#Different first meeting

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie scans the room, looking for who or what he's not sure, just keeping his eyes peeled for something interesting. It's Saturday night, a packed house, some of the usual suspects but some new faces too.

One in particular stands out, especially considering his Sears Catalog attire and artfully tousled hair.

There's something about his loose body language that draws Eddie's eye. He's out of place but he doesn't act out of place. Eddie can respect it.

Unfortunately, when their eyes meet, he gets a kicked gut reaction that makes it clear this guy is off limits. The guy looks away immediately, probably thinks Eddie is more likely to pickpocket him than buy him a drink. Oh well. No great loss, he didn't come to get laid anyway.

He makes his way to the bar, gets a shot of Jack and a Miller Lite and waits. Teddy will probably show up before too long, maybe they can bar hop. He sips his beer and looks around some more, noting the older Mexican lady who runs the flower stand on the corner. You wouldn't guess it just by looking at her but she can drink anyone in the place under the table. He should really get her name.

Sears Catalog has moved to a table on the right side of the room, standing with a presumed girlfriend. Their heads are bent close together. He looks up and catches Eddie staring. They both look away again. He's really gotta stop doing that before he gets hate-crimed. It's a known problem, his type being untouchable preppy boys. He's sure if a shrink studied him, they would say it was because he didn't think he was worthy of love, or some shit, but he can't help it. The straighter, the meaner, the cleaner cut, the more Eddie falls all over himself. It’s a miracle he ever gets laid. Thankfully there’s always closet cases. He swore to himself he wasn't going to do that anymore though, he needs to have some self-respect, not let asshole jocks use him and drop him the second an emotion is displayed.

“That outfit is hideous.”

Eddie jolts in his seat. He finds Sears Catalog smirking at him like what he's said is the height of wit.

Eddie wastes no time pouring the rest of his beer over the guy's head.

He stares back at Eddie in shock, almost hurt. Fuck him. He doesn't care, he's not letting some dumbass gymrat hone his bullying skills on him. Not today.

The guy's girlfriend jogs over with a handful of napkins, which is when Eddie splits.

“I told you not to use that line!” He hears her exclaim. Eddie stops in his tracks.

“But…but...he didn't even let me get to the good part,” Sears laments. Eddie can't turn back around, he's frozen in place.

“Yeah, dingus, because it's a stupid fucking line. I'm sorry you had to find out like this but not every guy who makes eye contact with you wants to fuck you.”

“I know that! I just thought… I don't know. Let's just get out of here.”

He sounds so defeated. Eddie did that. He assumed the worst and reacted accordingly. Like an asshole. Like a bully.

They're halfway to the door when Eddie's feet unstick themselves from the floor. He rushes to intercept.

“What was the rest of the line?” He shouts.

Sears turns, eyes wide, unsure.

His…friend? Looks Eddie over, unimpressed. “What's it to you?”

He winces. “Just…uh…I guess I thought you should know, some of the guys who make eye contact do want to fuck you, they're just too stupid to realize they're being hit on.”

Sears and Mean Friend make their own eye contact. Mostly ‘Beat it' and ‘Are you serious?’ and ‘Yes, oh my god, please go.’

Eddie respects their bond.

Once Mean Friend has sufficiently rolled her eyes and threatened Eddie with bodily harm should anything worse than beer befall her friend, she stalks off into the night.

“You should take it off.”

“Huh?” Eddie responds, stupidly.

Sears smiles. “That's the rest of the line. ‘Your outfit is hideous. You should take it off.’”

Fuck, it really is a terrible line. Something a middle aged creep would use. If he'd waited long enough to hear it the first time it would've made him laugh though, which would have broken the ice.

“Awful. Zero out of ten,” he says while grinning. “Looks like you already offended one guy.” He looks at Sears’ wet shirt, appreciating his own handiwork.

“I'll keep workshopping.” His hand comes up slowly, like Eddie might react badly again. “Steve.”

It's his honor and privilege to clasp Steve's hand in his own.

“Eddie. And can I say, your outfit looks great. It would look better on my floor.”

Steve practically twinkles at him. “Stop, I'm already a sure thing.”

He uses the hand still in his grasp to pull Eddie forward and smash their lips together.

When their grandkids ask how they got together, Eddie is going to have to lie.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Wrong number AU except Eddie texts Robin on accident with a dick pic that he was definitely meaning to send to his hookup from the night before who told him “just text it to me so I can make it your contact pic” and Eddie was drunk enough at the time to think that made sense

Robin obviously throws her phone at Steve the moment she sees it and tells him to “delete the evidence of dick” on her phone

Steve starts to, he really does, but he notices that the dick is very big and Steve’s a teeny bit of a size queen, okay? He has to get a good look at it before deleting it and blocking the number for Robin

Except he stares at it for so long Robin steals her phone back and starts to do it herself, complaining the entire time about how Steve has got to get laid so he can focus.

Steve steals it back and airdrops it to himself, which is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done, and Robin is gonna be unbearable about it, but maybe he’ll get laid like she wants-

He’s ignoring her as he shares the contact with himself and shoots off a text

“Probably not gonna get very far with a lesbian, but I’d be interested” isn’t exactly the pickup line of the century, but he’s having a dry spell and he’s gotta shoot whatever shot is available even if it misses

It doesn’t miss. He doesn’t know this guy’s name, but he knows his dick is hard and leaking and that’s enough for Steve to send dirty text after dirty text

Robin leaves eventually and he’s glad for it because now he can put some pressure on his own hard dick without feeling guilty that she’s in the vicinity

And then every night for weeks he texts the guy. And the nights turn to days. And they send TikToks to each other and they ask about each others days and it’s great

And then before he knows it, he’s dating Eddie, and his contact picture is of the two of them smiling into the camera with the beach in the background from their vacation over the summer where they admittedly spent more time in bed than in the sand or waves

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Chasing Fires

This fic is based on this idea originally thought up by @kinardsboy in this post and expanded on in this post I made a few days back. I hope you enjoy this different first meeting AU between a younger Tommy and a younger Evan! 🥰

Chasing Fires

| Pairing: BuckTommy | Rated: M | WC: 150.2K | Chapters: 25/25 |

Summary: 24-year-old Tommy Kinard meets 19-year-old Evan Buckley as Evan tries to steal food at a grocery store. Tommy decides to let Evan crash at his place until Evan figures out what his next steps are, giving Evan the same help someone had given Tommy when he had been kicked out of his house years ago.

Excerpt:

Usually, when Tommy saw someone stealing food, his rule of thumb was no, you didn’t. Tommy had been that kid before. He wasn’t going to make someone’s life infinitely worse due to their own desperation. And this wasn’t Tommy exactly calling the kid out. But. He really was not going to fit that giant bag of chips into his sweatshirt in a way that was going to conceal it. And as Tommy watched the guy struggling to shove the party size bag of Lays Classic of all things into one of his sweatshirt pockets, Tommy couldn’t help but say, “Ramen.” "Ramen?" ... “Easier to hide,” offered Tommy as he remembered when he was about as desperate as this guy must be now, “Full meal too.”

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[psychotic-nonsense]

Amateurs

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Credit for the idea - and some of the fic entirely - goes out to @thesolarangel !!!!! They allowed me to use their lovely idea, so many thanks, my friend!! Added my own flair but I hope I did your thoughts justice :D

Fudging the timeline a lil for this too. Continuity errors? Plotholes? The hell you going on about, bud, it's Valentines Day, we're just having fun here ;]

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Dear Steve Harrington, You are the most handsome, athletic, and considerate man I've ever known, and I want you to be my valentine. Meet me in the band hall at 4pm Love, your secret admirer

Steve eyes the note warily, confusion morphing his face. He can feel how comical it must look, but he doesn't really care. He just can't comprehend what he's looking at.

Senior year, fallen off his throne, the apocalypse factory sealed away (for forever, hopefully). He forgets how mundane life is outside of the hell he's lived the past three- almost four years.

Proven by the fact that, apparently, someone's left a Valentines card in his locker. And a little over a week until the day itself, no less.

It's the end of the school day, already 3:45. The note wasn't there this morning, so it must've been dropped somewhere throughout the day. He puts away his notebooks, closes the locker door, all while staring at the note.

Robin - the unlikely new friendship from this last summer from hell - is neck-deep in the locker across the hall from him, rambling about her day (and Vickie) and completely ignoring any outside force. It takes a little shove to get her out of her stupor.

"Hey, I was talking about something important here-"

"Oh sure, your endless pining is so interesting," he retorts, the hallway already blissfully empty so he can make such a joke. He shoves the note into Robin's face, holding it as she mouths the message to herself. "Any info about this?"

Robin scoffs, shoving Steve's hand away. "You know I'm bad at romance stuff, why ask me?" She turns back around to finish whatever she was doing in her locker.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I mean, do you have any idea who this could be? I don't know anyone from band."

"Who said it's from someone in band?"

"The note?"

"School's out, who's going to be in there? Pretty good place to sneak away for a Valentines meetup. Besides, I don't know everyone from band, what do you take me for, social?" She fake gags.

"Right, you just know the one-" He gets a shove on the arm for that.

"Sorry, Cupid, think you're on your own this time. Besides, you have been looking for a girl, right? Here's one falling right in your lap," Robin says, finally closing her locker. She pats his cheek, starting to walk away. "Hop to it, you're cutting it close!"

Steve stands frozen, watching her leave him behind. "Wha- I drove you here!" he calls out. "Where are you going-"

"It's Wednesday!" Robin calls over her shoulder. Right, the 'maintenance day' for Robin and her bike ("You can't forget how to ride a bike, Robs-" "Well I'm not testing it!"). No alibi for Steve, it seems.

He sighs heavily, quickly checking his watch. 3:55. He turns back to the note, seriously eyeing it and considering what might come out of this.

Oh well. Steve's not one to let someone down with punctuality, plus Robin was kinda right. Whether or not he'll have to let down this poor girl, he'll have to see.

He walks through the halls to the band room. Senses a little on edge from that uncanny feeling, but he does his best to ignore it. Hell's closed up, and everything's okay.

He makes it to the band hall just in time, yet upon walking in, the place is barren. Nothing but chairs and stands and the half-lit lights. Strange, how much more disappointed Steve feels about being stood up than he thought he would - meaning any at all. Still stings to know he's not always wanted.

Always needed, always the babysitter.

He's just about to turn around when a loud CRASH sounds from the far wall, and a storage closet door rattles as someone swears behind it.

Instincts now fully blaring in his ears, Steve immediately drops his backpack by the door and picks up a music stand, running to the back in a burst of energy. Upon throwing the door open, however, all that happens is a body falling into him, and the box said person was holding once again crashing to the floor.

Steve, in primary protective mode, drops the stand and grabs the person before they both hit the ground. A mop of dark hair is shoved into his mouth with an earthy cloud of smell around it, with a masculine grunt as they're caught and the feel of denim under Steve's hands.

Steve barely gets the person in a standing position without falling over himself, and this person takes a minute to get their legs working again. But they finally pick themselves up and massage their hands and something about that hair and smell seems so familiar...

"Whew! Thanks, man, I thought I was toast under that thing- Harrington?"

The person- guy finally turns around with a grateful smile that falls the moment he makes eye contact.

Eddie Munson. Local town Freak and D&D master, and the name Steve has heard way too much about since last semester. Thank the kids for joining that damn club.

Of course, Steve knew the guy already, word travels fast and appearances stay familiar in small towns. A three-peat senior, not too unlike Steve's super senior status (brain got too rattled after '84, and '85 didn't make it much better). A showman, either in the cafeteria or Steve's English class, he's always got something to make the people laugh. The kids praise him like a god, the halls whisper that he's the copycat of a deadbeat, and the town preaches that he's the harbinger of their fake hell.

But Munson doesn't seem dangerous to Steve right now. Nothing bad at all, actually, standing here under the light of a single sputtering light bulb that reflects in his big doe-like eyes just right, haloing his wispy hair into something angelic, and if Steve saw him in any other context he'd almost think him cute-

Oh.

Well shit.

It's well past 4pm. Munson's in the band hall by himself, in the dark.

Robin and Dustin have been telling Steve to 'broaden his horizons,' and didn't Steve himself say he 'liked more' in that food court booth?

And writing love letters sounds like something only a nerd would do...

Could it be him...?

"Munson, h-hey," Steve stutters out, realizing it's been a bit too long since anything was said. He throws the confused-curious-scared-relieved crisis to the back of his mind, focusing all his energy on just acting normal. 'Casual' went out the damn window when one of his hands ran through his hair. "What, uh.. what're you doing here?"

Thank god for that simple little response. Eddie latches on to it with a smile that makes little dimples show on his cheek, though they're gone too soon when he turns to kick the half cardboard, half duct tape box still in the storage closet.

"Just repaying some old debts," he says, that same jesting lightness he'd throw in quips against Mrs. Schneider. Eddie snaps his fingers, brings those so bright eyes back around to Steve. "Say, think you could give me a hand? Could use some old jock strength here."

Steve lets the jab roll past him, he's heard worse from the kids. He just agrees - because who is Steve Harrington if not ever helpful? - and steps into the cramped storage closet. It takes some maneuvering to make sure the poor thing doesn't fall apart in his arms, but he gets the box up off the ground. Nothing too strenuous, but Eddie is quick to direct Steve on which shelf to place the box. One more strain against the old cardboard gets them both in a panicked frenzy, but their combined push gets the box settled.

Now they're cramped in a tight storage closet shoulder to shoulder, and Steve is hyperaware of the presence. Eddie doesn't seem like that bad of a guy, he's willing to give it a shot, but he's afraid his charm might not work the same-

Eddie lightly slaps Steve's arm, drawing his attention and dear lord his eyes look so much brighter now- "Not that I'm not grateful for the aid, Mister Strongman, but only satisfaction brings a curious cat back." He leans against the opposite shelving of the closet easily, not very eager to leave the tiny space, it seems. "What brings you into the den of us freaks?"

Eddie looks so confident, speaks every word with an air of comfort and ease, that it makes the last of Steve's anxiety leave him in a huff of light laughter. He just draws in a breath, suddenly very curious to see where this goes, and starts up the charm.

"You tell me, Munson," he responds lightly. Tilts his head so he's looking up at Eddie through his eyelashes, pulls the face Nancy used to call stupid and begs that it isn't anymore. The smile is easy, though. It's so easy to smile around a presence like this.

Yet Eddie's comfort immediately wavers, and he looks surprised. "Uh..." he chuckles out nervously, "what's that supposed to mean, Harrington?"

Oh, so Munson plays hard to get? He can work with that. So much more familiar in this game, Steve just saunters the last few inches to face Eddie with only a breath's space between them. Keeps just enough distance, though, to make them both crave the closeness, leaning against the shelf beside Eddie to look down on him. "C'mon, Eddie... you know why I'm here."

And may the corpses of Upside Down monsters be his witness, Eddie "The Freak" Munson damn near blushes at the tone and proximity. Bingo.

"I- uh-" Eddie clears his throat. "'Fraid I don't recall," he mutters. There's a little bit of tension in his shoulders, hidden in the motion as Eddie leans further into the little space between them, staring Steve right in the eyes as he says, "Care to enlighten me?"

Steve is more than happy to remind him, especially if it gets the last of that tension out of him. It doesn't look right on Eddie. The line's been cast, the lovely fish caught, and now it's time to reel it in. "Well, got word lately of a new... development in Hawkins High." Steve meets Eddie's eyes and loses himself in them a little. "Figured I'd come by to talk to the source."

To Steve, it's the smoothest pickup line this side of the midwest.

But Eddie's entire demeanor sours in an instant. His shoulders tense, his eyebrow furrows so much that glorious light is gone, and he leans forward not by want, but by attack. "Alright, listen here Harrington, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt for those kids, but I swear if you don't pick your next words carefully-"

"Woah woah woah, hey wait!" Steve immediately backs up to give Eddie space - not much considering they're still in the damn closet, Steve walks right into the opposite shelving rack with a loud clatter - the tension in the air taking an instant 180. "I didn't- What did they- What're you talking about, I didn't mean any harm!!"

Eddie's still eyeing him warily, but he's not leaving despite the open door. That's a start. "What did you mean then, your highness?" he spits, and it sends a crack straight through Steve's heart.

One that shines light on the ignorant hope resting all on that damn...

"Did... did you not want to talk to me?" Steve asks quietly.

The volume seems to wear Eddie down a little too, as the light comes back to his eyes and the tension loosens. "Where'd you get that idea?" he asks, stern but lacking in power.

Suddenly this whole attempt - finding the note, following it, saving Eddie from the box, helping him, daring to take the leap - feels so fucking stupid that Steve can't believe he went through with it.

But Eddie's looking at him like he genuinely wants to know. Not just to get Steve away, but to know what's got him so out of sorts. Like he's bothering to care.

So Steve fumbles for the words with Eddie waiting patiently, his defenses falling with each failed sentence as Steve's too open heart shows him everything. In the end, Steve gives up, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out the note. Looks away from Eddie as he holds it out for him to take. Feels his treacherous heart stutter at the brush of their hands as Eddie takes it. Can't bear to turn around, his face too flushed and his heart too worn as he hears the note crinkle, at Eddie's tiny gasp as everything clicks.

"Steve..." Eddie whispers, pleads, and Steve is oh so weak to such a sound. He looks up and comes face to face with an expression just as hopeful, as daring, as Steve has felt this entire interaction.

Eddie's a smart guy, it seems. He knows. But still he dares to ask. "You... thought I wrote this?"

Steve clears his throat, can't look away as he waves at the note held almost reverently in Eddie's hand. "It was 4pm when I showed up, wasn't it?" Jokes, feels the sincerity choke him a little. Eddie laughs like he gets it, looks back down at the note.

"I'm almost insulted then, Steve." Something happens to his face then that crushes all of the leftover tension in the closet. Brings back the right one with a teasing glance back at him, Steve's heart stuttering again. "This little thing-" he waves the note, "-was written by a complete amateur."

It's the same game, same rules, but he's playing with a teammate now and it feels so much sweeter. "Oh yeah?" Steve tempts. Doesn't try looking a certain way, not The King or The Hair. Just Steve. "Think you could do better?"

"Mhm, certainly," Eddie drawls. He looks back down at the note, steps off the shelf but doesn't dare step closer. "Shouldn't expect much, it's just an invitation... but to encourage an appearance, one should entice the recipient with the truth." He takes a slow, single step forward. To Steve it feels like crossing the world just to get them closer. "I'll give the girl this, she got all this right. But it just scratches the surface, doesn't it?"

Finally, Eddie looks up, and his eyes are black holes that Steve never wants to fight and his smile one that Steve would blind himself on if it meant it was the last thing he ever saw.

It's a universal truth that Steve Harrington falls hard. But the way Eddie's looking at him makes him hope like a fool that Eddie fell first.

"Because based on what I've seen..." Eddie takes another step closer, enough for their feet to rest beside each other, their knees almost touching, "Steve Harrington isn't just considerate, or athletic.

"He's brave. Smart. Loyal. Selfless. Seems like he'll throw himself into danger if it meant he's saving a life." Eddie takes that last step forward, leans fully into Steve's space with an open expression that is at once confident-scared-hopeful-real. Steve wouldn't look away if his life depended on it, because dying under Eddie's touch, Eddie's words, Eddie's gaze, would be the kindest death he could ever have.

"He's kind, cares so much it's a wonder his heart has room for the blood that keeps such a perfect guy alive." Eddie's almost whispering now. The shelving biting into their every limb is second to the tension pushing them together. "And while handsome is true, I'd have rather used something like... gorgeous."

That's when Eddie's eyes drift down to watch the shiver those words send through Steve catch right on his lip. "Sounds much more fitting, don't you think, Stevie?" Eddie looks back up to meet Steve's, and it's the most exposed Eddie's ever seemed, the most seen Steve's ever felt.

Steve can't breathe, can barely move his head in fear of being scalded by the heat of his face. "Yeah..." he gasps out. Swallows, his voice shaking as he forces it to move. "S-something like that..."

Steve Harrington is stuttering. He couldn't be ashamed if he tried, because what else could a weak man do to survive this?

The last of Eddie's confidence slips then, like he's just as weak. "Tell me I'm wrong," he whispers, pleads. "Tell me all the wishing I've done all this time was for nothing."

Steve doesn't have to. All he has to do is take that final leap, grabbing Eddie's waist. It's the answer to the begging left unsaid.

Waits to catch Eddie as he finally, finally closes that last tiny space.

Eddie kisses Steve with the emotion of a hundred years of waiting, the ferocity of fearing it going away, but the care of never daring to let it go now. Steve kisses Eddie back with the desperation of a lonely man given a hand, the strength behind a promise of protection, and the love hidden away in his poor heart finally allowed to burst.

He's lost in the feeling - Eddie's hands in his hair, Eddie's body pushing them closer, Eddie's lips and tongue on his own, Eddie's sweet gasps of air between their mutual desperation. It's a beautiful push and pull that Steve never wants to win.

A hand goes to Eddie's jaw, holds it reverently, tracing the bone and skin and motion. Another goes down to the side of Steve's neck, a light pressure, feeling the pulse and air and swallow.

They don't dare leave each other's lips, can't move away from the tight hold trying to connect every inch of them together, barely leaves room to breathe. Eddie wants to bite, Steve wants to see, but the thought of leaving is impossible to them, so they don't.

Until there's a sudden knock at the door of the band hall that breaks the haze. Steve pulls away to huff in anger, glaring at the wall they're hidden behind to whomever is behind it. Eddie shakes his head at the motion, laughs quietly, pulling Steve's attention back like a moth to flame.

"Steve?" calls out a tentative female voice. If Steve wasn't so drunk on Eddie's everything, he'd feel guilt over the poor girl finally showing up.

Eddie, however, just grins like this is another stage. Pulls away - with much agony from them both - from Steve just enough to look out the door. Steve can hear the girl gasp in shock when he's visible.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Eddie calls out. They're still close enough for the sound to vibrate under Steve's hands through Eddie's entire being. "Haven't seen him!"

The girl mumbles out a profuse apology and promptly exits herself. Such a shame, that people don't want to be around Eddie. What a blessing, that that leaves him all for Steve.

Eddie barely has time to close the closet door enough to keep them hidden more before Steve breaks and surges forward again. Catches Eddie's mouth while he's mid laugh, Steve mid smile. Nearly splits his lip with the force, but Eddie soothes it with his tongue before it can sting.

"Still breaking hearts, huh Steve?" Eddie whispers against his lips. Steve backs away, for the sound of Eddie's words is far sweeter than the taste of them, and the sight of Eddie's eyes far warmer than them both.

"'S long as it's not this one," Steve whispers back. Kisses Eddie again right, if a bit chaste. "Wanna know it instead, if his owner will let me?" Can't help but beg even under Eddie's full attention.

But Eddie just takes it in stride. Grabs the hand on his face and pulls it down to rest over his heart. "It is a little broken already, I'm afraid." His expression falls, just a smidge, but Steve sees it like clouds over the sun. "Sorry for assuming the worst earlier. I'm still scared I'm gonna wake up..."

Steve just does his best to hold Eddie's hand back. "You dream of me?" he can't help but ask.

Eddie looks at him with a look of pure longing. "Can't dream of anything else."

Steve holds him tighter, everywhere. Hands, body, sight. Mind and soul and heart. "Would you let me heal you?"

The clouds pass and Eddie holds him back, bonking their foreheads together - "If you dare, rearrange me so you may fit between the pieces..." - before going back to his lips.

'I wouldn't want to be anywhere else...'

Steve barely knows Eddie, but he wants to try. Eddie barely knows Steve, and he wants to show him everything. Robin and the kids are going to go crazy with this, but Steve's willing to brace for the aftermath.

So long as it means this secret admirer will stay by him for their lives to come.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Different first meeting au where Xie Lian became a shrine priest for the ghost king Hua Cheng in hopes that if Wu Ming somehow survived, he doesn’t think he did but he has hope okay??, he would be protected and cared for in ghost city. And Hua Cheng, who doesn’t take care of his own prayers and instead foists them off on Yin Yu because that would cut into his time to search for Xie Lian, doesn’t find out for centuries.

[starlightbuckk]

if you were a waiting room, i would never see a doctor | bucksprideflag

The one where Buck is a firefighter and Eddie is a trauma surgeon but they still manage to find their way to each other.

call you home | ashavahishta

"Eddie Diaz drinks his 'I fucking love my husband' juice for 6,000 words." OR "5 Times Eddie Told The Firefam About Buck and 1 Time They Actually Met Him".

Opie | Buddieaya

au where Buck finds Christopher’s cat Opie.

A Friend-Of-A-Friend | Duckkey

Moving to LA and joining the LAFD, Eddie had planned to keep his head down. His only plan was to get through his shifts, take care of his son, and figure out this whole "single dad" gig for the sake of his little boy. He didn't plan to focus all that much on making new friends. He certainly didn't plan to keep date-crashing Carla's handsome teacher-friend with the birthmark just over his eye.

Got You Inked On My Skin | Anon

Buck thirsts after his new tattoo artist.. luckily for him the feeling is VERY mutual

here's my confession (i'm kinda hooked on you) | donationwayne

Buck is forced to go on a temporary medical leave after getting crushed by a flight of stairs. In the meantime, he works at dispatch while he recovers. One evening after work, Buck hooks up with a mysterious, hot, family oriented DILF. The following morning he’s mortified and a little love sick after discovering said hook-up aka Eddie Diaz is the newest (temporary) firefighter liaison--poached from a house in El Paso, Texas. Buck navigates becoming best friends and eventually work partners with his ex-hookup. In the meantime, he desperately tries not to fall in love. He fails.

keep me as your finish line | @thatbuddie

Buck does fuck the guy in the showers. but that comes after nicknaming him Big Beautiful Brown Eyes, finding out his name is actually Eddie, becoming his best friend, and falling madly in love with him.

I'm cold but you light the fire within me | Beulaugh on ao3, @if-music-be-the-food-of-love on tumblr

Buck shows up for Career Day at Eddie's school, and both of them struggle to rein in their attraction.

when i kissed the teacher | ellewriteswrongs

after being discharged from the army, eddie takes up a job as a middle school art teacher and immediately bonds with the adorably dorky science teacher that chris loves

another week, another list! as always please give a like, reblog, or follow! feel free to reblog with your own work!

drop an ask if you want some recs for a certain prompt/trope :)

[steviewashere]

You're Pretty, Too

Rating: General CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death (Eddie's Mom, Steve's Grandpa) Tags: Different First Meeting AU, Met in Childhood, Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Child Eddie Munson, Child Steve Harrington, Getting Together, First Kiss, Al Munson is an Asshole, Steve Harrington's Father Being an Asshole, Eddie Loved His Mom, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Meeting Again, Dialogue Heavy This is a fully fledged fic from this post, if you want some full context. Also on AO3 because it got really long.

🫂—————🫂 It starts like a horror movie in the dark and the cold.

In the shrouding darkness, in the only light being within a shaking hand, with yelling, with the brutality of living. He’s never been one to find the good in the bad—Munsons don’t do that, not much, not really. And his papa had a knack for showing them what their worth. Last wrung, the liquid at the bottom of a garbage can, in ash.

Eddie didn’t know what to do without his mama; who to run to, who to turn to, who to love. He’d be reaching for his papa’s hand even with the knife’s blade sharp, shiny, pointed at his pale-skinned neck. Growing up was a lot of chasing the pavement below his bare feet in the hot summer sun, letting it lick his heels, burn him in the soles. Running away from the conflict of a drunk, angry man and the grief webbed around his home—he never knew where he was going, to his mama’s headstone, or to the burbling ponds with their timid, bread-bloated ducks, or up in the bends leading narrow to alleys home to the gnarly stray cats with their raggedy fur. The world made it clear he wasn’t cut for it—not from the same cloth as some of the boys in his intermixed classroom; all those older boys always standing over his buzzed head and gangly limbs sent star-sprawled across the playground. He was a bug, the sun a magnifying glass, the kids like rubber boots, and his papa the glue trap.

His papa taught him how to start up a car when he was seven. Taking him on all the big scenes, handing him the flashlight already clicked on, telling him to hold it steady so they could get in and out. If they were running, then he was chasing his papa’s legs—he was holding his hand; the only time he was holding his hand—and in the aftermath, he was biting through the candy bar his papa managed to pocket in the chaos. His teeth ached from the sugar, but he knew better than to question the pain—he wasn’t dead, so he was thankful; even as hungry as he was, even though he watched his papa pocket the Sudafed to sell instead of the oranges to eat. They made money from these escapades and Eddie had no reason to challenge them. It’s not like he brought in anything.

The final job, his papa takes him to a restaurant. It’s spacious, glimmering, the music heard from the sidewalk. Every parking space occupied by cars shinier than Eddie’s fingernails, and he knows what they’re here to do.

He’s handed the flashlight. “Be steady,” his papa mutters, “‘m gonna get them wires, see if I can get ‘em to spark.” The car they’re in is black and all the seats are genuine leather. There’s shag on the ceiling, on the floor. Top of the line radio. In the backseat, a booster. Some crayons scattered on the middle seat—a coloring book that Eddie can’t quite catch the name on. His dad must see him stumbling away from the task, his calloused right hand grabbing for Eddie’s face, squeezing him tight enough that his teeth threaten to come loose, and he’s pulled back. “I said stay steady,” his dad grits, “or I’m gonna make you walk. You wanna hav’ta walk home? Huh, Edward?”

“It’s Eddie,” he quietly whines.

“Quit your cryin’ or I’m gonna give you somethin’ to cry about.”

“Sorry, Papa,” Eddie murmurs, “I’ll pay attention now.”

“You better.”

And that’s that. He holds the flashlight with both hands. And he hides his tears. Until—

There’s commotion. Yelling. Shouting. He’s yanked from the front passenger seat by a stronger hand than his dad’s, yet just as calloused. Whoever grabbed him smells like spice and that foul juice his papa is always drinking. They’re strong, burly. Tossing him to the side, to the curb.

It’s a whirlwind, but Eddie catches who must be the owner of the car—some important man, judging by his well-fitted suit—is holding his papa against the side of the restaurant, smushing his smarmy face against the bricks, growling words too low to catch in their entirety. There’s a woman, too, swaying on her feet—like it’s taking all her energy just to stay upright—but she isn’t saying anything, isn’t really doing anything. And there’s a little boy, most likely around Eddie’s age, who’s standing on the same sidewalk as him. The little boy is first knuckle deep in his right nostril, he’s holding a clamshell leftover container to his abdomen—also in a well-fitting suit, though the tie is too long for him, actively peeking out of the jacket—but he just stands there.

There’s police sirens whooping, getting closer and closer. It happens, again, in a whirlwind—all the commotion. His dad’s in handcuffs, forced to sit in the backseat of this patrol car. Eddie’s being asked to just stay still, being told he’s not in trouble despite holding the flashlight. So he’s cowered on the sidewalk, twisting his fingers around until they pop and then pop some more. The dad of this little family begins shouting again, he has a lot of fervor, a lot of passion he’s been bottling up—if his wide eyes and snarling lip and spray of spit are anything to go by through all this. And then—

“Why did you try to steal my daddy’s car?” the boy suddenly asks, flicking something off his finger. Eddie didn’t even realize he had left his spot. His voice is squeaky and bright and sweet, despite it all. He’s got an inch on Eddie, his hair seems to have been meticulously styled at one point—thought that’s more of a passing thought, it’s drooping and flopping now, strands getting into his face. He’s staring at Eddie with these big, also drooping, hazel eyes. The takeout container in his hands is passed back and forth between his palms, almost like he’s nervous. “My daddy paid lots and lots and lots of money for his car. At least, that’s what he told me.”

Eddie just swallows and wrings his hands together again—his knuckles won’t pop anymore, but the stretch is enough. Then, he shrugs. “My papa said I had to,” he mutters, “so that we can have food. I didn’t know it was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“It’s very wrong.”

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, hanging his head. It’s a shame that his head is buzzed. His hair used to be long enough that it would dangle down and cover his face; it was hair that he could hide in, if need be. Until, well, his dad buzzed it near completely off, telling Eddie in this particular tone that long hair was only for pansies. (For sissies, he didn’t say. For pussies.) He can see his dad, even when he looks down towards the parking lot, can see his impatient feet dangling over the edge of the open patrol car door—tapping away in that furious way he always does; it’s saved for when he’s really mad—and when Eddie can finally catch his dad’s gaze, the anger is set on him, not the men in blue. “I shouldn’t have done it, but my papa said I had to help”—he continues to hold his dad’s angry stare—“I trust my papa.”

“My daddy has lots of money,” the boy abruptly tells him. “Don’t you have money? To get your own car?”

Eddie throws him a sidelong glance. One that wavers, still too timid in his boots to hold something steady. Be steady. Be steady. “I had a dollar from the tooth fairy,” he tells quietly. The kid tilts his head like a clueless puppy. “Had?”

He shrugs again. “My papa needed it. Said we had to get a candy bar so he can keep all the expensive stuff he put in his pockets.” When he looks back at his dad, there’s nothing there, except for his still tapping feet. Helpless, lost in the chaos, he can only look back to the all too curious kid. “Why’re you talkin’ to me? Aren’t your parents mad at me?”

“They’re mad at your daddy,” the boy explains, “not you. But…I don’t know, I can tell they don’t like you anyway. Sometimes, when my daddy is really angry, he looks at me like that”—he points shyly to his dad, who just finished giving a smoldering stare to Eddie—“that’s before he grabs the wooden spoon. It scares me a little. Says it gets his frus-tra-tions out—I dunno what that means. Maybe he’ll do it tonight.”

A pit has been gently forming, crumbling the sides of Eddie’s stomach, for the entire night. Now, it sinks like an airplane ready to crash. He’s got guilt the size of the moon in his soul, guilt that shouldn’t be his—but it’s not like his dad is going to take to it. “My papa does that, too,” Eddie quietly admits—like maybe if he can relate, the kid won’t blame him for what happens back home—“but he says it’s to teach me a lesson. He’s good at teaching lessons.”

“Hm,” the boy hums. “Daddy says that kinda stuff, too. I don’t believe him sometimes. Sometimes it just hurts.” Then, he looks at Eddie again, those droopy eyes soft and curious. “What’s your name? We’ve been talkin’ and I don’t know your name. Daddy says it’s good to get somebody’s name. For big connections. I also dunno what that means. He talks and makes money, so I guess I don’t need to know. He talks forever. Forever and ever! That’s why we were here tonight, he’s talkin’ to his partners from”—the kid puffs out his chest, deepening his voice to bellow—“The Branch.” And then he shoots Eddie a gap-toothed grin—his two front teeth are sitting apart from each other, just barely, and he’s missing a fang on the left side. It’s dorky. It’s sweet.

“I’m Eddie,” he speaks again, quietly, “what’s your name?”

“Steve!” he exclaims. “Or, well, I’m s’posed to be Steven. But my friend, Tommy, gave me a nickname. And guess what?!” Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to answer before—“Tommy is a nickname, too! His real name is Thomas, but he doesn’t like it. Says it makes him feel grown up. But we’re only six. We’re not s’posed to be big yet. You should see him sometime, I think maybe you guys could play trucks together—though Tommy likes the big yellow truck. Says it’s like his daddy’s work. I dunno what Tommy’s dad does. Buildin’ stuff, maybe. I wonder what he builds. Maybe those big, tall buildings in New York—I see ‘em all the time when my daddy wants to take me ‘cause he’s a law-yer and has to go—oh, sometimes my daddy says I gotta stay home when he leaves with Mommy ‘cause of his big work stuff”—Steve stops to take a deep breath, chuckling at the tail end of it—“but that’s okay. I get to be alone at home! It’s quiet when they aren’t there, no more yelling. And I get to eat my food in front of the TV, and I can have ice cream for breakfast and”—

“Eddie is a nickname, too. My mama named me Edward. Like my great-grandpa. Said he was a special man. That he was important to her.”

Steve grins big at him again. His hair is in his eyes. Something in Eddie makes him want to swipe it away—he only twists his fingers tighter, tighter until they pop. “That’s cool,” Steve says, “you seem cool. Your hair is different, though. Never seen such little hair before. ‘Cept from my teacher. But he doesn’t count. Not really.” He leans into Eddie’s personal bubble, lowering his voice. “He’s bald,” Steve whispers.

“Yeah?” Eddie giggles out.

The hair in Steve’s eyes doesn’t get any better when he bobbles his head up and down. “Mhm! Yeah! Tommy says he has no hair from stress. I dunno what Mister…I dunno what his name is now. Somethin’ long, I think. Maybe that makes him freak out? Sayin’ his name all the time.” Steve tilts his head up towards the night sky—whatever little light there is makes his eyes shiny, and so much bigger than they seem—his lips are pursed, eyes squinted, tapping away at his chin in thought. Then, he shrugs and looks back to Eddie. “Doesn’t matter. I think he has no hair because his cat licked it all off. My nana has a cat and it licks my hair sometimes, it’s very funny. Like it’s cleanin’ me.”

Eddie quirks a small smile, to which Steve returns tenfold. “I like cats,” he whispers.

“You have to meet my nana’s cat! He’s grey with stripes and he’s loud and he has six toes on his front right paw and he’s very fat. His name is Goose, which is super silly because he’s a cat, not a goose and he likes to eat and sometimes I feed him cheese when Nana isn’t looking because it makes him happy”—again, Steve leans into Eddie’s space, his eyes wide, eyebrows shot up his forehead, a giddy and itching smile on his face that he actively tries to wipe away, to no avail—“I like cheese, too. I got mac and cheese from the big boy menu, but it was too much food even though it’s my favorite! Do you like cheese, too, Eddie?”

He nods his head, slower than Steve had, and softer. “Yeah,” he says, “my mama used to let me have cheese from the bag.” Eddie snorts. “But it was a secret, so don’t tell anybody, okay?”

Steve clumsily draws an ‘X’ over his chest. “I won’t tell anybody,” he swears. And then he pushes his clamshell container right into Eddie’s face. “You want some of my mac and cheese?! It’s got three different cheeses in it! I didn’t even know there were that many!”

“Um…” Eddie scratches at his arm, looking towards Steve’s dad again. Though, this time, he’s looking away. Still talking angrily with the police, shouting words that take the shape of profanities—the same kind of words that earn him peppers on his tongue—but he’s not staring. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

With no warning, Steve plops down heavily onto the curb, popping the box open with his little hands. Eddie has half a mind to track where his booger-picking finger goes. But he’s hungry, so it nearly doesn’t matter. “We have to eat it with our fingers,” Steve says—shit—“Daddy wouldn’t let me take the spoon. Said it’s un-gentlemanly. I dunno what that means, ‘cause Daddy’s always using words too big for me—sometimes it’s hard to read ‘em and say ‘em, but that’s okay, ’s what my mommy says—but I think the word is a bunch of poop. I liked the spoon, I should’a been able to keep it since my house doesn’t have spoons like this one—It had a big end for soup, but they gave it to me with my food—What d’you think that means, Eddie?”

He sits down next to Steve on the curb. Tucking his knees up to his chest. In a matter of seconds, he’s scooping up a handful of the cheesy macaroni, after Steve draws his hand to the container to do so. “I dunno,” he says.

Steve hums like he agrees. Then—“You’re quiet, which is nice. I like quiet. Tommy is so loud—always laughing and singing and screaming at everybody. And my daddy. Sometimes my mommy. Is your mommy loud?”

Now, this is where things get tricky. Nobody really asks Eddie about his mama anymore. Not about how they used to dance and sing and talk and talk and talk. They don’t ask what her favorite color was—baby green, a sage, he remembers: the color of her nail polish, her hair ties before she lost her hair, and the gemstone on her wedding ring. Or her favorite meal to make, which was always a big pot of chili that she’d invite his uncle over for, and he’d bring the cornbread, and his dad would smile with his eyes and they’d have sodas instead of the sour, bitter canned juice. They don’t want to know why she died or how it got that bad or if he believes whether or not his life would be better if she stuck through it, if she fought with everything. They don’t know that he cries and cries and cries and he seldom talks. There’s not much left without her—he wishes it was all different.

Her funeral was in their local church. And he wore a suit like Steve’s, pressed and prim and proper. He held his uncle’s hand. Said peace, hung heads in prayer, shared stories. And then they went out for Chinese food; the man who owned the shop had her plate made at the end of their lunch��assuming she was at home resting—Eddie had broke open his fortune cookie, which told him to stay happy, and he didn’t have the heart to tell the man what happened. They took the food home anyway, and Eddie let it rot.

“She…uh…she’s dead,” Eddie says, “but, no, she wasn’t very loud.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers, “I’m sorry, Eddie.” There’s a handful of sticky macaroni in his hand, his fingers tense around it. His eyes get impossibly sad. “My Grandpa Otis is, too. I miss him lots.”

“‘M sorry about your grandpa,” Eddie murmurs.

They sit in relative silence at that. Shoulder to shoulder. Eating their macaroni. The patrol car door slams, but Steve’s dad seems to keep dragging out the shouting. He wonders if it’s like this for Steve at home—it wouldn’t surprise him, but it’s hard to figure with how bright this kid is.

“You miss your mommy a lot,” Steve pipes up.

“How’d you know?”

Steve shrugs. “Assumin’,” he says softly, “when Mommy leaves with Daddy, it always makes me sad. I like Mommy, she’s nice to me, and she shouldn’t have to go. Was your mommy nice?”

“The nicest. She liked to give me hugs and hold my hands. Papa doesn’t do that. Says it’s stupid stuff for babies.”

Again, with little warning, Steve is moving. He throws his non-macaroni, yet booger-riddled, arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Bringing him in firm and fast. “I like hugs, too,” Steve murmurs, “Mommy gives me hugs. Not all the time. Sometimes she’s busy. Sometimes she’s gone.” He sighs through his nose, then he rests his head against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie wonders how lonely Steve must feel, hopefully not too much—thinking about it makes something turn sour and hard in Eddie’s stomach. “We should be best friends. So that we can hug all the time. Are you good at hugging?”

He lays his own arm across Steve’s shoulders. The comfort is…nice…and warm. “I think so?”

“Good. We can hug all the time. And we can be happy.” Steve nuzzles into Eddie’s shoulder, his handful of food dropping back into the container—he wipes the cheese from his fingers all over his pristine suit jacket, doing it until it’s completely clean. And then he squeezes his cleaned up hand, wrist, and arm over Eddie’s middle. A true hug. Softly, “If your daddy is in trouble and your mommy is…Who will you go to?”

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie answers. “They said I’m staying with him for a while. They had’ta call him on the restaurant phone. I hope I stay with him forever. I love him lots.”

“I wish I had an uncle,” Steve whispers, “you’re so lucky.”

“I don’t think I’m very”—

“You have an uncle and a nice nickname and your hair is cool and you give good hugs and you like cheese and you’re nice”—Steve sighs—“you’re lucky because you’re Eddie.”

“Well, you’re lucky because you’re Steve.”

“I wanna be your best friend forever. We can see Goose and we can eat cheese from the bag and we can hug and we can talk and talk and talk.” Abruptly, Steve sits back up, looking deep into Eddie’s eyes. “When you go to your uncle’s, will you call my home so that we can set up a play date?”

“I don’t have your”—

Steve pulls away, retrieving a pen from the inside of his jacket. It’s a nice jacket, all things considered, though Eddie didn’t pay too much attention to it, too busy being entranced by Steve’s eyes…something about his face makes Eddie’s tummy feel funny. “Daddy says to always have a pen. I dunno why. I just use it to draw pictures on my arms. He doesn’t like it when I do that. But I don’t care. It’s my pen and I like to draw kitties.” He grabs at Eddie’s arm, bare and exposed from only wearing a t-shirt. Steve’s hands are wonderfully warm. “You’re so cold,” Steve comments. “I wish I had my coat. I’d let you wear it. But I gotta wear my stupid suit. It’s too tight. Your t-shirt is cool, but now you’re cold. And I’m gonna make it all better by drawing a kitty on your arm. What kinda kitty do you like?”

“I like…I like black cats. They’re pretty.”

Smiling, Steve murmurs, “Black cats are very pretty…you’re pretty, too. But don’t tell my daddy I said that…’m s’posed to think only girls are pretty.” The pen clicks and then Steve is pulling completely away.

Eddie’s arm reads a scrawling phone number, messy and nearly illegible. And, indeed, there’s a black cat, too. He gently traces the outline of the cat’s ears with his finger tip, as if he could will it to stay forever—maybe there’s a way he can.

“My daddy is waving me over,” Steve states, something sad around his words. “But we’ll play together one of these days, okay? Here”—he shoves the, now closed, leftovers into Eddie’s hands, forcing them into his lap—“keep the food. I probably won’t finish it. I’m too full. Now you don’t have to steal cars. But…maybe you should steal my daddy’s car again, so that we can talk and talk. ‘Cause I like talkin’ to you. I have to go now, though, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but once more, with no warning, Steve is encroaching Eddie’s space. He hesitates for a moment, as if looking for his dad—or his dad’s furious gaze.

A kiss is then pressed to Eddie’s forehead. It’s sticky and warm and short.

“Bye, Eddie,” Steve whispers, “be safe.” And then he gets up and leaves.

He doesn’t know it yet, but Eddie will cherish this day forever. The food, the suit, the boogered finger, and the little black cat. Though, he will remember this day for one other thing.

The day he fell in love with a boy named Steve.

——— “You should bring that Harrington boy over.”

Eddie startles on the sofa, bent like a shrimp over a mini figure. He hastily drags his magnifying goggles over his mane of curls. They’ll get stuck, probably, but that’s a fight he’ll train for later. Now, though—“Why do you say that, Wayne?”

His uncle shrugs, leaning against the corner wall leading to the kitchenette. He’s ready for work, it looks like, yet his face is slack with exhaustion. “Think it’d be nice for you to have company over here that’s your age. ‘Sides, that boy played a part in saving your life. Don’t you think he should be comin’ ‘round more often? Sure as hell would be better than you spooning macaroni from a pot, bent over one of those little characters of yours.”

“Hey! It’s a hobby, Wayne! It’s not like I’m miserable.”

“Oh give me a break, Eds. You’ve been nose deep in all these damn projects of yours since you got that call about your fuckin’ dad. Sleaze bag gets to breakout and fuck everything up again.” Wayne huffs, his arms crossed over his chest as if his heart is a fallen bird between his palms. “Motherfucker better stay away if he knows what’s good for him.”

They don’t like talking about Eddie’s dad—Wayne’s own brother—not since that day in the restaurant parking lot. It’s weird, he knows, considering that restaurant isn’t even standing anymore, yet the carnage has been spattered in its parking lot. The carnage aside from that boy with the sunshine-y, gap-toothed smile of his. Their playdate had never happened, the phone number had smudged on the way back to Wayne’s—and Eddie had sobbed when it finally disappeared; gone just like his mom, like his dad, like the life he once had.

Living with Wayne has been for the better, though. And he’s right, he should call up Steve. See if he’s busy. If he’s wanting to come over.

It’d do him better than moping around the only place that ever felt like home.

“I’ll call him when you leave, how’s that?” Eddie concedes.

“If you don’t, I’m dragging your stubborn ass all the way to that hideous house of his and making you climb up to his fuckin’ window.”

Eddie scrunches his nose and eyebrows. “Don’t say it like I’m in fucking love with him, Wayne!”

Wayne raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I think I’d know”—

“Sure, right. Because writing Mr. Harrington”—he pitches his voice just for that, Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes—“all over my steno pads is definitely not you falling in love with that kid. I swear, Ed, sometimes you’re more dense and exhausting than a twelve hour shift on Christmas—and that is saying something, considering I’m dead to the world as soon as I walk back in through that front door.” Wayne scoffs and pulls himself off the wall. His arms unfurl from his chest, dangling loose and long at his sides, before he—what Eddie has since known as an eerily similar Steve pose—sets his closed, wound fists on his hips. He’d look like he was scolding from any outside figure, but this is just Wayne. Good old passionate Wayne. He could run for mayor, at least Eddie thinks so, but the last time he suggested it, Wayne had gone to bed early—as if the day of his death had finally caught up to him. He’s still going with, “You’re more full of shit than a port-a-potty. Also, I hope you know, writing that boy’s last name like that makes it look like you’re talking about his vile dad—what’s worse is that it makes me look like I’m in love with good ol’ bag of Dicks.” He strides across the living room, stopping short beside Eddie. He sets a firm hand into the top of Eddie’s hair, shaking around his head until his magnifying goggles come loose and fall right back where they started. Wayne chuckles at it—the laughable sight Eddie must make right now. “Stop being a dumbass, Ed. Just invite the kid over. I know for certain that he’s probably doing fuck all on this shitty Wednesday evening. Considering, especially, that his parents aren’t home.”

“Oh my God, Wayne! Can you just shut the fuck up for a second?” Eddie finally rolls his eyes and completely removes his goggles, tossing them to the coffee table. “I will give him a call! I don’t know how you know about his parents, you fuckin’ weirdo, but if it’ll get you off my back about how lonely I must be, then fine! Fine!”

Wayne grins like the cat who got the cream. “Atta boy.”

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, pulling exaggeratingly at the skin under his eyes. “Go to work, Jesus H. Christ. You’re gonna give me an aneurysm,” he mutters. When he looks back up at Wayne, he’s still smarmy and proud. “What? Stop looking at me like that…or else I’m gonna get Steve to come over and I’ll suck his dick right over there”—he points at the recliner under the window, Wayne’s recliner—“and force you to sit on this lumpy, sad couch while you watch reruns later. You want that, old man?”

It does exactly what Eddie hoped it would—Wayne’s face finally falls neutral again and all is right in the world. “If you make a mess on my furniture, I swear on everythin’ that I will make you replace it.”

“I’m gonna spill so much shit on your couch when you’re gone,” Eddie snarks. “Just leave a whole abstract painting made of blood, sweat, tears, and other…mediums all over the place.”

“Boy, I did not raise you to be so calloused.”

“No, but you did raise a hard-ass. This is me, being a hard-ass. If you want me to shut it, you’ll leave my hopeless heart twenty feet away from all conversations about Steve.” Eddie rolls his left wrist towards himself, catching the numbers on his watch. “Hm. You’re gonna be late for work if you keep standing here, Wayne.”

Wayne sighs. “You are both the best and most chaotic thing to have ever happened to me. I don’t know how I do it most days.”

Eddie smiles, teeth and all, a menacing shape to his features. “Because you love me.”

“That I do,” Wayne concedes. “But, uh, yeah, invite Steve over. Don’t use the beef in the fridge, I’m thinking of making a meatloaf tomorrow night. And…don’t be a nuisance for Ms. Madison next door, she’s under the assumption that you’re the one putting bugs through her window and if she catches wind of you doing something—oh, I don’t know…annoying as you are prone to do—then she’s gonna come complain and I do not care what she has to say. At least, not tonight.”

“Got it,” Eddie says, “I’ll put extra bugs that I somehow manage to carry in my pockets through her window and I’ll make sure they’re equipped with a speaker playing Metallica’s hits. Really set the stage.”

Another long, heavy sigh emanates from Wayne, but he doesn’t have anything to say. He simply meanders to the front door, slips into his work boots, ties them up all neat and tidy, and promptly lets the screen door hit him on the way out—if the, “Ah, shit,” he yelps is anything to go by.

After a little tidying, and a lot of consideration, Eddie finds his way to the phone on the wall. Sitting down in one of their rickety dining chairs. Dialing Steve’s number.

That’s strange, he notes, this number always looks so familiar.

On the third ring, Steve finally answers. “Hello?” It’s gruff and tired. Like he just—

“Aw, did I wake you up, man?”

“Nah…just…” Steve gives an unwavering, hard sigh. “Finished getting chewed out by my dad. Didn’t even realize he still knows how to use the phone, it’s been so long.”

“Hm. Would it make you feel better if we hung out? I could…uh…pick up a movie and come to yours?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Yeah, that would be…that would be nice. I was about to make some macaroni and cheese, if you wanted some. There’s three cheeses in it. I just needed something that was gonna make me feel better.”

“Well, a guy’s favorite food is definitely going to make him feel better, yeah?” Eddie chuckles just as Steve snorts, too. “You sure you want me to come over?”

“Please, Eds. It’s so fucking quiet over here,” Steve says softly, “I mean, I guess I get the house to myself, but…feels like the novelty ran out a long fucking time ago.”

Eddie’s always wondered how a guy like Steve manages to stay mostly sane in a setting like that. How he manages to not feel as alone…but considering how many people are in his corner now, it’s no wonder that he’s getting by a lot better these days. At least a lot better than what he heard of Steve growing up.

“I’ll be over in, like, fifteen minutes. Just gotta change my shirt—hot weather and all that.”

“Ooo, you gonna show me your big biceps?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, big boy?” Eddie tries to snark, but—

Steve goes eerily quiet on his end for a long moment. Worried that Eddie overstepped, he goes to correct himself, then—“Of course I would, Eds. You’re pretty and I think you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice, yeah. Doesn’t rival to you, I’m sure”—

“Oh just shut up and come make me feel better. Just having you over here would be the highlight of my day, your good looks are a bonus.”

“You’re certainly feeling flirty today.”

“Maybe I just want to flirt with you, you ever thought of that?”

“If you’re being serious, I could turn it up a few notches.”

“You could kiss me and make me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Eddie reaches for a strand of his hair, curling it tight around his finger until his knuckles pop. “I could do that.”

Steve’s voice is finally bright and energetic when he responds with, “Really? That worked on you? I thought I’d have to keep sending you subliminal messages until the day I died.”

“Hey! I’m very observe—wait! What do you mean messages? Have I been missing”—

“Okay, come over, bye!”

And then the dial tone screeches out.

Screw Steve and his stupid pretty face, for leaving Eddie on such a cliffhanger. Even his own novels couldn’t rival something like this. It’s enough, though, to have him scrambling around the trailer—putting all his mini-figures away, changing his Hellfire shirt for a muscle tank, and throwing his hair up so it’s out of his face on the drive over.

While he did say he’d be over in fifteen, it’s realistically ten with how fast he tears through stop signs. Not that Steve needs to know that. He’d have a cow if he realized how reckless Eddie was being to get over here.

Especially considering Steve worked damn hard to keep Eddie’s heart beating.

It’s another odd thing in a sea of odd. This isn’t the first time somebody named Steve even gave Eddie’s heart purpose. Something tangible and willing to hold onto.

Not that the little boy from almost fifteen years ago needs to know. Hell, Eddie’s not even sure if that kid still lives in Hawkins. If he does, he’s well older now. Hopefully still as sweet, if his parents didn’t muck around. It’d be a bitter thing, finding out if that kid suffered more in breathable silences than he did on the surface of what Eddie saw and heard.

That kid had a lot to say, though. And Eddie, contrary to now, would’ve rather been quiet.

When Steve finally opens the front door to his place, he’s as exasperated as Eddie’s heart feels. “Did you even stop on the way over here? I’m not gonna kiss you at all unless you tell me you were marginally safe.”

“I was buckled. And had both hands on the wheel. Can’t do any better than that.”

“Eddie.”

“What? I was excited! You can’t tell a dog to stay down when they’re excited!”

Steve levels him with a questioning stare. “You’re the dog in this scenario?”

“I’ve got puppy eyes! So, yeah, I think I’m objectively the dog.” He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps flexing with the movement. Steve’s eyes dart to his left bicep, something like pride sweeps over Eddie. There’s a different thing that flashes over Steve’s face, then, a lot like shock—belated surprise at what he sees. “Well, with how you’re trackin’ me right now, I’d say that maybe I’m the bone, and you’re the dog.”

Abruptly, Steve pulls Eddie inside, hands flexing around Eddie’s left bicep. The door slams shut behind them. And then Steve is just ogling the chicken scratch tattoo on Eddie’s arm. “Where’d you get this drawing?” Steve asks, tapping on the tattoo.

Eddie stares down at his arm, twisting it in Steve’s grip.

The tattoo in question is a simple black cat. Some little thing he had Wayne take a photo of, what felt like, eons ago. That kid had a lot more impact on Eddie than he probably realized—why not hold him forever in a way that matters…through art, of course. First loves and all that, people who change the perspective on a life that had felt so hopeless. It was a lesser known tattoo, one he wasn’t freely waving around. It didn’t match his hard exterior, not that he had much of a chiseled outside as he thought he did.

Honestly, he thought he could get by with nobody seeing the black cat. Just one of those little shitty pieces that no one wants to pay attention to, especially when he’s got so many other tattoos that take the cake. The bats may have been taken by those other-worldly bats. But the puppet on strings and the skull head and the spider all remained. Those ones people were drawn to.

He figured Steve would be the same. Ogling Eddie’s puppet with questions on what it means, what it represents. Why the hell would a cat catch his eye, though? As far as he knows, Steve’s a dog person through and through. He whines constantly about wanting his own little lap dog to cuddle up with and he loathes the way cats ignore him.

“It’s just a drawing,” Eddie says, “some kid drew it on my arm years and years ago.” He swallows hard, muscles spasming around his words as Steve’s finger begin to gently trace the cat’s ears. “It was the same night my dad went to jail. When I started living with Wayne. Kid was so nice to me. He tried to give me his phone number, but…it smeared away. I never did see him again. But he sorta made that night worth it.”

The reverence in Steve’s touch is enough to make Eddie weak. But he was already a weak, weak man. Every part of Steve makes him weak—in the knees, in the stomach, in the heart. He’s pumping enough blood at the sight of Steve alone that he may just die—can you do that? Die from too much love?

Steve’s face makes Eddie’s stomach flip, though. His droopy eyes. Equally droopy hair. The moles, the smile, the way his scruff grows in patchy before it becomes uniform.

“What else do you remember about that night?” Steve then asks. His voice is soft, softer than Eddie’s ever heard it. He doesn’t take his eyes away from Eddie’s tattoo, but there’s a small grin on his face. Almost like he’s welcoming in the cat as his own, a cat he hasn’t seen in forever. 

“Umm…he had macaroni and cheese. We ate with our hands because his dad wouldn’t let him keep the spoon. There was this suit he was wearing. He wiped his cheesy hand on it. He also picked his nose, I watched him do it—I thought it was gross.” Eddie chuckles at the memory. How cautious he had been about where that kid’s fingers were going while they ate. “And he hugged me…he…he kissed me on the forehead before he said goodbye to me.”

The hands on Eddie’s bicep travel down slowly to his left hand, holding and squeezing it in place. Then, without warning, Steve drags them upstairs to his bedroom. He shoves them inside quickly, with little to no care. And then he begins rummaging through the back of his closet.

“What’re you”—

Something is tossed at Eddie.

It’s fabric, starchy, and wrinkled. He flicks it with his wrists to get the full image of what he’s been given. It’s a suit. A tiny suit. With a giant patch of orange-yellow crusted sauce on the left side, where, when Eddie turns it to closer inspect, it looks like finger tracks have made themselves home.

“We talked about your mom,” Steve murmurs, “about how she was nice. She let you eat shredded cheese out of the bag. And my nana had a cat named Goose. You told me you liked cats, you thought black cats were pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes widen at the fabric, what he’s hearing. “That was you,” he whispers.

“Yeah…yeah, that was me.” Steve stands behind the suit, where it’s being held up in the air. Eddie lowers it to better look at him. “I…I told you about my dad. About how he”—

“He’s mean and scary. Threatens you with that stupid spoon. You were worried it’d happen that night.” Eddie swallows hard. “I never forgave myself for that,” he speaks quietly, “you were so nice that night. You gave me your leftover dinner. And I…I was there to steal your dad’s car with my dumb dad. But you sounded so…so scared when you were telling me about when your dad gets angry. And he was…god, he was really angry that night.”

Steve’s gaze has fallen to the floor. His hands twisted in front of him in a nervous knot. “It happened all the time, it’s not your fault. It’s just who he was.” He goes to try and mend that ugly of a statement, but—“I waited for you to call me. So that I could play with you. Or so that we could…could…I don’t know, really, I just wanted to be your friend or…or something. I thought you were so pretty. Your eyes were huge and shiny and I could see your ears, they didn’t quite fit the shape of your head yet, but they were so cute. And your voice was so quiet. Your giggle was so raspy, so small, I wanted to hear it all the time. I prayed I’d hear it on the phone, y’know, like maybe I could get my tape recorder and hold it up to the speaker.”

He shuffles side to side on his feet, scrunches the fabric of the suit jacket in his hands. “I’m sorry I never called”—

“Did you get to stay with Wayne? Or did you have to go back to”—

“No, no…I stayed with Wayne. My home’s been with him for years.”

Steve gives an enthusiastic, yet slow nod. “I’m really glad you got to where you were supposed to.”

“Yeah, Wayne’s been”—

“No, back with me,” Steve murmurs. He quirks a small smile, teeth and all. There isn’t a gap between them anymore and his fang grew back in. But it’s still a dorkishly sweet smile. “Now we have all the time in the world with each other. And…and you got my cat drawing as a tattoo…you’re so cool, Eddie.”

“Funny, I feel like I’ve heard that before,” he gently teases. “I’m honestly shocked you recognize the drawing. It’s been so long.”

“Not too long, though.” Steve steps closer, getting into Eddie’s personal bubble. He takes the suit back, when Eddie relents his grip on it, and then tosses it over the back of his desk chair. Then, he places his hands—shaky, they are—on either side of Eddie’s face. They aren’t small hands anymore, bigger than he could’ve figured. His palms are calloused, but not cruelly. And his face, so darling, so open, and oh so honey-sweet. “My dad told me that I was only supposed to think girls are pretty,” Steve whispers, “but I could never get your face out of my head. I don’t know if you’ll ever truly know how much I wanted to hold you that night.”

Eddie matches his volume. “Tell me?”

“Forever,” he answers immediately, “I wanted us to be happy.” His thumbs make little circles in Eddie’s soft cheeks. Gentle. Reverent. “Do you think we’re allowed to be happy now?”

“We can be whatever we want, Stevie.” He places his hands on Steve’s waist. Be steady. “And we can do whatever we want now. Nobody is here to stop us.”

Steve’s eyes bounce. They’re half-lidded and shiny. But, mostly—

Happy.

Quietly, “Kisses really do make me feel better,” Steve says, “will you kiss me now?”

And who is he to deny them this gentle pleasure?

He leans in, slow and hesitant just as Steve did all those years ago. Their breaths puffs against each other, mingling. Steve closes his eyes first, expectant. And when Eddie closes the gap, he knew he made the right decision to let himself fall in love—all those years ago, even when he didn’t have the language, the understanding, the momentum of crushes entering and exiting his life like revolving casts; there was always something there, though, about Steve. Something fragile and unearthed, yet just as necessary as breathing.

There had been a lot of unnecessary pain before Steve. Lots of what-ifs and whens and hows. Unknowns that took ruling over his life—when that next meal was going to be, where the money would come from, if he’d be learning a lesson for not holding the flashlight still enough.

And then there had been the sharp in and out of the needle going through his skin as he marked himself with the only remnants of a boy lost to time he had. Never to expect an outcome or an ever-after; not like those fairytales his mama would read to him; not like the sure tell that he’d be hugged at the front door by his mama’s arms.

This kiss is warm, soft, delicate between them. It’s the curtains pushed aside for the sun to pour in like lemonade and quench the room in light, in summer, in smiles. A million eyelashes on the cheeks and wispy wishes blown from the pale fingertips of summers spent with Wayne. Canned jam on early morning toast, a pot of coffee burbling, knowing he made it out alive in time to graduate—to unearth greatness from the soul in the aftermath of so much bad. This kiss is, in metaphor, a lot like coming home.

To forever with little boundaries, clouds taking the shape of smears above them, nothing to define them. Because black cats are pretty, and Steve thinks of Eddie the same.

Because there’s good, nestled and dormant, in the bad.

He had been looking to Steve a lot in the Upside Down—as if there was a pull, a need to do so. Steve was the safety, the calm within calamity, and actually a good dude; case in point, good within the bad.

Steve resuscitated Eddie twice.

And kissing him feels like the third.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, Steve is smiling quietly to himself, eyelids shut against his flushed face. His eyelashes spread wide, fanned. Eddie could make wishes from his eyeballs and be none the wiser, he’s got his hands on the everything else he needed. What more could he want?

“You can look at me, pretty boy,” Eddie whispers.

Steve chuckles, but does what he’s told. “I was worried I’d be six years old again,” he murmurs, “waiting by the phone.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that anymore, do you?”

“Hehe”—yes, Steve actually giggles at him when he asks. “Yeah, I guess I don’t.” His smile, the rosiness of his cheeks, the squint to his eyes—it makes him look drunk; tipsy with pride.

“You feelin’ better?”

“Peachy,” Steve answers. “And you?”

“Feel like I never have to steal anything again. Like a million bucks, baby. Rich.”

Steve leans again, noses against Eddie’s. Whispers, “I’ve got macaroni and cheese downstairs. You wanna eat it with our hands?”

“As long as you don’t pick your nose anymore,” Eddie returns at the same volume.

“I don’t, but…I’ve also got those soup spoons finally. You wanna do that?”

Eddie’s hands tighten over Steve’s waist. “Sure, yeah…yeah, okay.”

“Good.” And then Steve pulls away, gliding back to the door to head downstairs.

Except—

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve looks back. And he’s shrouded by the warm, yellow light from the hallway. There’s a smile on his face. He’s not exasperated or tired or afraid. Just…just happy. Eddie’s sure he matches.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Eddie murmurs, “like…half-way there.”

“Yeah?” Eddie simply nods his head. “I think I’m half-way there, too.”

It started like a horror movie in the dark, yet it ends…

It ends romantically in the light, in warmth.

On the day he fell impossibly more in love with Steve.

🫂—————🫂

[steddieunderdogfics]

The Dog Ate Your Letter by FkinKindaGauche

@fkinkindagauche

Rating: Explicit

5,308 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Period-Typical Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Getting Together

Summary:

Eddie scanned the letter quickly, confusion replacing his apprehension. Phrases popped out at him - "homosexual", "terminated", "no son of ours", "disinherited". He was being fired and disinherited for his homosexual tendencies? But his boss at the record store already knew he was gay, and he sure as shit wasn't getting an inheritance from Al. Eddie dropped the letter as realization dawned. It wasn't for him. Shit. He scrambled to pick up the envelope, flipping it over. "Steven Harrington, Apt 43B". Shit shit shit. Steve. The hot guy next door. Who Eddie now knew was gay, and in the process of being fired and disinherited.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @fkinkindagauche. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[mybuddieficrecs]

Came out of Nowhere, Didn’t Give No Warning | E | 42k | Leslie_Knope

Eddie didn’t text back in the 20 seconds Buck spent staring at his phone, which was no surprise. There wasn’t any response while he drove to the station, either, but that made perfect sense. Eddie was working today, and he was probably rushing to get there just like Buck was. Buck wasn’t in the mood to stare at his phone all day, jumping out of his skin at every notification, so he removed the temptation and, in a spurt of newfound maturity, left his phone in his locker for the duration of his shift. But there was no text when he checked around lunchtime, or when they got a lull after dinner. Or in the morning when his shift was over. All of that he could easily rationalize away, but after four tortuous days, Buck accepted the fact that he’d been ghosted.

All I have to say about this fic is please please please read it, you won’t regret it

[nobigsecrets]

Prompt #15: Defend

@118dailydrabble | Rating: T | BuckTommy (Pride Parade verse, same as here)

It's late afternoon when a woman with bright pink hair appears at the First Aid tent, calling for help. But it's not her who catches Tommy's attention, it's the guy she's towing along. He's about as tall as Tommy, lean and well built and shirtless, short cropped blond hair—and blood streaking down his handsome face.

"Evan here defended me from my ex," the woman explains as Tommy motions the pair over, "got hit with a can of soda."

"Ouch," Tommy makes the man sit on the bench. He goes willingly and then clarifies, "better me than her," with a shit-eating grin. He looks up and straight at Tommy and Tommy has never seen more striking blue eyes.

[cupidford]

When We Were Young by Calais_Reno

Johnlock Love Letters #2340

John and Sherlock met at school, and were a bit more than friends. But they didn't stay in touch afterwards. Life goes on, and when John returns from Afghanistan, he takes a position at Barts as a trauma specialist, working in the Emergency Department. As he reports for work one day, a man jumps off the roof of the hospital. John's world tilts on its axis.

**Inspired to get back into a few Johnlockloveletters today....how many years on is this?**

[steddieas-shegoes]

a stranger's advice

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event 'Good Fortune'

using prompt 7: a single kind word can keep one warm for years + mouth + 48, 13, 46, 27, 31, 18

rated m | 1408 words | cw: implied sexual content kinda | tags: modern au, different first meeting, flirting, eventual famous corroded coffin, eventual rock star eddie munson, sound mixer steve harrington, strangers to lovers

🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️

Eddie’s giving up.

They’ve done all they can do.

Jeff’s dad is threatening to cut him off entirely if he doesn’t go to college and Gareth’s mom calls him crying twice a week, worried he’s gonna end up homeless or in rehab. Gareth’s never touched a drug or more than a single beer in his life and works harder than any of them, but he’s tired of telling her that. Frankie doesn’t have the same passion they have; He’s just there as the guy who answered an ad for a bassist.

No record label wants them, most larger venues don’t want to pay what it would cost for them to get there, and the smaller venues are getting less crowded as more people flock to arenas and stadiums to see big name bands. They aren’t as good as they thought they were and Eddie has to accept that.

He’s feeling sorry for himself in the hallway of this record company first, though.

The other guys already shook hands with everyone, patted Eddie on the shoulder, and left. He’s alone now, and he’ll be alone for the rest of his life.

“Waiting for a ride?” A man asks from in front of him.

Eddie looks up and sees someone he vaguely recognizes as the assistant who sat in on their unsuccessful meeting 18 whole minutes ago. He’s stunning in the way that someone way outside of Eddie’s league usually is, but damn if he doesn’t get stuck looking anyways.

The man raises a brow and crosses his arms.

“Uh, no. Sorry. I have one. Just needed a minute.”

The man nods and then uncrosses his arms, sighing.

“You want some advice?”

“Not sure if it’ll do me any good. My band’s done. I’m nothing without them,” Eddie lets himself sound as pitiful as he feels.

“A 13 track demo is too much. Most places aren’t listening to more than five songs at all, and that’s only if they’re impressed by the first two. You guys sound great, and clearly have passion, but it’s not heard by the people who need to hear it,” the man says despite Eddie’s warning.

Eddie is a bit distracted by the way his mouth forms words, like he’s trying to hide an accent. This is LA. A lot of transplants from the south and Midwest don’t like people to know.

“And you know this as the assistant?” Eddie asks and wishes he didn’t.

“I’m the sound mixer. The assistant is out and they asked me to fill in. But I’ve seen how this goes enough to see that you guys have everything right except the part you need,” he gives a small smile. “Cut down the tracks and you’ll be set. You’ve got an amazing voice. Don’t give up yet.”

The man walks away before Eddie can say thank you or ask any follow up questions like ‘do you want to come home with me?’ or ‘does your hair naturally swoop like that or is there product doing the job?’

Eddie decides to head out, waits nearly 31 minutes for an Uber, which is ridiculous when he’s staying in a hotel less than 10 minutes from the building. The guys are at the hotel bar when he arrives, sipping on sodas instead of mixed drinks like they deserve.

“Give me one more shot,” he begs.

They look at each other. They look back at him.

“One more,” Jeff agrees as they all nod.

~~~~~

“Can’t believe there’s 46,000 people here!” Eddie yells as he’s running off the stage.

There aren’t exactly 46,000 people watching them; That number is closer to 27,000. But there are 46,000 tickets sold for this particular event, which means that 46,000 people have seen Corroded Coffin’s name on a ticket stub or event guide. It’s more than he ever expected to know about them.

He’s so excited about the set they just played, he nearly runs right into a guy in nice jeans and a sweater. It’s too fucking hot for a sweater.

The guy grabs Eddie’s arms to steady both of them and Eddie looks up and his jaw drops.

“Holy shit, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” the man replies, smirking at Eddie’s surprise. “Had to see what our label missed out on in person.”

The other guys are rushing past him, probably to get to the green room for drinks and snacks. They never eat before a show, and when they’re done, they’re ravenous.

The man hasn’t let him go yet. He could. Eddie’s balance is fine, his initial adrenaline is crawling to a normal level, and he isn’t gonna suddenly run into anyone else.

“Your advice worked,” Eddie says.

The man nods, knowing smile on his face. “I’m glad you listened to me.”

“It wasn’t just your advice though,” Eddie admits. “I mean, it definitely helped! But you actually saw talent. We were feeling kinda down about how good we were and you made me realize that it’s probably not our talent that’s the problem. We’re good. We’ve been good. We just didn’t know how to show that to the right people.”

“There’s 48 bands here this weekend, you know?” The man asks, as if that’s a normal response to anything Eddie just said.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

“We represent 47 of them.”

Eddie’s brows practically leave his forehead. “But…”

“I insisted they get you guys on the lineup when I saw the options available. And I couldn’t pass up another opportunity to talk to you.”

Eddie feels like he might pass out, which could definitely be from dehydration or overheating, but could also be the very hot man in front of him kind of flirting with him?

“Sorry, I think I’m having a stroke. I don’t even remember your name. You’ve just been Hot Man in my head for four years,” Eddie manages to get out, feeling his cheeks heat up at the embarrassment of his outburst.

Hot Man laughs, throws his head back and everything, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“Steve. I’m Steve,” he says when he’s calmed down.

“Steve.” Eddie likes the way his name sounds coming from his own lips. “I’m Eddie.”

“I know,” he laughs again, quieter, more fondness sneaking in.

“Well, Steve, would you like to join me for a drink in the green room? I hear the lead singer of Corroded Coffin requested only the finest PBR,” Eddie gestures towards the steps leading off the stage. “Or perhaps you’d enjoy a vodka soda.”

“I’d love to,” Steve giggles. Eddie feels like he’s won something. “But I am technically working for a few more hours.”

“Oh,” Eddie swallows around the disappointment. “Right. Okay.”

“But I’m staying at the Marriott down the road. If you wanted to meet for dinner later?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Definitely. For sure.” Eddie groans at his awkward excitement, but Steve is giggling again. Hearing a hot man giggle like this just does something to his brain.

“Great. Here’s my number. Text me so I have yours,” Steve hands over a business card and Eddie ignores his dick twitching in his too-tight pants. “See you tonight.”

Eddie’s mouth feels dry as he nods.

Steve is already gone when he finally thinks of something to say, so he groans and makes his way to the green room, where the guys are all spread out across the couches placed haphazardly around.

“Where’d you go?” Gareth asks him before he takes a sip of his water. He’s still a one and done drinker and Eddie loves him for it.

“Got a date,” Eddie shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“A date?!” Frankie asks, nearly spilling his beer.

“Don’t act so surprised, man. I date!”

“You haven’t ‘dated’ anyone since high school.”

“Haven’t felt like I needed to. I was busy getting us famous,” Eddie smirks, finds a beer in the fridge, and settles on a chair. “It might just be one date anyway. He’s probably a busy guy and I’m not sure I’m really his type.”

“Yeah, right. If he’s here, you’re his type,” Jeff laughs.

Everyone moves on quickly, which is a blessing for Eddie because he gets lost in thoughts about Steve pretty much immediately.

In the years they spent trying to make it, only one person ever gave him helpful advice. Only one person spoke of his talent and made him feel like they could still make it.

And now he had a date with him.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

What if Tommy met Buck when Buck was still doing his fire inspector job? What if Buck came to Tommy's station for a surprise inspection and Tommy was the one who hung back at the station that day?

What if Evan was so distracted by seeing Tommy topless as he worked on the engine of a helicopter that he called himself Buckley Evan before quickly correcting himself? What if Tommy laughed at that in a way that made Buck's heart skip a beat? What if Tommy introduced himself and shook Buck's hand and Buck's imagination drifted as he thought about how big those hands were?

And.

What if Buck apologized for spacing out when Tommy, feeling nervous about a random inspection of Harbor Station, asked if Buck was okay?

What if Tommy, stressing out and spiraling a bit, did his best to undersell so that maybe the inspection would go well (the station was in perfect order, Tommy really didn't need to do this)? What if Buck got lost in Tommy's natural charm, trying to assure Tommy that the station was probably okay as they walked over to the station proper (and it was better than okay - it was the most well-kept station Buck had ever seen in his life)?

What if Tommy kept babbling; explained that he just finished most of the reorganizing that he did at the beginning of every month and just finished most of the deep clean of the station, but he apologized if it was still a little messy (the station was practically spotless)?

What if Buck placed a hand on Tommy's arm as he told Tommy that Tommy was going to be fine; that what Buck had seen of the station so far was all in fantastic shape? What if Tommy's face heated up at that touch; the heat creeping all the way to the tips of his ears; down to his chest?

What if Tommy, in a flurry, went through the safety manual basically verbatim, practically memorized as he showed Buck around and talked about how he kept the place up to snuff?

What if Buck, supremely impressed, gushed (honestly so) that Harbor Station had no dings at all? That it was the most up-to-code station that Buck had ever seen in his life?

What if they had a moment?

Just.

Staring at each other?

What if Buck swore as he got a call from his bosses? Hated that he had to take it, but he did take that call? What if the rest of Harbor Station came in, the shift over? What if in the blur of the shift change, Buck and Tommy missed each other?

That Buck hung up only to find out Tommy had already left for his condo?

What if Tommy, alone, wonders distantly if there really was a spark there with that fire inspector or if he was just fooling himself? If this was some rom-com sensibility taking hold of Tommy every time he wasn't distracted with a hobby? If this was Tommy deluding himself into believing someone like Evan Buckley would want a man like Tommy Kinard?

Probably fooling himself.

Hadn't Evan said he was an ally?

What if Buck, frustrated and very, very horny for some reason, finds his mind drifting to Tommy as he - as he -

And in the middle of the night, Buck found himself staring at his ceiling; wondering if it was normal that he kept thinking about the firefighter pilot with the hot ass every time he was single? When he was alone at night and he thought about that cleft and that ass and those hands and how the man knew how to goddamn keep a place up-to-code? And organized?

And what if, now transferred back to the 118, Buck, Eddie, and Chimney need a pilot to help Hen out on her hunch about the missing cruise ship Bobby and Athena are on?

And what if Chimney calls someone up, proclaiming that he knows a guy?

And what if Buck and Tommy cross paths again, as if serendipity?

What if?

[buddie-fic-recs-this-way]

hi!:))) i literally love all ur recs! if this is too much it’s totally ok!

i was wondering if you know any fics where chris is a baby, or like when they met before the 118, i just love those fics!🫶

thank you, have a wonderful day!:)

hiiii! 😊 aww yay, that makes me so happy!!

oww, baby chris my most beloved 🥹 here's some for both of those!

teen dad!eddie & football player!buck | college au by bisexualbuckley @ (this is one of my favorite series ft. teen buddie and baby chris!)

look how they align by allyasavedtheday @littlespoonevan (different first meeting)

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday @littlespoonevan (different first meeting)

kink club au by Princessfbi @princessfbi (different first meeting)

—and some self promo bc different first meetings are kinda my thing <3

straight out of left field by browneyedgirl6 (baby chris and different first meeting)

i look out my window, like i'm some deranged weirdo (what if your eyes looked up and met mine) by browneyedgirl6 (different first meeting)

when i lose my grip, you pull me back (you're my universe) by browneyedgirl6 (different first meeting/teen buddie)

with the sex so good that I won't forget it (feelin' the rush) by browneyedgirl6 (different first meeting)

the one where they met because of chris by browneyedgirl6 (different first meeting)

if I asked you to stay, would you? by browneyedgirl6 (different first meeting)

if i lay here, would you lie with me (forget the world) by browneyedgirl6 (different first meeting)

[buddiefanficlibrary]

Look How They Align

The guy is standing with his back to him in front of an open locker. He’s in the middle of changing and Buck doesn’t mean to gawk but then the guy turns to the side and-

That’s definitely the hot dad from Sophie’s school.

“Uh Carla,” he says vaguely, not entirely sure he hasn’t interrupted her. “I’ll have to call you back." He drops his phone back down by his side before she has a chance to reply, staring in dumbfounded bewilderment as Eddie Diaz pulls an LAFD shirt over his – very chiselled – chest.

“You know it’s rude to stare.”

Buck jumps, snapping his neck to the side to see Hen approaching.

“Do we need to get you laid?” she asks bluntly. “Should Karen and I take you out this weekend? I mean, first that dad at the kids’ school and now the new guy? Come on, Buck. Close your mouth.”

He splutters, tries to muster up some indignation at Hen’s comment, but then he catches sight of Eddie again, now buttoning up his over-shirt and instead all he can manage is-

“That is the hot dad from the kids’ school.”

*

In which Buck has a crush on the hot dad of the new kid in his daughter's class. The hot dad who also happens to be his new co-worker. Yeah, this is fine.

LINK

[beyourownanchor6]

—second secret fic is here! this one is for my dearest spotty 🥰 @spotsandsocks happiest of birthday’s! here’s a small gift for you beloved 🫶🏼 special shout-out to the anon who sent in this ask! your idea sparked much joy ✨

rated: t | words: 6.1k | read on ao3

summary

“Oh, you have to meet my wedding planner!"

Adriana rushed over to meet the guy, all but dragging him over to where he was stood, Eddie suddenly face to face with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, a pink splotchy birthmark above the mans left eye. A shy smile splayed across the guy’s face, Eddie watching as he ducked his head down.

“Eddie, I want you to meet the most amazing man in my life…well a part from my fiancé.”

The man next to her blushed, ducking his head away once more. “Buck, this is my brother, Eddie.”

Adriana all but nodded at Eddie, and this Buck guy, ushering them to shake hands and greet properly. He wasn’t sure which one of them stuck their hand out first, only that when they connected, they just fit.

—or—

Buck is Eddie's sisters wedding planner. Too bad all his plans involve Eddie

tagging squad below, lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3

tags: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @buddierights @swiftiebuckleyhan @honestlydarkprincess @barbiediaz @spotsandsocks @justsmilestuffhappens @cowboydiazes @djdangerlove @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @jacksadventuresinwriting @stanningsky @wh0re-behavi0r @ronordmann @spaceprincessem @arthursdent @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @betty-boom @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @theotherbuckley @louis-tenn @the-gayest-wug @buckley-diaz-rules @muppetbuddie