Eddie plops down on the bed, rubbing at his face. Chance’s knee was taken care of, a fresh shower, some nuggets, then he was out like a light when his little head hit the pillow.

Eddie feels like he could pass out when his own head hits the pillow, but there’s a feeling that keeps tugging at his chest.

He doesn’t know if it’s anger, sadness, or confusion.

anger because he couldn’t put Jason Carver into place like he absolutely wanted to. Anger because he missed half of Chance’s game because of him.

Sadness because Chance has to deal with people already laughing at him - it’s much worse when a grown up does it.

Confusion because he doesn’t know what he did in wrong his life to deserve what people say about him and his family.

Eddie always felt like he was nice enough - not judging others and including them in a conversation when he felt as if they weren’t being heard or he noticed the look on their face when they felt left out of the conversation.

And there’s a constant nagging in his mind that he always hears in his subconscious.

You’re not cut out to be a father - you’re going to go downhill soon.

And the worse part about it, he actually believes he’s going to go down hill. His father once was a nice man, caring. Then Wayne said when his mom got sick, he turned bitter and mean.

And the worse part about that was she got sick when she was pregnant with Eddie. So that bitterness was because of Eddie.

Edward Munson - the person who caused people to feel bitter when he showed his face. The person who only seemed to give people bad luck when he showed up.

Sarah, his mother who was a soft person with kind words, should’ve saved herself. Not him. She should be here. Then maybe his dad would’ve been okay.

Everyone would’ve been okay.

“Babe?” He blinks, glancing at you. He didn’t realize that you had finished getting ready for bed and had snuggled under the covers. He hums slightly. You frown, lifting your hand and wiping at the tears that he didn’t realize had fallen.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on in your mind?” Your thumb traces over his cheekbone. You pay attention to the scar he has nearing his eye. He shakes his head a bit, lip quivering.

He’s afraid that if he talks, it will cause him to sob, then if he sobs, he’ll wake up Chance. He’s already had a rough day today and he needed his sleep.

You frown and move closer to him, pressing a kiss next to his eye, they flutter closer. “Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t true,” You whisper. “I know you and I know that you’re very hard on yourself - and you shouldn’t be. You know why?”

He turns his head to stare at you, shaking his head a bit.

Your hand splays out against his cheek. “Because you, Eddie, are the absolute best person I know with the biggest heart. And I’m so proud of how far you’ve come and achieved.”

He smiles, although it’s a bit shaky. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You shrug, nudging your nose against his softly. “Just being the absolute best version of you.”

🎸 eddie tags; @lavendermunson, @hazydespair, @whisperingwillowxox

thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, requests, likes, & feedback is always welcomed, encouraged, & deeply appreciated. 🧸

[honey-flustered]

Made With Love (Fluff)

Eddie Munson x Crocheter!Soft!GF!Plus!Reader

Summary: You love making gifts for your boyfriend and his cool uncle. And Eddie just simply adores you.

A/N: Just short draft that ive kept for a while now because i just didn’t know what to do with it. So ive decided to publish it as it is so that in the meantime i can get my shit together.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Summary: inexperienced!reader and eddie, plus size reader, hinted!autistic reader, eddie being a simp for reader, lots of fluff, wayne being reader’s number 1 supporter (don’t tell eddie 🤭), sexually suggestive language and behavior, some body worship, kissing, cuddling

Eddie Munson is the luckiest man in the world. No really because just how did he manage to get a girl like you in his arms? You went beyond his criteria of a perfect girl which was simply to be a woman. But you’ve exceeded in ways he could have never imagined.

For one, you’ve got amazing taste in music. Despite the differences in your music genres, you both appreciate the variety and exchange songs all the time. Second, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Eddie knew he loved rubenesque women but you were all that and more. He swears could die and go to heaven at the feeling of your thick thighs and soft belly as you’d lay his head on either part. And not to mention that beautiful face he yearns to see smiling at him constantly with those enchanting eyes that seem to twinkle endlessly.

Lastly—a fact about you that has both facts, one and two, beat—you’re awfully talented. You bake, paint, and, best of all, you crochet.

You crochet just about everything and he admires it. The best part is you always came up with the most interesting things that even Eddie wasn’t sure he needed.

Currently, you and Eddie were curled up on his couch. Your eyes wandering his shaky lean frame while his eyes stays glued to the television set, a gentle hand caressing your thigh.

You pride yourself for being an observant one, a skill you’ve had to perfect throughout your childhood in order to understand the world around you. And because you’re so observant, nothing gets passed you including the way he continues to shiver beside you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, concerned.

“Just my unusually cold wrists as always,” Eddie sighs. “Strangely specific, I know. It’s the chain bracelet and leather cuffs. The silver and leather are like ice against my skin with this freezing ass weather.”

You smile brightly, clapping your hands in excitement. “Actually, I have just the thing for this little issue.”

“Oh, do you?” Eddie smirks, nose scrunching up in amusement.

“Mhm,” You nod as you began rummaging through your bumblebee bag (crocheted by yours truly). “Close you eyes.”

“‘Kay.” He obeys with a smile never leaving his face.

Rushing up to stand in front of the television set, you held the items behind your back before commanding your boyfriend to open his eyes once more.

“So…I’ve noticed the way you rub your wrists for the friction to radiate some heat because they’re always so cold lately. And I also notice that when the cold becomes to unbearable you’re forced to remove your wrist accessories,” You began your spiel as if you’re in an infomercial. “Why should you sacrifice style or possibly losing your accessories because of naked wrists? Well not anymore with my handy dandy…wrist bands!”

You shoot your hands up and out in front of you, dangling each red and white patterned wristband in either hand. “I also call them Eds Bracelet Warmers as a placeholder product name.”

“That’s metal!” Eddie praises, standing up to study the bands closely. You release them into his hands and he stares down at them in awe, sliding each onto his arm and making a little show of them before his attention resumes back on you.

“Do you like it?” You say rocking back and forth on your heels anxiously.

“I love it! It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

You snort out a giggle. “You say that with every crochet I’ve made you.”

“I was wrong all the other times. I mean, as much as I love the crocheted mug warmers, pillows, and seat cover…I’m thinking this might top them all. Just look at the detailing on this. You’re like a goddamn Picasso. Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a hand on his chest, letting you know just how much you’ve touched his heart. Then he suddenly grows shy, tapping his index fingers together as he avoids your gaze. “Permission to hold you. Maybe…kiss you a little.”

“You don’t have to ask,” You run into his embrace, cupping his face in your hands to plant a searing hot kiss onto his lips. With the mixture of your forwardness and his knee-buckling reaction, he’s sent falling back against the couch with you still in his arms.

You scramble to peel yourself off from above him, not wanting to put to much pressure on his slender frame. And yet he interlocks his fingers together right on your lower back, keeping you still. “Wait, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never, baby,” Eddie says, bringing a hand up to your face to caress your cheek. He then traces his thumb faintly around your lips. “I want you on me all the time.”

He suddenly becomes nervous, a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. He’s nervous under your alluring gaze, aware that you’re clocking every shift and change in his facial features and mood. Embarrassingly, he had an erection that you no doubt felt in between your bodies and pressing against your belly. Eddie decides to release you from his full grasp.

Instead of pulling away, you draw his thumb into your mouth slowly, pursing your lips around them as you look him through your lashes and half-lidded eyes.

He chokes out an audible whine, even the inside of your mouth felt good. He’s never wanted to explore it this badly. When you pull your mouth around the digit with a pop, Eddie’s quick to cup your face now and shoves his tongue into your mouth. He takes control of the motions, gradually rolling your bodies over so that he’d end up on top.

His eager hands glide up your smooth skin of your thighs, pushing up your dress that fit snug around you. Your hands entangle themselves in his hair, letting your long nails lightly scratch his scalp.

You and Eddie have been soft lovers with one another, taking your time and being patient with one another regarding physical affection. It took a lot for the two of you to feel comfortable enough to ask each other for touches and eventual kisses. You’d say you’ve gotten pretty far.

Sometimes, things would get heated and you’d be concerned that it might lead to sex considering you’re both virgins. However, aside from your anxieties and insecurities, you actually did feel as if you’re ready to give yourself to him. But ever the gentleman, Eddie is usually one to call it quits.

But with his lips moving against your own so passionately, you couldn’t see how he’d pull away now. Especially not when you’ve got fistful of his Hellfire club shirt in your hands to prevent him from doing so.

Nonetheless, he pulls away much to your chagrin. The faint reminder of his lips against yours still felt by you in the span of a millisecond. You wish that feeling could linger forever.

He stares down at you, examining the look on your face. It’s your turn to hold him still against you, your nails burrowing in his exposed lower back.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie begins as if in a trance.

“Yes…Eddie.”

“I think…that I—”

The swinging of the creaky, trailer door is enough to lurch you both apart, sitting in your designated seats on the couch. Uncle Wayne enters the room with a hand over one eye and an outstretched hand to guide himself into the home.

“All clear?” He asks.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “All clear, Waydog. We’ve been good.”

Wayne opens his eyes slowly, his gaze landing on you on the couch. He perks up with a bright smile. “Oh, y/n, what a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I was actually worried I was going to walk into Eddie watching—“

“Dude!” Eddie interrupts, staring at his uncle in incredulous betrayal.

“Aw come on. I kid, I kid. You know that’s what we Munson men do. She’s used to that by now.” Wayne chuckles, placing some bags of grocery on the counter.

You giggle, soothing Eddie’s hair as way of ensuring him that it’s okay. Going over to the kitchen, you and Eddie help Wayne unload the groceries when Wayne notices the crochet bands around his nephew’s wrists.

“Those look neat! You think you could make me a pair?” Wayne asks you with hopeful eyes.

“Of course! And don’t you worry, I’ll even get them to match the beanie hat I’m still making for you.” You beam.

“Woah, woah. Wait a minute. He gets a matching hat?” Eddie inquires with a pout.

“Oh, like you haven’t stolen the first hat she’s made me.” Wayne chuckles.

“I didn’t steal. I borrowed.”

“For 4 whole months?”

“There isn’t a time limit for borrowing something. If there is, I’d like to see the rule.” Eddie challenges.

“I think you’re just jealous of us,” Wayne says, standing beside you with you nodding in agreement. “Why else would you take my gifts if not to have them all to yourself?”

“My girlfriend and my uncle in alliance against me.” Eddie laughs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Didn’t think I’d see the day coming so soon.”

[idyllicwillowtree]

Smitten Kittens

Genre: Eddie Munson x fem!reader; fluff

Summary: Eddie helps out a very special cat who turns out to be yours. 

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings: light drug-use, swearing, illusions to bad parental relationships/toxic parents, reader is called ‘Ms. Y/L/N’ at one point, Eddie-centric, Eddie being a crazy cat lady

Author’s note: Loosely based off of me and my cat <3 ; pictures found on pinterest

Main Masterlist

_______________________________________________

4:37. Every morning Eddie’s body wakes him up at 4:37 and no matter how long he lays in bed or how late he stays up he can’t go back to sleep. He could have his eyes closed, unmoving for hours and still his mind would not allow him anymore rest. 

That’s where his little friend Mary-Jane comes in handy.

His uncle, Wayne, is usually still at work at this time so Eddie doesn’t bother being gentle as he swung the front door open, a joint dangling from his chapped lips and a couple cans of tuna in his hand. 

Stepping out of his muggy trailer, he took a deep breath of fresh morning air as goosebumps emerged on his skin. In preparation for the sun to rise, the night sky became a dark blue mixing with the yellow street lamps, light enough for Eddie not to use a flashlight. He plopped himself down on his front steps, his sock covered feet avoiding the dewy grass below by setting them on the last wooden step.

He lit up his joint, taking a deep inhale and enjoying a short moment alone before gently tapping the tuna can with his lighter.

“Purrrrow?”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie clutched his chest before turning towards the noise, “Oh, there you are Ozzy.”

When Eddie started using weed to help him sleep in the middle of the night he slowly made some new furry friends. Once he set a precedent that the stray cats could come to him for a snack, he became the unofficial cat-guy of the trailer park. 

Something about taking care of the mangy little beasts of the neighborhood made him feel important. Knowing there were four starving cats out there that turned to him for comfort filled him with a sense of purpose. Something he doesn’t always get with the people in his life.

As he starts filling the large dog dish he leaves outside with the fishy treat, the rest of his cat gang arrives, greeting him with quiet chirps, excited purring, and vertical tails. 

Ozzy was the leader, a short-haired tabby that was pure muscle. He usually sported an intimidating glare as he watched over the other cats, keeping them protected and in line. His right-pawed man was a skinny gray cat Eddie named Dio. He was the only one who let Eddie hold him, never clawing to get away, but still preferring to keep all four paws on land. Then there was Dungeon and Dragon, two orange cats attached at the hip and always getting into trouble. Dungeon was very talkative while Dragon was the most affectionate. 

Eddie continued smoking his joint, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of the eating cats. He listened as their loud smacking and happy purrs echoed in the dish.

Ozzy abruptly stopped eating, eyes zeroed in on something under Eddie’s trailer porch to his right. The cat’s back immediately puffed, fur standing up on its own. He let out an aggressive hiss followed by a yowl that sent a chill down Eddie’s spine. The rest of the cats perked up in curiosity. 

“Please don’t be a raccoon,” Eddie mumbled to himself as he leaned over to get a better look.

Suddenly, a tentative black paw emerged from the shadow of the porch. The most beautiful cat Eddie had ever seen revealed herself, delicately sniffing at the fishy morning air.

Ozzy was not about to share his food with this new cat, making it known through his loud yowling that Dio soon joined in on. Dungeon and Dragon’s ears were pulled back, hissing at the new arrival.

Eddie watched as the cat timidly backed up under the porch again, not wanting any trouble but still eyeing their leftover tuna. 

“Alright guys, that’s enough,” Eddie began gently shooing the clowder of cats away. They all snapped out of it and scampered off to do whatever it is they usually do when they’re done with their breakfast. Not before Ozzy could send one last hiss in the direction of the black cat.

 “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re a big tough guy. Go on.” 

Pleased with himself, Ozzy trotted away in the direction of his pack. Once they were gone, Eddie finally got a good look at black cat who, once again, was making her way out of hiding.

In comparison to the rest of the cats, this one stuck out like a sore thumb. While the others were matted flea-covered strays, this cat had perfectly groomed long hair that looked particularly soft and fluffy. Her neon green eyes were clear and bright and her ears remained pointed and intact. 

After she made sure all the other cats were gone, she immediately perked up and began approaching Eddie with her fluffy tail pointing towards the sky.

“Meow?”

“Hi there,” Eddie said gently. “You’re new.”

Eddie slowly lifted his hand, pointer finger stretched out towards the feline. She sniffed at it attentively before dragging her cheek across his short nails repeatedly. Eddie got the hint and started scratching behind her ears and down her spine, watching happily as she leaned into his touch before getting distracted by the leftover fish. 

She was even softer than he imagined.

Eddie knew she didn’t belong out here, she’s too healthy and social to be an outdoor cat or a stray. His heart ached at the thought of someone out there looking for this sweet and loving companion. He knew he needed to help her find her home.

“In the meantime, I bestow upon you the title of ‘Sabbath’. Pretty metal, huh?”

“Purrrrow?”

“Exactly.”

Eddie cautiously scooped her up, pleasantly surprised by how easy this was for her. She immediately settled in his grip and turned to wrap her paws around his neck, nuzzling affectionately into his long hair. 

Eddie took a moment with her, enjoying the feeling of her vibrating purrs against his chest, before heading back inside and to bed. The purring heals his heart a bit, it’s nice having someone around who offers their love to him without needing anything in return.

As soon as Eddie sets her down on the comforter, she spins around a couple times before passing out, Eddie falling asleep not long after.

 _______________________________________________

Eddie was sitting in class hunched over his notebook, planning out the next Dungeons and Dragons campaign for Hellfire. He was so focused he didn’t even realize the rest of the class packed up their things and left already.

“Mr. Munson, class is dismissed,” the teacher pointed out tiredly.

“You sure you want me to go, Mr. K?” Eddie said slyly, knowing Mr. Kowcheski hates the nickname, “we could talk about our feelings? Who have you been crushing on these days?”

Mr. Kowcheski deadpanned at the delinquent for a long moment before looking past him.

“You too, Ms. Y/L/N. Class is over.”

Eddie turned around, noticing you were still there for the first time. You sat slumped in your chair with a slack expression and wet dull eyes as you stared at the linoleum floor. You jumped slightly and blushed from the attention, eyes jumping around the room.

“S-sorry Mr. Kowcheski,” your voice wavered as you shakily gathered your things and made a break for it, Eddie following close behind.

He’s not sure what possessed him to approach you, but he knew he needed to make sure you were okay. 

 You never gave Eddie a reason to hate you, always sending him shy smiles and letting him borrow a pencil whenever he asked. You were a breath of fresh air in a school full of stale and rotten posers who made his life a living nightmare.

Everytime Eddie’s eyes wandered to you in class, you were always paying close attention and absorbing the lecture through taking notes and asking questions. He always admired that about you. That’s why it was so strange seeing you so zoned out that you didn’t even realize the bell had already rung.

“Hey, you okay?” Eddie said, catching up to you in the hallway.

“Huh? O-oh hi Eddie. What’s up?”

Now that Eddie was closer, he could see your red-trimmed eyes and dark bags as you avoided his gaze. Your usual up-beat tone of voice was now scratchy and tired. Eddie felt sadness and worry flip through his stomach at the sight.

“Nothing, I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he tilted his head, trying to catch your eye, “You don’t seem like your normal self.”

Eddie could tell by the way your eyes widened and your breathing stuttered that he caught you off guard. Once you gather your bearings, you offer him a shy smile that comes as quickly as it goes.

“Thanks, Eddie. I’m fine,” you looked down at your shoes, shaking your head solemnly. “It’s…it’s stupid. But thanks anyway,” you said, voice breaking along with Eddie’s heart.

You walked away before he could press any further. 

_______________________________________________

Now that school was out, Eddie could finally head home and brainstorm ideas on how to return Sabbath to her rightful home.

 Eddie sauntered through the trailer door, shopping bags full of canned cat food in tow, as he shook the rain from his wet hair like a dog. He turned to Wayne, lounging in his usual spot on the armchair, only this time he wasn’t alone.

“Boy, if you don’t get this damn cat off of me…”

Sabbath looked perfectly happy, stretched out on Wayne’s jean covered legs. Blissfully unaware that he wanted her off of him. Or maybe she just didn’t care. She sent Eddie, what could only be described as a smile as he walked over and delicately scooped her up. She protested a little with a long closed mouth “mew”, then settled into his arms, hugging him around the neck once more.

Wayne looked up at Eddie, ocean eyes flooded with disapproval.

“I know, I know. It’s the last time I swear,” Eddie defended.

His Uncle stayed silent.

“I couldn’t just leave the poor thing, she wouldn’t have survived. She’s a lover, not a fighter!”

Wayne's face stayed the same, only lifting the corner of his brow at him.

“I’m looking for her owner, I swear. She definitely belongs to someone.”

At that, Wayne lifted himself from his armchair with an “old man grunt”, as Eddie liked to call it. His Uncle gave him a loving pat on the shoulder as he walked past him, heading to the bathroom to get ready for his night shift at the plant. 

Eddie spent the rest of the evening making posters out of cheap printer paper, writing on them with a giant black magic marker. 

“Found Cat

Black, long hair, green eyes”

Eddie added his phone number and called it good. It wasn’t much to go off of, but he figured there couldn’t be too many missing black cats out there in Hawkins.

Eddie flicked the pen cap towards Sabbath, watching as she swatted it off the edge of the table and chased it around. Soon she riled herself up so much that the zoomies overcame her, running from one end of the trailer all the way into Eddie’s room and back again. He found himself completely entertained just by watching this cat do cat things that a couple hours went by without him even noticing.

Eddie was hoping the rain would subside but this was Indiana, the weather never did what you wanted it to do. He wanted to get the word out sooner, but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Not that he was complaining. Fondness blossomed in his chest as Sabbath trotted over to him and rubbed the top of her soft head against his chin. Then she settled on his lap for the rest of the evening.

_______________________________________________

6:14. This morning, Eddie managed to sleep in. Although he would’ve much rather slept longer, he was pleasantly surprised to have a couple extra hours. 

That was until he realized why he had woken up. Sabbath was meowing continuously, barely stopping to breathe. Jumping back and forth from the pillow Eddie was resting his head on, to the top of his dresser that was set in front of his bedroom window. When she leaped up, sliding a bit on the smooth surface, she scratched at the window overlooking the front yard. Eddie sluggishly pulled himself up and out of bed to see what Sabbath was getting so worked up about.

You were riding your bike in the soft glow of the morning, tires crutching in protest as you slowly pedaled. You kept your eyes and head moving, scanning the area diligently. In one hand you gripped the handle bars, in the other you held a small bag of cat treats that you were shaking every few seconds. Hope lightens your eyes at the sound of Dungeon’s meows, but it dissolves instantly when he’s not the one you’re looking for.

Eddie watched as Sabbath propped herself up on her back legs and began scratching at the single paned glass window like she could dig her way through. When she looked back at Eddie, begging him to understand her pleas, he patted her head softly and moved towards the front door.

By the time Eddie stepped outside you had stopped your bike and were silently sobbing in the middle of the road. Your back was partially turned to him but he could tell by the quivering of your shoulders and the slouch of your neck that you were overwhelmed with emotion.

“Hey Y/N!” Eddie greeted, louder than he intended.

Eddie cringed slightly as you jumped three feet into the air, dropping the open bag of treats in the process. The clowder of strays devours the fallen snacks in seconds before running off into the woods. Not before Ozzy could send Eddie a look that portrayed his disappointment in him for not feeding them earlier in the morning.

“Ah, shit. Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no it’s alright,” you sniffed hard and vigorously wiped your face before turning to Eddie, playing it off like you weren’t just weeping.

As Eddie got closer he noticed the plastic cat carrier zip tied to the back of your bike and the pile of clothes in the basket attached to your handlebars. You watched him scan your bike, his eyes sparkling with what you misinterpreted for judgment. 

“Sorry, I’m just looking for…for my cat,” you sent him a tightlipped smile and sniffed back your tears. 

“She must be some cat, huh?” Eddie couldn’t stand to leave you hanging for any longer, watching your face crumple as you nodded. He smiled softly, “she wouldn’t happen to be a fluffy black cat, would she?”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful. The last remnants of your tears sliding down your cheeks as you blinked owlishly at him. Your mouth was agape in an attempt to respond, but all you could manage was a frantic nod.

Eddie walked backwards slowly and smiled playfully, dimples on full display as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. He swiftly spun around before jogging up his front steps to open his front door. You watched him curiously before you noticed what emerged from his trailer.

“KITTY!” a sob ripped through your throat as you lurched forward, bike clattering to the ground in the process.

“Kitty?” Eddie mumbled to himself incredulously.

He watched as the relief you were feeling had a physical effect on you. Your knees wobbled, feet crossing over each other as you ran forward. It would’ve taken you down had you not been so eager to reach the feline. Whimpers cracked through your chest when you finally met in the middle, ‘Kitty’ being just as excited to get to you. You expertly scooped her up and let her snuggle into your hair as you clung to each other. The way you held one another reminded Eddie of how a caring mother would hold her child.

Watching this reunion was something special. Seeing these two beings who were unconditionally in love, coming together after days apart sent a warmth through Eddie’s heart. He felt a bit selfish for being proud of himself for making this happen, but quickly shook it off. That cat definitely wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for him and you would still be heartbroken.

“I was s-so w-worried about you, Kitty,” you blubbered as you pressed kiss after kiss on her soft little head. Your happy tear-filled eyes blinked up at Eddie, “t-thank you so much, Eddie. You have no idea what this means to me, thank you-” before you could back out you gently held Eddie’s face and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

Eddie’s face tingled with heat as a blush crept up his neck. He was just standing there, dumbfounded, not expecting the affection but not hating it either. He moved to touch his burning cheek to savor the feeling, but it made you cringe seeing the moisture you left behind.

“S-sorry,” you said with a wet laugh.

“Don’t apologize. I should be thanking you,” Eddie said, still in a lovesick daze.

“What? You’re the one that saved my cat!”

“Yeah, but you’re the one that kissed me!” Eddie would like to say that his flirting was smooth and intentional, but really he was just flabbergasted that someone as sweet and pretty as you would give him any sort of attention. 

You barked out a surprised laugh as Kitty moved to nuzzle her face into the other side of your neck. You wiped at the tears and snot still caked on your face, suddenly feeling embarrassed by your emotional outburst.

“Sorry,” you apologized again, “I feel kinda stupid for crying so hard over a cat.”

“You keep saying that,” Eddie said with a smile and a soft head shake that made his curly hair float around his shoulders.

You sniffed, “saying what?”

“That your emotions are stupid. Like it’s some offense to be sad and worried about the greatest cat in the world.”

Eddie’s words surprised you. You scanned his face, looking for anything that would suggest he’s teasing or making fun of you. Luckily, it wasn’t there.

“You…you think she’s the great cat in the world?”

“Yeah! What’s not to like? She’s affectionate, entertaining, and really fucking cute. I’d probably lose my mind if I was the one to lose her. I mean, she’s a cat that hugs. What’s better than that?”

You gasped dramatically, turning to look at the cat still in your arms, “you hugged him? What a little traitor! She usually only hugs me,” you giggled.

Eddie was shocked, yet flattered. “She must be a good judge of character,” he said with a smug grin.

“Yeah, that explains why she hates my parents.”

Eddie erupted in laughter, catching you off guard. You didn’t mean to make a joke but it was kind of funny. Your chortles mixing together and echoing throughout the quiet trailer park. 

Your cat pulled back from your neck so she could look back at Eddie and send him a grateful “meow” and a slow blink. Eddie reached out to stroke behind her ears lovingly. It made you tense for a second, scared she’d take a swipe at the metal-head but instead she leaned into his touch.

“You like that, don’t you Sabbath?” he cooed, the pitch to his voice raising an octave.

“You named her Sabbath?”

“Oh, uhh y-yeah,” Eddie said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, it was just a placeholder name until I found her owner.”

You nodded slowly as a knowing smile slithered across your lips, “Black Sabbath. Very clever.”

Eddie could have proposed to you right then and there. Instead, he would have to settle for dinner and a movie.

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