#eddie munson is down equally bad

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #absolutely no idea where this came from #but it's here #first kiss #mutual pining #flirting #steddie first kiss #teasing #steve harrington is down bad #eddie munson is down equally bad #idk how to tag things

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Ok, I have two alternatives, pick which one you like the best.

Reader get picked to tutor Eddie even though they have always been at each other's throat, she thinking he's a drama queen, pissed that the popular people doesn't like him and he thinks she's a stuck up bitch without humor.

So they go back and forth but maybe one day when she's having a bad day and Eddie says something and she starts crying he gets all "what, how, why? What did I do, please don't cry!"

Or, that he catches her reading a romance novel and outwardly she has always just read classics - books that are 'high education'

Request by @somethingvicked 🫶💞 went with the first option 💞

Warnings; Little bit of angst, meanish Eddie, fluff. Accidental kiss.

💌🎀💌🎀

"You've got to be kidding me?" you gawk at Miss O'Donnell who has called you back at the end of class. She's asked you to tutor someone and at first you were all for it.

That's until you found out it was Eddie Munson, Munson who is currently sitting at the back of the class with his feet up on the desk in front of him, he gives you a sarcastic little wave and you turn back to Miss O'Donnell and hope she comes to her senses.

"He needs a tutor if he wants to graduate. You're the best student in the class. It will look wonderful on your college applications that you tutored Mr Munson" shit there was really no getting out of this.

Reluctantly you turn to Eddie who already doesn't like you. In his honest opinion you seemed prissy and stuck up. The two of you spent half your time at each other's throats, it had been like that for so long.

Equally you couldn't stand Eddie either. He was loud, a show off and you were sure he was jealous of the popular people he claimed to hate.

How you would manage to tutor him for weeks on end was anyone's guess. One thing's for sure, you were dreading this.

"Meet me after school tomorrow and we can get started okay?" You say to him already grumpy at having to spend extra time with him. Eddie swings his legs off the desk and smirks, then bows.

"As you wish princess" ugh, you storm out but not before hearing Eddie's laughter.

Asshole.

🎀💌🎀💌

The first week of tutoring Eddie is as horrible as you expected. He's antagonistic, makes no effort and needles at your patience until it's paper thin.

"How can you be expected to graduate if you don't make an effort?" You snap as Eddie strums on his guitar.

"That old bat has it in for me, even when I try my best she still doesn't care" Eddie hisses back and you feel the beginnings of a headache come on.

"You just need to apply yourself better, if you want to graduate then you need to ace this Munson" he glares at you.

"Don't you think I know that? It's easy for you though isn't it princess, since your little miss perfect" the insult flares up your annoyance and you and Eddie devolve into your usual arguments.

"Don't you think I have better things to do then tutor you Munson? So do us both a favour and start paying attention, so we can go our separate ways sooner".

He huffs and places down his guitar with gentle care, grabs his notebook and

"Did you draw these?" you ask curious as you trace your fingers over the images on his notebook. He nods and looks at you like he's expecting you to give him shit.

"They are really good Munson, you could think about applying to an art course after graduation" Eddie scoffs and takes his notebook back.

"Yeah like anyone's going to take me with my grades" his tone is all annoyance and it pisses you off.

"I was only trying to compliment you, why do you have to be so touchy all the time" you look away from him stubbornly, he is silent for a few seconds and when he speaks again his voice is soft.

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to a lot of compliments from people" this softens you as well and you turn to face him and give him a small smile.

"Well you're really good" there's a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks when you say this. He nods and settles back down beside you.

"You know uh, you're pretty good with the whole writing thing, uh shit, you know what I mean" pleased and a little flustered at his compliment you clear your throat and mutter thank you, then get started with the book you and Eddie are reading for class.

🎀💌🎀💌

Today has been the worst day. You overslept, forgot to hand your essay in to your biology teacher, the rain soaked you completely as soon as you left your home and you've been verging on a cold ever since.

So the thought of having to tutor Munson again does not fill you with joy, in all honesty all you want is your bed and to sleep. You couldn't get sick, you had too much to do.

Of course from the moment you meet up with Eddie he's difficult. All because it's Friday and he has a Hellfire meeting.

"I have to set everything up princess, I don't have time to waste here with you" furious you round on him.

"You think that I want to be here? No. I'd rather be at home so sit down and let's get on with this so I don't have to sit with your annoying ass any longer than I have to"

"Well at least I'm not a stuck up bitch with no sense of humour and a permanent stick up my ass"

Eddie's words cut to the bone and you stiffen in response. Don't cry, don't cry you chant to yourself, but you can't help as the tears roll down your cheeks, Eddie's big brown eyes widen in shock as you begin to cry.

Humiliated, you're just about to leave when he steps in front of you. "Wait, what did I do?" The two of you exchanged insults on a daily basis and you had never cried before, Eddie begins to panic as your sobs continue.

"Please don't cry" he says, he hates seeing you cry. Your little whimper stabs at his aching heart and on instinct he reaches over to you and takes your hand, the gesture surprises you both and it dries up your tears.

"I'm sorry, I don't like seeing you cry, please stop" you sniff and wipe the remainder of the tears away, Eddie's hand is still holding yours and it's making you feel things that you never expected.

Eddie gently strokes your hand with his thumb, marvels at the soft skin and how your hand fits perfectly in his own.

Uh, shit. This was new. You smile at him, suddenly seeming shy. His heart skips a beat. Jesus h Christ.

"I didn't mean it" he stumbles over his words and you sigh sadly, peer at him with an expression that tugs at his heart.

"Yes you did" he shakes his head fervently and assured you that he didn't.

"I just snapped back without thinking, I'm sorry" he pleads with you and you hear the sincerity in his voice and calm down a bit.

"I'm sorry too. Today has been so shit, I'm tired and I feel like crap. I just want to sleep" Eddie immediately grabs his notebook and pencil and sits down, he looks to you patiently.

"Let's do half an hour and I'll cram as much as I can in my brain and then I'm going to drive you home okay?" relived you nod but still feel worried.

"Miss O'Donnell won't be happy" you tell him and he shrugs as if he doesn't care one bit.

"Leave the old dragon to me okay princess?" touched at his sweetness you take his hand and squeeze it as a thank you. Surprisingly the half hour passes by cordially and Eddie is still sweet.

Before you know it the half hour has ended and Eddie is true to his word and drives you home. You don't feel much better and your stomach is fluttering like crazy being so close to Eddie.

What the hell was happening? Was this some side effect of the flu? Eddie's big brown eyes meet yours, "Thanks for driving me home Eddie"

He shrugs like it's no big deal and on impulse you reach over to kiss his cheek. The only thing is he moves so you miss completely and end up pressing your lips against his.

His eyes widen and you pull away embarrassed, your heart is racing and your lips are tingling from the kiss. You stammer out an apology but Eddie waves it off, you race out the door and into your house.

All the while Eddie is touching his lips, his own heart is racing a mile a minute and all he can think about is that he really wants to kiss you again.

💌🎀💌🎀

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #mean!eddie munson #enemies to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson

[corroded-hellfire]

Gimme A Break - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Collaboration with my beloved @munson-blurbs

Summary: A trip to the grocery store has you running into some familiar faces--and one not so friendly.

Note: Let Brittany bashing commence!

Warnings: talk of body image

Words: 2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

In your opinion, there’s no such concept as a bad time for soup. The dead of winter, the stifling heat of summer—it’s all good. 

The fall weather that’s rolled into Hawkins has inspired you to try your hand at making some from scratch, bringing you to Bradley’s Big Buy on a Sunday afternoon. You’re inspecting a bag of carrots for freshness and tossing them in the cart haphazardly when you feel a sudden thump against your leg. 

“Wha—” you start, ready to confront whoever was careless enough to ram into you. Your scowl immediately softens when you see the two smiling faces looking up at you. “Oh, hi boys!”

Luke, unsurprisingly, is the one who ran into you at full speed. Ryan is a few paces behind his bull-in-a-china-shop brother, but his expression is equally happy. 

You crouch down to give each of them a hug. The way they both wrap their arms around you radiates love’s warmth, and it melts your heart. 

“Are you buying anything good?” you ask, knowing they’ll be wholly unimpressed with your basket full of vegetables. 

Luke nods vigorously. “CHICKEN NUGGETS!” He bellows, drawing irate glares from nearby shoppers. “Daddy has a cool-pon.”

“It’s coupon,” Ryan says with a gentle roll of his eyes. 

You’re still stuck on the mention of their dad. Eddie’s here? And you don’t have on a lick of makeup—of course. 

“Where is Daddy?” you ask, looking up and down the aisle in the unlikely event that you missed him. 

“He’s uh…” Luke trails off, scrunching his nose as he searches for his dad. Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” crinkles over the PA system after being interrupted by a call for assistance in the frozen food department as Brittany appears at the end of the aisle.

An irritated voice calls out from the end of the aisle. “What’s taking you two so—oh. You’re here.” Brittany crosses her arms over her chest, huffing out an impatient sigh when she spots you. 

Luke pipes up, still attached to your leg. “We can’t find the asper-, uh, aparag, the um…”

“Asparagus,” Brittany corrects him as if the five-year-old should be able to pronounce words perfectly by this age.

“Oh,” you say, turning to exactly where you know the asparagus is. “Here you go.”

Ryan gladly takes it from you with a grin. Huh, maybe there is a Munson who shares your affinity for veggies. It certainly isn’t Luke—or Eddie, for that matter. 

“You’re the best!” he says cheerfully, placing it in the cart that Brittany’s been pushing.

“Boys.” It almost sounds like she’s admonishing them for being kind to you. She looks at you with unkind eyes. “Maybe you should work here instead of for us,” she says, trying to play it off as a joke, but you can tell there’s some underlying threat. 

Luke is not amused by this, his little fingers digging into your leg as he clutches onto your jeans even tighter. “No! She has to be our babysitter forever and ever!” He pouts, eyes welling up with tears at the mere mention of you leaving. 

“Maybe not forever,” Ryan points out, always the practical one, “because one day we’ll be grown-ups with our own kids—”

“And then she can babysit them!” Luke declares, proud of his idea, loosening his grip on you. 

Brittany shakes her head, immediately eschewing the notion. “C’mon, let’s get going,” she says tersely. “Dad’s gonna be wondering where we are.” The cruel curl of her lip serves as a painful reminder of what’s hers; more specifically, what isn’t yours. 

As if on cue, Eddie meanders out from a nearby aisle, a canister of quick oats tucked under his arm. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that lay low on his hips and leave little to the imagination. Somehow on this brisk autumn day you have sweat beading along the back of your neck as you take him in.

“You’re So Vain” fades out on the speakers above, only to start playing the infectious opening notes of “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel.

“Britt, I couldn’t find the old-fashioned kind, but will this—oh, hey,” Eddie says, stopping in his tracks to acknowledge you. “You here to make sure these gremlins don’t lock themselves in the ice cream freezer?”

Luke grins, lets go of your leg, and takes your hand proudly in his as if it was somehow all his doing that you’re here in the grocery store the same time as they are. 

“Hi,” you greet before realizing you have a dopey smile on your face. “Uh, yeah. And it seems like I got here just in time. This one here almost had the lid off a rocky road before I caught him.” You shake Luke’s small hand in your own for emphasis and the boy wrinkles his nose up at you, the spitting image of his father.

Eddie chuckles and goes to respond, but his wife cuts him off.

“I guess those oats will work,” she says as she takes the canister from him—or snatches it, more like. “Come on, we didn’t even get to the dairy section yet.”

“Or,” Luke ventures, his hand gripping yours tighter in the chill air of the produce section, “we could get a cow in the backyard and get our milk that way.”

Eddie chuckles. “Hard pass, little man. We had to bring in reinforcement just to handle you and your brother.” He looks over and winks at you. 

It takes all of your strength and will power not to immediately vomit right then and there at the wink. Such a simple gesture from this man has you ready to lose all control of your body. 

Brittany huffs, clearly annoyed at the interaction. How dare anyone be having a conversation in her presence that doesn’t revolve around her? 

“Well, we need to keep shopping.” Brittany turns on her heel, spotting a red bag of fun-size KitKats in her husband’s other hand. “And put that back. The last thing you need is more junk food.” Her eyes flit down to his stomach, which has softened with time and a steady diet of pretzels and Mountain Dew.

The tips of Eddie’s ears turn pink, and he tries to hide them behind his curls. He clears his throat, the whole time avoiding your eyes, and tosses the KitKat bag onto an empty spot of a nearby shelf. He’s clearly embarrassed, but you’re seeing red. Fury scorches you from the inside out and it’s so potent that it might just dry up some of the vegetables around you. There have been many times in the past where you’ve wanted to tell Brittany off, but this one takes the cake. The callous yet truthful words rest on the tip of your tongue, but you know it would only make the mess bigger for everyone involved. You don’t want to add any extra stress for Eddie. Brittany is the one who should be embarrassed for treating her husband that way, not Eddie. That man is drop dead gorgeous and he still would be if he inhaled a bag of those KitKats every single day. 

Leave it to Luke to break the tension that he wasn’t even aware of was surrounding them all on this produce aisle. The young boy spies a can of spinach on the shelf and snatches it up, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Will this make me strong like Popeye?!”

“Sure, sweetie,” Brittany says, not paying any attention to her youngest son whatsoever. 

Brittany turns and heads towards the end of the aisle, no goodbye to you, no saying where she’s going, just leaving and assuming the guys will follow behind her. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow after school, right?” Ryan asks, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet.

“I’ll be there,” you assure him, booping the tip of his nose. He gives you a quick, strong hug around your middle.

Luke, still holding on to the can of spinach, blows you an overdramatic kiss which you pretend to almost drop into a bed of lettuce. The little boy giggles and it’s one of the best sounds you’ve ever heard. 

Eddie takes a step closer to you, still feeling the sting of embarrassment, and speaks in a soft voice. “We, uh, should get going.” Eddie clears his throat. It kills you to see how Brittany zaps the life out of him. “I’ll—we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“I’ll be there,” you promise once again. 

Eddie offers you a small smile before turning to his sons. 

“All right, come on. Let’s catch on up to Mom.”

The boys don’t look too enthused about that, and it warms your heart that they’d rather stay here and hangout with you. 

“Bye guys,” you say, waving to all three of them as they head down the aisle.

Once they’re gone you heave a heavy sigh. Being in Brittany’s presence for two minutes was exhausting enough, you have no idea how those three manage to live with her.

You try to refocus on your shopping, however impossible that might seem now. When you’re checking over the items you already have and look back up at the shelves, you spot the red KitKat bag that Eddie had wanted to buy. There’s no hesitation at all to pick it up and add it to your pile of groceries.

The Munson car isn’t hard to spot as you step out into the parking lot of the store. You see it almost every day and the gorgeous, familiar looking man loading groceries into the trunk is also a huge indicator. 

Not surprisingly, Brittany is in the car while Eddie does all the work. The boys are in the backseat and from what you can make out of their silhouettes, they’re arguing with one another. They’re kids, they’d probably be more of a hindrance than help to Eddie. But Brittany could at least be doing something. 

Steeling your nerves, you take a deep breath and head over to him. 

“Eddie?”

His head whips around. “Hey,” he says with a small smile. “Everything okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, summoning all of your courage and handing him the candy. “You left these on the shelf.” You try to play it off casually, but the slight tremble in your voice gives your nervousness away. 

He starts to take them but pulls back. “I probably shouldn’t,” he mumbles, shoving his hand into his pocket. “Britt’s been on me to lose the ‘dad weight’ for a while.”

You shake your head, mostly to keep from opening your mouth and saying something about his wife that you’ll regret.

“I think you look good,” you say. “Um, like, you don’t need to lose any weight.” You’re perfect the way you are, you ache to tell him, but you shouldn’t. You can’t. 

Eddie senses that you have words unspoken, but he doesn’t press further. “Well, um, thanks.” He takes the bag and opens it, grabbing two before giving it back to you. “Can’t get caught,” he explains with a laugh. 

You grin at him, an idea already taking form. “I’ll bring one each day I babysit. Sneak it in like contraband.”

“As long as the boys don’t find it first,” Eddie chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “The last thing they need is more sugar.”

You agree with a laugh. “Deal.”

Eddie tucks the KitKats into his jacket pocket. 

“Thank you, by the way,” he says softly. 

“No problem. Just some candy,” you shrug. 

He shakes his head. “No, it…” he trails off. “Just…thank you.”

You smile as he ducks into the driver’s seat, and you walk back to your own car. As you pack up the back with your groceries, you mentally calculate how long this bag of KitKats will last if you bring Eddie one every day that you work. You purse your lips as you slam the trunk closed.

“That’s not nearly long enough for my liking,” you mumble to yourself as you slip into the driver’s seat.

Once you put the key in the ignition, the car rumbles to life and the purr of the engine sounds like it’s coming from your brain as it churns out an idea. 

You smile to yourself and shift your car into gear.

“Guess I’ll just have to buy some more bags of candy.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you. 

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor. 

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent. 

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t. 

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t. 

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora. 

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips. 

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be. 

Especially now. 

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal. 

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?” 

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little. 

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.” 

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand. 

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height. 

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.” 

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene. 

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.” 

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight. 

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup. 

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom. 

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains? 

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds. 

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen. 

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school. 

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card. 

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?” 

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.” 

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.” 

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else. 

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror. 

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family. 

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets. 

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you. 

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends. 

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina. 

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not. 

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore. 

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause. 

Eddie had to take a beat. 

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on. 

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure. 

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head. 

Ink stains mixing with precum. 

Moaning into your mouth. 

Giving you something to write to dear diary about. 

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket. 

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria. 

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you. 

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you. 

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says. 

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally). 

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually. 

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t. 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you. 

—

“Anybody got bleach?” 

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag. 

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately. 

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track. 

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition. 

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.” 

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight. 

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?” 

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning. 

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen. 

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing. 

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing. 

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #e. munson by powder

[runninriot]

Small Treasures To Keep

inspired by the prompt 'Love is not in the big things but in the small ones' by @sidekick-hero written for @steddielovemonth day 9

wc: 1.472 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: Musician Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington has a crush, just sweet boys being sweet, friends to lovers

   “There were like, at least 200 people there! And they were actually enjoying our show! Can you believe that? It was amazing, Steve! They listened to us play, and banged their heads, and they cheered after every song. Some of them even asked if we had any merch with us and obviously we didn’t but we gave out autographs and- Oh! I almost forgot! I got you something! I’ll be right back.” Eddie nearly topples off the couch in excitement.

Steve watches him with a smile on his face, equally amused and charmed by Eddie’s dorky behaviour, and bites back a laugh when Eddie almost stumbles over his own feet as he hurries towards his bedroom.

Eddie is a menace. So strange and irritating at times but in such an endearing way it’s impossible not to like him.

Steve’s been listening to him talk non-stop since he arrived at his trailer about ten minutes ago. Talking himself breathless while recounting the events of Corroded Coffin’s first real gig, as Eddie calls it.

Steve can’t blame Eddie for being so over the moon, so overjoyed and proud. So thrilled to have gotten the chance to play as substitute opener for some Indiana metal band last night.

It must’ve been a blast, by the sounds of what Eddie’s been telling him. And Steve really is happy for him but somewhere deep down he’s still a little sad. Because he was supposed to be there for the show, to watch his friend perform in a venue four times the size of The Hideout, in front of an actual crowd. But Steve had been caught up at work because Keith called in sick last minute, leaving Steve in charge of the closing shift at Family Video which meant he couldn't make it out in time for the gig.

That really sucked.

Steve had been looking forward to the concert ever since Eddie asked him if he wanted to come see them play. When he told him it would mean a lot if he did. That he’d appreciate to have his emotional support there because he’d been so nervous about the whole thing.

It made Steve feel special, in a way. Like he’s important to Eddie, important enough for Eddie to want him there. For wanting Steve to witness the most exciting moment in the band’s history since Gareth’s mom had finally relented and let them use the garage for their rehearsals.

Steve had wanted to be there.

So, not being able to go was utterly frustrating. Not only because he really would’ve loved to watch Eddie play his guitar on a real stage but also because he kind of felt like he let Eddie down.

It was a miracle he even got a hold on him over the phone to tell him the unfortunate news. Eddie was just about to leave and make his way to the venue when Steve called him. (He would've already been out of the house had he not spilled a drink on his shirt and needed to change.)

Steve was gutted when he heard Eddie let out a heavy sigh, felt a pang in his heart at the defeat in Eddie’s voice when he told him that it was okay.

He felt horrible, like a bad friend. Unreliable and disappointing.

But then Eddie told him he understood and not to worry his pretty head about it. Said he wasn't angry, just sad because he wouldn’t be able to look out for Steve in the crowd when his nerves got the better of him.

    “Promise you’ll think of me?” Eddie had asked and the promise spilled easily over Steve’s lips because-

Well. When is he not thinking about Eddie?

The guy with the unruly mane and chocolate brown eyes. The guy with the cheeky smile and a passion for teasing words. Whose small flirty gestures get Steve’s blood boiling and make his heart jump.

He’s on Steve’s mind constantly because he’s a constant in his life now. A good friend, a kind soul. Annoying, and loud, and wonderful to be around.

Eddie is-

    “Ah, fuck!”

The clattering sound of something takes Steve out of his thoughts and he can’t help but chuckle when he turns towards the noise and his eyes fall on Eddie, helplessly fumbling with the chain hanging from his belt loops that got stuck on the door handle.

When he's finally managed to free himself, he speed walks over to Steve with a big grin on his face. Eddie comes to a stop right in front of him, expectantly looking down at Steve as he triumphantly holds up a crinkled piece of paper, waiting for him to take it.

   “What is that?” Steve asks, confused and unable to identify what he’s now holding in his hands.

Upon closer look he realises it’s a flyer, or it had been one before someone decided to tear it in half. Steve can barely make out some dates and half of the name of a venue, thinks it might be one for the show last night.

   “Look at the back,” Eddie says and his smile widens even more.

When Steve turns it around, he sees the Corroded Coffin logo scribbled on the backside of the paper. Beneath the band’s name, he immediately recognizes Eddie’s squiggly handwriting, thinks he can make out the names of the other band member’s too.

Steve looks back up at Eddie, returning the smile as he realises what this is.

   “You got me an autograph? That’s so cool! Thanks, Eds!”

   “Not just any autograph. It’s the first. When people came asking for autographs we panicked a bit because no one had ever wanted us to sign anything. So we practiced. What you have there is the first piece of paper Corroded Coffin have ever signed. Gareth wanted to throw it away but I saved it because I wanted you to have it. Y’know, uh, because you couldn’t come to the show and I, uhm, I still wanted to share the experience with you.”

Eddie’s face turns bright red and he seems nervous all of a sudden.

And Steve just... stares. Lets his eyes drift between Eddie and the small treasure he’s holding in his hands.

It might just be a piece of paper, some might even call it trash. But to Steve this is something precious. Something he’ll hold onto forever because Eddie gave it to him. Eddie thought about him when he should’ve been buzzing with ecstasy over their successful gig.

   “That’s-“ Steve doesn’t know what to say.

So instead of talking he stands up and pulls Eddie into a tight embrace, feels his heart beating like crazy when Eddie returns it with his own arms wrapped around Steve.

   “I love it,” Steve says, keeps other words hidden inside.

They tentatively let go of each other, still staying close, still standing toe to toe.

   “Maybe it’ll be worth some money if me and the guys make it big one day.”

It already is Steve’s most valuable possession.

   “When, not if,” Steve says matter-of-factly, holding the paper close to his heart.

   “You really think so?” Eddie asks, voice hushed like it’s a secret wish that might come true if he doesn't jinx it.

   “Mhm.” Steve nods. “But I would never sell this autograph. I’ll frame it and keep it forever.”

   “You will?” Eddie asks, a little disbelieving but also...

    Hopeful?

And for a moment they just stand there, looking at each other wide-eyed and red-cheeked, both flustered and shy. Smiling.

   “Forever,” Steve says honestly, more meaning to the word than he’s ready to admit.

-

A few months later Steve finally gets to see Eddie and his band play on a real stage, in front of an actual crowd. He’s there in the front row, cheering for Eddie, buzzing with joy and pride.

And when their eyes meet in the middle of a song Steve doesn’t yet know is about him, he decides he’s going to tell Eddie that he loves him.

-

And when years later a reporter asks Corroded Coffin’s manager – who’s known to have been close friends with the guys forever (there are even unconfirmed speculations about him and the lead singer being lovers) – at which point in life he knew they had made it, Steve smiles and says “When I held their first autograph in my hands”.

The reporter laughs and the other band members roll their eyes fondly at the cheesy response. But Eddie looks at him and returns the smile, unnoticable for anyone other than Steve. And in that moment it means more to him than the gold ring he's secretly wearing on a chain around his neck. It means more than success and what they've accomplished in life.

It's a small thing, a hidden 'I love you'.

Another small treasure to keep.

#steddielovemonth #tumblr prompt #love is... #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #friends to lovers

[take-everything-you-can]

Thinking about dad!Eddie getting emotional and thanking you for giving him the little family he's always wanted. Ok bye! @munson-blurbs 💚

@munson-blurbs idk how you get me in the feels every time 💞

Eddie comes home from the longest day at work. He's incredibly tired basically walking sleep.

Wen he opens the door to your little home, the one you begged him to make an offer on. The one on Maple Street, with the big windows in the kitchen.

When he opens the door he finds you laying on the couch with your daughter curled up by your side. Your son a six month old chunk, held to your chest.

Well he can't help but tear up as the thing he's always wanted sits right in front of him, within his reach.

His mother always told him he woud find a girl and settle down, but at six who's listening. At eleven girls are gross, and at sixteen that felt impossible. Twenty two years on this earth it took him to find you, for you to be in his orbit.

You shuffle in your sleep and he walks over just as your eyes start to flutter open, he bends down and places a kiss to your forehead. He sits on the sliver of couch left.

"hi baby, how was work." Eddie smiles and bites on his lip to avoid the disaster that was today.

" It was just another long one, nothing went right and all the parts we ordered for a car were for the wrong year. How was yours my love?"

You take your hand not wrapped around your baby boy and caress Eddie's cheek. " I'm sorry you had such a a bad day eds. Mine was just as bad. Your daughter decided that the walls were paper and your son ran a bit of a fever throughout the day. "

Eddie just smiles at you. A soft tempting thing. Even with the way things had been today, he still would go through all of it for the rest of his life, every day, if it meant he could come home and hear about how equally bad your day was as well.

He picks up your daughter and carries her to her room. You follow placing your son in his crib. You both stood by the door as you were leaving, one last look to make sure all monsters were clear from under the bed, and that all snores were light and soft.

Eddie wraps you up in his arms from behind, humming in satisfaction.

" Thank you for giving me everything I could have ever wanted." He kissed the side of your head as you melt in his embrace.

" I would go to the ends of the earth for you Eddie Munson."

"Ditto Mrs. Munson."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #dad eddie munson #dilf eddie munson #requested #mae blurbs #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #fuck me up munson

[luveline]

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary jealousy makes people do crazy things. when steve finds out you’re going on a date with eddie munson, he devises a plan involving one pair of binoculars, one robin, four adopted children and an important question. [7k]

warnings gn!reader, ditzy reader, protective steve, childhood friends to lovers, pining steve, mutual pining, fluff, love confessions, slight hurt/comfort, soft steve, steves pov, eddie fucking munson ♡ tw for toaster bathtub joke

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Steve knows you're outside not because you told him you'd be visiting him at work today, but because you're talking to yourself. You quieten as you pull open the door, a smile on your face that hasn't changed since he first met you in the third grade. Some kid had pushed you down and when he'd asked if you were okay you'd smiled just like that, like you hadn't been pushed at all. 

"What are you talking about?" he asks lightly. 

You stop in the middle of the store and blink. "What?" 

He skirts around the front desk and wraps you up in a hug. You're still at first like you usually are, though you slowly relax under his touch and hug back. 

"What were you saying? Before you came in?" he asks, rubbing your back with both arms. 

"Um… I don't really remember." 

Steve holds you at arm's length to assess your face. You're lying to him. He can tell from the way your top lip twitches towards your nose, almost pouting. 

You drop your arms from his waist and take a step back. Steve has years of knowledge on your whims and whiles and is reluctant to let you move away from him just yet, his hand clasped loosely around your wrist. 

You smile and your hands float at your sides like lily pads bobbing in the air. He decides not to pry, returning to his station behind the Family Video desk. You hop up onto the counter and watch him from over your shoulder. 

"Where's Robin?" you ask. 

"I'm starting to think you like her more than me." 

You smile at him softly and he doesn't know what it means. It's alarming. Robin appears from the backroom before he can work himself up over it, a crate of tapes in her arms. 

She groans as she puts them down on the counter. "I miss Scoops Ahoy." 

"Cute uniforms," you mumble.

"It's not the uniforms I miss," Robin says, letting her forehead fall to the counter. "My arms hurt. I'm not cut out for manual labour. If Steve were a better man he'd do all the heavy lifting for me." 

"Where's the equality in that?" Steve asks, looking to you to see if he's made you laugh. 

He has. Your lips quirk up into a startled smile as a rush of breath escapes you, a lilting miracle of sound. 

He realises then that he's doing something he's not allowed to do and decides to be a better man. "I'll do the rest, Robs." 

Robin looks up, surprised at his charity. "You will?" she asks, not trusting his genuineness. 

"Sure. Keep Y/N entertained while I'm gone." 

Once he's securely in the backroom he starts to freak out. He's been harbouring a mess of feelings for you ever since he hit puberty but has discarded them time and time again. Your friendship is longstanding and special to him, even when closeness with you has been hard to obtain. Not because you're purposefully distant, but because you're a total dreamer. 

Head in the clouds your entire life, Steve has wrangled through hoops to try and protect you from bullies, from bad friends, from your own distraction; you forget to eat, you're lucky you graduated because your attention span for anything that doesn't interest you is non-existent, and you hate parties so your circle is a closed loop consisting of just Steve. 

Now you've both graduated there's a lot of time to be spent together. 

Steve is suffering through it. His life feels like a constant game of look but don't touch. 

That might be unfair. He's definitely very touchy. 

You're giggling to yourself as he carries the second box of tapes in and heaves it down by the first. Robin's laughter is much more evil. 

"What's funny?" he asks suspiciously. 

"I'm giving Y/N tips." 

"Tips?" he asks, so used to Robin's absurdity that he starts to unpack his second box, elbows brushing Robin's as she hums. 

"Mm-hm." She taps her nails over a plastic case and leans towards him. "Boy tips." 

"And what would you know about boys?" he asks her. 

"I'm not stupid. Boys are like… frogs." 

"Frogs," Steve repeats dryly. 

"Slimey. Predictable. Easily disected." 

"Green," you say seriously. 

Steve chokes on a laugh and drops the tape in his hand back into the box of new arrivals to cover his mouth with a fist. 

"Babe, what?" he asks. 

You look at him and shake your head lightly. He knows he's not gonna get any answers from you, trying for nonchalance as he asks, "Boy tips? For who?" 

"They have a date." 

"You do?" Steve asks you. He almost snaps his neck. Robin coughs to cover a laugh.

A knife in his chest. Twisting. Steve's definitely been stabbed. He looks down to his sternum and doesn't find a wound.  

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, pretending that's why his lungs have exploded. He's gonna suffocate to death any second now. 

"I didn't think you'd have any boy tips," you say, clearly surprised at his surprise. 

Whatever. Steve takes a huge breath in through his nose and becomes your friend again, rather than a jealous idiot. 

"Y/N," he says, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am a boy." 

"I've noticed." 

"So I know what boys like." 

"No, you know what you like," Robin says. "You don't know what Eddie Munson likes. You're different genres." 

"You're going on a date with Eddie Munson?" he asks you, almost shouting. Not his smoothest moment.

"Friday," you say, in the sometimes infuriating way that you do, like you have no indication that he's shocked. And he's shocked. 

"When did he ask you out?" Steve asks. 

Robin smirks behind her hand. Steve would love it if she had, like, a miniscule amount of compassion. An atom's worth, for his struggle.  

"I asked him," you say. 

Steve needs to flee. He can't because he would look insanely obvious so he cracks on his customer service smile and tries to stop asking questions. 

He fails. "You like Eddie Munson?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm going on a date." 

An insane wave of jealousy sloshes around inside him. Or maybe the slurpee he'd had a half hour ago. Whatever it is, he's nauseous. 

He's also confused (a common theme when it comes to you.) He'd had no clue you were dating, or looking to date, no clue this was a lane that was open. And you're so pretty, so magnetic, so disgustingly special and this Munson kid is gonna snap you right up if he has any sense at all. 

Steve isn't proud of anything that he does next. 

"I heard he's a drug dealer," he says. 

Your eyes are wide. Not in horror, as he'd hoped, but puzzlement. "Is he?" 

"For sure. The devil's lettuce, Mary Jane, marijuana, everything." 

"I thought they were all the same," you say, perplexed, your voice like an ebbing wave. 

They are all the same. He was hoping you didn't know that. "Right. What if he gets you hooked on something?" 

Robin frowns at him. "Since when are you so judgemental? We've been high together. Like, fifty times." 

He steps on her foot. Robin, unused to him fighting back so quickly, gasps in outrage and steps on his foot right back. What ensues is an undignified battle of shoes that has him throwing his arm out and hitting her in the stomach. 

"What's your problem?" she asks, eyebrows pinched. 

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! I think you broke my foot." 

He flinches when he remembers you're there and watching, only you're not there and you're definitely not watching, having made your way to the two boxes of new movies on the counter. You're sorting through them slowly and singing something to yourself under your breath so quietly he can barely decipher the words. The loudest part is your inhales, familiar, small intakes of air. 

"I told them boys like it when you slip them the tongue," Robin whispers smugly.

Steve steps on her foot again and gets promptly slapped in the arm, hard enough to ache. 

Later, when Robin's left and the store's finally closing and you're waiting at the door for Steve to drive you home, he tries to slander Eddie again. He almost feels bad. 

"You know he's still in high school, right? Isn't that a little young for you?" he asks. 

He flicks up the collar of his jacket and switches off the neon lights. You hold the door open, leaning against it with your back arched, like a doll that's fallen down. He pokes the naked skin you've accidentally exposed, a taunting sliver of hip, as he walks past you. 

"He's twenty." 

Again, Steve knew that. He was just hoping you didn't. 

"The whole still being in high-school thing doesn't bug you?" he asks as he locks the door. 

You shift from foot to foot beside him, cold now that the sun has disappeared for the night. You shove your hands deep into your pockets and kick the floor. 

"I don't know," you say. 

He feels bad for trying to dissuade you when you sound like that, insecure. 

Despite his selfish wants, he says, "No, I mean. It's totally fine. You're the same age." 

"Right," you agree quickly. 

"Right," he echoes. 

The two of you climb into the BMW and the silence feels unnatural. Conversation between the two of you has always been easy. Now it's stilted. 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair furiously and starting the car. 

"You know… I've heard he's really nice," he says. 

You perk up. "Yeah?" 

"He's in a band, too. A rock band. You like that stuff. You'd be good together," he says, unconvincing even to himself.

Each word could be demonstrated as a plier held to his teeth, slowly pulling. It's agony to stick up for his competitor. No, he corrects himself, not a competitor, because you don't like him. Steve's alone in his pining. 

"I don't know about all that," you whisper. 

"You don't have to be nervous, okay? I'm sure he's a nice guy and that you'll have fun." 

You don't seem very cheered up. 

He unclenches his jaw and sneaks a look at you. You're picking the hemming of your long sleeve with a thoughtful look in place. Steve thinks, Fuck, they must really like him. 

"Seriously, babe." 

You drop your head against your shoulder. "Can I sleep at your place?" 

He should say no. "Yeah, of course you can." 

"I think there's a racoon living in my attic." 

"I'll come take a look tomorrow." 

"Thank you." 

You tumble out of the car and up the gravel to Steve's house, unlocking the door with a practised ease before running up the stairs. Steve follows with little urgency behind you. 

"Babe?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

"I need the bathroom," you call. 

Steve nods and beelines for the kitchen, looking for something to make that you'll enjoy and that won't take a year off of your life expectancies. If Steve were by himself he'd skip dinner or order something greasy, but he thinks you should have a proper meal.  

He's got a can of soup warming over the burner when you come back down, having switched your outfit for something comfy, clothes you keep in the bottom of his wardrobe for such occasions. 

"Pee your pants?" he asks, grinning. 

You hit your hip into his on purpose and hoist yourself onto the counter to watch him stir. 

"Watch it! Can't you see I'm performing a culinary miracle?" 

"It smells nice." Your face floods with happiness.

"It's your favourite one." 

"They don't sell my favourite in Bradley's anymore." 

"It was at the back of the cabinet. Might get food poisoning," he says. 

He's lying through his teeth – he'd gone up to some fancy Indianapolis grocery store and bought a fuck load. He prays that your attention stays on him and not the cabinet behind your head where evidence of his affection hides in wait. 

"Yum," you say.

"There's ciabatta in the bread bin. Do you want, like, the works?" 

"Balsamic vinegar," you nod your head sagely. "Yes." 

He feels a tendril of fondness curl around his heart. 

-

Fed and watered you crawl into Steve's bed like you always do, smack dab in the middle, sheets pulled up to your nose. Your moaning nonsense to yourself about being greedy and evil demons that cause bloating. 

"I told you to slow down," he murmurs as he climbs in beside you, the two of you smelling like spearmint toothpaste. 

Your hands smell like soap as you bat at him uselessly. "Shut up, Steve." 

He moves onto his back and sighs. "You have such an attitude problem."

"I do not."

He throws his hand out fast and squeezes your sensitive waist. You gasp and pull away, giggling as his hand chases you. He digs his fingers into your ribs until you're panting for air, your legs kicking him away from you. 

"Stop, Steve. Steve, Steve, Stevie, please stop." Your words are garbled with laughter. 

"I can't hear you." 

"Stop!" you cry out. "Please." 

He pulls his hand away and feels smug at how little effort it took to get you that badly. "I didn't know you could shout that loudly, babe." 

"Only for you," you say, catching your breath. 

Steve feels his cheeks go red. Physically feels the blood blossom under his skin. He clears his throat and turns away from you, flicking off the light fast so you can't see his embarrassment clear as day. 

You calm your breathing and Steve calms his heart. After a few minutes there's a dead silence. Not even the sound of a passing car. 

"It's so quiet," you say. 

"It was." 

Your hand at his back. He suppresses chills as your knuckles move over the dip of his spine and then over, your palm smoothing down his arm until you find his hand. Another one of your quirks when you're tired and dizzy with content, you search for his fingers and twine them with your own as you talk. 

"Thanks for dinner. You're a better cook than you'd think, Steve. S'like being at Enzo's but with none of the tables and chairs. Or the music." 

He rubs his thumb gently over the back of your hand where it rests on his thighs and chuckles. "I'll give the chef your compliments." 

"Thank you." 

Another stretch of silence, broken up only by the sound of your breathing. Steve's more familiar with your breathing than his own. He thinks of nights where he'd feigned sleep and watched the rise and fall of your chest through barely parted lashes. 

With his back to you it's easy to pretend you're more than friends. He pulls your joined hands to his chest and worries your skin with the pad of his thumb, a thousand thoughts rattling around his brain. 

"Y/N," Steve says suddenly, unsure if you're still awake. 

"What?" you ask quietly.

"Don't listen to Robin, okay? Don't… don't try and tongue kiss Munson the first time." 

You inhale weirdly. "I won't." 

"Good." He moves your hand back to your chest and drops it gently. "Goodnight," he says.

You don't say anything back. 

-

Dustin sits under the Family Video desk with his radio contraption that Steve doesn't understand, him and Robin having entered a surprisingly easy conversation. Less surprising upon discovering the topic: Steve's ineptitude, Steve's idiocy, Steve's hopelessness. 

"I feel sorry for him," Dustin says conversationally. 

"Really sorry for him." 

"Because it's his third snub in as many years-" 

"And that's not counting each Scoops Ahoy disaster-" 

"Exactly. And, it's like, going on how many years of being friends?" Dustin asks. 

"Twelve," Steve says, resigned to his fate and feeling very pathetic where he manually ticks through returns on the computer. He doesn't even look up. 

"Twelve years to make a move and now he's too late," Dustin says. 

"Well, never say never," Robin says, her voice high. 

Steve frowns and looks through the screen for a moment before turning his gaze over his shoulder to where Robin lounges on the floor, legs crossed and a book between her thighs.

"What?" he asks. 

"What?" she repeats. 

They stare at each other. Steve's expression changes from depressed to incensed.

"Oh my god, you know something." 

"I don't know anything." 

They stare at each other more. Steve doesn't believe her even slightly. He knows Robin. They've been friends for an entire year by this point. Steve would even say that they're best friends. He knows when she's lying. 

"'Never say never?'" he quotes. 

Dustin has stopped messing with his technology to watch. His head moves one way and then the other like he's following a tennis ball, his brown curls bouncing around his ears. 

"It's a common saying-" Robin defends. 

"But why did you say it?"

Tense silence.

"You do know something," Dustin says. Excitement gives his face a boyish charm.

Robin closes the book between her thighs and smiles awkwardly. Steve feels his heart leap into his throat when she tilts her head to the side guiltily and sighs. 

"Shit," she mutters. 

-

Operation Stakeout is redundant, according to Mike. 

"An operation and a stakeout are basically the same thing," he mutters.

"That's not true," Dustin says, know-it-all tone in play. "A stakeout is always an operation but operations aren't always stakeouts." 

Lucas eats a handful of chips noisily. Max groans. 

"It feels redundant," Robin says. 

"It's about to feel jeopardised," Steve says scathingly, forcing her head back down where the six of them hide behind a trimmed hedge outside Enzo's. 

"When's it my turn with the binoculars?" Robin asks. 

"Never," Dustin says. There isn't a trace of sympathy in his voice. 

"Sexism?" she wonders to herself. 

Max snatches the binoculars from Dustin’s hand and brings them to her eyes, looking through the painted window of Hawkins best Italian restaurant for any sign of you and your date. 

They must look like a group of idiots. Half the gang are in dark clothing where Mike, Robin and Max had all refused to bother. Dustin had brought a camouflage net and strewn it over their heads, though most of them had shrugged it off, holding it to their shoulders like a terrible blanket. 

Steve waits impatiently for Max's report. 

"There they are," Max says. 

He can't himself as he springs up and searches for you. They'd all watched secretly as you'd arrived and met Munson outside. He scrubbed up well. It boiled Steve's blood. In a totally fun, carefree way because he's being very normal about this whole thing. You know, if you ignore Operation Stakeout. 

"Where?" 

He holds his hand out for the binoculars and Max drops them heavily into his palm. Steve almost blinds himself as he brings them to his eyes, squinting for a glance at you.

"Toward the left." 

"They're ordering," he says. 

"They're on a date," Mike says. 

Lucas makes a sad sound and eats more chips. Steve feels a sharp wave of pity for him though he quickly forgets it in favour of the look on your face. You're smiling wide but insincerely. 

"Y/N is not having a good time," he says happily. "Is it evil to feel relieved?" 

"Yes," a few voices say. 

Dustin shrugs. "Let's hope Eddie makes them cry. Or the other way around."  

"Dude." There's a silent conversation that Steve isn't privy to then that ends with Lucas and Dustin shoving each other. 

"Why are we expecting this to end badly?" Max asks. "Because I'm still not convinced." 

Steve watches you reach for your drink and tries not to recant his explanation with any bias. Tries. "Y/N doesn't like Munson." 

"We already knew that, to be fair," Robin says, still trying to defend you now that she'd possibly exposed your secret. Guilt is a new look on her. 

"Right, but not liking Eddie and liking Steve are two different things," Max says. 

"Well, why wouldn't you like Eddie?" Dustin says. 

"If you like him so much why don't you marry him?" Steve asks, deadpan. 

"Shut up." 

"I know who I'd choose," Max says. 

Steve waits for a follow up because he has no clue who Max would choose. When she doesn't answer he peels his gaze from your upturned mouth and finds that the rest of the group are giving Max the same curious look. 

"What?" she asks furiously. "One is clearly more attractive." 

"Which one, Maxine?" Steve asks. 

"Eddie," Mike and Dustin say. 

"Steve," Robin and Lucas say. 

Max is saved from having to answer by the ensuing argument. They can both drive. Steve is wealthy - "Generationally!" - where Eddie's less so. Steve graduated - "Barely!" - and Eddie's in his third senior year. 

"He's in a band," Robin says unhappily, like she's sad that Steve isn't measuring up. 

"Have you heard them play? Steve's definitely winning," Lucas says. 

"Steve doesn't know who Gollum is," Dustin points out. "He's, like, socially misplaced." 

"Does Y/N?" Max asks. 

The group ponders. Robin takes the binoculars from Steve's hands and aims them at you again. "Wait, did Eddie get the carbonara? That's a point for Steve." 

"It's an Italian staple!" Dustin defends.

"You'd think a cult leader would order something a little more adventurous." 

"Hellfire isn't a cult, Steve, don't be fucking offensive." 

"Okay, watch your mouth, Henderson," Steve says testily. 

His knees ache from hiding and his hands are frigid. It's dark enough for Lucas to switch on a torch as he offers Max his pringles. She wrinkles her nose in disgust and the poor guy looks dejected beyond words. 

A disgruntled old lady complains behind them at having to walk around them. Mike complains louder. "This is pointless." 

"It's not pointless," Steve says. 

"Yes, it is." 

"No, it isn't." He glares at Mike. 

"It totally is! You're wasting our night to perv on someone who couldn't be less interested in you." 

"I didn't ask you to come!" Steve shouts.

"I wanted to see you be wrong in person," he says. 

Steve sighs because maybe he is wrong. He doesn't know what he believes anymore. He's working on the tiniest evidence that you like him, a slip of the tongue. 

When you'd walked into Family Video a few days ago and asked Robin for 'boy tips', you'd said something suspicious. Steve doesn't think you know what you said. Robin thinks you're both idiots, though she thinks you're pathetic in the loveable way and Steve the pathetic way. 

"Why Eddie?" Robin had asked you while he was hidden away in the backroom. "I didn't know you liked the rock and roll type. I was thinking, like, Steve's calibre. Homegrown boy next door who's a little misguided." 

"Well, Steve's never gonna ask me out," you'd said. 

"Thank god for that," Robin had joked awkwardly. Steve doesn't hold it against her. 

When she'd relayed the conversation to him he'd been happy at first, because in most situations this would imply that you're waiting for it. That you want him to ask you out. 

But you're not like most people, and you might've meant Steve in place of someone like Steve. 

"I don't think he's wrong," Dustin says now. 

"You're the same IQ," Mike says. 

"You might be right, Wheeler," Steve huffs, holding his hands out for a turn. Robin passes them obligingly. "Y/N's so literal. They might've just been stating the obvious." 

"Or maybe they thought Robin was implying they liked Steve and got defensive," Max adds. 

"Or maybe it's exactly like it sounds and they have a crush on Steve," Lucas says. He wilts under Max's fierce scowl. "Or maybe they were being defensive." 

"Defensive isn't really their style," Steve says, not sure what side he's on, sick with hope.

"What is their style?" Mike asks. "Delusion?" 

"Shut the fuck up, man," Steve says. 

"You're such an asshole sometimes," Max says. 

They dissolve into bickering and Steve spies on you, watching through the binoculars with one eye pinched closed as you set down your cutlery. You're laughing. 

Steve pulls the binoculars from his face and feels maybe every stage of grief as he hands them off to Dustin. "Mike's right, we're wasting the night here. If Y/N liked me, we wouldn't be camped outside Enzo's right now under the world's most threadbare throw blanket." 

Mike clears his throat, and Steve knows he must have sounded pathetic when he, at odds with the cold indifference he usually sports, says, "I mean… People are complicated. El broke up with me last summer because my grandma died." 

"That is not why," Max says. She sounds like she wants to be mad but can't manage it. She sounds about as happy as she has all year, so Steve decides maybe the night isn't totally wasted. 

"Your grandma died?" Lucas asks.

"No." 

"He just grabbed Y/N's hand," Dustin announces, one eye pressed to the binoculars. 

His head is smushed against Lucas', who peers into the binoculars with his opposite eye and hums thoughtfully. "More of a caress than a grab." 

Steve snatches the binoculars. "Give me that," he demands. 

"You still haven't explained the spying," Max says. 

Steve finds you in the restaurant. Your hand is extended across the table. You're twisting the rings around Eddie's fingers, saying something he doesn't have the talent to lip read. 

"I thought that," he starts, morose, heart stomped on with every second you spend fawning over Munson's rock star hands, "if Y/N likes me, the date would be a total failure." 

"Right, like halfway through the date Y/N was gonna have this amazing epiphany and come crashing through the doors, like a rom-com," Robin continues. 

"That's stupid," Mike says. 

Steve agrees with him. It's stupid to expect you to throw away a good chance at happiness and keep a candle burning for him instead when he's never showed any interest in you before. But, in his defense, he didn't know he was allowed. 

"Whatever," he sighs. "I'm sick of thinking about it. Let's just go home." 

There's an awkward silence then where everyone feels sorry for him and nobody knows what to say. 

"Plenty of fi-" Lucas starts, voice lilted up in question until he's socked hard in the arm. He clears his throat. "Plenty of time left. On the clock. We can go get food?" 

"Steve needs ice cream," Robin says cheerily. He scrubs his face until his eyes hurt as she continues. "He needs to eat through the heartbreak. Ice cream, pizza, moon cakes, cheese balls." She turns to him fully. "I'm really sorry your love life is so sad, but look on the bright side! You now have an excuse to watch Splash on repeat." 

"Oh, goodie," he says. 

He gets a round of sympathetic shoulder pats and then everyone starts to pack Dustin's spy equipment and the snacks away. There's a pounding headache between Steve's eyes and his back pops in three places as he stands. He's getting too old for shit like this. I need to go home and sleep for twelve hours, he decides. And have a self flagellating bubble bath. With a toaster.

"Shit, they're coming out." 

They dive back behind the bush. Steve locks eyes with Robin. She holds her hand over her mouth as the door to Enzo's creaks open. 

"What size are you?" Eddie's asking. 

"I don't know. Do I have to wear the shirt?" 

A handsome laugh. "No, you don't have to. It's just for club morale. Plus, it's pretty sick." 

"It's not sick, it's cute." 

"No, no." He's being so nice it makes Steve feel terrible for wishing bad things upon him. "Not bad sick. Good sick, like awesome." 

"Right," you laugh. 

Robin starts to lift her head. Steve shakes his vehemently, begging her not to. She does anyways, her eyes shifting up over the green hedge line. He tugs her shoulder urgently. 

Robin starts to push against his face with her hands. It's increasingly difficult to fight her silently, especially when she smacks him straight in the soft part of his nose. 

He winces and covers his face with both hands. God, are you there? He thinks urgently. It's me, Steve. 

Robin gasps. 

Five sets of eyes whip to her and Steve yanks her hard to the ground, covering her mouth with his hand. She licks his palm and Steve throws himself back, sprawled on the ground with his elbows stinging, his heart hammering because there's no way you didn't hear all that. He waits to be caught. 

"I'll get it printed for you. Everyone has one. Like a uniform."

"Thanks for dinner," you say. 

"You're welcome. I'll see you on Friday, yeah?" 

"Yes. Thank you, Eddie."

Your voices stop. Steve lets himself collapse onto the sidewalk beneath, hair crushed under his neck. Your date must've gone pretty fucking well if you're going on another. 

Robin's face above him. Her hair hangs down, blocking slices of her face from view. 

"Don't sulk, Steve." 

He glares at her. "You heard that, right? They're going on another date. Leave me here to die." 

Robin's beaming. "Steve." 

"It's too late. I should've- I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I'm a loser." 

"Could you stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second?" she asks. 

"What's the point?" 

"Steve," Robin laughs. "They didn't kiss." He swallows around the dryness in his mouth. "They didn't kiss," she repeats. "Eddie tried it, but…"

"Total head turn," Dustin says, the top of his head touching Robin's as he comes to stand over Steve, his shoes at Steve's shoulder.

"Doesn't mean anything. They're still going on another date," Steve says. 

"Dummy," Max says, joining the two hovering above him. 

Mike and Lucas join soon after. "You're definitely a loser-" Mike says. 

"Dude." 

"If you don't try," Mike finishes. 

Steve looks up into the circle of their faces. They look super weird from this angle. Too happy. It's never a good thing when they're all smiling the way that they are. Hope in this family turns into stupid decisions. 

"The head turn was on purpose?" he asks. 

He's crushed by their hesitation. 

"Well, it's Y/N," Robin sighs. She rolls her eyes at his expression. "Nah, I'm messing with you. It was definitely on purpose." 

He covers his face with his hands and stares at his friend's through parted fingers. "Shit." 

A ruckus of laughter and smiles as Robin offers a hand to pull him up off of the ground. "Alright, come on, dingus, we have work to do." 

"Work?" he asks. 

"T-minus six days and… twenty two hours until their second date," Dustin says, checking his watch. "Six days to make a move, Harrington. Can you do it?" 

-

It only takes him three. 

Saturday and Sunday are spent feeling sorry for himself and sick with worry that he can't make a move or that his move won't be reciprocated. 

But then he sees you on Monday and can't really stand it anymore. You'd turned your head. You hadn't let Eddie kiss you. 

Steve needs to know if you'll let him. 

You're all in blue today with your eyebrows pinched up, looking sad. He knows from experience that you aren't sad at all, only thinking, sitting on the hood of his car with your legs pulled up. You're demure. You're probably an angel. 

"How long have you been out here?" he asks, coming to a stop in front of you. 

"I'm too afraid to come see you," you say. It's more honest than Steve had been expecting. Certainly more straightforward than you tend to be. 

"You're seeing me now." 

You look up into his face. The sun behind you, your face in shadow and your hair kissed by golden light, you open your hands over your thighs. Steve thinks of Lovers Lake, the Victoria flowers bobbing on the surface. Green, soft cups over dark water. 

"I'm seeing you," you say. 

You twist your fingers together and the lily pad turns to a water lily, your fingertips a tight bud. 

You're nervous.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back slightly to take you in. 

He lifts his chin at you. "How did your date go?" he asks. 

"It was okay. Eddie's a nice guy. He's… interesting." 

"Yeah?" 

You hum. "Why are you asking me?" 

"We're friends. I want to know if you had fun." 

You shrug your shoulders and turn your haze to the hood of the BMW, scratching your nail over an imperfection he can't see. 

Steve's unnerved to see you so still. He waits for your legs to kick or for your hands to fidget, to wear holes into the hem of your shirt. 

"I don't think we're friends, Stevie," you say finally. 

He actually feels mad. It shocks him, but he does, and he won't shy away from it. "Why did you ask Munson on a date?" 

"He can drive. He's nice to girls. He's good looking." You stop scratching but don't look at him. Your ankle swings towards his car, stops before it hits the front bumper. 

Your answers hurt his feelings, little pinpricks of annoyance? Jealousy? He doesn't know what he feels. He was hoping you'd say something reassuring. 

He kicks himself quickly. You're not going to reassure him because you don't know he needs to be reassured. You don't know anything because he hasn't told you. 

You mumble something too low for him to hear. 

"What?" he asks gently. "I can't hear you." 

"I asked him because I thought if-" You stop. Steve watches your hesitation turn to distress and steps forward to take your wringing hands into his. 

"Don't do that," he says quietly. 

You stop rubbing your wrists. "I'm trying to tell you." 

"I know you are. Don't wind yourself up over it. Tell me slowly." He doesn't like this expression you're wearing. So unlike you. He wants to see your quiet face again, your features settled, your eyes bright. He bends at the waist to talk to you. "What did you think?" 

"I thought if anybody in the world could make you jealous, it would be Eddie." 

He works your clenched fingers open, rubbing his thumbs over the small creases in your skin. His heart thrums in his chest.

He smiles at you. "Now why do you wanna make me jealous?" he asks fondly, a hint of smugness creeping in. 

You raise your eyes to his and squeeze his hands. "Steve," you say pleadingly. "Don't be cruel." 

"About what?" he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

"I know that I'm- I'm stupid, and distracted and-and I miss things, and-" 

"Hey. That's not true." 

You overflow.

"No, it is, it's true." You pull your hands out of his grip and cross them over your torso. Your eyes squint in efforts to stop the tears he can see gathering from spilling over, and your mouth twists up into a bitter smile. "Everyone says so. I- I don't know why I thought you would like me back." 

"You like me?" he asks weakly. 

You stop. "I thought you knew." 

Steve's eyes flit in disbelief from your eyes to your lips, wondering if you've truly just said what you said. 

Fine, whatever, he can be brave too. "If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks. 

The upset wanes from your face and is replaced by a lighter kind of lovely. You pout. "Why would you ask me that?" 

"Do you want me to kiss you?" he tries again. 

"I don't know what the right answer is." 

"I could…" Steve taps under your chin with his knuckle and lifts your face to his, eyes skipping between yours, the circle of your pupils dilated and shining. "I could never be cruel with you." 

You wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow. 

Understanding moves between you. He can pinpoint two realisations on your face as they happen. The first, that he isn't toying with you. That Steve had no idea how you felt, and that he hadn't known you were trying to make him jealous. The second, that you're about to be kissed. 

"You were right," he says, his thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. 

"About what?" you ask, your eyes restless, clicking over each of his features in turn and getting caught on his lips.

He leans in, your mouths an inch apart. "Your date with Munson – I was jealous. But it's not about him. It's about you. You could've," he stops to laugh, bringing his second hand to the curve of your neck, "could've gone on a date with Keith and I would've been sick with it." 

"Really?" you ask. 

"Mm-hm," he hums lightly. 

Your eyes close. Steve hesitates still, can't believe that he hasn't moved in, but he needs to say it.

"If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks again, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

"Yeah, I'd let you."

His hands tremble with anticipation, a long time spent longing. He moves in, his ears pricked at the sound of your sweet inhale. A hitch, the same sound you make when you sleep beside him. The same sound you make when you're dreaming. 

He spreads his hand over your thigh and kisses you. 

Your lips are soft as a downy feather beneath his. You're shy, moving back as he moves forward, pliant under his guiding. He pets the juncture of your neck soothingly and pulls back fast, a short, chaste kiss. His lips burn. 

"Again?" you ask. 

He wades in carefully, worried to overwhelm you. You're like a wave cresting sand, falling back to push forward quickly. He's so elated to have his kiss returned that he sighs into you, palm spread wide over the dough of your thigh and squeezing carefully. He can feel your smile grow, your lips parting with it, the kiss inadvertently deepening. 

You pull back. "I'm sorry." 

His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. "For what?" he asks, rubbing your thigh. 

"Boys don't like it when you slip them the tongue on the first kiss." 

He blinks owlishly and has to step away from you to stop from laughing in your face, never at you, but laugh all the same. He smothers it with a cough and then doesn't bother, chuckling as he stands between your legs and throws his arms around you in a steel-armed hug. 

You giggle and bring your forearms to the back of his head. Your wrist craned, you sift your fingertips through his hair, nails running over his scalp fleetingly. 

"Right," he says. "Duh." 

"I remembered," you say, sounding infinitely pleased with yourself. 

He feels the heat of your body sink into his and wants to scream. The indescribable heat of your kiss plays over his chest, snaking tendrils. He feels weightless. 

"The second kiss though," he says. Strictly informative. "They don't mind it, the second time."

He moves his head away from yours to meet your eyes. They're lit with mirth. 

"Don't mind it, huh?" you ask knowingly. 

His cheeks ache with a grin as he pulls you back in. 

-

"You know, I saw you spying outside Enzo's," you say much later, your head tucked into Steve's chest.

He didn't know but he's not surprised. "Gonna cancel your date?" he asks.

"What date?"

"On Friday?" 

"That isn't a date. I joined Hellfire Club." 

Oh my god, he thinks. Eddie fucking Munson. "You're gonna have to kiss me again," he says morosely. He cheers up considerably quickly as you lift your chin, beaming.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[harmonictechnicality]

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

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

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

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

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

He kills it with a question:

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

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

“You heard me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Secrets.

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

Eddie throws his head back. “Lame.” 

“Story’s not over.”

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

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

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

“Will you stop interrupting?”

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

Just a little.

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove it then.”

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

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

“Technically, you didn’t ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My face?”

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

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

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

“Think that’s my line.” Eddie jokes. 

“Right.”

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

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

“Get what over with?”

“The teasing.”

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

“You do?” Steve looks softer. 

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

“Bowie, huh?”

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

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

“A piercing?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

Slightly calloused. 

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

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

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

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

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

It warrants that sound.

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

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

Just enough to speak. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

This is charged in electric shockwaves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him. 

Maybe Eddie isn’t completely delusional after all.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieweek2023 #day six: true #truly truly dumb and fun #major himbo and major himbo-enjoyer #was this an excuse to cause chaotic piercing headcanons? always. #okayokay I hope you like Eddie drooling over Steve on this fine Saturday afternoon xx #*bows and scurries back off into my writing corner*

[hellfirexhoe]

Tuesdays? | Eddie Munson x Bitchy Reader

summary: sort of prequel to Wednesdays, Eddie and reader are enemies who like to ruin each other on Wednesday nights, and this is how that situation first started happening (reader and Eddie are both over 18)

3,000+ words

warnings: horndog content so 18+ only please - MINORS DNI, lots of swearing, name calling, degradation, enemies to lovers fuck buddies, rough sex, p in v, protected sex, oral (m receiving), bad writing, skipped meals, little bit of gross eddie, pervy eddie, bitchy reader, v. brief dubcon, harassment, female reader

Series Masterlist

You push your lunch away in disgust as you accidentally look over at Eddie Munson’s table, he’s talking animatedly with his friends, mouth full and spraying food everywhere, his friends are laughing at whatever he’s saying, almost deafeningly loud. It doesn’t seem to bother anyone else in the lunch room, but for you messy eating is a cardinal sin, it makes you feel physically sick. Deciding your appetite probably won’t return your bus your tray, apologize to your friends and head to the library. The rest of the hour passes without interruption and you’re in better spirits as you head to Spanish, nibbling on an energy bar. It’s the only class you have with Eddie, this year’s schedule had been kinder to you than last, last year you were in a majority of classes with him and for the first week or so you’d found him funny, charming even, but the obnoxious behavior and constant tapping on the table had soured you to him pretty badly.

Your usual desk buddy was out sick so you had the entire desk to yourself, until Eddie walked in and plopped down next to you, lunch still around his mouth. Great. You gritted your teeth and turned your whole body away, determined to block out the boy next to you, it was only an hour and then you would be on your way to an Eddie-free gym class, followed by an equally Eddie-free car ride home, to your Eddie-free house. This became a mantra in your head as the lesson started.

Eddie’s class clown routine started about 5 minutes in and by 15 minutes you were contemplating faking cramps to get out of the classroom. By some miracle you manage to stave off the urge to stab him with your pen and focus on the lesson, when the bell finally rings you unclench your jaw, gather your books and flee the room before Eddie has even stopped tapping on the desk. Chrissy is waiting for you outside and laughs at your strained expression,

“Why do you let him bother you so much? He sits way at the back, miles from you. Just ignore him.”

You shake your head, “Marsha’s out today, so he decided he’d keep me company. Fucking insufferable I tell you.”

“Maybe you need to buy some goodies from his lunch box and you’ll be able to tolerate him more.” Chrissy jokes as you groan,

“I’m not buying drugs from the town freak Chrissy, I have better plugs than that.”

“You know I heard the weirdest thing the other day,” You look at her, “Apparently the freak thing extends to the bedroom, like he’s into some kinky shit.”

“Absolutely no fucking way Chrissy. That boy is as much of a virgin as the day he was born, doubt he’d even know where to put it.”

Chrissy shakes her head “Nope, from what I’ve heard its big and he knows how to use it.” She’s whispering loudly to you, eyes flitting around to make sure no one’s listening as you walk the corridor.

“Chrissy Cunningham. Are you really trying to tell me that Eddie Munson has a huge dick?” As you speak your left shoulder is pushed by someone, your heart sinks when you realize it is a beet-red Eddie storming past you both. “Shit. Well now I feel like a total bitch.” Chrissy cringes with you and you carry on to your gym. The lesson passes quickly and the final bell rings out, announcing your freedom.

You and Chrissy link arms as you step out into the parking lot, letting each other go with over the top waves and reaching for each other. She reaches her car first, and doesn’t notice what you do when you look over at your car. Shit. Eddie’s leaning against your car, looking pissed, so he definitely heard us earlier then. You walk over, checking to see you have witnesses,

“H-hey Eddie.”

“Hey Eddie? That really all you have to say?” Eddie raises an eyebrow, “If either of you are so fucking curious about my dick that you want to be yelling about it in the corridor, please feel free to ask to see it.”

“I’m sorry we didn-”

“You didn’t know I could hear your whole conversation? So you’re not going to apologize for being a total bitch, just that I heard it? Nice. Real fuckin’ nice.” Eddie stalks off, simmering.

“Why the fuck are you so mad anyway? Not like we were yelling ‘Eddie Munson has a tiny dick’.” You call after him, taunting him, attracting a small audience. Eddie’s tall frame freezes and he rounds back on you, stepping so close you’re pressed up against your car, a wicked smile on his face as he whispers in your ear,

“Keep taunting me and you’ll find out how big it is when its down your throat.” You’re a little too stunned to come up with a snarky reply for that, and by the time you do Eddie is already across the lot, smile still on his face. You climb into your car and head home for that Eddie-free evening you had promised yourself. Except your mind wasn’t allowing you your reprieve, you kept thinking about Eddie’s words, twisted as they were.

You barely sleep that night and you curse Chrissy for the fact that you simply cannot stop wondering just how big Eddie Munson’s dick is. You were perfectly happy not thinking about that before today, if anyone had asked you to picture him naked you would have managed to imagine smooth hard plastic under his trousers, like a Ken doll, but now you’re wondering about his girth? I hate that girl. You huff as you read 3.14am on your clock.

Somewhere in the night you manage to fall asleep but it feels like minutes have passed when your alarm trills. You manage to drag yourself through the motions and pack on enough concealer to cover an entire cheer squad, hoping to disguise the bags under your eyes. After downing a scalding coffee you manage to perk yourself up enough to get to school safely. You get to Spanish and notice Marsha’s seat occupied by your new desk buddy, Eddie, who has his feet propped up on your side, you stare pointedly at them until he adjusts, tucking his feet under the desk.

“You look like you’ve slept terribly. Guilty conscience or could you not stop yourself from thinking about my dick?”

You don’t reply, which earns a snort from Eddie. “So the second one then. Like I said, if you’re curious just ask.” He winks at you and you roll your eyes.

Your brain is too tired to catch the next words before they escape your lips,

“Fine, let’s say I’m curious. Show me.”

Eddie looks at you wide-eyed, “Yeah, I’m not getting my dick out in a room which is like half full of minors.”

“Not now, you moron.”

“Also this isn’t show and fucking tell, nor is my dick my most treasured possession.” He pauses “Okay maybe only the first part of that is true.”

“You’re so disgusting.”

“Says the girl who just asked me to show her my dick to satisfy some kind of morbid curiosity. Besides, what am I getting in return? I’d hate to disappoint you or ruin my reputation as a freak but flashing you or anyone else for that matter isn’t top of my list of things to do on a Friday.”

You decide silence is your best option, your brain can’t adequately filter your words so you stay mute for the remainder of the day. Eddie, satisfied that he’s worked you up so much you can’t even speak, has the biggest shit-eating grin on his lips. Once the bell rings for the end of class Eddie is up before you, and as you stand to leave he turns around and makes an obscene gesture with his tongue at you, winks then disappears into the corridor. You become intimately familiar with the gesture throughout the day because you swear everywhere you look the metalhead is appearing from nowhere, performing.

“What is that about?” Chrissy asks after she notices Eddie’s performance,

“I asked to see his dick and now he’s harassing me I guess.”

“You did what??”

“I’m tired, my brain can’t filter.” Chrissy is creasing with laughter at you,

“Has it really been such a dry spell that you’re looking to Eddie?”

“No, its your damn fault anyway, I could have gone my whole life never wondering if Eddie Munson truly has a big dick.”

“Oh he does,” your friend Louise appears beside Chrissy and you roll your eyes,

“Fucking fantastic, where have you heard that from?”

As you walk you feel a hand slip past your ass and place something in your back pocket, Eddie walks past you quickly, making it obvious to you that it was him. You excuse yourself to the bathroom and duck into a stall, retrieving a scrap of paper from the pocket of your skirt, the scrawl is messy and barely readable but you make it out eventually, it’s an address and the words “tuesday 7pm wear your cheer uniform”.

Is he fucking with me right now? Does he really think I’m going to turn up at his trailer and worship his dick?

By the time Tuesday afternoon rolls around you estimate you have received about 17 sexual remarks from Eddie in words or gestures and are now planning on going to his trailer to yell at him for being an absolute pig, and possibly murder him. You’re not sure on the second objective, might be a bit too much work for a Tuesday, plus you’d need help to move the body and there would be all those questions.

At 6.45pm you’re getting in your car, decidedly not in your cheer uniform, because that was just too weird. The whole situation is weird, you’re driving to Eddie Munson’s trailer? That he invited you to? You pull up at 7.07pm, trying to exit your car as quietly as you can. Eddie must have heard you, or been watching at the window because he opens the door before you can knock, you step in and immediately poke him square in the chest with a pointed nail,

“What the fuck is your problem Munson?” You yell, “Quit the harassment, you’re being a fucking pervert.”

“You drove all the way out here to yell at me?” Eddie smirks, “You must really care.”

“That’s the thing, I really don’t, you’re just being an absolute pig and I’ve had enough!” You’re breathing hard and squaring your shoulders, you’re so angry with him that your hands are shaking. So Eddie’s next move of pushing you against the wall and kissing you completely throws you off guard, you grab a handful of his hair and pull forcing him to break the kiss.

“Okay. Fuck. OW. Might have misread the moment, my bad.”

“What in the fuck did you think that moment was?”

“I thought you were one of those girls who gets all horny when they’re angry. Evidently I was wrong.” He’s not wrong, you are exactly one of those girls but it’s Eddie. Gross, messy eater, desk tapping until you go insane, insufferable, rude Eddie.

“Fuck. Lets just get this over with.” You sigh as you start unbuttoning your skirt and shimmying it down your legs, Eddie is now truly bewildered,

“Get what over with? What is happening right now?”

“We’re going to fuck. We’re going to get this,” you gesture to the air around you both “out of our systems. And then I can go back to thinking you’re a disgusting pig, and you can go back to thinking I’m an uptight bitch. Sound good?”

Eddie shrugs and starts taking his shirt off, not taking his eyes off you undressing for a second, like his own personal strip tease. He smirks when he catches your jaw drop slightly at the size of his bulge. Chrissy and Louise’s intel had been correct.

“Wait. We need some ground rules,” you pause, both of you now in your underwear.

“O..kay,”

“No kissing when we get down to it.”

“Get down to it, christ you’re romantic.”

“No! That’s the point, this isn’t romance, this isn’t love, this isn’t even a fucked up friendship. This is just fucking because hormones and pheromones and all that other scienc-y crap.”

“Gotcha. Positions?”

“No missionary. Also no pet names, I’m fine with you degrading me but I don’t want none of that ‘princess’ mushyness. And you are definitely not going in me bareback.”

“Definitely not, wouldn’t want to catch whatever evil you have. Safe words?”

“You planning to get so pussy drunk I’d need a safe word to pull you out of it?”

“That’s the hope.”

“Red for stop, yellow for pause.” Eddie nods

“Bed?” You glance around the living room and nod, surely the bedroom would be a little more comfortable. Once you’re in his bedroom Eddie appears a little awkward,

“How do you want to, I mean uhh,” Eddie’s voice trails off,

“Guess I’m taking the lead tonight huh stud?” You drop to your knees and pull his boxers down, making him gasp at your forwardness. You spit in your hand and use it to pump along his length, smirking when you see his eyes roll back and his bottom lip captured by his teeth. You keep him in your hand as your tongue runs over his swollen head, lapping up the drops of precum that had formed, earning a deep primal moan from Eddie. You start to take the tip of his cock in your mouth, sucking gently as you pump his length firmly, as he moans and his legs start to shake you suck harder, taking more of his length in your mouth, bobbing up and down and revelling in the noises escaping Eddie’s mouth. Ringed fingers begin to tangle in your hair, gathering it into a loose ponytail, you appreciate the somewhat chivalrous act and starting taking him deeper, lips down to the base and tip sliding down your throat

“Jesus H. Christ do you even have a gag reflex?” You shake your head, drawing back slightly only to suck him back in, earning a loud cry of pleasure from Eddie. He’s already beginning to sound so pathetic and needy. You pull back, releasing his cock from the vacuum of your mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and he almost collapses back onto his bed, panting, cock twitching as though it was searching to be back in your mouth again. While he’s temporarily stunned you unclasp your bra and drop your underwear to the floor, not paying any attention to where they fall as you climb onto the bed, pausing to grab a condom from the pack on his nightstand. You remember a trick you had learned at a sleepover and put the now unwrapped condom in your mouth, Eddie watches you curiously and then gasps as you use your mouth to sheathe his cock,

“Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

“You can thank Chrissy for that trick. Practiced on many a banana in the Cunningham kitchen.”

Your hovering above him, pussy just centimeters away from the tip of his cock, about to slide down when Eddie grabs you to stop you,

“I haven-haven’t warmed you up yet, that’s not very gentlemanly.”

You lean down to whisper in his ear “If I want you to be a gentleman, I’ll ask for it. Right now I want you to fuck me.” You grab his hand and place it against your clit and run it down to your soaked hole, “I’m sure I can take you, all those pathetic little mewls you did seem to have done the trick.” Eddie still insisted on sticking his fingers inside you, gathering up your wetness and using it to lube up his cock before sucking his fingers clean, as you slide down you whisper in his ear,

“Such a fucking pervert, licking me up like that.” Eddie’s cock throbs inside you and you moan, loving the pressure of him filling you up. His hands are on your hips, helping you to ride harder and faster until your bodies are slamming against each other, the headboard on the bed threatening to make a dent in the wall, you can see Eddie’s eyes becoming unfocused as he gets pussy drunk inside you,

“Eddie?”

“Hnhmh?”

“I fucking hate you.” His eyes snap back, razor sharp focus now trained on you as he starts slamming you down on his cock harder than before, his fingers dipping between you two to start rubbing your clit, “Do you hate this too, princess.” Eddie utters a forbidden word but in such a sneering way, so laced with venom that he might have just been calling you a cum dump.

You nod, breathing faster as you feel your orgasm building, “You’re bad at this.”

Eddie laughs “Tell that to your fucking pussy that’s trying to throttle me.” Your walls are contracting around him almost painfully tight as you get to the edge of your orgasm, Eddie keeps his pressure and pattern going and within seconds you’re ruined, legs shaking, back arching, crying and cursing as your orgasm wracks through your body. Eddie finishes shortly after you, pulling you down and holding you so tight you can barely breathe.

You slide off of Eddie and catch your breath while he takes the condom off and ties it before throwing it into the bin.

“We should do this again sometime. How do Tuesdays sound?”

You laugh breathlessly, “Wednesday nights work better for me.”

“You’re still an uptight bitch who has no awareness for the people around her.”

“And you’re still a fucking pervert.”

“In that case I’m keeping your panties as a trophy.”

“So disgusting.”

The next day your hips have finger shaped bruises all over them, your lips are swollen and you can hardly sit down without wincing. As you sit at your lunch table you catch Eddie smirking at you as your wince once your body makes contact with the unforgiving plastic. You glare at him and give him the middle finger. Chrissy catches this,

“Oh so it is definitely big.”

You give her a pained nod.

“Huge.”

#eddie munson #eddie fucking munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #munson-trashcan #days of the week fic #female reader #bitchy reader #eddie x bitchy!reader

[hornedqueenofhell]

Steddie Sick fic pt. 2

Pt 1

“Eddie!” The kids shrieked as they all ran to the unconscious Dungeon Master’s side. Dustin knelt down and reached for Eddie’s forehead, yanking it back seconds later. “Shit he’s burning up.”

“He’s sick.” Gareth huffs as he helps the kid shift Eddie onto his back. The metalhead’s breath is rattling in his chest and he’s covered in a layer of sweat.

“Why didn’t he cancel then?” Lucas asks, looking at the older kids.

“Because he’s a stubborn ass who doesn’t know how to ask for help.” Gareth turns to the others, “Can one of you get him home?” His mom had the car tonight.

“Jeff rode with me and we still have all those stupid boxes of my dad’s shit in the back.” Frank said with a shrug, “Besides he probably shouldn’t be alone if he’s sick man, you know Wayne works nights.”

“Okay but we can’t take him and what are the kids going to do, strap him to their handlebars?”

That caused all the kids to glance at each other before turning to Will, “Is Jon still coming to get you tonight?” Mike asks.

“Yeah, and I know he doesn’t have a shift tonight.” With that settled Dustin gets up and goes to his backpack. He pulls out a walkie talkie and after fiddling with it a moment he starts speaking.

“Steve, Steve come in, over.”

Steve? How was Steve Harrington going to help here?

“I’m heading out the door Henderson don’t worry, you guys ended early tonight.” Dustin normally would ignore Steve until he used proper radio etiquette but Eddie took precedence. And besides, Steve’s little ‘secret’ isn’t so secret when he leaves his books open on the Family Video counter.

“Actually we need your help, over.”

The response was immediate and tense, “Code red help?”

“No, no, leave Lola in the trunk. Eddie is sick and passed out, no one else can help him.” Dustin turned back to Eddie who now had a wet rag on his head courtesy of someone.

“Who’s Lola?” Jeff asked the other kids who just rolled their eyes, except Will.

“Steve’s melee weapon, he named her Lola.” Well that cleared up exactly nothing.

“Because you have lifeguard training dumbass!” Dustin says, the others having missed Steve’s reply.

“Lifeguard certification does not equal a doctorate Dustin! What about his bandmates, why can’t they take him?”

Huh, Steve Harrington knows they exist, and not just in a they’re also in Hellfire kinda way. This day just gets weirder and weirder.

“No one has a ride or space available. Please Steve, he’s got a bad fever and his breathing is really shallow. There’s no one at home to keep an eye on him.”

The line goes silent for almost a minute and a half before finally crackling to life again, “Low fucking blow Henderson,” The ex-jock hisses out, “I’ll be there in five. Who is taking you brats home?”

“We’re going to bully Jon into doing it. Thanks Steve.” He shuts the walkie off and puts it away before going back to Eddie. 

The older man had sort of regained consciousness by now but whatever he was mumbling wasn’t coherent. Seems he’d gone delirious from the fever.

Less than five minutes later, Jesus had Harrington floored it all the way here, the old King of Hawkins High strode through the drama room doors. He ruffled Dustin’s hair before quickly going to Eddie’s side. After also checking his temperature and his pulse the brunette turned to the band.

“Has he had anything to eat or drink today?”

The other two shrugged and turned to Gareth, “I gave him some water and crackers at lunch since he didn’t have any food with him, also brought him some tea before we started tonight. I don’t know about anything else.”

“Okay, thanks man. Dust,” He pulls out his car keys and hands them off to the other teen, “Get the back door open for me please.”

The kid runs out to do as requested, Steve turns back to the other kids, “If you haven’t yet, let Jon and Nancy know what’s happening. I don’t want one of you stranded here while I get Munson settled.”

Lucas nodded and went to do as the older boy asked. The Coffin boys knew Steve was a babysitter/overbearing sibling figure to the kids, the way they sang his praises, but this felt like a commander giving orders and everyone followed them like their lives were on the line. It was weird.

“Give my best to your families, I’ll be there for Saturday dinner kay?” He pats Will’s shoulder fondly and then turns back to Eddie.

“Okay Munson, are you with me enough to hold onto me?” Steve coaxes Eddie’s arms into looping around his neck, he’s not expecting one to immediately curl into his hair and tug weakly. Whatever face Steve made as he held back from making any kind of sound besides a pained grunt seemed to amuse Eddie greatly as he started giggling.

“Yes, yes you’re very funny.” Sighing, Steve digs his arms under Eddie and scoops the metalhead into his arms. Eddie lets out a very soft ‘whee’ in response as he’s lifted and his head tucked into Steve’s shoulder. There’s a small smile teasing the corner of Harrington’s lips. He stands and makes sure Eddie isn’t about to fling himself out of Steve’s arms before he starts walking back out to the parking lot. The rest of the group scrambles to pack their shit away and follow after them.

Pt 3

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin henderson #will byers #lucy sinclair #mike wheeler #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #stranger things unnamed freak #corroded coffin #sick fic #emt!steve #steddiefic chronicles

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 28: Love is… When you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can’t stop thinking about kissing him (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 733 | Rated: T for suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Family Video, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Jeff (not present but mentioned a lot), Cliffhanger Ending (might write a cheeky sequel tomorrow)

'Lips'

Eddie should have known it was a mistake to visit Family Video on his lunch break. His excuse to Jeff was that the store had better air conditioning than the mechanic shop. Aka, an air conditioner.

Besides, he promised his friend that he wouldn’t be all that long.

Unlike yesterday.

… Or the day before.

And that no, Jefferson, best friend dearest compatriot, it has nothing to do with Steve Harrington’s summer attire – a good ol’-fashioned too-tight polo and a pair of jean shorts that have not been rotating around in his pea-brain for the better part of a month and a half now that they are in the throws of an Indiana summer.

Nope. None of that.

Nor does his desperation to skip down three blocks and waste his entire lunch break have anything to do with the chapstick Steve has taken to wearing (though Robin’s recent snickering suggests the reddish-pink pouty blessing is a Harrington Summer Standard).

But Eddie just can’t stop staring as his completely kissable crush bemoans working a double shift.

... Or something.

He isn’t really sure because Steve just bit his lip in annoyance – Keith! He definitely just mentioned that loser! – and, well, now there’s an indent on his bottom lip that is making Eddie think about how red they could get if they were all kiss-bitten and...

Eddie forces himself to look up from the plush pout Steve has permanently plastered to his face when he is bitching.

He is met with a faint crinkle in Steve’s brow and yeah, it is probably quite obvious he is not paying attention. His eye wanders above Steve’s frown to the beads of sweat pearling at his hairline.

He gulps.

No, no, no!

This can’t be happening! Steve cannot start sweating too.

It’s bad enough that Eddie has seen him all hot and bothered, his delicious chest hair all matted and grimy as they ran for their lives in an undead hellscape. And their late afternoon sojourns to the Quarry are downright cruel as Steve strips off his sweat-stained shirt to reveal equally sweaty hair that trails down, down, all the way down beyond his waistband to what is surely a sizeable –

“– Eddie!”

He grips the counter between them with grease-stained fingers and holds on for dear life.

“Huh?” he grunts, his eyes landing back on those lips like it’s now the worst possible habit he could ever have the misfortune of developing.

Because Steve is, well, Steve Harrington. Ladies Man. Casanova. Dorky wooer and hot former-jock turned actual good dude.

Stevie H. who’s all plush and pouty and... Moisturised.

Those lips look soft, don’t they?

And maybe the reddish hue is a sign of a flavour? Perhaps cherry? Maybe even strawberry?

Eddie licks his own bone-dry lips as he thinks about tasting it.

Tasting Steve...

How those beautiful smackers would look all swollen from spending time wrapped around his –

“Are you even listening?” Steve whines, lightly smacking the counter with his gigantic, manly hand.

“Yeah – oh… um, yeah sure, man,” he splutters.

Steve’s sceptical frown faulters, softening as he looks Eddie over. He purses those lips.

Fuck.

It’s painfully obvious, isn’t it?

Eddie closes his eyes and sucks in a breath.

Jeff was right. Today, a mere ten minutes ago... Yesterday... The day before...

He should just let go of the counter, turn heel and run back to work to sweat his balls off. At least there he wouldn't be confronted with he tantalising mouth of one Steve Harrington and all the filthy thoughts that come with staring at them.

His wristwatch beeps in agreement – a warning alarm Jeff set by yanking at his arm before he stepped out of the shop on his merry way.

“Hey,” he begins, clearing his throat as he dares open his eyes again.

And he finds Steve staring back, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his sinful mouth. He licks his lips and those hazel, now greedy-looking eyes flit down and linger there.

As if they are examining...

“I gotta go!” Eddie screeches.

His shout sends Steve shooting upright from where he had drifted into leaning across the counter.

Eddie launches himself backwards, stumbling towards the door as he incoherently splutters about Jeff and gaskets and the miserable PB&J sandwich he has waiting for him in his beat-up lunch tin.

“Eddie, wait!”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #family video 📼 #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie Munson was having the kind of high where your hands were as floaty as your thoughts.

World tinged with a droopy-eyed vignette, he watched smoke loop lazily towards his window, twirling opaque in beams of light.

A knock sounded on his door, and Eddie simply stared at, unwilling to move.

His thick thoughts had him almost convinced he'd imagined it when it came again, a little louder and a touch more frantic.

'I should get up,' Eddie thought, with zero intention of following through.

The bed was too comfortable, his limbs velcroed in.

Someone started cursing, just barely heard through the thin trailer walls.

Eddie tracked it as it moved, circling around, a thread of concern wormed its way through the soft, engulfing fog.

It sharpened to a needle point when his window was thrust up with a bang. Seconds later a puff of hair climbed through, followed by broad shoulders and a build that could only belong to a grizzly--or Steve Harrington.

Grizzly Steve struggled trying to dodge all the shit flung around the room-unfamiliar with the path Eddie had taught himself and his bandmates.

He’d long found that a room covered in items made a pretty combination alarm system and booby trap, a fact he told Wayne repeatedly.

"Jesus I thought you were a bear." Eddie said jolting back in delayed action as Steve stood with a huff, hands on his hips.

"If you could answer your damn,--a bear?" Steve narrowed his eyes huffing dramatically. "You thought I was a bear!?"

Eddie managed to sit up on his elbows. "Sorry man. You were just kinda." He tilted his head. "Beary."

"Whaa-- tha' hell" Gareth announced his presence with a mutter, sitting up besides Eddie with his hair looking like an entire birds nest. It obscured his view, and he sleepily lifted a hand to comb through it.

It did absolutely nothing, as his curls immediately flopped back down into his eyes.

Steve froze.

"Ah." He said, looking between Eddie and the lump of blankets making up Gareth.

Steve's voice abruptly pitched itself adorably high. "Ahhh--"

The blush that spread across his face was an equal delight and Eddie knew it was a bad idea to drink it in, aim a dopey little grin Steve's way, but figured he could blame any backlash on the weed.

At least that's what said weed told him would work, and he was happy to comply.

"Harrington?" Blanket-Gareth asked, like he wasn't sure he was awake.

Which collected Eddie's wandering consciousness enough for a couple of cohesive thoughts. "Hey, mon cher," he hummed, rolling a hand out to Steve. "Bad night?"

"I--yeah, uh, no, I mean--shit. Sorry." He cast a panicked look towards the door. "I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie made a tutting noise. "After all the effort you just went through to get in here? Stick around, man. Take a load off."

He tossed him what he hoped was a confident, dazzling gleam and not something half psychotic.

It was always a 50/50 chance when you were that high.

"What is happening right now? Do you guys do this often?" Gareth was waking up at speeds entirely too fast for Eddie so he flapped his free hand at him, in what he hoped conveyed 'stop it you shit before Steve bolts like a deer.'

The younger man's eyes were certainly wide enough, his whole body tense. "I don't wanna disturb you guys. I um," Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "--didn't know you had company, sorry Eddie."

Then, in a painfully awkward voice that made him want to take Steve and tuck him against his chest, added "Sorry Gareth."

"What are you apologizing to me for--oh my God do you think I'm boning this moron?" Gareth had finally shed the blankets, face shifting so quickly through emotions that Eddie couldn't help the giggle that escaped him.

"Be nice, Gary, god." He chided, through snickers, as if Gareth was teasing them and not asking a legitimate question. "Stevie, go grab that blunt I have on my dresser and come lay down."

"You are literally holding a lit blunt right now." Steve pointed out, cheeks fully inflamed with embarrassment and eyes stubbornly not looking at Gareth.

Who groaned and flopped face-first back down on the bed, apparently over this entire situation.

Eddie look down at his hand in mild surprise. "So I am!"

He put the blunt he found in-between his fingers to his lips, inhaling a lung full of smoke.

Held the blunt out, wiggling it at Steve when he just stood staring until Eddie exhaled.

Something in Steve's eyes changed, a glimpse of that painful, living wound of a secret he was hiding inside himself surfacing and Eddie automatically knew what caused it

"Gareth doesn't care that you're here, he's just not a morning person." Eddie explained gently, still holding out the joint.

Smiled encouragingly when Steve still looked unsure.

"Promise. You can chill here if you need too, Pop Culture. Neither of us will bite" Eddie made a come here gesture and was happy to watch as Steve hesitantly approached. "Well, at least we won't until you ask really nicely."

Then he winked because apparently shooting himself in the foot continued to be his default reaction to Steve Harrington.

Gareth said into his pillow; "No we fucking won't, you muppet."

It was muffled, so Eddie ignored it.

"If you're sure--" Steve muttered lowly, and they both ignored how clearly relieved he was.

Took the blunt with fingers that trembled ever so slightly.

Slowly, they passed the blunt back and forth a few times, Steve standing over Eddie.

Who enjoyed the way the younger man relaxed, inch by inch. Like the anxiety and stress was being exorcised out of him.

Couldn't see anything physically wrong for once, but knowing Steve Eddie wasn't at all positive he wasn't hiding some random, ridiculous wound on his torso somewhere.

Graciously, he gave Steve the last puff of the joint, waiting until Steve had stubbed it out and down in his ashtray before carefully touching his arm (above the wrist, with his hand clasping comically slow around his skin.)

Started tugging just as slowly when Steve figured out what he was doing.

Eddie grinned at the snort he got, as Steve gave in and reluctantly got into the bed, Eddie shoving Gareth practically into the wall to make room.

A loud, incomprehensible grumble erupted, but Gareth otherwise made no complaints as Steve tucked in.

The bed wasn't built for two people let alone three, meaning they all ended up practically on top of each other, but Eddie didn't mind.

Steve clearly didn't either, with how fast he dropped off to sleep, his body curling even further into Eddie's than it had before.

Best friend cuddling his back and Steve tucked against his front, Eddie happily nodded off, warm and content.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth #gareth emerson #gareth is eddie's robin #tw eddies high #fluff #hurt/comfort #0o0 fanfics #gareth is so done with their shit #whumpverse

[pullhisteeth]

wise words | eddie munson

summary Eddie f*cked up (royally) and has to work his ass off to get you back. based on a swift song obviously [4k]

contains 18+! fem!reader, a bit of fuckboy!eddie, angst, arguing, grovelling, hurt/comfort, crying, eventual fluff, suggestive themes/allusions to smut, Robin and Steve being disappointed but supportive pseudo-parents

-

He’s standing on your doorstep.

He’s standing on your doorstep and he’s shaking. Like a fucking leaf.

He looks down at the flowers wrapped in cellophane and thinks, are they good enough?

Am I good enough?

Will anything ever be good enough?

Thick drops of rainwater run down the plastic and coat the pink petals and he resolves that no, they’re not good enough.

He knocked twenty-three seconds ago. He knows this because he’s counting, keeping himself grounded.

Twenty-four Mississippi.

Twenty-five Mississippi.

Twenty-six Miss-

The door swings open quickly, almost impatiently, as though there wasn’t nearly half a minute between the knock and the response.

He looks up and when his eyes meet yours he knows for sure this time that this was a bad idea.

“Are you insane?” you ask him. Concern cuts through the irritation, leaving those creases by your eyebrows he’s so familiar with.

He doesn’t respond, his mind elsewhere. He’s desperately trying to pull it back but it’s running fast, back to yesterday evening.

-

“Eddie, seriously,” Robin says, impatient, “you have to do something. This is getting ridiculous, and besides, she’s crazy about you, even if you did royally fuck up, and- Hey!”

“What Rob means to say,” Steve interjects, giving her a swift and clean elbow to the ribs, “is that you’ve gotta grovel, man.”

“But it’s been so long,” Eddie whines, running his hands over his face, a pattern he has grown accustomed to over the past few months. A fed-up, miserable routine of lamenting his deepest regrets to his patient but equally-as-fed-up friends over beers on the nights you’re too busy to join them. “I can’t- I don’t know what I’d say.”

“Here,” Robin says, laying her palms flat on the table, fingers splayed. She pushes herself up, weight on her hands, and leans over Eddie. He stares up at her from behind his own fingers and winces quietly. “You love her, right?”

“Yes,” he responds, voice muffled under the heels of his hands.

“And she loves you-”

“Does she?”

“-and we know this because we’re her friends.”

Eddie’s eyes flit to Steve, whose face is drooping with sympathy. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a Robin Buckley lecture knows the feeling, and he has had his fair share.

“So what you gotta do,” she continues, dipping her head to regain his attention, “is apologise.”

“I tried that-”

“Properly.”

At this he gives in, huffing a sigh and dropping his arms to fold in front of him, quickly enough to catch his head as it drops to the table like an anvil. He hears Robin return to her seat, and then feels gracious fingers on his elbow.

“Eds, man, it’s gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta fight for it.” It’s Steve, being soft as ever, so desperate to see his two friends happy that he’ll relinquish himself to his affectionate side.

“I want to,” he says, voice muffled again by the denim of his jacket sleeves. “But she deserves better than me.”

“Tell her that,” Robin suggests, voice far softer now. “Tell her you miss her, it’s been a long time, and that you were scared.”

She’s clever, Eddie thinks, pulling that gem out from the archives. On a particularly bad night, maybe two months after it had happened, he’d admitted to them the truth at the heart of all of this: he’s a scared boy, one who resolved while young that he would never fall in love, never let the walls down, for fear that he’d have to endure loss any more than was necessary. Your love had driven him mad and fear had driven him away, and now he avoids three diners and nearly all of the gas stations across Hawkins, schedules doctors appointments at the most inconvenient times and definitely never steps foot in the movie theatre downtown.

“She’ll come around,” Robin tells him kindly. When he lifts his head, eyes regretfully filling with that hopeful spark, she says, “She’s mad, don’t get me wrong. But she’ll come around. You just have some work to do.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Steve says in a cadence that worries Eddie enough to make him lift his head back up again, looking at Steve’s stern expression, “she does deserve better than you.”

“Stop, Steve, seriously-”

“She deserves better than you if you can’t find the fucking courage to go get her back.”

-

Now, standing on your front doorstep, looking at you for the first time in half a year, Eddie knows Steve was right. He doesn’t have the balls to do this; he’s too afraid of rejection, and more specifically rejection from you, and this was a bad idea. You deserve better.

He barely notices when you step one pace to the left, and when you speak your voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out there.”

He moves without thinking too hard, because you’re right - it’s cold as fuck out here and he’s grateful for the humming warmth he can feel coming from inside your home.

“Just stay there, I’m gonna get some towels.”

He feels pathetic, standing in your hallway, dripping wet like a fucking dog, gripping so hard onto the flowers that his knuckles are turning white. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, afraid of getting anything in your house wet, but acutely aware of how stupid he must look.

You come back around the corner with two big bath towels in your arms. They’re white and Eddie feels the burning shame of ruining them but says nothing, remaining tight-lipped and letting you clean up the floor. When your fingers curl around his tense ones he stares at you, at the strange, unreadable look on your face, and feels the jolt of a thousand volts carry down his fingers and into his shoulder. Where your fingers made contact you leave a sensation not unlike carpet burn.

“These are pretty,” you tell him, gently pulling the flowers from his grip. The cellophane crinkles and it slowly brings him back to this, to you, and he nearly chokes on air.

He says your name, a pathetic sound followed by even more pathetic noises, and when you smile, tight-lipped just like him and brows turned down, he cracks, voice failing him as he stumbles.

“Get your boots off and meet me in the kitchen,” you say, your face unreadable as ever as you turn on your heels and step back through the open door he knows well. 

You leave him bewildered, like a soldier in the wake of a bomb, but he eventually comes to and does as you say. He debates leaving them outside, to cause you the least bother possible, but decides instead to leave them on one of the towels by the door.

His socks are soggy, slipping on the hardwood as he treads softly through your home. The reaction his gut is having to being here is ugly, so he breathes in slowly through his nose and wipes rainwater off his cheek with the back of his hand.

You’ve got your back to him, standing over the sink. At first he thinks you’re sorting the flowers, the way you always do - wrapping off, stalks trimmed, vase filled - but then he sees that, instead, you’re gripping the porcelain. White-knuckled.

For the first time he gets a look at you, or the back of you at least, because he’s pretty sure you haven’t heard him come around the corner. You’re much the same as before, except for the way you’ve cut your hair, and the fact that he remembers you in pretty sundresses and tennis shoes but it’s December, so you’re bundled in a jumper and sweats.

“I, uh-” He stammers, words catching on the edges of his teeth. He says your name again and watches you flinch. “It’s- It’s been so long, I-”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shoulders relaxing and grip loosening. You turn and lean back on the sink with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Just so you know,” he starts, and he can feel it, the fucking sarcastic tone that he can’t seem to shake. It comes out whenever he has to be genuine and it’s like someone else somewhere is pushing his buttons, controlling what comes out of his mouth. “-it’s been the, uh, the longest six months I think... ever.”

You look at him, more than familiar with this tone and this game. 

“Yeah,” you say again.

“I don’t really know how to-”

“Eddie,” you bite, words like venom. “Can I ask you a question?”

As he nods his head, a little bemused, you gesture to the kitchen table. He catches on and sits at the chair closest to the door as you mirror him on the chair opposite.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

You rest your crossed arms on the table and lean on them, peering at him.

He breathes in slowly.

“To apologise.”

You scoff and he flinches, recoiling at the sound.

“And how’s this one gonna be different to the other hundred apologies?” You spit the word, as though it bears no meaning. At this point, and when it comes to Eddie, it almost doesn't.

That’s fair, he thinks.

-

“You are such a fucking jackass, Eddie Munson,” Robin barks, raising her arms in defeat. She’s pacing the aisles of Family Video while he sits on the counter and Steve loiters behind it, sorting tapes. “A jackass, seriously!”

“I get it, Rob, thanks,” he drones.

“No,” she snaps, feet finally finished being aimless and instead marching her over to him. She stands somewhere close to between his knees and if it weren’t Robin and she weren’t about to grill him for all he’s worth, it might be endearing.

She jabs her index finger into his chest, straight to the centre of his sternum.

“You’re a piece of shit. An asshole. A douchebag. And I’m allowed to call you all of these things because it’s me who gets the phone calls at two in the morning when she’s crying over you. Again.”

He drops his gaze, his hair covering her wrist and his face.

“Why’d you do it, dude?” Steve asks from behind him. “Like… I just don’t see the… Goal, or whatever.”

Eddie groans and tips his head back, staring uncomfortably at the ceiling tiles.

He wonders for a brief moment, before answering, why the two of them are still friends with him. Clearly his end goal is being as inaccessible as possible, keeping everyone at such a far distance at all times that he can never feel remorse, or that he’s letting anyone down. But now he’s here, with his friends, and he’s let them down and, worst of all, let you down, too. More than ever.

“I was trying to make it better,” he says, and the jab to the sternum comes harder this time, and is the full brunt of Robin’s fist rather than her finger.

“That is bullshit,” she says.

“I was!” he maintains, exasperated. “I just… I started trying to explain myself and I just couldn’t tell the truth.”

“So instead you told her you never want to see her again?!”

“I-”

“How does that help literally anything?!”

Robin’s right, of course. She’s always right; too smart for her own good, Eddie’s always thought. But he doesn’t have an answer for her.

“She’s better off that way anyway,” he says, sighing.

-

He blinks at you, studying your stern expression, before answering.

“I wanna be honest with you,” he begins, “like, actually this time. And I know it’s been ages and that I have been…”

“Awful,” you suggest.

“Yeah, awful-”

“An asshole. The worst. Evil. Cruel. Mean.”

“Right,” he says, nodding limply. “Yeah. That.”

You lean back, arms still crossed like armour.

“I want to get this right,” he admits, surprising himself, “and I’m trying to work out how.”

You also seem taken aback by this, brows raising just a bit, your eyes going wide. You don’t say anything, though.

“I want you to know how sorry I am,” he continues. He’s sitting rigid in his seat and can’t find something to occupy his fingers, so he begins twisting a ring around one of them. “But, like, I don’t know how to get that across… The flowers were, uh, step one, and this is step two… I, uh…”

He’s stumbling again, searching for the words in a sea of insecurity and unsteadiness. You wait, sitting still and breathing shallow.

“I think I- I was scared.”

“Of what?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He was expecting a vast silence that he would have to fill with pleas, excuses, sorries and truths. He thought you’d leave him to it and let him down slowly at the end.

“Uh, of you. Of us, I guess.”

“What?”

He leans forward finally, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to-”

“Try,” you say flatly.

He looks up at you, unsure.

“Try to explain it. You haven’t even tried.”

Deep, heavy breath in.

-

“Eddie, you can’t, I don’t-”

“Fucking stop it,” he bites, arrowhead words ripping you open.

“I don’t understand,” you try again, voice thick with tears and your throat closing in. In fact, everything is closing in.

He’s leaving.

“Exactly,” he spits, pulling his shirt on. “Just… I’m going.”

“But-”

He’s out of the door, jacket in arm, before you can protest any further. Your mind is racing, spinning out in search of something that you could have done to fix this, or else something you could have done to cause this.

But you’re coming up empty, because you’d spent the day the same as any other day this summer: in your bed, entwined, wayward fingers and lazy kisses. Sweet nothings splashed in whispers across bare skin, and-

Oh, you think. Oh.

-

“When you said you loved me,” he begins, wincing at his own honesty, “I just… I freaked, it was scary. I… Honestly, the main problem here is that I was fucking scared. I am scared. I don’t know how to… How to love, or whatever… How to do it right and not hurt you, or me, or both of us. I’m useless, it’s why I’ve never bothered before and I knew, even before we started hooking up, that-”

“Hooking up?”

He looks at you, pulling his eyes back from their wandering, to find you bitter and your face contorted in disgust.

“You call that hooking up?”

“I mean- I-”

“If you think we were hooking up, that’s bad enough, Eddie. Hook ups don’t last three months.”

“No,” he sighs. “They don’t. I think I’m… Trying to make myself feel better about it.”

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him, and though it’s cutting and it should hurt, your voice is so kind so suddenly that he can’t help but lean into it, tugging gently on the hands of care it extends to him. “You left me, after months of stringing me along. I was basically your girlfriend, without the labels or whatever. There isn’t another word for what we were.”

“No,” he agrees, dwelling for a moment too long on those moments of domesticity, the quiet mornings drinking coffee on your front lawn, the afternoons spent hanging the laundry and throwing stray socks at one another. “And that was fucking scary. I was way too scared, when you said you loved me that morning, way too scared to admit what I really, really wanted.”

“Which was?” you ask, arms still firmly crossed.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You know what I-”

“Say it.”

“You-

“Say it.”

He breathes, defeated, and looks at you dead in the eye.

“I love you,” he tells you. “I loved you then, and I love you now, and I have no idea what to do about it.”

You deflate, your arms going lax, face surprised as though you didn’t expect him to actually do it, to rise to your challenge and be honest. For a flash, he feels smug, but then he remembers-

“I love you,” he repeats - the feeling of the words rolling off his tongue is unbearable, they’re too heavy, they won’t stop falling - “but you deserve better than me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in frustration.

“Why are you here then?”

“What?”

“If I deserve better than you,” you repeat, finally releasing the tightness of your crossed arms and planting your palms on your knees, “why are you here? To torture me? Not satisfied with the last six fucking months, huh?”

“No, I-”

“Well, Eddie-” You spit his name like it’s gone bad and it twists something inside him. “-I’m fucking fed up of you and your… How mean you are. You’re always so mean to me and I hate that I cried over you for weeks-”

-

The door swings open and Robin rushes inside, expression tight with fear and worry.

She calls your name in a tone that drips affection as she rounds on you, where you’re standing with your weight on the wall and a hand over your face. By now it’s puffy and uncomfortable, your cheeks raw from wiping them with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“What happened?” she asks, holding you like you’re about to break and moving you across your house to the couch. “Did you argue? Or-”

“He left, Robs. Just left.” You sigh and it heaves like you’re sat under a crate of bricks. Robin’s heart aches, nearly cracks in two at the sight of you and the fury she feels for her stupid, good-for-nothing metalhead friend.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, wrapping you up in strong arms. As she rocks you, you cry, and she kisses the crown of your head and tells you, without much belief in it herself, that it’ll be okay.

“Steve’s on his way,” she says after ten or fifteen minutes.

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“We’re gonna stay here,” she says quickly, “just for tonight.”

You look at her, eyes glassy, and as you speak your voice cracks. “I love him, Rob.”

She looks back at you sadly, fingers gripping your hands. “I know.”

-

You’re on your feet now, pacing back and forth and he’s watching, transfixed, as your shoulders move up and down, powered by rage, understandably.

“-I cried so much because I had spent weeks working up the courage to say that to you, to admit it to you and to myself because you’re so cold, Eddie. You’re so cold and distant and I still managed to fall in love with you.”

It’s at this point that Eddie’s drifting eye, which is following you back and forth, lands on the cluster of picture frames on your windowsill. He recognises most of them - photos of the group of you, up by the lake or in Chicago, some of your family and others at special occasions. But one of them calls to him loud enough to pull his eye from you completely.

It’s a silly frame he found at the thrift store. It’s hand-painted in gaudy colours, brush strokes in swirls and bursts of yellow and purple and green. And behind the glass is a picture Wayne had taken one day when you were at his trailer, watching movies on the couch.

It’s a polaroid, as most of your photos are, bright cracks of colour and light caused by the window right by his head - his head which is looking straight ahead, big wide grin and happy eyes, and you beside him, hands on one of his thighs, pushing yourself up to kiss his cheek.

It’s only when you stop pacing and, more noticeably, stop talking that he realises anything is wrong. His face is wet and there are new drops of water on the table - not the drying rainwater from his hair, but one or two drips from his jaw.

“Are you crying?” you ask, hands on your hips.

“Huh?” He asks, wiping his face with his wrist. “I, uh… Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just-”

His eyes flicker upwards and past you, to somewhere you follow with your own gaze. It lands on the photo and you start, cheeks flushing warm.

Suddenly, the anger lingering in the room, filling the air and his lungs and almost definitely yours, dissipates. It doesn’t disappear as such - you’re still seething, breathing loudly, but it’s like someone cracked a whip and the dust lifted.

He calls your name and you look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you earnestly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You breathe out slowly and he watches your chest deflate as you take a step to sit back down. As you sit he rises, stepping over to you on unsure feet. He’s tentative, waiting - expecting - an adverse reaction.

You watch him as he gets closer and lowers himself to the ground.

“You are not about to-”

“I’m not getting on my knees, if that’s what you’re gonna say,” he says, and his tone is light - too light for his liking, but he catches the twitch in the corner of your mouth and something warm blooms in one of the chambers of his heart.

He squats beside you, resting his weight on one hand on the table. He keeps the other to himself, fingers spread over his bent knee.

“I’m an asshole. In fact, I’ve been all of those things you said, and I don’t think I’ll ever be sorry enough for you. But I… I’ve had all this time, and some… intense conversations with Rob and Steve, and I… I want to try to be sorry enough. Or to just make it up to you, somehow. Because I can’t… It’s too hard, doing all of this without you.”

He knows how this must look, him on the ground, soggy socks and soggier hair, staring at you like a lost puppy. But the way your eyes soften, and the familiar feeling of the brush of your fingertips over the damp skin of his bare wrist, is enough to make him go limp.

“What’d they say?” you ask him, watching your own fingers where they trace aimless strokes.

“Hm?”

“Rob and Steve. What’d they say?”

He laughs lightly, embarrassed.

“Uh, that I’m an asshole. In fact, Rob, she made sure to tell me that multiple times. Basically every time I saw her. And Steve, he… He’s such a good dude, you know? But I… I disappointed them, and myself, and you. I hurt you so bad and I don’t know where to put all this guilt I have.”

Neither of you are looking at one another, but you chuckle, thinking about Robin. Her loyalty makes your head spin. And Steve, with his heart of gold, who held you all those times you cried and fought silently between his anger at Eddie and his love for you.

“I love them,” you whisper, your fingers halting. The pad of your thumb hovers over the protruding joint, stroking it softly until you feel the thrum of his pulse under your own. Your fingers wrap the opposite way, until you’re holding his arm like a bracelet.

You squeeze and he sucks a quick breath in.

“You really hurt me, Eddie,” you tell him, lifting his arm off the table. He wobbles and uses his free hand to steady himself on your chair, the knuckle of his thumb meeting the side of your thigh for just a second. You manoeuvre his hand into your lap, where you lay it flat. You both stare at it and all he can hear is your breathing and the rush of blood past his ears.

“I know I did,” he says. “I can go, if you want.”

You hum and begin tracing the lines on his palm. “It’s gonna take a while,” you say.

“What is?”

“Making it up to me.”

His eyes move without permission to your face, where he finds a barely-there smile and the beginnings of the crows feet by your eyes.

“Forever,” he says, knowing you’re right - it’ll take a long, long time.

“Forever.”

“I must’ve been crazy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Hm?”

Your fingers are still now, resting on his, and he finally moves his own. His knees are burning from squatting and the balls of his feet are digging into something sharp under the linoleum, but he’s not thinking too hard about any of it. He takes your hands in his and holds them, backs of your palms to the front of his. He dips his head and kisses your left wrist and then your right, lingering to feel the thump of your heart.

“I am crazy,” he says. “I let you go.”

“You left me,” you correct him. “I never wanted to go.”

He looks up at you and pales when he sees the tears. Your eyes are wet and red round the edges and he thinks to himself that you’ve been doing this, crying over him, for six months. And it’s his fault.

The two of you move quickly and without thought. His knees buckle, giving into the strain he’s been putting on them for so long, and as he hits the floor he tightens his grip on you without meaning to. You’re pulled off your chair with a yelp and a clatter, landing in his lap with your knee dangerously close to his crotch.

Hands paw and wipe tears and you lift your leg to plant it beside him. As you stabilise yourself his arms come around you, too quickly at first; so quick he worries you’ll push him off, tell him to go fuck himself. They’re met by yours, though, coming around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

You say nothing, and instead push your face further into his shoulder.

He feels and hears you sniffling, so he pulls you back gently. Some of his hair sticks to your face and you wipe your nose unceremoniously with the back of your hand, scoffing at him when you see he’s smiling at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tell him, looking away.

“Like what?”

“Like… That.”

“I don’t-”

“You have that look,” you say, groaning. And then you reach up to hold his face, and he caves, bowing into you in every way he can. “You’re so fucking pretty and it’s the worst.”

“You’re one to talk,” he tells you, enjoying the way you flush.

“Always the charmer.”

“It’s true,” he says. “Never seen anyone as pretty as you.”

He leans into your palm and twists just so, lips brushing the heel of it in a quick kiss.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you tell him, your smile deceiving you only slightly.

“I know,” he says. “But it might help me.”

You’ve been inching closer to his face, and now you’re all he sees. You’ve taken up his field of vision, your breath brushing past the end of his nose.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Wow,” you laugh, “Steve taught you how to be a gentleman since I last saw you or somethin’?”

“Stop- You’re ruining this.”

“Sorry,” you say, still laughing. “You were just never the kind to be so… chivalrous.”

“I’m hardly being chivalrous,” he says, matching your smile. “But now you mention it, yeah, actually.”

You lean back only slightly but it’s enough to make him deflate, unhappy at the new distance.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean… I was an asshole, as we’ve established. Needed to learn my manners again.”

“What did he say?”

“Can we please talk about this later? I just wanna-”

“No,” you say, grinning now. “I want to know.”

He groans, the hand he has spread across your back to hold you up tensing.

“I dunno, he just… He really did a number on me, y’know, telling me how I did everythin’ wrong and that I…”

He’s gone coy and you’re relishing in it.

“You what?”

“I… Steve called me a fuckboy.”

You bark out a laugh so loud Eddie flinches, but then he watches as you carry on laughing, nearly bent double, eyes all crinkled just the way he likes, the way he’s missed terribly.

“What’s so funny?!”

“It’s true,” you say. “It’s so true! Robin, Steve, I mean, we love you, obviously, you’re our friend, but like… They did say when you and me started, y’know… That I was in for it, that you’d break my heart, and I told them they were crazy ‘cause it was just sex, right? But then I realised maybe it wasn’t just sex, when you basically started living here, and we were more like… I dunno, like a couple… But they were right!”

He looks at you, aghast.

“They told you all of that?”

“Yeah! I mean, they were right, huh?”

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t know it was that bad, that they’d be able to notice that kinda thing.”

“You know,” you say, fingers tapping patterns up his chest. “Steve told me somethin’ else, a few months back.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, mind reeling through the thousands of things this could be.

“It’s not bad,” you say. “Well, it’s not one of the bad things. There were still bad things.”

“Right.”

“He said… He said he’s known you for, what, like three years now? And in all that time, before you and me met, you’d always have different girls, were known as a bit of a player at school…”

“Christ, okay.”

“But after you left me, Steve said he’d never seen you be so… Alone.”

Eddie looks at you in shock, so frightened by what else Steve may have said, but also by how you’re relaying this to him. Calm, stoic, unfeeling.

“I mean… I haven’t, y’know, slept with anyone else, if that’s what you-”

“I know,” you say. “I just… It makes it feel more real, you know?”

“I know I’m gonna be spending the rest of my life making sure you know I’m sorry,” he says, breathing out through his nose slowly, “but I mean it. I’ll do it. For the rest of my life. There isn’t anyone else. I’ll forego women, relationships, whatever… ‘Cause I won’t have time. Will be too busy makin’ it up to you.”

He noses at your neck, trying with everything he has to hold himself back from kissing you. The air around the two of you feels thick with laboured breaths and unsaid things - so many unsaid things, things he’ll tell you one day and other things he’s sure he’ll hear from you.

“So can I?” he murmurs into the warm skin above your collarbone, lips only a hair from making contact.

He feels your fingers come around the back of his neck, taking root at the nape where his hair starts. They curl around it, tugging him up, and then you do the dance - the one that always happened between the two of you in these moments. You dip in, so close, and back out, ebbing like a riverbank. It drives him crazy and he knows that you know it, so he smiles, and it’s only then that you finally kiss him.

As you move against him, lips and hands and chest and thighs, he lets his eyes close and his tongue move with yours, and thinks that this - kissing you - is much better when he’s being honest.

-

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things eddie #stranger things fanfic #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie fanfic #stranger things season 4 #st4 #robin buckley #steve harrington

[theonewiththefanfics]

Bet On Me (one-shot)

Synopsis: There's a few bets going around: Y/N bets everything on the fact that Eddie is innocent, Eddie still thinks that he's a coward, and the kids want to know when Eddie will finally ask Y/N out. And Steve... Steve is just over it.

This is sort of an AU! because I refuse the ending we got. ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Cheerleader!Reader

Genre: a lot of fluuuuufff, some angst

Warnings: SPOLIERS FOR SEASON 4!, a lot of pining, cursing, mentions of blood and injuries and death, Eddie feeling very low and guilty of himself (someone give my poor boy a hug). I can't think of anything else, but please let me know if there is something I should add here.

Word count: 3773

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE MY WORKS ON OTHER PLATFORMS WITHOUT SPECIFIC WRITTEN PERMISSION!!!

The second the doorbell of Family Video rang at 12:34 PM during the Friday shift, Steve let out the most resigned sigh he could muster, because he knew who it was and what was gonna happen. The sound of the chains, of the stomping steps and the incessant tapping of palms against thighs in some indiscernible rhythm didn’t give Steve any other illusions history was going to repeat itself. All over again.

“Heyo, Stevo,” Eddie dragged out the name, plopping his elbows down on the till counter with a flourish. “So. Any new movies?”

But Steve was absolutely done this time.

“Stop.” He waved his hand in front of Eddie, not even deigning to answer the question. “Stop. Just stop this whole thing. You’re not here for the movies, you’re here because in just a couple more minutes, Y/N Y/L/N will walk through those doors to give back her previous week’s rentals, and it will give you your opportunity to just gawk at her, even though you actually want to ask her out. So just stop with this lame excuse, man up and ask that girl out on a damned fucking date already. You've been doing this for weeks, man, weeks. I know trauma brings people together and shit, and I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I do consider us friends, but even that has, limits because if I have to hear one more time any sort of groaning and moaning from you about Y/N, and still you’ve done nothing to change the situation, I will personally find a way to open the Upside Down back again and throw you through it, because God damn it, Munson, you will deserve it.”

Eddie, for once in his life, was truly and utterly speechless, watching as Steve’s chest heaved after the rant.

“Shit, Harrington, tell me how you really feel,” he mumbled looking at the countertop, drumming his fingers against it.

“Look.” Steve took in a deep breath and let it out, calming down a bit. “I get that you’re scared, okay? I do. Before I asked Nancy out, I thought I was gonna shit bricks, but the worst thing that could have happened is she could have said no.”

“No,” Eddie countered, pointing at him. “The worst that could happen is Y/N could start laughing in my face, tell the basketball team the freak of town asked her out, and sic those psychos on me again because there’s a difference between you and Nancy and Y/N and me – first we run in different social circles. You and Nancy were the King and Queen of Hawkins before even getting together; you were equals. Y/N... she’s a cheerleader, for Christ’s sake… while I’m the banished nerd, and second… you were never accused of murdering Nancy’s best friend, and still have those rumours fly around even after being vindicated.” That last bit was whispered, and to that, Steve had nothing to reply.

Y/N and Chrissy had been thick as thieves before everything went wrong with the Upside Down, but even Y/N hadn’t known she was struggling despite Chrissy looking up at her as her big sister just about to graduate her senior year. They seemingly had told each other everything, and yet she hadn’t known Chrissy was in such a bad place, she was willing to try drugs to ease the pain.

Even so, even after her body was found in the Munson trailer, not for a second Y/N had believed Eddie had had anything to do with her best friend’s death. For fuck’s sake, Chrissy’s eyes had imploded! How would someone who spent their evenings writing out a character sheet for a fantasy game be able to do that?But despite knowing that, Steve couldn’t deny how people still avoided Eddie like he was the actual plague.

“She tried to stop Jason from coming after you, you know,” Steve piped up, which made Eddie look at him. “Tried to talk some sense into the rest of the team to not come after you, countered whatever he said at the town meeting the night people decided to hunt you down. Y/N never believed you hurt Chrissy, would never, as you said, sic anyone on you. I’m pretty sure she’d fight tooth and nail against that. That has to count for something.”

Eddie’s heart clenched at Harrington’s words. Knowing she’d stood up for him was one thing. Knowing she’d done it in front of the whole town while they were ready to lynch him was another. But still… doubt was like one of the demobats, lurking around the corner before striking with fangs and claws.

When he’d been pulled from the Upside Down, bleeding from every possible crevice of his body, Eddie didn’t think he’d make it, and in some masochistic way, thought he shouldn’t make it. He still blamed himself for what’d happened to the sweet cheerleader he’d left mangled in his trailer. Maybe if Chrissy hadn’t gone to him, maybe if he’d told her he wouldn't sell drugs to her, maybe if he’d gone to literally anyone else and informed them about what she wanted, Chrissy could have been saved. So maybe he didn’t deserve saving either, but the rest of the gang had other plans. 

Steve and Nancy had made a sling from the sheet he'd cut, tying Eddie’s barely conscious body to the other man’s back, and Robin and Nancy boosting them through the gate, before helping a limping Dustin as well. Then it was a race against time to get Eddie the help he needed.

Their group was a hurricane as they borrowed, or more like stole, Max’s mom’s car and rushed to the hospital, Dustin screaming at Eddie to stay awake while Robin kept yelling for Steve to push on the gas with Nancy attempting to staunch the bleeding by putting tourniquets where she could or simply pressing down on the wounds where she couldn’t.

It wasn’t much better when they finally reached the place, all of them screaming for someone to help Eddie, only to start giving directions to the ER team once they arrived as if they were medical staff themselves.

“I’m 0 negative,” Nancy breathed, pulling at her sleeve and rolling it up as far as she could as nurses called for a doctor and the rest helped place, Eddie, on a gurney, Steve also instructing for someone to check on Dustin’s bad ankle, who just diverted them back to Eddie. “A universal donor. He’ll need blood. He – he – he’s lost a lot of blood, he’ll need it.”

“Miss, you need to be checked as well.” A nurse tried to guide her to a different bed, but she ripped out from her grip. “Why don’t we do that before –,”

“I said I’m 0 negative.” Nancy’s tone had turned into a sneer as she stared the nurse down. “Either you take the blood, or I can do it myself.” The nurse had taken a step back from her, the determination in the young woman’s eyes didn’t leave room for arguing, so she just nodded and escorted her to a quieter place.

It took Eddie about two days and four blood transfusions to regain consciousness, despite his wounds being shallow, he'd lost a lot of blood, but his newly found friends were all there for him. 

Steve took care of the food, Nancy made sure someone always remained by Eddie’s side as she set up rotations, while Robin had informed Eddie’s uncle about the situation, but it wasn’t just them. 

Dustin with his bad leg, Lucas with his beaten-up face and even Mike who’d arrived back in Hawkins with El, Will Jonathan and Argyle in tow – all of them were there for Eddie, even going after the police as they’d handcuffed their Dungeon Master to the bed seeing as he was still the prime suspect of the murder of the Queen of Hawkins High. Max had even almost taken one of her crutches and smashed in an officer’s face, but Joyce and Hopper had busted in before that could happen, and despite everything, Eddie had smiled harder than ever. He’d never felt so loved in his life than in that moment.

However, once the presumed-dead ex-chief of police took the reins with a government agent who'd brought them to Hawkins, they were somewhat able to spin Chrissy’s death as Jason’s fault, especially because the other teen had died during the earthquake that’d hit as the aftermath of the gang having beaten Vecna, the Upside Down slowly crumbling in on itself, while the Creel house fell apart, Jason’s body never to be recovered.

The story they settled on was this – the basketball player had seen his girlfriend meet up with Eddie in the woods, and then he’d followed her later on in the evening to where they converged in Eddie’s trailer. Jason confronted the two, his jealousy being a known issue, and that’s when Eddie had left, leaving the couple to resolve their issues on their own, only to return a while later to find Chrissy dead, which prompted him to run in fear of his own life. Max Mayfield was set to be the prime witness to vouch for him, which she did no questions asked.

With the agent's help, they made sure it was a story the whole town, hell the state of Indiana was aware of as well. Of course, some was sceptical, some outright refused to believe anything of the sort, yet the police could do nothing but release Eddie from any charges and drop the case. But that didn’t minimize Eddie’s nightmares, nor did it erase the new scars littering his body courtesy of the Upside Down, and neither did it ease the guilt for leaving Chrissy, so hearing Y/N defend him, believing the lie they’d spun about how her best friend met her end, made his stomach churn. 

She deserved to know. If anyone deserved to be aware of the truth, it was Y/N, which should probably be at the top of his confession list, but his spiral was interrupted when Steve cleared his throat, eyes trained on something over Eddie’s shoulder.

“Umm, you two okay?” A voice from behind him startled the boy, making Eddie whizz around only to be greeted by a smiling Y/N. “I’m here to bring the movies back?” The girl waved the VHSs in her hands looking at Steve. “That is if you still want them.”

Steve sighed nodding in her direction and she took it as her confirmation to step next to Eddie by the counter. “Yes, please. Don’t need three more deducted from my pay-check this month.”

Tentatively Y/N looked at Eddie and gave him a soft ‘hi’, before turning back to Steve, leaving Eddie to his gawking. “What got snatched?”

“Jaws 3-D,” Steve grumbled.

“Shit.” Y/N chuckled. “And not even the good one.” 

He scoffed, hitting the till and giving Y/N the receipt. “Tell me about it.”

“You – uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, eyes shifting from his clasped and wrung hands to Y/N’s eyes. “You’ve seen Jaws?”

“Uh, yeah.” She nodded, smiling softly. “I really like horror and thriller, actually. Well, maybe not anymore.” Her smile turned into a painful grimace. “Don’t think I can stomach anything like that after everything that’s happened. At least not for a while.”

“That’s fair.” Eddie nodded along to her words. “Yeah, no, completely understandable.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, nodding along as well as an awkward silence settled. 

Eddie looked up hoping for Harrington to interrupt them, but Steve was nowhere to be seen, having left the two to talk on their own. The once super senior cursed him for it, giving him no other choice but to continue on with the conversation, but then again – maybe Steve was right. And Eddie wouldn’t say that lightly.

He thought of himself as a coward. He’d run the second danger appeared and only stopped when Dustin, someone he really truly cared about, was in grave danger, but Y/N hadn’t. Not for a second, despite the fact she had everything to lose, despite the fact that Hawkins could turn on her, making her become the new town pariah, she’d stood by Eddie’s side without ever really knowing him. She’d bet on his innocence and won, even though she really didn’t know it was true. So maybe, he could be as brave as she was.

“Hey,” Eddie started and had to avert his gaze when Y/N’s Y/E/C eyes bore into his. “Would you – and I mean you can definitely say no, like no pressure whatsoever – but like, would you want to go out… with… me?”

Y/N raised her brow, a gentle smile playing on her face. “Like on a date?”

“It doesn’t have to be!” he immediately said and cursed himself for backtracking. “We can just be two people who just so happened to go to the same place to do the same thing at the same time… with one another.”

Y/N sucked in the air through her teeth, and that motion alone made Eddie’s heart drop. “I mean that does sound like a date, which I totally would go for, but I gotta say no right now.” 

Of course, she’d say no. 

“But.” 

What? 

“If you ask me in like…” Her gaze drifted to a calendar hanging over by the wall, mouth moving as she counted. “Six days, I’ll say yes.”

Eddie was prepared for rejection, but not that sort of a rejection, leaving him dumbfounded. “Umm… okay? Can I – can I ask why?”

Y/N chuckled. “Robin told me your little Hellfire minions and Max have a bet going on when you’ll muster up the courage to ask me out.” The smile on her face turned mischievous. “I sort of want Max to win. She was the only one who said you’d do it before the end of the month. And I want the boys to suffer with how close they got. So, I’d say two birds, or I guess three birds with one stone – we get to go out on a date, Max puts the guys in their place, and they learn not to mess with you.”

“You – you knew I wanted to ask you out?”

Y/N shrugged, fiddling with a bracelet on her wrist. It was her turn to become bashful and nervous. “I mean, I hoped it wasn’t them just making things up.” Uncertainty flashed in her eyes as she shuffled on the spot. “And now I’m sort of hoping you’re not in on this bet, and this isn’t gonna blow up in my face.”

“Yeah – I mean no!” Eddie grabbed onto her shoulders as he fumbled with his words. “This – I had no idea those shitheads had bet on whether or not I’d ask you on a date, but – but they’re right… I uh… the only reason I’m actually ever here is to uh, see you, and well, maybe get the courage to ask you out.” Eddie’s laugh was both out of astonishment and excitement. “Can’t believe those little gremlins bet against me after everything though.”

Y/N mimicked his laugh and bit her lip. “Okay then… I’ll uh, I’ll see you in a few days then? Hopefully it won't take you as long to ask me this time.”

Eddie’s ‘yeah’ was a breathless response, but nevertheless, a confirmation, as he stared at Y/N like she was a Sindarin elf straight from Lord of the Rings while she pointed at Steve who’d now magically appeared back at his station with a satisfied smirk on his mouth, startling Eddie so much he jumped back. “You tell this to Dustin, you’re dead meat much like your paycheck. I still have Sixteen Candles and Nightmare on Elm Street as hostages.”

“Come on, Y/N” he groaned, throwing his head back. “They’re my children! They’ll know I’ll be lying!”

“Then they’ll be the ones carrying your casket, so choose wisely.” 

With that Y/N gave Eddie one final glimmering smile and skipped to her car. If Eddie still had one after everything, he’d be skipping to it too.

But when six days later, he was disturbed by a knock at the door, as Y/N had called him the day before to set it up in a way the kids could witness their talk, he wanted to bury himself six feet below and in that casket, Y/N mentioned to Steve. 

Filled with nerves and jitters, he went over and pushed the doors open only to be greeted by a beaming Y/N as she glanced over her shoulder where he spotted Max ducking back inside her trailer while he noted a bunch of tiny heads watching from below the kitchen window curtain.

God, he was gonna throw up, he couldn’t believe what he was about to say to his dream girl.

“So...” She turned back to look at him. “Ready to ask me something?”

In all honesty, he was sort of glad, that she said he could ask her out only six days later, it gave him more time to mull over those thoughts in his head, and come to the conclusion that yes, he could do it and help out Max by winning the bet, but he’d never subject Y/N to the kind of scrutiny this town would put her through if they so much as had a whiff she’d been in the ten-mile radius around him, no matter her previous stance during the hunt.

“Look...” Eddie sighed, stepping down to be level with her. “You really don’t have to do this. We can go over, say I did it, and then Max can win, but we don’t have to go out on that date. I – I can’t make you go through that.”

As he said those words, he noted how Y/N’s smile slowly dropped, and if there was something Eddie hated more than the Upside Down, it was that.

“Eddie, I’m not here just because of the stupid bet the kids have going on. Honestly...” She crossed her arms and let out a deep breath as if steadying herself. “When Robin told me you wanted to ask me out, I didn’t believe her. Thought it had to be some stupid prank on your part with the rest of Hellfire, and when she said about the bet, that even confirmed it more. I mean what would a guy like you want to do with a girl like me, right? You hate cheerleaders, hate anyone that has to do with conformity and shit, so you had to have something Carrie-Esque planned for me.”

Eddie was just about to interject, especially at the notion he could ever humiliate her in that way, but Y/N kept on talking. “But then she said how you’ve been going to Family Video, how you’ve been bugging Steve and how Steve wouldn’t stop complaining about you to her, and so I took the chance that maybe, just maybe, it’s not a prank, but that you actually like me… so when I heard that rant you went on the other day, I knew it was real for you.”

He had to take an actual step back at her words. “You heard?”

“Yeah, I did. And I want you to know I never believed that you could ever even think about hurting Chrissy. Not once. You’re too good for that, too kind to ever hurt someone like that.”

Eddie’s eyes softened at her words. “You think I’m kind?”

“You put on this tough, metal-head act,” Y/N smiled at him and shrugged. “But… you literally took those kids under your wing, because you knew what it was like to be bullied, and didn’t want that happening to them too, taking on the brunt of whatever Jason and his goons threw your way. You’re not just kind – you’re brave too. You’ve stood up against a town that was ready to hang you. That’s bravery on a level I could never have.”

“You’re brave too.” Eddie instantly interjected, ready to reach for Y/N’s hands, but stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck instead, fearing he might overstep a boundary. “You – I mean, you literally heard Steve tell me how you told the town to piss off my back about Chrissy when literally you had no evidence, I hadn’t hurt her. I was the prime suspect, yet you – you went against Jason and everyone else for someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you did. I might not have been there, nor do I have any physical evidence, but I know, I know in my heart you didn’t lay a single finger on her.” Y/N stepped closer to him, putting her palms on Eddie’s face and rubbing her thumbs underneath his eyes. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started crying. 

Eddie's words were nothing but a whimper. “But I left her there.”

“No one knew Jason was gonna do such a thing.” Y/N shook her head, brushing her fingers along his cheekbones. “And I don’t blame you. It was Jason’s fault… and as horrible as it might sound, I’d rather you be alive than have had the same thing that happened to Chrissy happen to you. That asshole got what he deserved. So, Eddie, let me say this again, and however many times you need me to – you. Are. Good. You are not a coward. And you deserve all the love in the world.”

A teary chuckle escaped him, as he leaned into Y/N’s touch. “Well, then would you give me the biggest honour in the world and please go out on a date with me?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, beaming at him, a stray tear slipping down her own cheek, which Eddie carefully wiped away. “I’d really love to. And I know who’ll be paying for it.”

Eddie chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers, and her grin widened as he slowly reached for her hands and intertwined their fingers. “You really gonna bully Max for the bet money?”

Y/N scoffed squeezing his palms, thumbs rubbing over his rings. “I’m not heartless. I’m gonna bully the rest of the kids for not having enough faith in you. Seems fair enough.”

“Can I – can I kiss you?” Eddie’s voice trembled, but it shouldn’t, as Y/N leaned up herself and pressed their lips together in a sweet and slow kiss.

The collective ‘NO’ from the boys and a female cackling from Max’s trailer just added to the joy of the situation. Some bets were lost, some bets were won, but ultimately Eddie felt like the true winner. The girl of his dreams had taken a chance on him despite everything. 

And now he was gonna be brave.

He was gonna love her until the very end.          

Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​@thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @m-a-t-91​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​ @strangersstranger​

A/N: I know I haven't written in AGES, but so many things just got in the way, I didn't have the time to but I have already like 4 other Eddie fics in the works.

EDDIE DESERVED BETTER!!! AND JOE QUINN IS AN ICON!!!!

#joseph quinn #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #netflix stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #Stranger Things Spoilers

[bimbobaggins69]

🔞MDNI

I can’t help but to think about getting spit roasted by Eddie and Steve. Steve is thrusting into you from the back as you choke and gag on Eddie’s cock, he’s splayed out on the couch as you lay between his legs, ass up as Steve kneels behind you. They’re both grunting and growling at the use of your equally slick holes. Steve grabs you by the neck, hoisting you up until the soft skin of your back is brushing against his sweaty chest hair. His grip on you is tight and possessive, even though the spit dangling from your chin is from sucking off his best friend, he still feels the need to remind you who you belong to. As his grip grows tighter he begins showering you with sweet kisses across your jaw and neck, Eddie watches on as your hand continues to stroke his messy cock. Steve’s thrusts become more animalistic causing you to whimper, mouth agape as the beautiful melody seeps out. Steve acts fast gripping your jaw and spitting a big glob onto your tongue before pushing you forward and attaching you back onto the metalhead’s cock as he continues to fuck into you. “How’s her mouth feel, Munson?” Steve asks as if he didn’t already know the answer, like he hasn’t fucked your mouth an ungodly amount of times. “Fucking perfect.” The long haired boy huffs “But I mean, if you want your spit on my cock so bad, why don’t you come down here and help her, big boy?” He challenges with a bat of his dark lashes. As if on command Steve leans over you, back to chest causing him to deepen inside your walls, hitting the spot that made your toes curl. He takes the base of Eddie’s cock in his hand bringing it between both your lips to share.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steddie stranger things #steddie x you #steddie smut #steddie x reader smut #steddie x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington

[artiststarme]

From Alibi to Reality

A little something different, I hope you guys like it! Title brought to you by @nburkhardt. Please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve knew he was going to act as Eddie’s beard for the cops and the town. That was a no-brainer, it was the only way to clear Eddie’s name. He discussed it with Hopper, the kids, and Robin. Everyone determined that the shock factor of Steve “The Hair” Harrington dating the town freak was the only thing that was going to change Powell’s mind and make him drop the charges. The thing no one could agree on was how to broach the subject. 

Dustin thought that telling the police directly would be the best way, Robin thought they should build up to the declaration, and Nancy thought it was a stupid idea because no one would believe that lady-killer Steve Harrington was into a guy (little did she know). Regardless, all of his friends thought talking was the best course to take. 

But Steve was a man of action, not words. All of the Party’s plans involved discussing their “relationship” like civilized adults. The problem was though, they weren’t talking to civilized adults. They were talking to his brother, a known dumbass, and the new Chief of Police that wanted to hunt down a bunch of kids because Jason fucking Carver told him to. 

So he was going to handle this the way he handled every shitty situation thrown his way. He was going to wing it. It had worked for him thus far and it hadn’t failed him yet. So, for the rest of the Party’s meeting, Steve zoned out. He thought about how fucked he was going to be when his parents found out about this, how much shit he’d have to take from the rest of the town, and how ostracised he’d be. But it was the only way to clear Eddie’s name. 

Eddie had jumped into the lake after him and saved his life before protecting Dustin from demobats. He was a part of the Party now and Steve would do anything to protect the Party. So, he was fine with ruining his reputation and probably being disowned by his parents for  tainting the Harrington name. As long as Eddie was okay in the end, nothing else mattered. 

~*~*~*~

They neglected to tell Eddie the plan. He hadn’t seen any of the Party members since the police realized he was being treated at the hospital and barred anyone from seeing him until they questioned him. He was just minding his own business, ignoring the two doofus cops trying to question him, and looking forward to whatever the Party came up with to clear his name. Eddie wasn’t sure if whatever their plan was was going to work or even if they meant what they’d said. However, he had hope. Mostly because the only other option would be joining his dad in a cell for murders he didn’t even commit. 

That’s when it happened. Steve stormed into his hospital room with a flourish, slamming the door against the wall and scaring the two cops. 

Eddie watched as the tall one’s eyes narrowed, “Steve, you better have a good explanation for this one-“

He didn’t pay attention to what else was said. One minute, he was looking at an angry Harrington walking into his room and the next, said Harrington was kissing him. On the lips! 

Mother of fuck, Eddie had died and gone to heaven because all of his dreams were coming true. He didn’t know what Steve was playing at but Eddie wasn’t complaining. He just slipped his eyes closed and kissed him back with equal fervor.

He was pulled from their passionate kissing by a loud, “Son of a bitch, Steve! The murderer?! What the fuck? I thought your taste was bad when you were dating the priss but now this? Jesus Fuck, bro!”

“Officer Callahan, please maintain your composure.”

“My composure?!” His voice was shrill as he shrieked in his own defense. “Powell, my brother is macking on fucking Munson! What the fuck? How am I supposed to maintain my composure?!”

Eddie pulled away from Steve, “your brother is Officer Callahan?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that not come up when you were defiling my baby brother?!” Callahan yelled at him, waving his hands in the air maniacally. 

“No, actually. It didn’t,” Eddie told him. 

Callahan let out a sound of frustration before pointing at Steve, letting out another frustrated noise, and stalking out. Steve and Eddie turned to Powell who just looked tired. 

“I assume this is why you wouldn’t tell us your alibi for the night of the murder, Munson?” He sighed. 

“That’s right, there was no way in hell I was going to out my boyfriend. Apparently he does it himself though,” Eddie gave Steve the side eye. Why had he chosen to do this? He’d known the guy for like two weeks and he was just throwing his life away to protect Eddie. What the hell?

Powell turned to Steve, “is that true? Mr. Munson was with you the night that Chrissy Cunningham was murdered?”

“That’s right. We were watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Alien before going to bed. He stayed the whole night laying in bed next to me, there’s no way he could’ve murdered anybody,” Steve nodded. 

Powell just shook his head at them, “fine, Munson. I’m clearing you but don’t leave town.” 

“I won’t sir, thank you for doing your due diligence. It was at my expense but still, thanks,” Eddie said sarcastically. 

He shot them one last disbelieving look before following his partner. Then all that was left was Eddie and Steve. 

Eddie whipped his head around to Steve. “Now what the hell was that?!”

“Hey! Don’t talk to your boyfriend that way!”

“Seriously Steve-”

“Eddie, I swear to god if you don’t kiss me again in the next twenty seconds, I’ll go get Powell and tell him I changed my mind,” Steve threatened him with narrowed eyes. 

How was Eddie supposed to refuse him after that?

My Permanent Tag List: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @straight4joekeery @carlyv @pyrohonk @ksherlock15 @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschildextra @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @anzelsilver @devondespresso @gregre369 @mysticcrownshipper @disasterlia @lillys-weird-world @messrs-weasley @pnk-lemonades @orangesunsets12 @awkotaco24

@strangerthingfanfic @dangdirtydemons @bookworm0690 @hannahhook7744 @dreamlandforever @marsbars97 @precursorandthedragon @romanticdestruction @5ammi90 @death-thee-nervousqueer @panicatthediaz @justforthedead89 @futuristicnachostranger @breadboi66

#when the kids see them curled up in bed together later that day they just think Steve is a really good actor #it only dawns on them that maybe Steve actually likes Eddie when they each in on them smooching a few days ever #Callahan gets over his shock pretty quickly (it'd be hypothetical of him not to) but he's still not a fan of that Munson kid #they become best friends despite Phil's efforts not to #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #chief hopper #Phil Callahan is Steve's brother #officer callahan #officer powell