wreckmyplans-thatsmyman

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

(part 2 of November Paramedic; part 1 is here.)

Steve's honey-sweet eyes, gleaming with confidence, ask 'why don't you take a bite?'

His pink mouth, deliciously curved, wonders 'don't you want a taste?'

His dark chest hair, leading a mouthwatering path down his pants, says 'you know you want to'.

And Eddie does. He really does. He would, if Steve was actually here. Alas, all Eddie has is the calendar photo currently staring at him from where it's propped on Eddie's dresser, and he's not biting into it. It's the only one he's got, you see; he won't be ruining it with bite marks and drool due to his intrusive thoughts.

If he had a copy machine close at hand, though? If he could make as many pictures as he'd possibly want? Oho, watch out, Slobbertown!

It's been one week since Steve the sexy paramedic revealed himself to be a real person and not just a dude in a softcore porn calendar. One week since he Florence Nightingale'd Eddie before vanishing in a flurry of bloody gauze and blinking blue lights, leaving both Eddie and Gareth breathless.

(Though in Gareth's case, it was due to laughing so hard he choked on himself.)

The calendar doesn't do it for him anymore. Don't misunderstand – he still uses it when beating the meat. In fact, it has exclusively become his primary masturbatory aid, and it has served him especially well the past few days. The moment those 48 hours were over and Gareth left, Eddie chucked off his sweatpants and went to, well, Slobbertown. But it's not the same anymore. How could it be, when he knows the real Steve's hair smells like a meadow and his aftershave like lemon and spice? When he's felt the pressure of Steve's fingertips on his jaw? When he's seen the faint scar running down Steve's chin from his mouth? When he can still hear Steve's voice use his name, give him orders, call him 'sir'?

It's impossible. Fuck, just whenever Eddie closes his eyes Steve's face appears, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Of course, that might have something to do with Eddie already having made himself oh so familiar with Steve's face, and chest, and hands, and… everything else, for the past two years. Jesus damn it, if he knew this was where he'd end up he never would've bought the calendar in the first place.

Groaning, he throws himself back on his bed; then he shouts as his head thumps into the wall. Typical. He rubs at the spot to soothe it. No bump, though it hurts like a bitch. Pain (and suspicion he just aggravated the previous head injury) aside, he's comfortable, thus he sprawls out and stares at the ceiling as planned.

He's been distracted. He knows that because literally everyone has been on his case about it. Gareth gives him smug smiles that have turned alarmingly calculated as the week has passed. Jeff and Marv, having been filled in by Gareth, are rather more amused in a benign way. His boss almost sent him home to recuperate after catching him staring into space for the third time. Uncle Wayne noticed something was off through the phone. And Max has been giving him weird looks.

Ah, little Max. The only person in the complex who doesn't steer clear of him. She doesn't actually know what went down – not completely. She knows he got injured, because she caught him and Gareth as they stumbled home while she was exiting her apartment to toss the trash. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on the plaster, and on Eddie's arm that was slung over Gareth's shoulders for support (at Gareth's insistence).

"You got in a fight?" she asked.

With a grin he'd exclaimed, "Battle? You know me better than that! Nay, I did my utmost to escape the violence... but the ruffian got to me regardless."

"Huh. You okay?"

Gareth had rolled his eyes. "He's fine. I mean, listen to him."

"Don't worry about me, Red." Eddie tapped his own head. "This ol' noggin is harder than it looks."

A corner of her mouth twisted up, though if it was in amusement he couldn't tell in the dim hallway. They ought to team up against the super; maybe their combined whining will have him finally fix that broken light bulb.

"Make sure you don't take aspirin or ibuprofen," she said. "It can-"

"Yeah, I know. Paramedic already told me."

"Good. Is our lesson still on?"

"Certainly, m'dear."

And then he'd tipped an imaginary hat, she snorted, and Gareth hauled his ass to bed.

He didn't see Max again until Sunday afternoon, when she came by for their aforementioned weekly guitar lesson. Parking themselves on each end of the couch, his acoustic in her lap, he'd made her play the 'homework' from the previous Sunday. It sounded pretty good. She honestly won't need his help soon – probably doesn't need it now. She understands basic theory and is diligent about practicing. He'd be fine with awarding her temporary custody of the guitar for a while. She insists on coming over, however, claiming she has to be perfect by the time of the next open mic down at Connie's Corner Coffee.

The reason she has to be perfect? Well. Eddie is pretty sure it's to impress her boy. She hasn't confirmed that it's for her boy, or even that she has one, but it totally is and she totally does. He knows this because 1. she becomes flustered and grumpy (grustered? Flumpy?) every time he brings it up, and 2. if she was learning to play for herself he'd be subjected to a lot more Pink Floyd and a lot less Curtis Mayfield.

It's cute, to be honest. Picking up an instrument for a boy you like? That's romantic as fuck. If he hadn't been the Lord of All Losers he would've serenaded tons of boys when he was younger. Hell, he'd do it now, if only there were anyone willing to listen. But he hasn't had as much as a date in ages, and none of his previous attempts at relationships ever reached the 'romantic gestures' stage.

Maybe he should ask Max to set him up with someone. Why not? She probably meets dozens of people every day, at the campus, at the skatepark, wherever else she hangs. If there's anyone who could sort out his disastrous love life, it's Max Mayfield. She's so put together, and she's not even 20 yet. She's got her own place (in a supremely shitty building, but still a place), she's got a man (reluctant as she is to admit it), and she is halfway through her math degree. A fucking math degree, for Christ's sake! Math majors are built for solving problems!

Maybe she could even calculate how many times he'd need to injure himself before he'd meet the one paramedic he wanted to kiss… him better.

It was around that point of his daydreaming that Max shot a hair tie at his forehead and demanded he stop zoning out and correct her hand placement.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing deeper than usual. "Have you been resting?"

"Yes. For the prescribed 48 hours, and then some. I'm fine."

She'd frowned, scrutinizing him with those pale blue eyes. He squared his shoulders and met her gaze like a man. Easier said than done, to be truthful. He likes Max – she's fun, easily the most kickass neighbor he's ever had – but she can be intense. And when she gets her stare on? She's downright creepy.

"I'd prefer to cancel over you fucking up your head more," she at last said, posture stiff and chin jutting. 'Don't lie to me,' is what she meant.

Eddie sighed. "Red… I'm fine. Seriously."

And he was. Physically speaking, at least. Mentally, he'd always been a little off. Part of the patented Munson charm, really.

She must've realized that, because she relaxed, her expression going from 'active bitch face' and back to 'resting'.

"All right. Sorry for being overbearing. It's just." She shrugged a shoulder, gripping the neck of the guitar as it started sliding off her crossed legs. "One of my closest friends is a medical professional. Another one is studying biology. They've been discussing human anatomy and… I guess they've gotten into my head."

Damn his friends for caring. How was he supposed to sell this image of a dark, dangerous, rocker dude if he was constantly misty-eyed from how sweet his buds were to him? He leaned forward to pat her knee.

"I appreciate the concern, unnecessary as it is. But!" He drew himself back and pointed in the air. "We're not postponing! Open mic is less than a month away – you only have so many days left before you'll be on that stage, in front of aaaaall those people… and your beau."

He's certain that if she hadn't still been sorta concerned about his health, she'd have smacked him.

That was Sunday afternoon. Now is Wednesday evening. He is still hung up on Thursday. He doesn't even know why. Yes, he was face-to-face with the hottest guy ever. Sure, that same guy has been the star of his most critically acclaimed fantasies. Indeed, he hasn't gotten laid in eons. Of course, he's pent-up with sexual frustration and yearning for another man's touch.

But still. He's not an animal or a sex-crazed teenager. He's smart enough to know that nothing good will come of this. It's not like he'll ever see Steve again. That'd be so unrealistic.

A knock on his front door reaches his ears. Eddie makes no effort to get up and answer it. He's not expecting anyone – whoever it is will have to return another day.

The knocking turns into a pounding, followed by yelling.

"Eddie! Let me in, asshole, I know you're there!"

Ugh. What does he want? Hasn't he heard of texting?

Eddie drags himself off the bed and toward the door. Yanking it open, he's met by Gareth's self-satisfied visage.

"Good evening," he says, heedless of Eddie’s glare. "I come hither with your solution."

"My solution?" Eddie mutters as he stalks to his couch to crumple into another heap.

Gareth follows him inside. "I have a plan to get your man!"

"What? Who? What?"

"Steve. November-paramedic," Gareth says, like it's obvious, which, what the actual fuck?

"He's not my man?"

"But he could be."

"Gareth, what the fuck-"

He moves to sit up, but Gareth's palm hits him square in the diaphragm and pushes him back down.

"No, listen: you are a terrible patient."

"I'm not-"

"Remember back in high school, when that asshole rear-ended us in the intersection at Hickory and 5th?"

Eddie grimaces. How could he forget? They'd stopped at a red light when a drunken motherfucker plowed into them, sending them careening into the T-junction. One car managed to break before hitting them; another veered only to crash into a fourth car. The result was, for them, whiplash injuries and, for the people who collided, bruises, sprains, and a dislocated joint. It had been the scariest moment of Eddie's life, and the neck pain had been excruciating. That wasted piece of shit was lucky no one died.

He says, "Yeah?"

"You were so snarky with that poor EMT."

"Okay, first off, I was a snot-nosed brat back then-"

"Dude, you were nineteen."

"-and she was rude to me first."

"She was following protocol!" Gareth shakes his head. "The point is that you never follow orders or instructions, not even when a doctor tells you to. But November-Steve? I've never seen you be so pliable."

"I-"

"And after, when I had to babysit you for two fucking days? I expected it to be difficult. But you were so busy sighing and yearning-" he says, ignoring Eddie's indignant sputtering, "-and replaying him tenderly caressing your face with his big, manly hands and holding your gaze with those big, manly eyes-"

"Do you want to fuck him?"

"-that you forgot to complain or be a contrarian about everything." Gareth smiles, sweet as cavities. "It was great. I'd like to recapture that. And if November-Steve is the one to bring it out of you, well!"

Eddie glowers at him. No, really! With the metaphorical thunder clouds swirling over his head and everything! His world has been shook. It is tilted off its axis, and it's his best friend's duty to mock him relentlessly for it. But this? Trying to encourage him? Give him hope? That's going too far.

Gareth notices. Of course he does; curse the heart on Eddie's sleeve. The sickly-sugary smugness evaporates off him, and he takes a seat on the dingy couch seat.

"Eddie," he says with a softness reserved for a select few individuals. "Seriously. You've been all moon-eyed for a week. You've been thinking about him. Really thinking."

Eddie balloons his cheeks and huffs out the air. "Well. If you spend two years jerking it to a guy-"

"Gross."

"-and then he suddenly appears before you, in the flesh? I've been fantasizing about it. He's a fantasy. And when it actually happens, that's…"

He trails off. Gareth knocks their shoulders together.

"He seemed nice."

Eddie scoffs. "I spoke to him for fifteen minutes. Tops."

"Fifteen nice minutes. You haven't dated in ages. Maybe this is a sign?"

Chuckling, Eddie slumps his head onto Gareth's shoulder. They're the wrong heights for it, so it's awkward and strenuous on the neck. He remains.

"You're just looking for another opportunity to embarrass me," he says.

"Embarrass you and improve your life. Like only true friends strive to do."

Eddie hums. "So what's your fucking plan?"

Gareth shifts, turning toward Eddie, but doesn't say anything yet. Glancing up, Eddie is met by a zoomed-in, upside-down view of Gareth's pointy grin, his canines gleaming.

"The university!"

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Thank you for reading! 🖤 ☺

#cannot wait ti see what gareth schemes up

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An "if you've seen one stash you've seen them all" type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take paracetamol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"

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Dedicated to @rougenancy for always listening to and encouraging my various thoughts opinions, and ideas (they are constant).

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

Sooooo this idea shook me like a rag doll and wouldn't let me go until I got it all out, this is a Steddie Stranger Things New Girl AU taking place during the first kiss episode between Jess and Nick. But its waaay longer and more angsty than I anticipated. So.

Enjoy!

It’s all Gareth's fault in hindsight. 

As his best friend and confidant, Gareth really should have taken Eddie’s feelings into account when he suggested a party out loud in front of everyone.

Not that the party was a particularly bad idea, parties had been prime money making opportunities in the years before - although that had certainly dwindled, what with the murder accusations and earthquakes. 

And Eddie was trying to make it a point of avoiding dealing around the kids or Hoppers disapproving glare.

So no, it wasn't so much the party.

Steve had taken it upon himself to host, as per usual, and everyone had been invited. The gremlins, Nancy and Jonathan, Argyle, Gareth, Jeff, and Robin of course without question. Gareth brought Megan Walsh with him while Robin brought another underclassman, Vickie something, she seemed cool - a little quiet for Eddie's taste but that wouldn’t be the only reason she didn’t do it for him.

Nah, Eddie was looking for something a little taller, louder, with big brown eyes and plush pink lips he wanted to sink his teeth into and an ass that wouldn’t quit even if he begged. 

And Eddie didn’t beg.

It was an end of summer pool party that had extended beyond the warm sunshine and moved into the main house when the last few rays had swapped for the cool twilight of the evening. 

There had been no shortage of food and drinks and a few tokes in the garage from the decent Cali strain Argyle had brought with him. The kids had gone to bed one by one leaving the rest of them to move down to the basement as Steve had put it, ‘to keep the noise to a minimum while the little shits sleep’.

The combination of weed and beer had them floating in the sweet-spot, not that everyone had partaken - Argyle and Jonathan stuck to weed only while the girls nursed their beers.

Eddie, Gareth and Jeff were the only three that were on the floor and feeling alright by the time midnight had rolled around. 

“We should play a game,” Gareth says, blurting out the words from his place on the floor, he’s grinning a little with glazed eyes and wild hair splayed around his head like a halo.

And this, this should have been Eddie’s first warning. 

Now Uncle Wayne had a great rule, a fantastic rule, ‘Nothing good ever happens after midnight kiddo, remember that’.

Eddie should have listened to the old man.

Jeff hums lightly from the floor and Megan perks up at the idea, shifting up to the edge of the couch, trying to catch Gareth's glazed eyes.

"What kind of game?" She says, her voice lilting and curious, Eddie smirks and elbows Gareth in the side.

Gareth huffs out a groan at the contact and rolls slightly to level a glare at the metal-head, Eddie raises his eyebrows and darts his eyes from Gareth to Megan before raising a single eyebrow. 

Go for it man! 

Gareth cocks his head, a confused expression pulling at his brow as his red eyes pan from Eddie to the other side of the room and back again. 

Nowhere near Megan.

Just as Eddie makes to turn to wherever Gareth is looking, a small grin blooms on his best friend's otherwise lax face, the bassist sits up with a groan and shakes out his own wild mane of curls.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Choice game brochacho," Argyle laughs from the loveseat he's laid out across, Jonathan nods with his eyes closed. Everyone seems pleased with the situation if the chorus of 'sure's', and  'sounds good,' is anything to go by. 

Even Steve - who Eddie can’t help but notice has also stuck to beer most of the night and seems slightly tipsy as he wanders over from the far side of the room and drops onto the floor beside him. 

Steve says a quiet, 'cool,' as he brings his one knee up to his chest to lean on.

He smells of spice and pine tonight and Eddie fights the urge to curl against him.

Nancy volunteers to go first and picks dare, surprising everyone except for Jonathan and Steve, who laugh as Robin stumbles her way through crafting the perfect task for Nancy to perform.

Vickie whispers into Robin’s ear which elicits a delicate blush that settles over Robin’s cheeks and ears as she settles back against the couch with a soft smile.

“We dare you to do a cartwheel!” Robin crows, laying out her palm towards Vickie who immediately gives her an unapologetic high-five, Eddie rolls his eyes and nudges Steve beside him. 

“I expected better than that coming from Buckley,” he says just slightly over a whisper level if the death glare Robin shoots at him is any indication, Steve snorts and takes another sip of his drink.

“She’s just warming up Munson, you better watch out or you’ll paint a target on your back,” Steve stage whispers back, winking as he turns his attention to Nancy who has cleared a pathway next to their little circle to attempt her cartwheel. 

Eddie swallows and tries to fight down the blush that threatens to creep over his face. 

Fuck. He is so unfairly pretty. 

Steve's hair is remarkably untidy this evening, and his ears are slightly pink from the alcohol, and his stupid perfect jawline makes Eddie want to bite something - preferably Steve. 

He’s wearing one of his little polo’s, a light yellow number that accentuates his bright brown eyes and the dotting of moles and freckles dappling his face. 

Oh yeah, Eddie’s a goner. 

Nancy manages to half somersault and land on all fours before jumping to her feet in an Olympic pose that draws a mix of laughter and applause from the group. Eddie watches as Steve puts down his drink and politely claps as he smiles indulgently at Nancy, Eddie frowns slightly as he tamps down a flicker of jealousy that builds in his chest. 

He misses Robin stand up and stride towards Nancy before leaning in to whisper in her ear with a predatory grin. Nancy’s eyes drift from Robin to Eddie and back again, she nods once and turns back to the group, her facial expression betraying nothing. 

“Oh dude, you’re in for it now,” Steve murmurs to Eddie as Nancy and Robin resume their seats in the circle.

“What?” Eddie says as Nancy clears her throat and smiles at him, it's cutthroat and shark-like and Eddie is suddenly reminded why he’s always found Nancy intimidating.

“Eddie, truth or dare?” Nancy says in a silky voice, Jonathan seems to freeze at the tone and attempts to catch his eye, shaking his head like a mad-man and slicing a finger across his throat again and again, while Steve laughs softly beside him.

“Uh, Pft, Dare Wheeler,” Eddie says with a scoff and a wide grin, he stands up and starts stretching his arms across his chest, before cracking his neck and shaking out his shoulders, “just need to loosen up first here,” he claps his hands together, “okay what sort of gymnastics you got for me miss Nancy?”

Jonathan smacks his face into his hand in the corner while Robin giggles to Vickie, Eddie catches a few muttered words, but nothing concrete. Judging from the red face and ‘O’ shaped mouth that Vickie sends his way, it's definitely not good. 

Nancy clears her throat and waves her hand to catch his attention again, “eyes this way Munson,” she says slyly, and Eddie is suddenly sweating. 

“Eddie Munson, I dare you to take the person sitting closest to you into the spare bedroom for seven minutes in heaven. 

No one says a word for a moment. 

Eddie wishes for the basement floor to open and swallow him whole. He stares at the plush fibers of the rug, wondering if it would be at all possible to smother himself by pushing his face into the carpet. 

He absolutely refuses to look at Steve. 

The only person sitting beside him. 

He should have listened to the old man. 

***

Eddie paces the small space again and again, its five steps from wall to wall and it does nothing to ease the tension in the room. He tries to figure out how to tamp down the seemingly permanent flush that has stained his face since the two of them were pushed into the room. 

The door has been unceremoniously slammed shut behind them and a chorus of eight voices chant, ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss!’ over and over outside their temporary prison.

Damn Gareth for suggesting this stupid game, damn Nancy and Robin for conspiring against him and damn himself for his ridiculous delusional fantasy. 

Steve Harrington would never want to kiss someone like him, even if he did swing that way.

This was stupid and awful, damn everything.

Steve scoffs from his position on the foot of the bed, startling Eddie slightly.

“What is the big deal,” Steve sounds much more sober, and a lot more tired now that it's just the two of them, “lets just suck it up and french a little?”

Eddie nearly feels himself short-circuit at the words. 

He resists the urge to smack his head into the door and slowly turns on his heel to face Steve. 

His expression is bored, if slightly irritated to be stuck in this situation, but his arms are draped loosely on the bed and his shoulders are relaxed.

Huh. Not nervous then, but there is something else…

Eddie sighs and scrubs a ringed hand across his face, "Okay fine, but don’t say suck it up and french a little--"

"Do not complain to me Munson," Steve grumbles, his voice suddenly tight, "this is your fault. Let’s just do this," he shakes his hands out, Eddie notes the slightest tremor that runs over his left hand but it disappears the longer Eddie's gaze remains on it.

Fuck.

"Okay, okay, no, Steve this is not a big deal," Eddie says, his tone is light but gentle as he crosses over to the bed, he holds out his hands for Steve to take. 

Steve's eyes travel from his hands to Eddie's face, and back again. His expression flickers once before shuttering into the same bored expression from earlier. Steve clasps his hands once and squeezes them briefly before letting go and standing up to face Eddie.

"Right…not a big deal, let's just do it," Steve mumbles as he breathes out, he closes his eyes briefly and Eddie's never been this close before, he can count the freckles on his nose, "just do it Eds".

Oh god, oh god, he’s about to kiss Steve Harrington, this is fine, it's fine. It’s just a stupid party game, he can do this, he can be cool.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and raises his hands to grasp Steve by the shoulders before smoothing them down his arms, he leaves them loosely wrapped around his biceps, and Okay who the Hell gave him the right?

Focus.

He licks his lips and swallows his nerves, he can do this, he can do this!

Steve frowns, “Why are you licking your lips?” his voice pitched with confusion.

He can’t do this. 

“Should I not?” Eddie manages to say without stuttering, he coats his voice with false bravado as he rolls his shoulders and widens his stance, “you want dry lips Harrington?”

Steve scowls, “No”.

“Then I’m just licking them to make them better!” 

A pinched expression blooms over Steve’s face at the sudden rise in volume in Eddie’s words, he resists the urge to wipe the clammy sweat from his hands and instead lifts them from Steve’s biceps to his shoulders before placing his hands on the sides of Steve's face. Eddie’s fingers curl up into his hair behind each ear and Eddie swears for a moment he can feel Steve tilt his head into his hands -just slightly. 

“Ready?” Eddie murmurs, the earlier bravado gone as his eyes dart back and forth between Steve’s own. He’s looking just slightly up at Eddie, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Ready,” Steve affirms with a small nod that jostles Eddie's hands.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes out through his nose slowly, “1, 2 -- I’m actually not going to do a count,” he lets go of Steve’s face, it’s too much, it’s ridiculous and Eddie feels as though he’s about to fly apart at any moment.

Steve doesn’t move but his eyes trail after Eddie's hands as they fall from his face before coming back up to meet Eddie’s gaze, “Okay?”

Eddie swallows, it feels like glass going down, this is not how he saw his night going, “That's not my style, when I kiss, I don’t, I don’t count down…”

Steve snorts and smiles slightly, biting his lip as he says, “Okay”.

Eddie breathes in sharply as Steve releases his lip to speak, he shakes his head once and reaches out with slightly unsteady hands, to grip Steve’s face once more, “Ready?”

Steve nods again, “Yes,” he’s looking up at Eddie with those warm brown eyes and long lashes and Eddie feels like he's going to faint.

Just move, he thinks to himself, just kiss him and then he can leave, never darken the door of the Harrington house again. He can pretend this never happened and go back to pining from afar. 

Eddie steels himself and tilts his head as he leans in slowly, he sweeps his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone, he can do this, he can do this. He continues moving forward as Steve suddenly rears back with a gasp.

There’s a slight tremor in his voice, as Steve says, “I’m, I’m sorry, you can’t do that…”

Eddie jerks backwards, “What did I do?” he cries out, he flings his hands away from Steve’s face, holding them up in something akin to surrender. He wracks his brain, running through the last thirty seconds, trying to think of what could have freaked Steve out this badly.

“Your fa-” Steve starts before clamping his mouth shut with a sharp click. He’s curling in on himself now, one arm slides up from his side to grasp his other arm.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare.

“Were you, were you going to say my face?” Eddie says quietly, stepping back from Steve entirely, his now empty fists clench and unclench at his sides. There’s a flicker of anger an hurt in his chest, what the fuck did that mean?

They stare at each other for a moment, Eddie waits for Steve to elaborate but all he gets is a silent grimace.

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly, after a beat, his eyes anywhere but Eddie’s own, “you just…you can’t do that with your face dude”.

"Don’t call me dude right now," Eddie growls, breathing in deeply through his nose, this whole situation has been fucked from the start and he can't take it anymore. He's done.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie mutters before crossing the space to the closed door and pounding the flat of his palm against it, “Let me out of here!”

Behind him, Steve sighs as he moves over to the wall of the spare bedroom and slides down it until he’s seated with his legs splayed out. 

But Eddie doesn't care, he doesn't. He had prepared himself for this, he knew Steve wouldn't possibly feel the same way and now it was definitive. 

That didn't stop it from stinging.

Eddie growls as he tries for the handle again and the brass does nothing but rattle rather than turn.

“Why does this door lock from the outside? That can’t be safe,” Eddie mutters to himself as he turns away from the door to face Steve once more, he leans back against it and breathes out a sigh as the chorus of, ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss’ renews itself with vigor just outside.

Steve sighs again and raises both hands to rub down his face before dropping them heavily to the floor on either side of him, he stares at the wall for a moment before his expression flattens again. 

He looks up at Eddie with determination in his eyes before bringing his legs up to stand. 

“Okay,” Steve says softly, as he steps towards where Eddie is leaning against the door, “let’s just do this already, just kiss me--”

“No.” Eddie firmly huffs, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and nearly knocks his head against the door as he realizes there is nowhere else to go, “I don’t--I’m not gonna kiss you”.

Steve pauses in his approach, he seems so much smaller than normal, and Eddie hates every moment of this.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Steve says quietly, he reaches up to pinch the tip of his nose and clears his throat, “you said it yourself, it’s not a big deal. If you don't want to do this that's, it's fine, you know how stubborn they are, I don't think they meant to lock the door--”

“I can’t--” Eddie cuts across him but Steve is still talking.

“I’m sorry that you got stuck with me,” Steve bites out, running a hand through his hair as he steps backwards now, away from Eddie, and sits on the end of the bed, “and I’m sorry that I got all weird just now, but--”

Eddie just can’t take it any longer.

“No Steve,” he says shrilly, not caring if the assholes outside the door are listening, not caring if the Loch Nora neighbors can hear him, not caring if the kids upstairs wake up, “It's, I just can’t, not like this!”

It takes a second for the words to register, they seem to float between them for a moment before each man registers what’s been said.

Steve stills on the bed, he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, “What,” Steve says softly, “what, what does that mean?” 

Oh Fuck.

“Nothing,” Eddie blurts out, his heart is racing, the air is stale and thin in the basement bedroom and Eddie feels like he can’t breathe, “I didn’t mean it like, I just, we can’t like that because it's not, you know?”

Steve stares at him from the bed, “...what?”

Eddie has to leave, he can’t be in this room anymore, pinned to the door by a pair of soft brown eyes that have pinched in the middle into a confused and terrible frown.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Eddie says quietly, briskly walking past Steve and the bed as he moves towards the far wall with the single window.

“Where are you going? Eddie!” 

For the second time that night Eddie finds himself wishing he had listened to his old man. 

Attempting to climb out the window of the basement spare bedroom may not have been his best plan; as he hoisted himself up to the ledge, which was already up a good five feet at least, and popped the screen off, deaf to whatever words Steve was hissing at him, Eddie found himself sitting halfway in a window-well. 

About two feet from the open ground above.

And that was before his studded belt caught on the window ledge. 

“Fucking hell,” Eddie grits out as he shifts backwards only for the belt to wrench him back into place, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening.

He hears a sigh behind him along with a low string of curses as quiet footsteps move away towards the far side of the room. Seven knocks sound on what he can only assume is the door in a strange pattern that halts the chant from the basement sitting room. A muffled voice he can’t quite make out says something that Steve responds to.

“Open up the goddamn door Buckley or I’ll never cover another morning shift again, we have a situation in here,” he says in a small, defeated voice. 

It all happens fairly quickly after that. 

Between Jeff, Nancy, and Argyle’s careful maneuvering they manage to extricate him from the window and lower him back to the floor. Nothing had prepared Eddie for the hot, tight feeling that would fill his chest as Argyle and Jeff snicker and high-five once he is back on solid ground. Nancy is smiling but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she looks from Steve and back to Eddie, expression slowly morphing into one of concern.

Robin is standing with Steve, both of them lean against the far back wall by the now open door. They seem to be having an intense whisper fight that ends with Steve storming out back into the main sitting room. 

Argyle knocks into him, suddenly draping an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and snatching his attention away from Robin and Steve. He herds Eddie forward on slightly unsteady legs to follow the rest of his rescue party as they all make their way out of the spare bedroom.

“That was freakin’ hilarious dude,” Argyle says with a warm laugh and bright, slightly hazy eyes,  “I mean Steve, Steve, he tried to climb out the window instead of kissing you, can you believe that?”

Steve stiffens from his new position on the loveseat but shakes his head after a beat and laughs; the sound rings hollow, a pale imitation to his usual beautiful laugh, “Eh, Robin just gets to add another tally to the ‘You Suck’ board, that’s all man”.

Argyle laughs and claps Eddie’s shoulder lightly one last time before moving towards Jonathan and Jeff, the trio grab a lighter from the coffee table and head back upstairs for another toke.

Robin and Nancy go back to join Vickie on the couch, their heads bent together in conversation, both girls looking up at Steve from time to time. 

Steve, meanwhile, is steadfastly staring at the floor.

I’m an idiot, Eddie thinks miserably to himself as he takes a seat on the floor next to Gareth who doesn't seem to have moved since his suggestion of Truth or Dare. 

"Hey man," Gareth says, turning his head slightly to see him better, "how'd it go?" 

Eddie says nothing, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers; he wants to tell Gareth about how much of a disaster the night was, how he's ruined everything way more than he could ever dreamed of and he still didn't get a kiss out of it.

"That well huh?" Gareth hums as he sits up and brings his legs in to sit cross-legged. 

The party has wound down significantly at this point, Steve has disappeared from the basement and Nancy has loudly announced she is leaving if anyone needs a ride home. Robin and Vickie trail after her with Megan not far on their heels, she sends an irritated glare their way, most likely directed at Gareth more-so than himself.

"Weird," Gareth mumbles, dragging his arm across his eyes clumsily, "I figured that would'a worked, with all the puppy-dog eyes he's been givin' you lately".

"What, uh, what?" Eddie says sharply, he must have heard him wrong or the weed has finally gotten to them, Gareth did not--

"Oh man, yeah I figured the Truth or Dare would totally give you an opening dude, you seemed on board?" 

Eddie's heart is racing now, his palms sweaty, what the fuck is he talking about?

"I mean you should've seen Harrington's face when you went in, all sunny an' shit, it's that Doe face you're always talking about--" 

"Gareth!" Eddie hisses, his face burning and shoulders tight, he stands up startling the other man as he paces the now empty sitting room.

He takes a deep breath and then another, bringing his hands up to press into his eyes roughly. 

"Okay, okay, so you're telling me," he says slowly, dropping his hands to his sides, "that you think Steve, Steve Harrington," he points a shaky finger to the ceiling, "is in to me?"

Gareth blinks, his eyebrows slowly climb into his wild curly hair, "Uh yeah dude".

He says it like it's the simplest thing in the universe. One plus one is two, the sky is blue, and Steve Harrington has feelings for one Eddie Munson. 

And suddenly, the words from earlier, the brittle broken sentence Steve uttered in their temporary prison, makes much more sense.

"I’m sorry that you got stuck with me". 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him? 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him?

The soft looks, small touches, and blinding grins, each tiny moment over the last few months tumble and fall together.

Oh God…

"...I am an idiot," Eddie whispers as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the stairs.

"Yeah! Get him dude!" Gareth calls after him as he flips back into the plush carpet with a laugh. 

Eddie wanders the dark main floor, tiptoeing through the living room, avoiding a sea of sleeping bags and pillowed heads of the kids as he goes, there is a faint light ahead of him coming from the staircase to the second floor. 

He makes his way up, careful to avoid the fifth stair as, 'it always creaks,' and the last thing he needed was Dustin, or Max, or, Ozzy forbid, Mike, interrupting.

Eddie maneuvers down the familiar hallway, and halts when he gets to Steve's room. The door is slightly ajar and, at last he’s found the source of the soft yellow light spilling down the hall and stairwell.

Eddie tips the door open, wincing at the piercing creek of the hinges as it slowly swings open revealing Steve sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up as Eddie steps into the room. 

“Hey Stevie,” Eddie says softly. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure how to proceed, and awkwardly stands in the doorway, the wall to wall plaid threatens to burn his retinas but he holds firm. 

There are a few things in here Steve has clearly placed himself, the plush area rug covering up most of the chic parquet flooring running through the rest of the house. A new yellow duvet that clashes with the red plaid wallpaper, but it's Steve's choice for once. The picture of the car has been replaced by a small cork board, it's covered from top to bottom in Polaroids of Steve and the kids, candids of Robin and Eddie, posed silly pictures of Jonathan and Argyle after a smoke session, and a few of Nancy and Jonathan sitting in the Byers kitchen at Thanksgiving, almost collage like but for the pins holding them in place.

The room has transformed over the last few months, and it never ceases to make Eddie smile.

“Hey Eds,” Steve sighs after a long beat.

He looks up to meet Eddie’s gaze, that same blank expression from earlier tonight painted on his otherwise handsome face. 

Eddie swallows, his heart rate ticking up once again as soft brown eyes hold him in place, if he chickens out again he swears he'll fling himself down the stairs, creaky step be damned.

He opens his mouth only for Steve to speak, slowly, quietly.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmurs, his voice cracking around the words, "if that was weird today, for you".

Eddie manages to keep his face impassive as he nods, but his heart aches at what he hears, “Yeah, I mean, no it wasn't weird, just…”

Steve sits with his shoulders squared and his spine straight, stiff and still even in his own bedroom, but with each word that leaves Eddie’s mouth the line of his body slowly begins to curl in on itself.

“Just, different”. 

Steve nods as his arms come up to wrap around himself again, he swipes his right hand up his bare arm up to the sleeve and down again and Eddie wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his own arms. 

Steve eventually puts his hands on his knees with a muffled clap and stands up, padding across the carpet towards the door, towards Eddie. 

"Well that's not the worst thing someone's called me so I'll take it," Steve says with a smirk, his big brown eyes pan between Eddie's own as though searching for something, he nods to himself.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie ventures, leaning against the open door frame, linking his ankles together as his weight shifts to one foot. 

He can’t have this, someone as kind and funny and good as Steve saying these things, thinking that Eddie thinks them too. 

Enough is enough.

Steve snorts, tipping his face down. A lock of hair falls into his eyes and once again, Eddie's fraying resolve finally snaps.

He pushes himself off the door frame with his shoulder, stepping into Steve’s space, and reaches out with one hand to card his fingers into Steve’s hair, pushing it out of his face.  

Steve freezes at the sudden touch and proximity, "What, Ed-"

The words are lost as Eddie leans his head down and captures Steve's open lips for a kiss. 

He feels Steve stiffen slightly in his arms. 

Shit.

Eddie moves to pull away, cursing his own stupidity, but as he tries to pull away, Steve curls his arms around Eddie's neck and tilts his head, stepping closer into his arms.

And it's fireworks. It’s hearing Dio for the first time all over again, it’s finding out he was going to be staying with Wayne permanently. It’s jamming out with Gareth and Jeff and losing themselves in the music.

It's Steve.

Eddie brings his hands up to curl over Steve’s cheek and into his hair once more, he brings his fingers into tangle with the soft waves and gives them an experimental tug, startling a small moan out of Steve.

Eddie smiles into the kiss and takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, letting his tongue slide over Steves, he tastes slightly like beer but Eddie doesn’t care because he’s finally kissing, and kissing, and kissing him. 

Eddie breaks away after what feels like an eternity, leaning away just far enough to place a small kiss on Steve’s nose and both cheeks, which have slowly turned a pretty pink, the arms wrapped around his neck tighten slightly at the contact and Steve’s eyes flutter closed. 

“I meant something like that,” Eddie whispers before leaning in again, swallowing a laugh that escapes Steve with another soft kiss to his smiling lips.

"I thought," Steve mumbles, chewing his bottom lip with harsh teeth, "I thought I messed it all up downstairs," the words are wet as Steve sniffs once and tips his head onto Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie slips his hands down from Steve's face to bring him in closer, wrapping his arms around his waist, "you didn't mess anything up, I've been wanting to do that for a long time,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, earning a hitching laugh. 

“Me too Eds,” Steve mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, he pulls back slowly and tips his head up to meet Eddie’s gaze, “I think, I’ve been wanting to do that since you woke up in the hospital”.

“Sorry I took so long sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of his own.

Steve hums and closes his eyes before running his nose back and forth against the tip of Eddie’s own, “Well,” he says softly, “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me”.

Eddie laughs brightly and kicks the bedroom door shut with a snap.

Maybe his Uncle Wayne wasn’t always right.

#new girl is my comfort show and this is so perfect

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

One day, when Steve and Eddie are still in the early stages of dating, both a little overwhelmed but sure of each other and excited to see where it’s going, Steve brings Eddie flowers when he comes to the trailer park for a date night. It’s the first-month anniversary of their first kiss, and he doesn’t say as much, because he’s pretty sure Eddie doesn’t care about those dates like he does - and it’s not like a one-month anniversary is some kind of great accomplishment anyway - but he wants to do something special and he decides flowers will make anyone happy, if only for the gesture. He gets a bouquet with bold, dark shades; purple and dark red and some greenery with sharp edges and thorns, to give it a little bit of Eddie: sweet, but still badass.

When Steve gets to the trailer, Eddie opens the door with a wide smile on his face - but it instantly disappears and gets replaced with a kind of shocked surprise when he sees what Steve is holding in his hands.

‘Got you flowers,’ Steve says, stating the obvious and leaning in to kiss Eddie’s lips. But Eddie is still frozen in the doorway - his mouth doesn’t even move when Steve’s presses his lips against Eddie’s.

Steve pulls back and squints at Eddie, trying to figure out what’s going on with him. ‘You alright there?’ he asks.

‘You got me flowers,’ is the only thing Eddie says; his voice is trembling and his eyes are still wide, fixed on the bouquet in Steve’s hands.

‘Should I… not have?’ Steve asks. His palms are getting sweaty against the stems of the flowers, but it doesn’t look like Eddie is gonna be moving to take them from him anytime soon. Panic starts to crawl its way up in his stomach as he wonders if he’s made some kind of huge mistake.

Keep reading

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

steve harrington uses phrases like "cool beans" or "jeez louise" or "you're barking up the wrong tree" or "now listen here pal" or "no more mr nice guy" like the absolute prep he is and eddie fucking munson melts every god damned time

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Thinking abt Steve going through photos from high school and spotting Robin and Eddie in the background and smiling like hey, they were with me all along, huh?

There’s a photo of him and Nancy by his senior year locker that Tommy H took, and in the background you can spot eddie making some insane face at Jeff. Isn’t that nice to see.

And there’s a cut out from the local paper of him at basketball senior night, and in the background he can see Robin in the stands with marching band. Smiling at something the girl next to her said. Steve looked pretty miserable in that photo. But Robin looks so happy. Maybe it’s worth keeping after all.

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

The Byers moving away at the end of Season 3 doesn't just mean Eddie missed out on bonding with them but so did Robin. She joined the party right when they left. I want Robin teaching El about other alternative styles of clothes. I want Robin hyping Will up with his artwork. I want Robin and Jonathan bonding over indie films. I want Robin learning how to cook from Joyce. I want Robin adopting Hopper's dad pose when she berates them smoking. I want Robin at the family dinners that Steve attends at the Byers house every Sunday.

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Steve heads outside at about 10pm, hoping that the frigid night air will wake him up a bit. He’s conscious of the fact that he’s hardly been in the party spirit, trying and failing to stifle a yawn behind the lone bottle of beer he’d sipped at before abandoning it on Robin’s kitchen counter.

It’s less a New Year’s Eve party, he thinks, and more a relieved exhale. An I’m glad we’re all here kind of party.

There’s a swing bench out on the porch, and once he sits down, he kicks the whole thing back with his feet, the movement sending more fresh air his way. It turns his forearms to gooseflesh but does little to banish the drowsiness, as if it’s somehow been waiting all year to be felt…

“Hey,” comes a voice, and Steve startles back to awareness; Eddie is suddenly sitting down beside him. “Thought you’d absconded, Harrington.”

Steve smiles at the word—“You talk like you’re in a book, dude,” he’d teased earlier that evening, when Eddie and Robin were taking exaggerated swills of boxed wine, pretending to be sommeliers. Eddie had adopted a plummy accent, went on about “heady aromas” and “full bodied complexity” until Robin snorted wine out of her nose.

“Ah, Steve, Steve, Steve,” Eddie had said in delight, “that’s part of the fun, darling.”

And it was still delivered in that stupid accent, all part of the game, but it didn’t stop Steve from feeling a glow in his chest that had little to do with the wine they ‘sampled.’

Now Eddie’s voice is back to normal, if a little softer than usual, like he doesn’t want to disturb the stillness out here. “Thought I was gonna have to look for a glass slipper or something,” he goes on, and it takes a moment for Steve, lulled by the gentle cadence of Eddie’s words, to get the reference.

When he does, he snorts. “Bit early for that. But at this rate…” And he yawns again as he speaks, aiming for a self-deprecating shrug. “At this rate, I’m sorta doubting I’ll make it ‘til midnight.”

He’s expecting Eddie to lean into the teasing, call him ancient. But instead he just looks over with a fond smile and says, “I’m not surprised, man.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not like I’ve really done anything.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Steve gives another shrug. “It’s the holidays, dude, not exactly taxing.”

“Nah, that’s not…” Eddie shakes his head slightly. “You can’t see it, huh?”

“Can’t see what?”

There’s a moment where Eddie just considers him. “Steve Harrington,” he drawls, almost like it’s a little song, like Steve is the one who’s a character in a book. Like he’s someone admirable. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you, like, stop even once. And at first I thought…” He tilts a little closer on the swing, making it creak. “Like, ‘oh, that’s just how he is when the world’s ending’, right? But no. You’re like that all the damn time.”

Steve is far too tired to work out what ‘like that’ even means. He chuckles quietly, rubs at one of his eyes. “And, what, I can’t even keep going to see in the new year?”

“Eh, time’s a construct.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Steve says with absolutely no bite to it. “Midnight countdown is the one time when it matters.”

“Well.” Eddie nods his head as if to say fair point. “We could time travel.”

Steve smirks. “Oh, yeah? You park the DeLorean somewhere?”

Eddie grins. “Nope. It’s—” He stops, smile fading just at the corners, like he’s suddenly a little shy. “Okay, it’s kinda stupid. Like a family thing, I guess.”

“Lucky for you that I like stupid,” Steve says lightly—doesn’t really know how to say that he secretly loves hearing about quirky family traditions, sometimes feels like he can live vicariously through them.

(The last New Year’s Eve he’d spent with his parents had been in New York, and when they were getting a cab back to the hotel, his mom had said that he couldn’t fall asleep because they were sharing the ride with some business partners; it would be embarrassing. He’d spent the journey pressing his forehead against the cold condensation on the car window, fighting sleep.)

“So,” Eddie says, “every year since I was, like,” he gestures with his hand comically low, nearly touching the ground, “Wayne always let me stay up for New Year’s, and it blew my tiny mind ‘cause I was never tired. At all. And then, I think I was l, what, ten…? Something like that. And I figured it out.”

“What?”

Eddie leans forward conspiratorially. “Sneaky bastard wound all the clocks forward.”

Steve laughs and laughs. “I love your uncle.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “Yeah, yeah, he’s something else.” Then he softens. “We did it tonight, before I came here. Early midnight countdown.”

And there’s a weight to that, like Eddie can hardly believe that he got to be there, to see the tradition continue.

Then Eddie blinks, and the heaviness is gone. “How about it, Harrington?” He pushes back his shirt to reveal his wristwatch. “Wanna try it?”

Steve smiles. “Sure.”

And he watches as Eddie fiddles with the watch until it reads as being a minute before midnight; and it’s silly, he knows they're not really time travelling, but he can’t help feeling that there’s some magic involved anyway. Like there’s suddenly a little pocket of the world that’s just their own.

They count down from 10, and then Eddie does a hushed imitation of fireworks going off, which makes Steve laugh again.

“Hey, Eddie,” he says. “Happy New Year.”

And suddenly it sounds like more than that—sounds like we made it and we’re safe.

Maybe Eddie hears all that, too, because there’s a sheen to his eyes that can’t entirely be blamed on the Christmas lights. “Yeah. Happy New Year, Steve.”

They stay put in comfortable silence. Eddie starts to rock the swing slowly with one foot, back and forth, and Steve knows that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it—probably is hearing a song in his head that he can’t help but follow the rhythm.

And at some point Steve finds that he’s catching himself on the brink of dozing, then pulling back. His eyelids keep…

The softest laugh, somewhere very close. “Oh, Steve,” Eddie sighs, and Steve can hear him smiling, can hear the fondness shining through. “There you go, big guy.”

And his head is tilting down, down onto Eddie’s warm shoulder.

“Glad you’re here,” Steve just about manages to say.

Through a dreamy haze, he feels a hand brush across his forehead; an arm around him, so he doesn’t fall. “Ah, sweetheart. So glad you’re here, too, you’ve got no idea.”

And then he’s melting into sleep, right through the gentlest turning of the page from one year into the next.

#wow i love this #so tender so soft

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Eddie Munson tapes his rings to make them smaller to fit his fingers. That’s it, that’s the post.

#prev tags are correct #this is very gender of eddie

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

every steddie fic is like oooo big strong eddie has to protect steve the poor delicate flower from the horrors of the world. ok. well which one of them has survived for 4 years and which one died immediately

#i just cackled out loud in bed next to my spouse and woke them up

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

my mind’s been stuck on secret dolly parton fan southern!eddie and suddenly it sprouted 2k of fic so uhhh here ya go? more to follow! (unbeta’d btw)

part 1: jolene

He might not look it, but deep down, hidden beneath the leather jackets and silver chains, Eddie Munson is a good old-fashioned southern boy. If you heard his uncle talk, you’d know he’s not from around Hawkins, but Eddie has mostly hidden his roots over the years. He had traded in his faded blue jeans for ripped black ones, his momma’s country vinyls were hidden away and replaced by heavy metal tapes and his drawl only comes out when he’s drunk out of his mind, calling everyone darlin’ and sweet pea. 

He misses Tennessee sometimes, though he doesn’t remember much. He misses the warmth of the people and the sunshine, he misses the cornbread his old neighbor Mrs. Carter used to make, but he mostly misses his mom. Misses her laugh and the way she tucked him into bed with a song every night, always with the same Dolly Parton song. 

Maybe that’s why he always reaches out to Dolly when he’s feeling down in the dumps. 

And all because of Steve motherfuckin’ Harrington.

Keep reading

#saving this one for in the morning but theres no way i won't love it

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

The thing about Eddie is, he likes to tease. He says things that Steve does are stupid, he fondly calls him an idiot, he jostles him about “dumbass behavior” or being “pure of heart, dumb of ass”

And like…they’re jokes. Steve knows they’re jokes, it’s not like he’s walking around thinking Eddie is just bullying him mercilessly. It’s not like he thinks that Eddie is just being cruel, because of course he’s not. Eddie doesn’t have a genuinely cruel bone in his body. But like…jokes always have a bit of truth in them, don’t they?

Anyway, it’s not as if the proof isn’t in the pudding. Even before all the head trauma, he wasn’t very good at school. Reading is hard and when he does manage to get through a chapter none of it sticks in his brain. Math makes no sense, the numbers never want to stay where he puts them. He’s never been great at remembering things, and he doesn’t work through things very quickly. It takes time, and people don’t want to wait for him to get there.

He barely passed high school, and only because Nancy helped him, so he didn’t get into any colleges. And sure, Eddie failed twice too, but he’s good at making connections. He’s good at reading and metaphors and shit. No one ever rolls their eyes at Eddie’s ideas. So he knows the reasons that Eddie was bad at school are very different from the reasons Steve was bad at it.

So like, he knows he’s stupid.

Even the eleven year old in the group is smarter than him, he gets that. But it doesn’t mean it’s not humiliating when people point it out. And it’s not like he can fight back about it because they’re not wrong. So he just falls back on sarcasm and tries not to be too mean when they get to him. Because his first instinct is always cruelty, even now. He’s better at biting it back, but it’s what he does. The only thing he’s ever actually excelled at.

And like… he knows he’s lucky? He knows that it’s a miracle that the kids put up with him, and that Robin for some reason finds kinship with him, and that Eddie looks at him so soft and sweet with words of love on his lips. He knows they all care about him.

But sometimes it really hurts to know how much they don’t respect him. And like he doesn’t need to be smart, he just needs to be able to take a hit and get back up again to take the next one. But sometimes he wishes he could be. Daydreams about reading one of Eddie’s books and surprising him with how much he knows about it. Telling Robin he did manage to get into the same college she’s going to, actually, and they can get an apartment together off campus. Of telling his dad that he doesn’t need his money, because he got a scholarship and he’ll get a good job and take care of himself.

But that’s all they are, is dreams. Because all his brains have been compressed under his hair, or because he’s too pretty to be smart, or because he needs to be told everything.

So when Eddie grabs him around the neck and gives him a noogie and calls him a dumbass and kisses his head, he takes it as the affection he knows it’s supposed to be. And then he just doesn’t think about it until he’s all alone at night and he can’t help but remember. And the tears that come from it are stupid too. Stupid and pointless, but at least they’re silent. And no one has to know.

They celebrate their one year anniversary with a little picnic on the shore of Lovers’ Lake, shaded from the sun and onlookers by the tree line. It’s not the usual stuff Steve does to impress someone, since they can’t exactly go to a nice restaurant or anything, but he does his best to make it nice.

He reads a bunch of mom magazines to get recipes for food and he gets Eddie a chunky silver bracelet with their initials etched into the underside of a plain plate. Eddie shyly plays him a song on his acoustic and it’s really sweet and it makes Steve cry a little bit because he’s never felt so loved as he does in that moment.

He was so nervous about being able to get all his feelings out with words, so he wrote them down and asked Robin to spell check them and make sure they made sense, not even minding when she made fun of him about it because he wanted it to be perfect. He even typed it out on his dad’s typewriter, but when the time comes he’s afraid of stuttering and stumbling over the words as he reads them, even though they’re his words, so he just hands the note over instead.

And it’s kind of excruciating to watch Eddie read them, even though his cheeks get all pink and he twists his hair over his smile shyly. But he sits up proudly when Eddie looks up at him and tells him it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever read, and there are some truly sappy song lyrics in there.

And then he says he loves “his dumb little love letter” and that he’ll keep it forever and Steve tries not to let it get to him. Because Eddie liked it. He thought the words were good enough for a song. But he also thought it was dumb.

And he’s right, it is dumb. Just a bunch of rambles put down on paper because Steve was too afraid of saying it right out loud.

But he likes it, and that’s what matters.

So Steve shrugs and tells him next anniversary he’ll get him a dumb little box for it, and Eddie laughs, and Steve manages to forget.

And three months later, for Eddie’s birthday, he agrees to play in a oneshot Will put together for him. Eddie gets so excited and creates a character for him, a barbarian. Someone who is good at hitting things, he explains, and taking hits.

And that seems to make sense to Steve so he nods along as Eddie explains what the stats are for, and what a stat is, and why intelligence is the obvious choice for a dump stat for Steve. He puts the worst number Steve had rolled there, a five, and jokes that his character technically won’t be able to read with a score that low.

It cuts a little close to the bone, but he chooses to just be grateful he won’t have to pretend to be smart during the game.

The game is okay. Dustin gets so frustrated reminding him of what he has to roll every turn that eventually he throws his hands up and Eddie has to take over. He’s much more patient, but Steve feels bad for ruining his birthday game.

A couple months after that, Steve’s parents come home for an extended period between work trips. It’s the longest they’ve been home in years, a full two months, and Steve chafes under their presence every day.

There was a time he would have been thrilled to have them there, but now it just feels like every move he makes is being watched with scorn. If he sleeps in a little on his day off, his father calls him a lazy layabout and tells him he should be hitting the pavement in search of a better job.

If his mother catches him on the couch she warns him he’ll get flabby if he spends all his time on his butt.

He misses sharing a bed with Eddie, but he doesn’t dare to spend too many nights at the trailer park when they’re around to ask where he’s been, and obviously Eddie staying at his place is out of the question.

His father starts telling him maybe he should join the military. It wasn’t up to his standards, of course, but the Marines are good for people like Steve (read: idiots) and at least he’d be doing something worthwhile with his life even if it were as cannon fodder.

And Steve tells him he’d rather work at Scoops Ahoy in the stupid sailor outfit for the rest of time than join any kind of government institution, and that stretches into a four hour long argument about how much Steve doesn’t know about Saint Reagan and everything he’s done for the country.

His dad has this super special method of simultaneously lecturing him and making him feel like the world’s biggest idiot, and Steve’s never been able to push back against it. It’s like everything he’s ever known just immediately escapes his head and his words get all confused and he can’t explain what he’s trying to say right. So eventually he just falls quiet and listens to his dad rave and does his best to hold back the humiliated tears.

When his dad finally falls quiet and eventually leaves, it’s all he can do to scramble out to his car and drive across town to Eddie’s trailer. They’re not home, but he knows where the spare key is, so he lets himself in and goes to lay in Eddie’s bed. It’s soothing to be there, in a space that’s so loudly and unapologetically Eddie’s.

His boyfriend his messy and his bed is never made and he doesn’t dump out the ash tray on his bedside table nearly as often as he should, but the sheets are clean and soft and there’s a pile of the books Eddie is currently reading (he always reads six or seven at a time, switching when he gets bored, and somehow manages to keep all the stories straight in his head) on the floor directly next to the bed.

He picks up one with an interesting cover and flips through it. He doesn’t read any of the prose, but he does take the time to parse out Eddie’s scratchy handwriting in the margins. He writes a lot of question marks and exclamation points and draws frowny faces and smiles next to circled passages. He underlines lines he likes with thick marks and occasionally writes things like “FUCK OFF” next to ones he doesn’t.

Reading them makes Steve feel like Eddie is there with him, and it makes him smile and relax and forget about the afternoon of getting lectured by his dad.

When the front door opens, he pauses to listen the way he always does when someone comes home, whether it’s here or at his own house. He hears the jangle of keys tossed down on the table, a thud of a shoe hitting the ground, a pause, and then another thud.

He smiles to himself, able to perfectly picture Eddie tossing his keys down and kicking his shoes off lazily. He listens to the jingle of the chain on his jeans as he comes down the narrow hallway, and the faux-surprised gasp when Eddie edges the door open and looks at him.

“What is this?” He crows. “A beautiful young man in my bed, reading the sacred texts? Be still my heart!”

Steve rolls his eyes and smiles at him and holds out a hand, and Eddie climbs onto the bed beside him and wraps him up in a big bear hug. It’s cozy and wonderful and exactly what Steve needs, so he just buries his face in Eddie’s hair and listens to him talk about his day.

Or he tries to listen, but it’s been a long one and Eddie’s cadence is so soothing, and the vibration of his voice in Steve’s chest where their sternums are pressed together feels like a special kind of peace all by itself, so he kind of gets lost in it and drifts a little bit.

And then Eddie laughs and pulls back to look at him, eyes crinkled in a smile, and Steve can’t help but smile back at him, hopelessly, ridiculously in love. And then Eddie says,

“Just as I suspected. Not a thought behind those eyes.”

And Steve doesn’t really know what comes over him. A lifetime of “being a man” and playing sports and running things with Tommy H and Carol at his side had taught him how to choke down tears. He’s great at it. He can go from sobbing to fresh faced in under a minute flat when he needs to.

But for some reason he can’t stop this.

The tears that build up in his eyes just feel too big, like whole waves of water that rush up over his lids before he can even think to stop it. He tries to blink them away, tries to wipe at the corners of his eyes to pass it off as simple watering, but he can’t because they just keep coming.

Big fat tears streaming down the sides of his face towards his ears and down his cheeks. It doesn’t even feel like he’s sobbing. He doesn’t feel pressure in the back of his throat or burning in his eyes, it’s just like someone turned on a tap in his brain and let them whole room flood and he can’t hold it all back as it escapes from the only place it can.

Eddie’s smile immediately drops, and he coos and uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears as best he can. And then he leans in and starts kissing them away instead, scratching his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve feels like an idiot. He wants to stop crying and he just can’t and it’s absolutely humiliating.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” Eddie asks, his voice soothing and sweet and gentle, like Steve’s a time bomb of emotion and might shatter at a harsh word. Hell, maybe he might. He’s never cried like this before.

“It’s nothing,” he says, his words stuttering. “It’s really nothing, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Eddie looks very doubtful at that. He purses his lips and eyes Steve critically and then kisses his mouth a couple of times in a row.

“Is it your dad?” He asks. “That guy is such an asshole.”

And it is, a little bit. But Steve knows that’s not what’s happening here in this moment, so he shakes his head.

“Your mom?” Eddie follows up, frowning. “Because I’m starting to get suspicious she’s trying to trap you in a gym membership pyramid scheme…”

Steve manages a wet laugh at that one, but shakes his head.

“It’s nothing,” he says, wiping away at his tears once more, though they’re immediately replaced by new ones. “It’s just been a long day, I guess. I’m feeling kind of bad, but it’s fine. I just wanted to see you. I miss you.”

And Eddie smiles at that and leans down to kiss him again.

“I miss you too,” he says, sweetly. “It’s kind of embarrassing how much. I miss elbowing you while we brush our teeth and your early alarm waking me up on Wednesdays and even your dumb polo shirts all over my floor—“

And that sets him off all over again, even though he knows it shouldn’t. It’s not like Eddie was even talking about him, that time, not really. Just his fashion sense, which he knows is boring at best. Robin tells him all the time that he looks like he fell into a Sears catalogue and couldn’t find his way out.

But something in him is apparently broken today, and the flood of tears rages even harder, and Eddie leans back to look at him with a furrowed brow.

“What?” He asks. “Don’t tell me you’re that defensive of your beloved polos?”

Steve shakes his head.

“No, no, don’t mind me. I don’t know what’s happening, it’s s-stupid.”

He tries not to flinch as he stutters over the word, but Eddie sees more than people give him credit for, and he coos again and kisses Steve’s wet cheeks.

“Well let’s cheer you up, huh? I think I’ve got mini chocolate chips, I’ll make you pancakes for dinner. And we can watch that dumb show you like, the one with the Narc who goes to high school? Gareth taped the last episode for me—Steve why do you keep flinching like that?”

Steve doesn’t know what to do because he can’t stop flinching and for some reason the words hurt so much more today than they usually do. And Eddie is getting mad at him refusing to answer so he just shrugs and shakes his head.

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

Eddie settles back to sit cross-legged and pulls Steve upright to face him, their knees pressed together.

“It’s not stupid, okay? Whatever it is, it’s not stupid if it’s making you cry like this. Just tell me if I need to kill someone.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes,

“You don’t have the guts.”

“Yeah, okay, I definitely don’t. But I can craft a very detailed voodoo doll. Just say the word.”

Steve loves him. He loves him so much it scares him sometimes, because he doesn’t know where to put it all. And he knows if Eddie changes his mind, or tells him he never actually loved him at all, that he’ll fall apart. But he just can’t help himself, so all he can do is hope that he won’t ruin it.

And this could ruin it.

“It’s no one,” Steve said. “Just my brain being stupid.”

“Stevie,” Eddie wheedles gently. “Stop calling my boyfriend stupid. Tell me what’s wrong.”

And Steve’s not really sure what to make of that, since literally everyone calls him stupid, so he just shrugs.

“I guess I’m just wired up because my dad spent a few hours making me feel really dumb today,” he says finally. “And I know it’s true, but it still hurts my feelings. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much today specifically though.”

It feels pathetic to say that something hurts his feelings. He should be tougher than that, he knows it. He’s a grown man, not a child who has to be coddled. But Eddie had asked.

“I don’t see how it wouldn’t bother you,” Eddie says. “It’s not very nice. And you’re not stupid, Steve. Who told you you were stupid?”

Steve blinks at him for a long moment, wondering if this was somehow a trick question. His dad likes those kinds of things, sometimes. He’ll ask a question he already knows the answer to, just to see if he can catch Steve in something he considers a lie.

“Um…you know, just everyone?” He says hesitantly.

“Everyone?” Eddie asks doubtfully, and Steve shrugs.

“Yeah?”

“Like who?” Eddie pushes back, and Steve tries to think about how this is going to be turned around him. Whatever he says will definitely be used against him somehow, but he’s not smart enough to figure out how.

“I mean…Robin, and the kids. Especially Dustin. And you?”

Eddie blinks at him for a long moment, his face running the gamut of emotions. Steve watches carefully, trying to gauge what the reaction will be before it comes. And then Eddie just blinks at him.

He blinks for a long time. Like uncomfortably long.

And then he says, “Stevie, saying a show you like is dumb isn’t calling you dumb.”

He says it so sweet and patient, but Steve can hear in his voice how stupid he thinks Steve is for thinking that, so he just rolls his eyes and wipes away at the tears, which are mercifully beginning to stop.

“Right,” he says. “Stupid of me to—“

“Will you stop?” Eddie snaps. “You’re not stupid! I don’t know where you got this idea that I think—“

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, fine! You don’t think I’m stupid! Just the clothes I wear and the shows I watch and the things I do and the letters I write!”

Eddie is getting defensive now, his hackles are visibly rising, and Steve wishes he hadn’t come here. He should have gone out to the lake, or the quarry, or Skull Rock. Anywhere but here.

“What are you even talking about?” Eddie spits. “What things? What letters?”

“My dumb little love letter,” Steve spits, clambering off the bed. “And my empty eyes, and my fucking…stupid dopey smile or whatever. Good hair and a good ass and no brains, you say it all the time! And I know, okay? I know, but you don’t have to say it!”

“Steve,” Eddie says, his shoulders slumping, “Stevie, come on you know I don’t mean those things. I’m just teasing you!”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and holds himself tight.

“I know,” he says. “I do know that. But…just because you’re teasing doesn’t make it not true. And a guy can only be told how stupid he is by every person he knows twenty times a day for so long before it starts to hurt, okay? I’m trying not to take it personally. I’m just having a weird day. Sorry.”

“Shit, Steve,” Eddie says, and Steve shrugs again, because he doesn’t know what to say. Words fail him once again.

“Sorry,” he says again.

“No,” Eddie says, abrupt and harsh. “No, you don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been a huge asshole. Literally the worst boyfriend in the world. Not even a good regular friend, just a big pile of shit all the way down.”

“No,” Steve protests immediately, hands fluttering uncertainly. He wants to comfort Eddie, but he’s not sure if they’re allowed to comfort each other right now. “No, Eddie, you’re great this is my fault. I’m being too sensitive.”

“Stop trying to comfort me when I’ve made you feel like shit,” Eddie says crossly, and Steve bites his lip. “I should be comforting you! And apologizing like a million times. Because I’ve been mean to you, over and over again and i wasn’t even trying to be. I love you, and I made you cry, and that’s really fucked up.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” Steve says. “I should have said something. How were you supposed to know?”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“You should have told me,” he agrees. “I hate that I’ve been hurting you for so long and you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t want to make a fuss,” Steve says quietly. “I thought I was handling it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it,” Eddie says stubbornly. “Not from me, not from your friends. Because you are smart, Steve. You’re so smart. You blow me away sometimes, with the things you remember. The connections you make. You see things in a way I never could have considered, and you make me think about my own understanding of things all the time.”

He reaches out to take Steve’s face, and then hesitates right before making contact, like he isn’t sure it’s okay. But Steve doesn’t ever want him to feel like he can’t reach out, no matter what they were arguing about, so he presses close until Eddie’s hands are warm on his cheeks.

“You are smart, Steve Harrington. You’re creative and you’re quick on your feet and you’re so thoughtful. You know I read that letter you wrote me all the time? It’s so beautiful it’s made me cry like a baby at least four times. You have trouble saying what you mean, sometimes, but what you have to say is always worth listening to. And I’m really sorry I made you think it wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry too,” Steve sniffled, his tears starting up in earnest once more. “I’m sorry I let it go so long. I’m sorry I didn’t trust that you’d react okay to me speaking up.”

“I’m sorry I made you think I wouldn’t,” Eddie responded, and Steve laughed wetly.

“We can’t keep apologizing back and forth like this. We’re gonna get stuck in a loop.”

“I’d apologize in a loop until the heat death of the universe if that’s what you needed,” Eddie said. “But if I’m honest it might be more fun to kiss and make up.”

And Steve laughed and gave him the kisses he asked for, again and again for the rest of the evening until they fell asleep curled together in soft sheets.

#hey this one physically put a pain in my chest #like i am going to sob about this later #wowie

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

The first time Eddie sees the stupid Juicy sweatpants, he's in the elevator at the end of a very painful, shitty, shitty day.

He hadn't realized it was his new neighbor yelling at him from across the lobby to keep the elevator doors open, and he was feeling a little evil (as he often does after a bad day). So his index finger had hovered over the close doors button before his neighbor had finally managed to catch up and slap a large—okay, wow—hand in between the doors as they started to open back up.

As he'd walked in, the guy had let out a bitchy little scoff, probably insulted that the doors had nearly closed in his face, and he'd asked for the seventh floor in the bitchiest tone Eddie's ever heard in his life.

And here they are now, with Eddie's finger still hovering dumbly over the panel. He doesn't mean to leave the guy hanging. He doesn't. He's just—a little distracted. A lot distracted. There are about a million things running through his mind right now, and none of them giving him the order to press the goddamn button already, please, for the love of—

This guy—this greek God of a man—has got swoopy hair with blonde highlights, like streaks of cream poured into caramel, beautifully harmonizing with his sun-kissed skin. Strong shoulders, biteable biceps just begging for air underneath his stupid little Swim Team t-shirt as he balances several takeout bags in his arms. There's a gold chain peeking out from underneath the shirt collar, and he's got moles all over him, and Eddie's brain gets stuck wondering if maybe he likes to be kissed there, like the moles are hints of trails on a treasure map, and he wonders what he'd find if he just kept pressing his mouth to them and going and going and—

Eddie only comes back to Earth once he hears the sound of metal clattering loudly, and he realizes it's his keys that have hit the floor. He bends down to pick them up, and he hears the guy mumble something under his breath as he steps forward into Eddie's space and presses the button himself before returning to his side of the elevator.

Eddie looks up, and that's when he sees it.

JUICY spelled out in bright, pink letters on the guy's ass, and judging by the way his neighbor is filling out the sweats, juicy seems like the understatement of the year.

And this shouldn't work for him—the stupid sweatpants, the gold chain, the t-shirt, the overwhelmingly preppy, pretty look. But it does, by God, it does. It really, really, really does.

But he just stands. Dumbly. Probably beet-red by now, mouth opened like a fish, hands twitching by his sides. And his neighbor considers him for a second, eyebrows raised and mouth still in a bitchy pout, before realization seems to flash across his eyes.

Eddie sees the exact moment when his neighbor realizes that he's been rendered motionless by the mere sight of him—the exact moment where his bitchy expression turns into a confident smirk.

The elevator doors open—seventh floor, Eddie's own—and his neighbor gives him a little wink before he's walking out, clearly swaying his hips more than necessary, commanding Eddie's eyes to the pink lettering calling his name like a prayer.

Eddie wonders if maybe this is what Madonna was singing about.

And he's a simple man. He's still too stunned to move, so he lets the elevator bring him back down to the first floor before he regains control of his brain and limbs and finally gets himself to the seventh floor again, managing to get to his own apartment this time. Though he still fumbles with his keys in the lock. Once.

When he walks in, Gareth is telling Chrissy about his day, and Jeff is sprawled out on the couch, lazily flipping through channels. He distantly registers them greeting him as he sits in the armchair across from Jeff, distantly registers them asking if he's okay, if something happened.

He remembers having a bad day. Maybe. Though it doesn't matter much now, because something did happen, alright. Something colossal, something life-changing, something that Eddie isn't yet able to put into words.

All he knows is that when it happens again—because it will happen again—he'll get a fucking hold of himself.

The second time he sees his neighbor's Juicy sweatpants, Eddie is at the corner store.

#this is so beautifully written for it to be a thirst trap of juicy sweat pants lmao #i really hope there's more of them because this was perfect

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Steve knows people.

As much as his little monster-fighting family likes to believe Steve doesn’t know much, Steve definitely Knows people. Steve can read anyone like a book, based on what they choose to wear, how they choose to act, what they choose to say.

It was a survival tactic leftover from growing up the child of a millionaire; attending fancy parties and big holiday dinners with people his father did business with. Meeting a bunch of very particular adults, always having to respond in the exact right way to keep his father in good professional standings.

Steve could have a five minute conversation with someone and know for sure whether he ever wanted to see that person again.

Steve knows people.

And that is exactly why Steve is confused out of his mind about one Eddie Munson.

See, Steve has been “putting the moves,” as Robin calls it, on Eddie for the last three months. He had been pulling out every stop, trying his best to romance Eddie like one of those suave men from the books that had every bored housewife in Hawkins panting.

Steve knows Eddie likes him back. When Steve calls, Eddie’s bored sounding voice perks up half an octave when Steve starts to speak. Every time Eddie sees Steve, his face softens and he gets this dopey smile, like he’s smoked 3 joints in the last 15 minutes. Eddie always reaches out to touch Steve, and when Steve returns the favor, Eddie leans into him like a metalhead-sized cat.

It is an inherent fact to Steve that Eddie likes him back.

So when Eddie rushes a goodbye, or pulls away from a touch that’s a second too long to be platonic, or refuses to make eye contact when Steve would really like to kiss him, it confuses the goddamn shit out of Steve.

And that’s exactly what Steve says.

They’re sitting on the roof of Eddie’s van, looking up at the stars, elbows touching as they each pillow their heads on their hands. They’d just snuffed out the butt of their second joint of the night, and were basking in the lovely high, the beauty of the night sky, and each other’s company.

And Steve, as we’d established before, mutters under his breath: “you confuse the goddamn shit out of me.”

And Eddie, startled and confused, does what he does best: he laughs.

Which makes Steve laugh.

Which makes Eddie laugh harder.

Soon enough they’re both clutching their bellies and cackling out into the warm summer Indiana night.

Eddie sits up to catch his breath, crossing his legs and turning towards Steve. “Were you talking to me?”

Steve looked up at Eddie and placed one hand under his head, one on his stomach. “Yeah.”

“I confuse the goddamn shit out of you?”

Steve chuckled, still panting from the laughter. “Yeah.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows and poked Steve in the side.

Steve chuckled again, and shook his head. “You just confuse me, man. Us. This. It’s confusing.”

Eddie shrank a bit. He knew where this was going. (no he didn’t.) “Oh?” he mumbled, fumbling with his rings, avoiding eye contact.

Steve laughed. “That’s what I mean. You’re so confusing. You act like you want to kiss me so bad.”

Eddie froze.

Eddie’s brain was definitely broken.

Eddie had definitely smoked too much.

“I- you- what??”

Steve laughed.

Eddie blinked several times, wearing the most adorable confused expression. It made Steve’s heart melt. “I act… I don’t- what do you mean I ACT like I want to kiss you?!”

Steve took a deep breath and sat up, turned to face Eddie, and crossed his legs, touching both knees to Eddie’s. He covered Eddie’s fidgeting hands with his own right hand, and placed his left hand on Eddie’s thigh, just above his right knee. He leaned closer, watching Eddie’s chocolate eyes widen, darken, and flit to his lips. Steve smiled and Eddie’s breath caught, his hands flinching under Steve’s, and his eyelids fluttering in shock, before once again meeting Steve’s eyes.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “That.”

Eddie’s brain was still rebooting. “What?”

Steve shook his head and laughed. “You. Act. Like. You. Want. To. Kiss. Me.”

Eddie took a deep breath. “Steve, I’m gay.”

Steve laughed again, and Eddie frowned. “What the hell, Steve?”

Steve laughed again.

Eddie scoffed and started to move away, but Steve’s hands, previously laying innocently on Eddie’s hands and thigh, now gripped him firmly, keeping him close.

“Eddie. I know you’re gay.”

Eddie blinked. “Then why are you confused?”

Steve let his eyes very obviously find Eddie’s lips, lingering there a long pause, before bringing them back up to meet Eddie’s, which are now almost entirely consumed by the black of his blown pupils. “Because you act like you want to kiss me sooo bad, and yet, here I sit. Unkissed.”

Eddie visibly stalled. His entire body flinched, he blinked several times, and his mouth opened a fraction of an inch and he inhaled as if to speak, but made absolutely no sound.

Steve smiled and started to stroke Eddie’s hands and clothed thigh with his thumbs, silently showing Eddie he’s not going anywhere, waiting patiently for Eddie to sort through the obvious shock that this new information has triggered.

After a moment of intermittent blinking, Eddie took a deep breath. “You- I… I didn’t think that was an option.”

Steve chuckled and licked his lips. “It is most certainly an option.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay.”

Steve waited.

And waited.

“Steve?”

“yeah?”

“You’re saying I can kiss you now?”

Steve giggled. “Yeah, Eddie. I am saying that.”

Eddie nodded. “Okay.”

Steve waited again. “Unless.. You’d rather I kissed you?”

“No, no, I wanna do it.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Eddie let his hands slip from underneath Steve’s, Steve moving his hand to Eddie’s other knee. Eddie cupped Steve’s face, fingertips threading into the hair behind his ears, his thumbs resting so gently on Steve’s cheeks. Eddie held Steve like he had the entire world in his hands, and for the first time in Steve’s life, he felt precious. Nobody had ever handled Steve so delicately, and his head was swimming.

Eddie’s eyes searched Steve’s face like he was looking for something, like he’d never get another chance, like he actually cared. Eddie looked at Steve like he was a sculpture in a museum, and it made Steve dizzy.

As Eddie shortened the distance between them, the last thing Steve saw before he closed his eyes was Eddie’s face flash with the most excited expression he’d ever seen, and Steve’s heart filled with joy.

And then Eddie’s lips touched Steve’s and his own brain failed him. He’d kissed plenty of people before but it’s never been quite like this. Eddie’s kiss was firm, soft, and entirely sure of himself, as if he didn’t spend months too afraid to do it.

Eddie’s hands advanced further into Steve’s hair, cupping the nape of his neck, tilting Steve’s head to deepen the kiss. Eddie’s tongue slid along Steve’s bottom lip, and took the opportunity of Steve’s surprised gasp to let itself into Steve’s mouth. Eddie’s tongue on his own distracted Steve from Eddie’s hands, and the next thing Steve knew, he was on his back with Eddie hovering over him, his knees straddling Steve’s hips, one hand shielding the back of Steve’s head from the metal of the van, his other hand holding Steve’s chest down, heating Steve’s soul through the thin material of his shirt.

Steve turned away to catch his breath, allowing Eddie to move his kisses to Steve’s jaw, hot breath on Steve’s neck sending entirely too much of his blood south. Steve sighed, shaking his head and let out an airy laugh. “You are so confusing.”

Eddie laughed into Steve’s ear. “What now?” His voice was deep and cracked, his breath in Steve’s ear making Steve shiver and grip Eddie’s lean hips.

“You-“ Steve panted while Eddie continued kissing his neck, “You acted so shy, for months, like you were too afraid to kiss me, driving me goddamn crazy. I could see how badly you wanted it and you never did anything about it. And now, here you are on top of me, melting me into fucking putty.” He pants a few seconds more, relishing the feeling of his earlobe in Eddie’s mouth. “Why didn’t you do us both a favor and do this months ago??”

“I told you,” Eddie mumbled, lifting his face up to meet Steve’s eyes with the most wicked grin, finally touching his own body to Steve’s in a full-body grind that led with his hips, followed with his chest, and ended with a loud groan from Steve, “I didn’t think that was an option.”

#baby girl steve reigns supreme #and yet here i sit unkissed #oh my godddddd

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

so… kas theory huh

#ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

Beg for It: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Turned this into a full fic for @mantorokk-writes

Content warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) language, sub!Eddie, bratty!Eddie, dom!Reader, punishment, pegging, handcuffs, begging, crying, sex toys (fleshlight, cock ring), hair pulling, face slapping, safe words (stoplight system), overstimulation, praise.

“Baby”, Eddie singsongs, kneeing his way towards you on the bed.

Sitting against the headboard with your notes and textbook balanced on your lap, you work dutifully to finish your homework. Your professor was an incredibly tough grader, and you could not afford to retake this class…again.

When Eddie flops down beside you and you don’t look up from your lap, he tries again. “Baby”, he calls, this time a few octaves higher.

Looking up briefly, you give him a soft “hi” before turning back to your notes.

Sweeping your hair off of your shoulder, he places a kiss to the soft skin, one hand splayed across your lower back. “Missed you”, he murmurs, warm breath ghosting over your ear, making you shiver.

“Missed you too”, you reply, your pen never lifting from the page.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie’s free hand moves to cradle your cheek, turning your face to look at him.

“Baby”, you sigh, “I’m sorry, I have to finish this.”

“But I’m lonely”, Eddie pouts, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth.

You laugh, turning your gaze back to your lap as you continue to write. “Can you entertain yourself for another half hour? Then I’m all yours. I promise.”

“Deal.” He reaches over into his bedside table, pulling out his worn copy of The Hobbit to entertain himself, getting comfortable as he lounges against the pillows.

Eddie tries. He really, really does. It’s just…he’s so horny today and you’re so pretty, concentrating so hard on your work that your pink tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth. He makes it a whole five minutes before he’s back to bothering you.

His hand slowly inches up your bare thigh, slipping under the leg of your pajama shorts.

“Eddie”, you say, tone disapproving. “What are you doing?”

“M’sorry”, he whines, grinding his growing erection into your hip. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, he nips at the skin softly, making his way up to your ear. “Need t’fuck you, baby. Please?”

You pull away from Eddie just as he’s sucking your earlobe into his mouth, his fingertips grazing your clothed clit through your underwear.

“Eds, please. This has to be done by midnight.” You look up from your work, finding Eddie’s sad eyes staring back at you.

Eddie nods over to the clock on the wall that reads 8:57 PM. “Looks like we have plenty of time.”

His hand is back in your shorts, pulling your panties to the side as his ring finger glides through your wet folds. “Need to bury my cock in this pretty pussy, that okay?”

You gasp and buck up into his touch, torn on whether you should forget about your work or just get it done. “N-no, just let me finish and then you can fuck me.”

He snatches the books from your lap, haphazardly throwing them onto his bedside table, where they knock over the half-full open can of Mountain Dew. Before he can react, the green liquid is spilling all over the pages of your notes.

“Eddie!”, you shriek, jumping up to try to save your work. It’s useless, your notes are already soaking wet and illegible.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry”, Eddie grabs the dripping wet notebook and blots it with the sleeve of his shirt.

You’re practically vibrating with anger, eyes closed as you take deep breaths. You know Eddie didn’t do it on purpose, but that doesn’t change the fact that all of your hard work is now lost.

“Eddie”, you say, voice calm with just a hint of bite. “Please clean this up. I need to go email my professor, but I will be back in ten minutes. When I come back, I expect you naked and ready for me. Understood?���

Eyes cast down, he mumbles a yes ma’am before you turn to leave.

Twenty minutes later, Eddie is spread out beneath you, hands cuffed to the headboard as you sink into him, the strap grinding into his sweet spot with every maddeningly slow thrust.

His eyes are wet, blinking back tears as he begs you to fuck him faster, his cries high and needy.

Between you, Eddie’s fucking the fleshlight you’re holding for him, whining when you pull it almost all the way off, the head now the only part of him enveloped in the warm wetness.

“Please”, Eddie gasps, tongue shooting out to lick his dry lips. “Please le-let me fuck it. Wanna cum.”

Biting your lip, you make a show of considering his plea. “Hmm, be good and I’ll think about it.”

Eddie’s leg kicks out, muscles in his arms straining against the cuffs as he thrashes beneath you.

“Hey!”, you warn, pulling the fleshlight off and letting it fall at your side. “Quit acting like a fucking brat”, you hiss, winding your hand into his hair and pulling hard.

“I’m already being so generous, fucking you like this after what you did. I could have left you tied up and begging and ignored you.” Eddie whines at the thought.

“I said I’d think about it if you were good.” The hand not wrapped in his hair moves to caress his cheek, cracking against his skin at the last second. “So be good.”

He moans, a smirk on his lips when you smack him again, cock twitching against his stomach where it rests, precum pooling in the dip of his abs. “That’s not much of a punishment, you know I like it when you hit me.”

“That’s it”, you hiss.

Pulling your hips back, the strap slips from his tight hole, earning a pitiful whine from Eddie. You reach into the bedside table, pulling out his vibrating cock ring.

“Nononono”, Eddie whines as soon as he sees it.

“No?”, you ask, tone full of fake sympathy as you secure the ring as the base of his cock.“You did this to yourself, baby. Just lay back and enjoy.” Your eyes flick up to meet his, “color?”

“Green”, Eddie sighs.

The strap sinks back into him easily as you press the power button on the remote to the cock ring. A desperate moan leaves Eddie’s lips as you fuck him with hard, fast thrusts.

“Please”, Eddie sobs, eyes brimming with tears.

“Please, what?”, you ask.

“Let me-please let me fuck the toy”, he cries.

Grabbing his hips, you angle them up as you scoot forward on your knees, bending him slightly. The new angle lets you slide deeper, the head of your cock nudging his sweet spot.

“You want to fuck the toy?”, you ask. “But I thought you said you wanted to, what did you say again? ‘Need to bury my cock in this pretty pussy.’ Wouldn’t you rather fuck me than a toy?”

He gasps, head nodding frantically. “Yesyesyes”, he hisses through clenched teeth. “Wanna fuck you, please.”

Laughing meanly, you pull your hips back until your cock slides out of him. You loosen the buckles on the harness, wriggling out of it as fast as you can.

You straddle Eddie who’s still whining, the vibrations of the cock ring driving him crazy. “You want this pussy?”, you ask, biting back a smile when Eddie whimpers out a yes, ma’am please.

Grabbing the base, you glide the head of his cock between your folds, catching on your clit with every pass.

Eddie’s hips are thrusting up desperately, movements uncoordinated as he tries to sink into you unsuccessfully.

“Yeah? You want it? Beg.”

“I-”, he sniffles, taking in a shaky breath. “Please. Please, baby. I need to fuck you so fuckin’ bad. M’sorry for earlier, I swear.”

“You’ll be good? Take what I give you and thank me for it?”

“Yes”, he he breathes. “Promise.”

“Good boy”, you praise, slotting the head against your entrance and sinking down in one swift motion. “What do you say?”

“Thank you”, he sighs, head falling back against the pillows.

Your hands settle against Eddie’s chest, bracing yourself for leverage as you bounce up and grind down, rhythm slow at first. The vibrations from the cock ring are almost too much for you, and you can only imagine what it’s like for Eddie.

“How’s it feel, baby?”, you breathe, eyes sliding shut to focus on how good it feels. Before he can answer, you lift up and slam down onto him, grinding your hips down before you repeat the motion.

“Oh. I-fuck-s’too much”, he pants, jaw falling slack as he gasps for air. “It’s-I need to cum.”

“Oh? You need to cum?”, you hum disapprovingly. “I thought you promised to be good and take what I give you.”

Eddie nods, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “Yeah, I-fuck-M’sorry. I’ll be good. Thank you for letting me in your pussy.”

You chuckle, pace quickening as you lean down to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That’s more like it.”

Tagging:

@bayouteche @sweetpeapod @munsonquinns @thefreakandthehair @hellfirebabes @mcplestreet @latenightsimping @just-absolutely-feral @wroteclassicaly

#ooh im saving this for later but i know its going to be goood

[wreckmyplans-thatsmyman]

I love Argyle, Eddie and Steve so much. My weed smoking girlfriends.

#pretty hair stoner girlfriends