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rollerskate2theface · 2 years

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5+1 five times someone noticed Steve Harrington liking men and the one time everyone noticed he loved one

1 Steve

Steve never really put much thought into who he was attracted to. Girls were easy he didn’t even have to try for them to be all over him, really it’s just a matter of convenience.

Nancy was like that at first, all flustered and flirty. But he could tell it was all some sort of act even if she didn’t know it. He was proven correct after Nancy’s whole “bullshit” stunt on Halloween. Steve really couldn’t even blame her, he knew he was bullshit.

Going after girls only girls because it was convenient? That sure seems like bullshit to him. So, he began to actually acknowledge things. Like how no other guys on the swim team seemed to admire each other’s physiques or how Tommy never seemed to understand Carol’s constant ramblings about how hot Mel Gibson is.

Steve always knew he just began to actually act on it, ya know, occasionally.

2 Erica

The first to notice was surprisingly Erica Sinclair. Well, maybe not so surprisingly considering she seemed to make it her goal for the summer to have his complete and undivided attention. Seeing as he was the only thing between her and 4x her weight in ice cream.

“Hey Nerd what could possibly be more interesting to you, a costumer service employee, than me, a costumer?”

Without looking at her Steve spoke, “You’ve come in everyday for the past 3 weeks and have only bought 1 single scoop in total. He however,” Steve pointedly looked at a guy in his early 20’s licking a drop of melted ice cream up his hand and back to his cone, “seems to be very content with his purchase.”

Erica huffed “barf me out, if I wanted to see some narbo make goo goo eyes I would’ve just stayed home with Lukie and Max.” With that Erica made her way out of the shop in hopes of getting more free samples from Hot Sam’s pretzels.

2.5 Robin (sort of)

Robin didn’t really get Steve Harrington. First he showed up to work on Robin’s first day with that hideous sailor’s costume on before introducing himself to her as if they weren’t in the same class an entire year and romantic rivals. He acted kind enough despite his near constant complaining.

There was also those damn kids that Robin couldn’t comprehend belonged to Steve. They had the guy wrapped around their little fingers, it was honestly kinda pathetic -maybe she should make another board. He was always giving them his company provided scoops they were allowed during breaks.

“Need to stay in shape; no high school athletics anymore. Plus those kids are skinny as twigs,” he’d brush her off.

At first Robin thought it was just the kids he was giving his free ice cream to but then she’d notice how he missed the payment of a couple of guys around their age that had come in.

“Hey Dingus! You forgot to charge them, I’ve seen you do that twice now!” Robin was annoyed if Steve kept doing that they’d both get written up.

“Don’t worry, that was my ice cream mark out,” Steve said offhandedly.

That made Robin stop, those didn’t look like any of the guys in King Steve’s posse of friends. “Why’d you give them your mark out? Do you know them?” Robin’s curiosity beat out her annoyance at the older teen in front of her.

“Nope! Let’s just say I’m hoping for a good tip,” Steve tossed out as he winked and walked into the back room.

This idiot most people tipped at least a dollar even when they had to pay… whatever it’s his mark out.

3.5 Dustin

Say what you may about Dustin Henderson but he was a scientist at heart. So, when he began to notice things about one of his favorite people he decided he needed to test his theory.

“So, uh, Steve,” Dustin threw out while he and Steve were listening to music in the older man’s family room. Steve was jogging on his fathers treadmill as Dustin wrote his letter to send to Suzie in the mail.

Steve gave an uninterested ‘mmhm’ in response.

“Will’s been complaining about how all the party has girlfriends but him-”

“You go easy on him middle school’s hard enough without a bunch of dickwad friends and relationship drama-”

“High school, Steve, we start high school in the fall. No more middle school baby shit for us!”

“Yeah yeah whatever just lay off Will. Not everyone is interested in romance so young,” Steve finally finished once their bickering stoped.

Dustin scoffed, “No that’s just Mike, he’s the only one being weird about it. But anyway that’s exactly what I was about to ask! When did you start showing romantic interest?” Dustin preened himself on his subtlety.

Steve looked surprised at that, “Oh! Well I guess I really started liking people romantically in 6th grade. I mean I had my first girlfriend in 7th grade,” he snorted, “if you could even call it that, we just held hands at recess and gave messages through friends…”

Dustin tuned the other out. ‘People’ damn that was a bust alright new approach.

“Yeah yeah uh huh sooo, Steve? Which Star Wars character do you think is the hottest?” Dustin asked thinking back to the film he’d watched the night prior.

The treadmill stopped as Steve sighed and turned to face Dustin, “dude I keep telling you I’m not going to watch your geeky movie.”

“How dare you! Star Wars is a cinematic masterpiece! I-” stay on track Dustin don’t jeopardize the experiment, “whatever who do you think is the hottest actor from one of your lame rom-coms then?” Okay, so much for subtlety.

Steve raised an eyebrow at that -oh no he noticed- he walked over and plopped down on the floor next to Dustin, “Alright, what’s going on why are you acting weird?”

“What? I’m not acting weird? I just,” another unconvinced look, “Ugh fine. I’ve just started to notice how you aren’t only flirty with… with just girls anymore… Which is totally fine! Cool! Awesome even! I just, I wanted to find out if I was… right? I don’t know, now I sound like an asshole.”

Dustin isn’t sure if it’s a good sign or a bad sign when Steve began to laugh. His laughter died down after a couple seconds, “you’re a strange kid, you know that? But to prove- confirm your hypothesis or whatever. Yes I like men, and women, both I like both,” Steve stammered. “You’re actually the first one I’ve said that to.”

Dustin grinned twisting to hug Steve from where he was sat beside him. A thought just occurred to the almost high schooler, “ This means double the potential set ups.” This sentiment was met with a groan and a plead of not needing that.

4.5 Mike

Mike Wheeler has been told he’s at that ‘difficult’ age in puberty -gross- where he’s mad about everything. Well if you ask him it’s pretty freaking easy to be mad at everything including how his mom sold his bike at a yard sale because, “You’re too big for it now Michael you can barely ride it. This money is going towards a new one you’ll just have to save up.”

Hence why he’s waiting for his ride who’s currently working in a too cold, too bright shop, with an annoying smile on his face talking to some long haired weirdo with like 8 different chains hanging off his pants and a black bandana sticking out of his back right pocket. A weirdo that’s been here for over an hour making Steve stay late. “Steve! We were supposed to be out of here 12 minutes ago! Hurry up!” Mike yelled tapping his watch as though Steve could see it from across the store.

“Hold your shit Wheeler we’ll be out in a minute,” Steve yelled back earning a bark of laughter from the weirdo. Mike heard Steve start to finish up speaking with the- costumer? Actually, Mike doesn’t think he ever saw that guy even order anything.

Feeling curious Mike meandered towards them trying to catch the end of their conversation.

“-my house or yours tonight?”

“Wayne has tonight off so he’s gonna be hogging up the trailer soooo”

“Yeah yeah my place just remember no blasting music in my neighborhood the Inslee’s are already this close to calling the cops”

“Oh yeah, and heaven knows what we’ll be up to when they arrive-”

“Shut up! Alright I gotta go see you in a couple hours Ed!”

With that Steve and Mike exited the Scoops Ahoy walking through the food court and out the mall towards Steve’s Beamer where it sat in the mall parking lot. The two settled in, Steve making sure Mike had his seatbelt on before pulling out. From the passengers seat Mike eyed Steve trying to decipher what he had heard the two older men in the mall talking about.

Giving in Mike gave an annoyed huff admitting he was actually interested in something to do with Steve Harrington. “Who was that guy and how often do you have sleepovers?” he asked.

This was met with shifty eyes and a soft laugh from the older teen, “who? Eddie? The guy from the mall? He’s no one, just a friend,” there was a strange tinge of guilt in his voice.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Mike said firmly staring out at the road in front of them.

This made Steve confused turning to look at Mike before redirecting them back to the road, “do what?”

This made Mike even more pissed. “Lead people on. You and I both know you like girls, you’ve dated girls, you dated Nancy! Did you not care about her? Did you not love her? I know you broke up or whatever, but she definitely loved you once, I can’t believe you faked the whole thing!” Mike had tears welling in his eyes.

The car came to a slow as Steve pulled over to the side of the road, “woaah hey man I did- I did love your sister. Sometimes I think a little more than she loved me. I was never lying about what I felt for her.” Mike sniffled. “And yes, I do like girls always have, still do. But, I think you may have noticed,” Steve attempted to joke, “I’m also of the uh, male persuasion? Ugh that sounds gross. Men I like men too.”

Steve expected some backlash after the start of this conversation and was surprised when he was met with Mike’s odd look of clarity. “You- you can like both?” The younger boy asked. Steve hadn’t heard him sound so small since he saw him take care of an unconscious Will during their last run in with monsters.

“Yeah, you can like both.”

5 Robin (yes again)

Okay so Steve Harrington wasn’t that bad. In fact he was kind of cool. And not like popular, eggs cars and makes out with chicks under the bleachers cool. But genuinely a cool dude that basically saved her life, well, with the help of a couple children.

Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the probable head trauma, maybe it was even the thrill of actually escaping a secret Russian base but Robin felt like she could tell this guy anything. Which probably wasn’t great considering her… situation.

The two teenagers were sitting in the bathroom heads hanging over toilet bowl rims. They were joking around but the girl knew she didn’t want to be asked any heavy or revealing questions not when she didn’t have complete control of her mind so instead she asked Steve.

“Have you… ever been in love” she’d asked after some thought. This should be easy enough for him, he’s known for his prowess with the ladies.

She received a small cackle from the stall next to her. “Yeah a couple of times. Nancy Wheeler my first love I went insane for that girl, first semester senior year,” Steve made a gun motion shooting into his heart, “honestly I’m glad I had what I had with Nancy and also glad that it ended? If it hadn’t I would’ve never been with who I’m with today, the person I think I want to spend the rest of my life with,” Robin could tell there was a smile of his face when he’d said that.

Wow Robin really hadn’t expected that confession, she was honestly a bit worried he might admit to liking her. Who would’ve thought Steve Harrington tied down. “How’d you know?” Robin asked she’d never been able to think that strongly about anyone not even Tammy who she’s had a year long major crush on.

Steve sighed, “I don’t know… He just makes me feel happy and excited whenever I’m near him.”

Robin’s breath hitched when she noticed the pronouns he’d used, okay she definitely wasn’t supposed to be told this, he wasn’t in the right state of mind, neither was she. And yet, she couldn’t stop him; it felt so good to hear about someone like her actually being happy and finding love even if it was surprisingly Steve Harrington.

“He’s a lot different than everyone else I’ve dated, but he’s also different from everybody else in general so I guess that makes sense. He’s dramatic and weird, and impossible to look away from. I still can’t even believe he likes me back.”

Hearing Steve talk about his boyfriend gave Robin the confidence to tell him about Tammy much to his great judgment which they joked about until Dustin and Erica barged into their little sanctuary of a bathroom.

+1 Everyone

If you ask anyone, that day after Vecna was defeated the whole party piled into their meeting place at the hospital. They wouldn’t tell you the first thing they noticed was a limping Dustin crying silently as though he could no longer make sound from screaming so loudly. It wasn’t Robin walking through the door with a broken guitar in her arms. It wasn’t even the boy bleeding out, unconscious, clothes ripped to shreds.

No, they’d tell you they’d noticed Steve Harrington sobbing as he yelled for ‘someone anyone please help him please my Eddie please help him somebody Eddie please Eddie’. He held Eddie Munson in his arms as he ran through the hospital begging them to save his Eddie.

Eddie was taken into surgery immediately and nobody could think of what to say to Steve. He was hunched over in a small waiting chair right outside Eddie’s operating room.

It was Joyce Byers freshly off a death helicopter from Russia that kneeled down in front of the boy. She held his hands in hers as she said, “he’ll be okay. He knows your out here waiting for him. He won’t leave you.”

With that Steve slumped forward onto her as he began to sob.

Eddie came out of his first surgery a couple hours later but the doctors informed he was likely going to be in unconscious for at least a week. Steve stayed with Eddie and his uncle in the hospital everyday refusing to leave. The kids filtered in and out checking on Eddie and Max a few rooms down. Without fail Steve had his chair pulled up right next to Eddie’s bed just watching him.

Dustin talked to Eddie, a lot, so did Robin. Eddie probably liked that, both Wayne and Steve didn’t talk much. Preferred to sit in silence watching for any sign that the comatose boy was improving.

The day Eddie did wake up most of the party was there including Nancy, Jonathan, some guy from California, the youngest Sinclair -Lucas didn’t want to leave Max alone- a couple Russians, his uncle and his boyfriend. When Eddie slowly opened his eyes he looked towards Steve sitting directly to his left.

“Hey Stevie, I tried to be a hero. Sorry,” his vocals were strangled from lack of use.

“You should be sorry! You are such an idiot! God I love you, never do that again.” Steve then pulled Eddie into a searing kiss in front of everyone. Not that anyone was surprised.

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ivyveil · 2 years

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Eddie & the Hideout

the one where Y/N accidentally leads Eddie to believe she's dating Robin and also it's my first time posting fanfic in over 4 years so let's just give it a go?

genre: fluff, slight angst (teens!!), minors sipping beer :/

A/N: Hi! Hello. Very weird to be back but I'm really enjoying the Eddie Munson realm of works atm and would love to jump in with some ideas/AUs. For those who don't know, I primarily have written Harry Styles works in the past so check out my masterlist <3 Be easy on me this time, just getting back on the bike. More works to come!

The air was smoky, with weed, cigars, and the aftertaste of knowing you’re too young to be somewhere but too comfortable to leave. It was the Hideout, aptly named, for on Thursday nights it held those of Hawkins High who never caused enough trouble to be kicked out, but simply needed somewhere to go that wasn’t home. Often Eddie Munson toed the lines but Reagan, the bartender, partial-owner, and one of the many parental figures you had picked up in your time, had mentioned something about his uncle Wayne calling in a favor.

Your role in the establishment was picking up odds-and-ends jobs for a bit of cash; your older cousin, who took you in when the going got rough, only made enough to barely scrape by when it came to bills. Your income allowed for a few nights out for you both, and possibly some new records depending on how much of a sale she could wiggle out of Virgin Vince at Narbo’s Vinyls down the road.

The man of the hour (or, possibly, a boy, from how he was sulking in the corner) had seen you reading against the bar, enjoying the hours before Reagan came up with things for you to do, and plopped himself a few seats down. In the realm of school, neither of you tended to speak–but you also tended to keep to yourself when your paths crossed in the Hideout, so the silence could be safely named Comfortable.

You were aware of his antics and while his outlandish personality and rocker looks tugged at some of your strings that longed to be ripped out of the standard seams of life into something exciting, passionate, and chaotic, you were held back by minor setbacks.

Never having been kissed.

Not knowing what a dick looked like up close. (Biology textbooks don’t count)

Hearing they could move on their own, and terrified at the prospect.

Lastly, and most importantly, having utterly no idea what to do with your hands in most normal situations, rendered completely useless in anything romantic. There was the one encounter you had last year when Prescott Smith tried to hold your hand during a drive-in movie night. You had pulled it back immediately, mumbling an apology and offering the popcorn up, assuming he had meant to go for that instead. He wouldn’t speak to you for the rest of the night, a drenching sense of guilt for something you hadn’t even known you did wrong clenching your fists tight on the heavy ride home.

Reagan told you that you were an idiot for that one (perhaps rightly, perhaps there was a way you could have rectified things instead of waiting for a man to suddenly read your mind) and made you clean out the men’s room after close that night, dealing with the stink and vomit, because “learnin’ men are fuckin’ disgusting even when they’re not trying” is a “part of life” and to “glean the comfort you can and leave soon after” was her advice.

So no, any serious notion of chatting with Eddie would necessitate some level of exiting a comfort zone that had done nothing but do you well so far. You remained kind, offering waters at the end of his gigs to his band but with a safe enough distance to ensure you wouldn’t be a reliable source of eye contact on his fourth Lunch Rant of the Month (you had a Bingo sheet going with Robin to try and source out some pattern of prediction to the gut-lurching, almost poetic Eddie Munson).

It occurred to you that maybe you could get him to include something about the Moon Landing in tomorrow’s, for a pint on the house. You’d have your first Bingo and Robin would owe you Cokes for the rest of the month.

“Hey.”

You were so far in thought, staring at a random page, your forearms holding the book to the bar, you completely missed Eddie’s attempt.

If you had been aware, you would’ve noticed his leg jiggling under the table, how he stole looks your way a half dozen times before turning the full amount and jerking his head up. It was half past 9, almost time for his set at 10, and usually Eddie would be in the parking lot, hyping himself up in his van. Once, you offered him some kohl eyeliner you had tried (and become frozen with the realization your reflection was a stranger and you didn’t know how to pretend) and occasionally it would play a part in his pre-show routine.

But for now, he sat, in the silence of your daydreaming and his unfamiliarity with being casual.

In the quiet, he spared a glance to the ceiling to see if Jesus would prove himself once and for all. Upon no reply, and a renewed vow to the Devil and his kinship, Eddie sighed and shook his hair out, renewing what he considered his best feature, his hand knocking against his water glass as he did so. Despite his arm crashing to be a barricade to the glass taking a trip over the bar ledge, the liquid made a fast track down the sticky wood to begin seeping onto your book.

You looked at him, this time.

“Whoops.”

Wide brown eyes, open and clear, and very apologetic, met yours.

“Hey, Y/L/N, how’s it hanging?” A second trial, Jesus’ return.

You leaned forward over the barstool to grab a server’s towel, sticking it against the sides of your book and along the cover. Your place in the text, lost against the speed in which you were trying to save it, caused you to huff, annoyed.

“I’m alright Munson, just catching up on the newest Jackie Collins ‘fore I have to cover for Reagan.”

Before Corroded Coffin’s set, Reagan often assisted in ensuring all of the amps were set up properly and the band members had actually picked out 4-5 songs to perform. It would happen occasionally that Gareth or Eddie would have a spat whether Judas Priest or Iron Maiden deserved that night’s attention, and while Reagan had time to give to drama, the antics of heavy metal teens rarely made it worth it.

“Ooh,” Eddie drawled, having picked up a secondary cloth and, seeing your novel in one shape, given the bar a half-assed pat, “You haven’t heard?”

“No, what?”

“We had to cancel tonight’s show. Jeff got the flu.” His tone wasn’t entirely monotonous, twinged with the infamous Eddie dialect, but you could tell he was fairly bummed.

You offered a weak smile, unsure entirely of how to navigate comforting someone you barely knew, but he took it in stride and moved to the seat closer to your own, clapping his hand on your jacket.

“No, no, I’ll have none of your tears Y/L/N. Save it for sadder tales, if they exist. Although some of us believe the show must go on, it’s undeniable that in the spirit of being a band, Corroded Coffin must wait another day.”

Another water glass appeared before Eddie, Reagan having moved down the bar to where you two teenagers sat, perched, leaned in to one another like friends. Your book had been moved to the side, your body resting against the bar’s edge and your knee dangerously close to where Eddie’s jeans tempted them.

“No damn reason in comin’ just to get water and not play,” she grumbled, removing the spilled glass and giving Eddie a withered, yet careful look. You had a feeling she cared more for the Munsons than she let on, but sometimes one’s past should be respectfully not yanked into light. (In other words, you were pretty sure that in another life Reagan would be Eddie’s aunt but it was a different, but similar, cavernous distance that kept you from others separating her from properly reconciling with Wayne).

“Well Reagan, I was going to see if you needed any help ‘round the place tonight. But since Y/L/N’s on shift, I’m guessing you don’t? What a gal, she’s got it covered, this one. Always on top of it.”

Reagan just shook her head, tsk’ing as she drifted back to the paying, of-age patrons.

“Thanks, Munson,” you mumbled, taking a sip of your own drink. Reagan preferred you drinking in her establishment as opposed to the “rancid-ass house parties football players gawk at their own dicks and try to fuck holes in the wall, dumping who-knows-what in whatever piss they drink” but it was strictly limited to one a night.

“No worries, never mind bigging up a fellow reader.”

“You read?” Your attention was now fully on him, and his body only rested for a moment before continuing his consistent fidgeting. His fingers, if anything, moved faster around one another, twirling ringed jewelry and picking at his nails.

“Mainly D&D stuff but occasionally I’ll knock out a Stephen King,” he said, proud to have grasped your attention–and maybe, was that a bit of respect as well? He’d take it, hook line and sinker.

From there on out, for the next twenty minutes, you two discussed bits and bobs from novels, to a few movies (neither of you had seen Terminator yet but patched together a rickety synopsis from what you’d heard), and finally dashing around to the highest commonality you both shared: high school.

You were animated, alive, raving about something that had happened at lunch a few weeks back, and Eddie’s fingers danced along his water’s condensation. He couldn’t help his captivation; a joint had made its way out during the chat, but he was still considerably sober. Completely strange that he felt a bit drunk, his feet and arms tucked into your shadow.

There had been something on his radar, something he had been meaning to ask you at some point. It was high school, there were rumors, and even though Eddie Munson was the town’s ultimate Freak and social pariah, he wasn’t immune to the chats of the hallway and whatever clips of gossip his drug clients gave forth between exchanges of cash and goods.

And so, in the moment of a sharp silence, in which you had said something about “Robin cheated at Bingo but I was certain you had said-” before rapidly cutting yourself off in an embarrassed haze of revealing too much, he ventured forward, forcing himself not to think.

“So...you and Robin...” you nodded, indicating him to continue, “Are...partners?” Eddie’s mouth twisted into something uncertain, as if he couldn’t tell if words had come out or if potentially it was you.

Your lips were around the beer’s rim again, eyes pursed before nodding. “Yeah,” your fingers dashed over lips to catch the spare liquid, “we’ve got chemistry together.”

The first day of class, when notebooks were settled neatly in the nooks of desks as if staying aligned with a wood grain could transfer to the rest of your life, had been noteably deterred by your teacher, Ms. Shannon, ominously announcing the person next to you would be your lab partner for the year. Typically teachers, in fear of some popularity loss that had the rest of the teenagers gripped until graduation, allowed for some grace period. An allowance for meeting, warming up to one another. But what was a trial run had become a year-long attachment to one Robin Buckley.

She had been pleasant enough of a lab partner, with quirks that made toiling through sheets of homework and lab reports worth the effort. Math came in as one of her strengths (something about counting and music and staffs and, quite frankly, you never had a solid sense of rhythm so you’d leave the calculations to Robin) and you had the organization to keep the pair on track. An unbeatable duo.

Yet, to your knowledge, this wasn’t entirely relevant to Eddie’s day-to-day. He had chem the previous period; actually, you were fairly sure he sat in your desk if the devil horn scratches and leftover song lyrics were any indication. “Garbanzo Smokes” and “Half-Baked Lasagna” weren’t likely to be the songs of your generation but again, you often chose to leave the musical judgments to those more inclined.

“Yeah, bet you do,” Eddie mumbled, scratches in his voice. He was looking down at the joint dangling between his fingers, several strands of his curls falling against his cheeks. He looked forlorn, very boy-ish, and a yearning in your chest brought you forward from your position curled up in the barstool.

“Why? Did you wanna see her tonight?” You couldn’t help it, the questions that spewed out of your mouth. The answers you never really wanted to know, primed before you by only your doing.

It’s strange, how two paths that deviated into one another time and time again never fully crossed until nights like this. Some other band was up on stage, some older men with heavy, wet breathing noises and dreams still too vivid to die, but it had almost sounded sweet against the rosiness of Eddie’s cheeks and the vibrations of him vehemently rapping his ring-laiden knuckles against the bar when you said your opinion on EMILY’s List.

Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, shaking his head.

“Nah, I mean-” he whirled to face you more directly, hands splayed in some form of surrender. The joint was between silver stacks on his middle and forefinger–you plucked it out to fill yourself with something other than perpetual regret.

“She seems nice. Great! Even. I just wasn’t sure, well, what she was...but I mean, I think it’s great you came. Still. To see me perform-"

"I work here."

"Even though-” Eddie had a knack for breathing through his words, inhaling as he spoke and cascading everything upon you in a rain of run-on sentence and thought-through speech –”we got cancelled on. Guess people like hearing a Springsteen regurgitation compared to genuine art.”

“I thought Jeff had the flu?”

Eddie shrugged. “Flu, Springsteen 2.0 offered Reagan an extra $20 for my spot, what’s the difference?”

You’d believe it, unfortunately; for how much hard love she’d show to the younger Munson, the Hideout wasn’t as popular as the closely named Hideaway and sometimes an Andrew Jackson was a world of difference.

“Why’d you come?”

Eddie shrugged again, his flamboyance narrowing in stature as you felt you were closing in on something he couldn’t yell his way out of.

You knew his uncle worked nights at the factory, so it could have been not wanting to stay in his trailer alone. Sense of schedule, perhaps? Waking up tomorrow and feeling it to be Friday would be massively harder if you didn’t spend the early seconds of Friday morning cleaning up half-filled pints and several shot glasses from between seat cushions. But to exist, to float around a small town where there was no true getaway, there had to be some secrecy behind purpose. You could understand that, partially, if not for your own desire sometimes to simply be completely, utterly alone.

“Y’know, Thursdays are when Reagan can sometimes slip me a few bucks more. Sometimes the band- when they’re good-” Eddie flashed you a grateful smile “brings in a few more patrons than earlier in the week. If you wanna help me wash out a few glasses, sweep up near the front, I’ll give you a cut of it,” you offered., pressing the roach of the joint into a nearby ashtray. You kept your eyes on the suffocating ember, always unsure of how men would react to acts of sympathy. Some demanded it, others abhorred. Eddie wasn’t a clear read for you, not in the slightest.

You were Prescott, your hand reached out, the popcorn in Eddie's court.

Eddie took in a deep breath, leaning back in his seat, drawing in the smoky light between you both once more. He performed a quick act of pondering the offer over, his fingers curling against his chin and a general murmuring about the semantics of his night and all his plans he would rearrange and how he hadn’t brushed up on his cleaning skills in quite a bit, before launching a hand before yours.

“Sounds like a better time than cleaning up Jeff’s puke, so count me in.”

“If someone pukes tonight, Eddie, I’m making you clean it up regardless.”

“Even better, I prefer it when it’s from a stranger.”

A/N: eddie munson i love u give me ONE chance maybe actually TWO bc we both have issues, urs being ur dead. <3 hope you guys enjoyedddd lmk what you thought here and check out my other works here xoxo

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #stranger things blurb #stranger things fanfic #mine

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