#Nancy: alright settle down

[livwritesstuff]

i was writing a totally different thing and then all of a sudden it was thundering so here have this

Steve had always loved a good thunderstorm. There’s something sort of magic about them, he thinks, about the greenish, unnatural darkness and the way lightning turns the sky a kind of purple and how the air is both cool and warm at the same time.

Back when he was a teenager, when he was stuck by himself the mausoleum his parents called home, he’d sometimes sit by the patio door and watch the storm, watch the clouds opened up and beat rain down on the pool water, and Steve would feel more alive than he had in ages – even if it felt like he was living vicariously through…something. Maybe through how nature gets to storm and rage in a way Steve never will.

But he tries not to psychoanalyze himself. He’s got his own therapist for that.

Twenty-five years later, here he is still watching thunderstorms. He might not have a pool, but he does have a porch which, in his old age of forty-two, he’s learning might be even better.

He’s sitting on the porch with his husband by his side, and Eddie’s got their youngest daughter sitting in his lap while the older two dance in and out of the rain.

Eddie doesn’t like thunderstorms the way Steve does. It had sort of surprised Steve actually, when he first found out years and years ago because…it’s Eddie. Eddie is like a thunderstorm personified in the best way – all sharp smiles and dark eyes and wild hair and loud, reckless rebellion. Sure, Eddie isn’t bothered by the noise of thunderstorms, but over their years together, Eddie has shared some things — things about his dad and what he’d been able to get away with during a dark, loud storm that maybe he couldn’t otherwise.

So Steve gets it if Eddie still isn’t quite himself during thunderstorms.

Their youngest, Hazel, isn’t a fan of them either. She’s just a few months shy of her second birthday, so this really is the first summer she’s had her own opinions about these kinds of things. The verdict – not a fan of the thunderstorms, though she’s been a trooper about this one.

"Hazy, come play!" Robbie exclaims from the porch steps, but Hazel just shrinks further back against Eddie.

"She's a little afraid of the noise, Beans," Steve tells her, and he watches Robbie's face take on an expression of protective (albeit a little confused) concern.

“How come?” she asks as comes up the steps.

“It can be scary if it’s brand new.”

As if to illustrate Steve’s point, lightning flashes above the trees, and Hazel makes a whimpery kind of whine as thunder follows only a few moments later.

“It’s not scary, Hazel,” Robbie tells her, “Because you always know when thunder’s coming because lightning comes first. And it’s only loud when the storm is close.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, reminding himself that one of these days he’s gotta stop being so impressed by how damn smart his kids are.

Another flash of lighting lights up the dark sky, and Robbie covers Hazel's ears with her hands as she looks out into the rain, "And now there's gonna be the thunder."

A few moments later, thunder rumbled around them, maybe a little bit quieter than the last one because the storm is definitely moving away from them now. Still, Hazel reaches up to grip at Robbie’s wrists, her eyes wide and fixated on the stormy sky.

“See?”

Hazel manages a nod.

“Come play!” Robbie urges her again, “I’ll cover your ears before the thunder comes.”

And this time, Robbie actually succeeds in dislodging Hazel from Eddie’s lap, and together they head for the front yard where Moe is still running around in the rain, wet bangs plastered to her forehead.

“Steve,” Eddie mutters in disbelief as Robbie patiently waits for Hazel’s slow descent of the porch stairs, breaking his and Steve’s subconscious agreement to keep their traps shut while that glorious scene was unfolding, “Oh my god, Steve. What the fuck was that? Are we actually doing a good job raising these kids?”

“I guess so, Jesus Christ.” 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before? 

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you. 

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly. 

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.  

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette. 

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown. 

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing. 

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”  

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend. 

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something. 

You wondered if he’d find it. 

“Not everyone?” You whispered. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be. 

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact. 

The silence was too loud now. 

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes. 

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air. 

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour. 

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle. 

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls. 

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out. 

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him. 

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy. 

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer. 

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough. 

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?” 

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too. 

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again. 

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason. 

He simply pressed his lips to yours. 

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own. 

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar. 

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper. 

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—” 

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own. 

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning. 

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position. 

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he  had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin. 

“Kiss me.”

 So you did. 

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own. 

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise. 

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak. 

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else. 

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower. 

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you. 

“Yeah?” Was all you asked. 

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours. 

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question. 

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control. 

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch. 

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder. 

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home. 

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed. 

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before. 

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans. 

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Six

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Oral (f & brief male receiving), barn sex yeehaw, PIV (no protection), praise, I love gaz sm he’s so fucking sexy and hot, titty sucking, more hickies!!!!

Masterlist

Your brow cocked towards the Scotsman, his arms folded against the width of his chest as he stared at you, Arctic blue orbs swirling with mischief as he stepped closer to you, chapped lips flushed against the heat of your forehead before he was strumming upstairs.

The day was sombre. The sky was roiling, a pall of menacing clouds enveloping the forest with a darkened haze, the soft jingles of the wind chimes sounding out to you as you rushed the horses into the barn, snouts whining and hissing out breathy grunts as a roll of thunder cracked through.

Bubbling heat simmered in the pit of your stomach; your body flushed with fervour as you scurried outside, your legs turning to mush as anxious feet padded against the soil, parched digits digging into reins. Your body ached with a needing demand, a need to be satisfied, not only by Price but by them all.

It was taboo. It should feel wrong. This wasn’t you. The growing ache that seethed between your thighs, only fed into the perpetual insistence that needed to be met. You needed to be fucked. Again, and again and again.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, the flush of iris visible as you trembled into the barn, pulling on Nancy as she trotted along, heavy hoofs skating across the already dirtied floors. As you secured the horses away, your eyes trained in on the door, the sound of heavy footsteps coiling into your stomach before Gaz appeared.

You weren’t quite sure what it was about him. He gave you a sense of comfort, his eyes gentle yet zealous, speckles of gold flaking through the endless diversions of umber. His presence was homely, settling around you like a forest fire, fusillading the anguished need you held for him. His smile was soft as he gazed at you, standing bashfully at the barn doors, chiselled arms pressed against the wood.

“Thought I would find you here,” he remarked, taking a step forward as he felt the spit of rain pellet down on his warm skin.

You raised a brow, “You looking for me?” Your tone was knowing, almost teasing as he let out a shy laugh, pearly teeth on display as his tongue kissed them, the simmer of the light reflecting against them. He was pretty, almost too pretty, the arrogant broil of his eyes sending a pit into your stomach as he stepped closer.

“Just felt like we, I, haven’t thanked you properly.”

“It’s alright, Gaz. Couldn’t exactly turn you all away, could I?” You tried to make light of the situation, your eyes averting to the floor as you shifted awkwardly.

“You gonna let me thank you, sweetheart? Hm?”

Your feet were clumsy, as you stumbled back, spine flush against a bale of hay as he stalked towards you. You felt like his prey, tantalising jaws snapping down on the silk of your flesh as he sucked the sweet liquor of your blood into his taste buds. Cadaverous hands groped at your thigh, melting the softness of the fat into his hands as he practically cooed at you.

His voice was patronising, threads of disdain lacing it as his grip found your knees, pulling them apart gently. Straw scratched at your legs, sending a jolt through you as you watched him through hooded eyes. His eyes were darker now, flushed over with desire as he pushed his crotch up against you, an evident bulge covered by denim petting your clad heat almost maliciously as you gulped down the air that flooded your organs.

Nails dug into your tender skin, crescent-shaped moons tattooing along the flesh as you whined. “I asked you a question,” he tsked, kissing along your jaw.

“Y-Yeah, you can thank me.”

The strain of your voice enveloped a laugh out of him, rough hands toying with your top before you lifted your arms up, bare chest on display as the cool air puckered up your nipples, his eyes darting between the two before his hands were wrapping around your neck, pushing against you slightly to arch your back before feverish lips were tugging at the buds, teasing them between his teeth before he would pull away and suck at the sore skin, tainted by hickies.

“Old man wanted to mark you up,” he growled as his hands released from your neck, toying with your tits as your core ached. The sensation was all too much, yet not enough. Greedy hips ground against the bulge that was pressed against you, a groan sounding out from between your tits.

“Are you gonna thank me?” You quipped, pulling at his hair as he clutched a nipple between his lips before pulling away with a subtle pop.

“Greedy, aren’t you?  Just need to be filled up by us all?” Gaz smirked.

Your hips responded for you, pussy clenching around nothing as you panted, your breath wanton. His digits found your buttons, plucking at them before you raised yourself, letting him slide them off down you revealing your aching sex, thin cotton smeared against it as your slick darkened them. Gaz groaned in reply, rubbing at the wet patch feverishly as your lips found his neck, licking a stripe against his defined collarbone.

You swore, your voice lost in the crackle of the wind as he peeled your panties to the side, your aching cunt throbbing as he spread your folds apart, smiling in appreciation at the sloppy strings of slick webbing between your lips.

“Pretty fucking pussy,” he nodded as he pushed you back, throwing your legs over his shoulders as a rough thumb pressed against your clit, almost unsure if he wanted to use his fingers or mouth before he settled for both, his wet muscle toying with your entrance before plunging in, enveloping your gummy walls with his spit as his digit engulfed harsh circles around the sensitive nub.

Needy moans left your throat as you palmed at the hay below you, another hand buried in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as your pussy rode along his tongue, chasing a desperate release.

His touch was electric, spreading zaps of energy throughout you, engulfing your spine as your back arched further at the torment of his tongue, his laps gargling against your slick as he teased you.

Feverish hands wrapped around the fat of your thighs, bruising touches doubling every sensation you felt as you mewled against him, bucking your hips as you chased your high.

Teeth grazed against your throbbing clit, the sensation almost overwhelming as you gasped out, full lips sucking the bud as you convulsed, the air thick with arousal as the breathy sounds of your moans sipped through the holes of the barn walls.

Rain slashed against the roof as you threw your head back, Gaz’s torture against your pussy stimulating every nerve in your cunt as you choked out, gasping for oxygen as you found yourself holding your breath, too focused on the pleasure he was wracking through you.

His assault was continuous, his muscle lapping at your heat, slick pooling below you as fingers tightened against the straw, scratching against your palm.

“Oh - fuck,” you whined, your voice raising an octave as pleasure coiled in your stomach, spindling through every muscle and nerve as your legs convulsed, your belly tightening until it snapped, sending your eyes rolling back as you clutched onto the bale below you, Gaz’s mouth moaning against your slit as you cried out.

Your actions were clumsy as you pushed his face away at the overstimulation, your clit swollen as you took in his pussy-drunk expression, full lips glistening with your arousal, a trail of spit dribbling down his chin as he smiled at you.

“Please fuck me,” you quipped, clutching onto his shoulder before a hand gripped at the tent in his pants, palming the aching member with need as he growled against your neck, nipping the tender flesh before his hands were at his belt.

Gaz nodded as you pulled him in roughly, your tongues lashing against each other as you hummed at the taste of yourself, the tangy feeling melting between your saliva as the Sergeant tore his slacks down his muscled thighs.

You broke the kiss, looking down at his member. He was longer than John with less girth, yet still staggering in size, the mushroom tip flushed a begging purple as silk pearls of pre-cum coiled down his aching length.

Needy hips aligned with yours as he flushed the tip against your folds, smirking at the gooey sounds of your wetness. You whined in anguish. You felt like you were in heat, your body craving your womb to be filled.

The burn stretched through you, your brows furrowing in pain as you pushed against his chest before his hands were against yours, soothing you as he kissed you, setting a bruising pace between your lips, his cock working through you inch by inch as you gasped.

“That’s it baby, relax for me. Good girl.”

His tone was soft as he praised you, working through the tightness of your gummy walls with ease before he bottomed out, heavy balls slapping against the crevice of your ass as your neck buried in the crook of his neck.

“Please, I need you,” you whimpered, lips nibbling at his neck, savouring the salty taste of his sweat before he chuckled, his hips bucking against your sweet spot, his tip kissing your cervix deliciously as he began to rock inside you, setting a slow pace as he felt every ridge against his cock.

His tongue was filthy as he spat out expletives, his pace quickening with every fleeting second as you bashfully choked out whines and moans into his skin.

“Taking me so fucking well, Jesus Christ.”

His strokes were brutal, rubbing against your cervix selfishly as your mouth sounded out babbles, your eyes rolled back as you felt the trickle of sweat pooling at the back of your knees.

The pleasure was white hot, engulfing you with demand as you submitted your entirety to him, falling limp as his hips slapped against your sensitive skin, his fingers tugging at your nipples through your slouched figure as you moaned.

His pace fastened once more before he grunted, pulling out as his cock pulsated with the need to cum. Your motions were sloppy as you gripped the shaft, knees buckling as you lifted yourself to the floor, his member coated with your slick as you hummed at the taste, tracing the veins with your tongue whilst another hand cupped his heavy balls, squeezing them with a gentle motion before gargling the remainder of his cock down the pillow of your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” he bucked, hips moving rhythmically before he spluttered out, his cum gushing down the naval of your throat as you coughed, swallowing down the thick liquid with a huff as the remainder dribbled out of your lip.

Gaz’s hand found your hair, stroking the sweat along your forehead as he pulled you up, resting you along the hay again before dressing you slightly, as well as himself, before tugging you into the plushness of his chest, lazy legs wrapping around his waist before he was jogging with you through the downpour of the rain.

Holy fuck balls I feel like my writing has gotten so SLACK!!!!!

[ashwhowrites]

Alright! So, Steve and Reader was in that stage when they're about to become a couple but then Nancy showed that on/off interest again and Steve pushed reader away. Nancy turned out to just feel lonely due to Jonathan being in California and didn't mean anything.

Steve now nurses hopes that Reader will give him another chance. Until he finds out through the grapewine (walkies) that Reader got dosed at a party but she called Eddie for help and he took her to the hospital.

And when Steve arrives, all hurt because she called Eddie and not him, she and Eddie is hugging and them finally telling each other they are in love. Leaving Steve standing there, contemplating what he's lost

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Runaway girl

Y/N and Steve were the hot new gossip around the town. People were shocked to hear that Steve was finally moving on from his past with Nancy. Many people didn't think it was possible, but Steve had his head turned and stuck on Y/N.

Y/N was happier than ever. She always had a soft spot for Steve, and with his pretty looks, it didn't take long to fall at his feet. She had been patient and waiting for the day they could be official. But she knew Steve needed time.

She wasn't sure how much time was too much time. After four months of dating, kissing, and being together, she thought he would ask by now. Doubt filled her the longer Steve didn't ask.

While Steve took his time, he was unaware of someone who didn't need time to figure out his feelings.

Eddie had his eyes set on Y/N for the last few months. Of course, to his luck, she was hooked on Steve's arm. Eddie knew there was no way he could beat out the pretty boy of Hawkins. So he settled for a friendship and kept his feelings to himself.

But he couldn't help but wonder what Steve's problem was, and why he dragged his feet. If Y/N was anywhere near into Eddie, he would have made the move before anyone else could. But it was Steve, and he probably knew no one would step on his toes.

~~~

Steve sat in his backyard, sharing a cigarette with Nancy. She popped over and Steve was never one to turn her down. He liked when she wanted to talk to him when she wanted to be in his presence. Truthfully, a part of him refused to give up on her, on them. He had this glimmer of hope that they were still tied together and that would help them find each other again.

"You and Y/N have been dating a while, gonna capitalize on that?" Nancy asked, exhaling the smoke as she passed the stick over.

Steve shrugged and inhaled the cigarette, wishing it would answer for him.

"Uh, I'm not sure."

Nancy nodded, a knowing look in her eyes

"How are you and Jonathan?" Steve asked, passing the stick back to her. He watched as her lips formed around the cigarette and her body intake the smoke.

She shrugged, "I don't know. I think we might break up."

Steve saw his glimmer of hope expanding right before his eyes

"How come?"

"The distance is so hard. I just think of when you and I were together. How easy it was to be in the same state and town." She sighed, her eyes looking into Steve's wanting ones.

Steve got lost in the familiar look in her eyes

"Too bad someone else has your attention now," she whispered before she looked away.

~~~

Y/N sighed as she dialed the familiar number

It rang once before he picked up

"Munson"

"Hey it's me, could you pick me up?" Y/N asked as she looked around the diner

"Deadbeat not show again?" Eddie said, he sounded annoyed and he deserved to be. He always had to pick her up when Steve decided to bail. "Where are you?" He asked, already grabbing his keys.

~

Eddie pulled up to see her sitting on the curb. She wore a simple shirt with jeans, but she was breathtaking.

She stood up once he parked. But he was already walking towards her. He opened his arms and she wrapped her arms around him. She held back her tears as she felt comfort in his warmth.

"Hungry?" He asked, his voice muffled in her hair

He felt her nod against his chest

"Well I know this great place and it's not too far away. Wanna join me?" He asked

She pulled back and smiled. Her heart skipped as he smiled back at her. Throughout all the pain Steve caused, Eddie was the one who healed her. She felt something towards him, something she wished she and Steve could have.

She accepted his hand and laughed when he walked them through the diner doors.

~

"Thanks for always helping me out," Y/N said, shyly looking up from her burger

"When are you going to push him to the curb? He's been toying with you for the past few weeks." Eddie sighed. It hurt him as much as it hurt her. But Steve would always be pulled in Nancy's direction.

"It's hard, Eddie. I put in so much work for him and me to work out, I struggle to just give up on it." Y/N sighed

"Listen, I'm saying this as a friend. I really care about you, and he doesn't. He doesn't love you and he's not going to. It'll forever be Nancy. And you deserve to be treasured for being you. You beat Nancy in my book any day." Eddie said as he reached forward and held her free hand.

"I'll never be her," Y/N said sadly

"And you don't need to be her to be loved."

Y/N looked up at Eddie and gave him a small smile. He was right, she could find someone who loved her for her

And he was sitting across from her

~~~

Y/N wasn't sure why she attended the party. She wasn't one to get trashed on the weekends but Eddie was busy and she didn't want to be alone.

Her life had picked up ever since she gave up on Steve. He wanted to push her away so she made it easier. Eddie was what she needed and boy did she want him. He was gorgeous, inside and out.

His humor always made her laugh, she never felt sad around him. His smile froze her in the spot but made her stomach flutter when he pressed it against her lips. It's been months and months of feeling wanted and loved. But she found herself in that same spot, wondering when they'd speak about their feelings and make it official.

With all that on her mind, she needed a way to let loose. She planned one drink or two. But somehow the first drink had her thrown off. She could feel her skin melting in sweat, her head pounded and she felt the need to throw up everything she ever ate.

She found the closest phone and dialed someone she knew would show up.

~~

Steve sat on his couch as he ate a slice of pizza. The gang was eating a quick dinner before the boys would leave for hellfire, Dustin was already with Eddie. Which bugged Steve, but whatever. Nancy wasn't around, she went to California to save her relationship. Leaving Steve an idiot once more.

"HELLFIRE CANCELED. Y/N IS IN THE HOSPITAL"

Steve's ears rang as the walkie traveled through the living room. Panic in everyone's eyes are they flew off the couch.

Steve felt like he was transported to the hospital, he barely remembered leaving his house. He knew he just had to get to her. He felt anxiety taking over as he raced through the halls. He never worried about losing her, but now it was all he feared.

He found her room but froze as Eddie sat on the chair next to her. He zoned in on their hands intertwined and how close his face was to hers.

When the fuck did that happen?

"I'm so glad you called me. Happy you are safe and with me." Eddie said, Steve felt the blow to his chest. She called Eddie? Since when did she have Eddie's number.

"I was so scared and all I wanted was for you to be there." Y/N cried, the events still creating tears in her eyes. Eddie pulled her into a hug. Squeezing her tight to remind her he was there now

"I love you so much, and I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here." She sobbed

Steve felt his heart tug

He was so lost in making sure Nancy wouldn't leave, he forgot that Y/N could too. He figured he'd win her back like he always did. A sorry smile and puppy eyes, saying he won't do it again. But they both knew he would.

"I love you too,"

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat as they shared a tearful kiss

"Oh good you're here!" Dustin said relieved as he ran into Steve, standing outside her door.

"I'm just leaving" Steve snapped as he walked out.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[headkiss]

give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: had you known getting your first tattoo would end up with you being in love with eddie munson, you might have gotten it a lot sooner.

word count: 17.8k

warnings: smut, probably inaccurate descriptions of tattooing processes (i tried my best!), strangers to friends to lovers, fluff

a/n: this one took forever but it’s finally done!!!! i’m sorry for the wait but hopefully u guys like it enough to forgive me :D

༄

You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.

The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.

Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.

“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.

“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”

She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.

A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.

A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.

“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”

He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.

He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.

Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.

“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.

“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”

“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. “I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”

You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.

You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.

“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.

The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.

He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.

“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.

“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.

“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.

He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”

There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.

“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.

“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.

“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.

“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”

You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”

Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.

You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.

“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”

“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.

That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.

-

He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.

Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.

Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.

-

It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.

Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”

“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”

“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”

You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.

“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.

You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.

Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.

His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.

“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”

Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.

“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”

“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.

“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”

Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.

-

You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.

The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”

She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.

“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.

“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.

“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.

When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.

“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”

You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.

“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.

“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.

You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.

“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.

“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.

“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.

“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”

You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.

“This one. It’s really good.”

He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”

He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.

“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.

“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”

That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.

Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.

When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.

“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”

“It’s great. Really.”

“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”

He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.

“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”

It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.

Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.

He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.

It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.

Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”

He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”

He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.

Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.

That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.

“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”

“Please,” you nod.

He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.

You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”

He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.

“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.

“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”

“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.

You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.

“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.

Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”

You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.

It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

-

You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.

It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.

You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.

You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.

Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.

The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”

“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.

It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”

Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”

“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.

“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”

He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.

“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”

He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.

“Welcome back,” she says.

“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”

“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”

Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.

His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.

“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.

“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”

“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.

“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”

“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.

“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.

You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”

“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”

You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.

“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”

Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.

You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.

“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”

You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.

“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.

-

As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.

He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.

Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.

“What do you want?” He sighs.

“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”

“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.

“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”

“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.

So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.

“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”

“What she said!” Robin adds.

“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”

They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.

“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.

He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.

He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”

“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.

“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.

Just in case you care.

He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.

He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.

He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.

“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.

“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”

“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.

Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.

I like being single, he’d said.

And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.

-

Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.

The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.

You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.

It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.

“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.

“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”

“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.

“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”

You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.

“Yep, ready.”

She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”

She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’

You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.

This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.

You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.

Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.

Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.

Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.

It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.

You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”

She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.

It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.

When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.

He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.

“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.

“Thank you.”

The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.

Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”

“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.

You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.

Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.

“He likes you, you know?”

“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”

“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.

“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”

Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.

He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.

When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.

You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.

Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.

The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.

He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.

“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”

Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”

“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.

The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.

He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.

“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.

You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.

Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.

It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.

He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.

He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.

There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.

You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.

Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.

You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.

-

Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.

You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.

It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.

He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.

He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?

He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.

Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.

“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.

“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.

“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.

Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”

He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.

“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”

Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.

He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.

“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.

Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’

He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.

Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.

You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.

When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.

He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.

Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.

The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.

When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.

This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.

“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”

Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.

One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”

He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.

“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”

Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.

He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.

The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.

“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“You are?”

You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.

“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”

He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”

“What?”

“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”

You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.

The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”

You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.

Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.

You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”

When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”

He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.

“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”

He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.

You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.

Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.

For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”

“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.

His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.

They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.

Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.

“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.

There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.

Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”

The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.

“Yes. Please.”

Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.

He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.

Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.

He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.

He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.

Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”

Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.

“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.

The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.

He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.

His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”

You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.

You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.

While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.

The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.

He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.

“You still want this?” He asks.

Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”

I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.

You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.

You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.

He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.

You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.

He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.

“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”

He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.

He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.

“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.

It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.

Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.

His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.

Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.

“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.

If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.

“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”

You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”

He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”

It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.

He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.

When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”

“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”

Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.

He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.

His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.

The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.

He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.

He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”

“What?”

“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

-

You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.

For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.

You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.

You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.

There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.

He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.

“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.

“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”

Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.

His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.

-

It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.

You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.

Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.

So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.

You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that’s what matters.

You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.

“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.

“We both know I don��t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”

“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”

“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”

He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.

“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.

“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”

Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”

It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.

Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.

He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?

“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.

The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.

You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.

It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.

Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.

His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.

As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.

“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.

“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”

He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.

He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.

“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.

-

Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.

You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.

There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.

“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.

“Close the door, would you?”

“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”

Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.

That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.

He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.

“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.

Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.

He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.

Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-

The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.

“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.

He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”

It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.

“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”

He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”

He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.

When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.

-

After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”

You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.

Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.

He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”

“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”

You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.

He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.

He’s an absolute dream.

He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.

In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.

You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.

“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.

You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.

“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”

“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”

“At what, sweetheart?”

“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”

He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.

He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”

You know he’s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.

“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.

“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”

The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.

“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”

“My hands?”

“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”

He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.

You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.

Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.

He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.

The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.

-

Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.

He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.

You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.

His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.

“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.

“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.

You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”

You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.

Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.

“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.

If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”

You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.

“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”

You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.

“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”

No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.

It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.

“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”

You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.

It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.

He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”

You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.

“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.

༄

if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3

[underoossss]

can I request a hurt/comfort with steve, where maybe the reader gets hurt in the upside-down and he is taking care of her? you are one of my favorite steve blogs!

I love a good old hurt comfort!!! And this time though r is hurt Steve is getting comfort cause that boy sure blames himself for no apparent reason. You’re so sweet thank you! It means the world to me you like the stories I write for y’all💖 I hope you like this! 1k.

••••

“I can’t lose her!”

Steve’s scream still echoes at the back of your mind, fuzzy and distant but it’s still there. The panic, the pain, the anger, they’re all there burned in your brain. You were in a dizzy state, half present and half gone after your last trip to the upside down had left you with a pierced leg and a bleeding wound. Vecna was gone which is all that mattered, yet instead of celebrating Steve hovered over you making a makeshift tourniquet for your leg with his belt – Nancy and Robin trying their best to calm him down. That's when he snapped, voice raw and cracking with emotion; it was clear he didn't mean to, but if you were in his shoes you're sure you'd have done the same. You wanted to reassure him, tell him you were fine, but things were hazy after that.

Steve's quiet now, lying down on his bed next to you.

His torso is bandaged just like your leg; his wounds clean and treated, yours got ten stitches covered with two layers of gauze and clear medical tape. He's done nothing but look after you since you got back, making sure you had everything you needed, driving you to his place and helping you get upstairs. He even washed your hair, gentle and caring and careful, pretending he's alright when you know he isn't. His hands still shake no matter how much you hold onto them, you can tell he's holding back tears from the way he clears his throat before speaking. Yet he only wants to take care of you.

"You should try to get some rest." Steve says, one hand gentle on your cheek as his thumb rubs softly at your skin. "It's late."

You glance sideways at him, his face is golden in the glow of the nightstand lamp. Hair almost dry from his shower earlier, eyes red-rimmed, a soft grin that's holding everything back. You know this boy the same way he knows you. "I can't sleep lying on my back." You whisper over a frown.

"We can figure it out." Steve's smile is a fraction more genuine this time, always happy to help you. "Here, let me sit up."

It takes some minutes but Steve rearranges the pillows and helps you sit up, mindful of your injured leg. He lies back against the headboard with you slumped sideways against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and patched up leg extended in front of you. It's not the most comfortable position but it's better than before, especially now that you have your arms around Steve.

"I'm not hurting you?" You ask quietly, closing your eyes at Steve's touch rubbing up and down your arm.

"No," You feel Steve shake his head. "I like this better."

You snuggle closer to him, wanting to be as much as possible as someone who thought would lose the other only hours ago. Steve hums and kisses your temple which makes you look up at him. When you see the tears he's holding back, you break.

"I'm so sorry Stevie." You mumble through an aching throat. "I didn't mean to get hurt and scare you like that."

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't have to say sorry."

"I wanted to tell you I would be okay, reassure you that I would be." Your words are rushed through your tears, lips pulling downwards with sorrow. "It all happened so fast."

Steve's arms go around you and pull you closer, his shoulder shaking as he cries into your hair. You'd squeeze him tight in return if he wasn't injured, so you settle for kissing the middle of his chest as you cry with him. The idea of the roles being reversed makes your blood freeze with panic. "I thought I was going to lose you." Steve confesses, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

"You'll never lose me." You pull pack to look at him in the eyes, red and full of tears just like yours. "I will always fight to stay by your side, Steve. I can't even imagine being without you; if I can keep you from going through that, you know I will. Just like I know you'd fight too."

Steve closes his eyes and nods, "Every time."

You grab his face in both your hands. "I love you, so much."

He looks calmer when he opens his eyes, still shaken but better than before. "I love you too."

"Tell me what you need?" You ask in a whisper, wiping the last of his tears away and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please, if I can make it better I'd like to."

"I just need you." Steve brings you towards his chest again with his arms around your waist. "This is all I need."

You look up at him and smile when you see some of that previous fear melt away from his face. Your beautiful boy slowly becoming himself again. "I can give you a kiss too. I don't think we've ever gone this long without kissing you know."

"Tell me about it." Steve's smile appears then, before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

masterlist

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

summary: in which best friends, y/n henderson and steve harrington get caught up in their feelings while paranormal activities occur in the small town of hawkins, indiana

cw: fem!reader, I wrote this a long time ago(I apologize for everything cringe), shit writing, first person pov, mentions of making out/kissing, 2.1k

<3

The next morning, I jolt awake at the sound of the phone ringing, my headphones slightly skewed from sleeping. Groaning, I push myself out of bed and cross over to the phone hanging on our living room wall.

"Hello?" I mumble, half asleep. When I lift the receiver to my ear.

"(Y/n), hey," I hear Joyce's panicked voice through the phone.

"Hi, Joyce," I respond with a little more alertness in my voice, "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, I was wondering if Will stayed over last night?" Her tone indicating a sense of urgency.

"No, he didn't," I mumble, worried, "Did he not come home last night?" I question more firmly.

"No, no, I'm sure he's..." Joyce's voice trails off on the other end of the phone, "You know what, he probably just left early for school."

"Wait, J—" I'm cut off by Joyce's quick response.

"Thank you so much, honey," Joyce says in a sweet tone, "Bye-bye." Abruptly ending our conversation, the line going dead before I can properly bid her goodbye.

"Huh, that was weird," I murmur to myself before heading back to my room to prepare for the school day ahead.

As I'm getting ready, my eyes catch the photos framing my bedroom mirror. My brain floods with memories with the first day of the eighth grade, Steve's arm around my shoulders. Both of us with a grin stretching from ear to ear. Halloween '81, Dustin and I laughing in delight as we terrorize the neighborhood. And even four years ago when Nancy and I dressed up as elves for the boys' Elder Tree campaign. As I remember each of the days, I'm filled with warmth, holding those memories close to my heart.

Two sudden honks on a car horn interrupt my thoughts. I jump startled, whipping my head towards my bedroom door. All the while, my heart pounds in my chest.

"(Y/n)!" Dustin calls out from outside my bedroom, "Your boyfriend's here!!"

Ignoring Dustin's comment, I snatch my backpack off my bedroom floor and walk towards the front door. I spot an all too familiar maroon BMW parked in our driveway.

"Dustin, why is Steve here?" I ask accusingly, my hands placed on my hips when I turn to face my brother, demanding answers.

"Why would I know?" Dustin asks, both hands in the air in a defensive manner, "He's your best friend."

I let out a frustrated groan and trudge outside to Steve's car. As I approach the maroon BMW, Steve catches sight of me and rolls down the car window.

"Hey."

"Hi."

We stare into each other's eyes for a second too long to be just friends.

"What are you doing here, Steve?" I ask irritated, once I shift my gaze elsewhere.

"What? You're not happy to see me?," Steve counters, placing his hand over his heart, "You wound me, sweetheart."

I roll my eyes but flush at the nickname and Steve responds a delighted chuckle, "I'm here to take you and Dustin to school." He adds nonchalantly.

"What?" I say, confused, "Why?"

"Because, (Y/n), we're best friends. I'm not letting that go ever again," Steve admits, determination in his tone, making it clear that he refuses to let our friendship slip again.

"Pinky promise?" I ask sticking my pinky finger into the window of Steve's car.

"Pinky promise," He nods, interlocking his finger with mine. My heart flutters at Steve's touch and I remember all the times we've done this before.

"Alright, Harrington," I grin at him, opening the passenger door and settling into the seat beside him, "Let's do this."

"Shouldn't we wait for your brother?" Steve asks, tapping his fingertips against the steering wheel,

"Yeah, he'll be out in a minute," I say placing my backpack down by my feet.

With impeccable timing, Dustin comes strolling out the door and jumps in the back seat of Steve's car behind me.

"Hey, Steve," Dustin says with excitement.

"Hey little Henderson," Steve greets my brother warmly. He then places his hand on my seat as he reverses the car out of our driveway.

Damn, that's oddly attractive.

"At least someone's happy to see me," Steve comments with a smug grin plastered on his face while looking over at me once we're on the road.

"Get over yourself, Harrington," I utter with the roll of my eyes.

"I'd rather be under you, actually" Steve responds suggestively.

"Oh? Kinky," I reply, with raised eyebrows, "I never took you as a guy that would be into that sort of thing."

"What I'm into? Honey, you have no idea." Steve sends me a wink, a devilish one, the same one he no doubt uses to sweep all his dates off their feet.

Before I have the chance to respond, I hear a repulsive noise in the seat behind me.

"Can you two quit flirting? It's disgusting." Dustin complains, gagging for the second time, his disgust plainly expressed.

Steve and I break into a fit of giggles as he drives us to school. Our laughter makes it clear we're both relieved to have things back to the way they used to be.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

Having dropped Dustin off at Hawkins Middle School, Steve drives us over to the high school. When we pull up, I spot Nancy walking towards the school.

"Hey, Steve," I look over at the boy who glances back at me, "I'm gonna go catch up with Nance but, I'll see you later, okay?" I say, offering a warm expression to my best friend, preparing to hop out of the car.

"Sure," Steve responds, matching my warm expression with his own, "See ya, (Y/n)."

I exit Steve's car, my pace quickening as I hurry towards Nancy. I make it to her side just as we walk through the school's entrance.

"Good morning, Nance!" I greet my friend happily.

"Oh, hey (Y/n)!" Nancy says equally thrilled to see me.

We start our journey down the hallway, using the time to catch up as we walk together. Just beginning our conversation Barb suddenly appears on the other side of Nancy with a wide grin.

"So?" Barb says getting to attention of both Nancy and I, "Did he call?" She asks, her question, directed at Nancy. I can't help but feel a wave of disappointment wash over me. I know we're talking about Steve.

"Keep your voice down," Nancy says, a faux shocked expression on her face.

"Did he?" Barb asks again, with a teasing tone.

"I told you," Nancy says, defending herself, "It's not like that."

"Are you sure, Nance?" I pitch in, "From what I've seen, Steve likes you, a lot." I say, masking my true feelings about Steve.

"Is that so?" Nancy asks, her eyes growing bright at the thought that Steve might actually like her.

"Yeah," I reply, "I'm absolutely certain. That look in his eyes...it doesn't lie..." I trail off with a solemn expression, but thankfully Nancy doesn't notice. She's too busy presumably, thinking about Steve. I feel a pang of sadness inside, trying to suppress my feelings for Steve.

"Okay, I mean, yes, he likes me," Nancy says eventually, "But not like that." Barb and I follow as Nancy arrives at her locker and starts opening it.

"We just, made out a couple times," she continues with a dreamy smile.

"We just... made out a couple times," Barb mimics Nancy's words, teasing her.

Leaning against the locker with Barb standing next to me, we poke fun at Nancy about her relationship with Steve.

"Nance, seriously, with the famous "King Steve" by your side, you're gonna be so cool," I say dramatically.

"See, (Y/n) gets it," Barb says nodding her head towards me.

"No, I'm not," Nancy denies quickly.

"You better still hang out with us, that's all I'm saying," I say a little more seriously this time.

"If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol—" Barb says somewhat lightheartedly.

"Who, believe me, are assholes," I jump in.

"Gross!" Nancy says shaking her head at our accusations, "Okay, I'm telling you it was a one time..."

Barb and I exchange a look before turning our attention back to Nancy with raised eyebrows.

"Two time thing." Nancy finishes.

After unlocking her locker, Nancy removes a note, someone had slipped in. As she unfolds the note, I'm startled to see familiar messy handwriting in blue ink.

The note read, Meet me. Bathroom -Steve.

Of course.

"You were saying?" Barb says with a smug look on her face.

Nancy flashes us a smile, latches her locker, and glides down the hallway with a click with each step of her heels.

"Go get him, tiger!" I call out and send her a playful wink as she makes her way to the bathroom.

Immediately, Nancy whips her head around sending me a playful glare before turning the corner.

Still standing at Nancy's locker, Barb and I can't help but giggle at Nancy's reaction to my comment.

Though, deep down my gut still stirs at the thought of Steve waiting for Nancy. My lingering thoughts making their way to an expression on my face, an expression Barb notices.

"Hey, he's an idiot," Barb says nonchalantly. I give her a confused look.

"Steve, I mean," Bard replies to my look, "He's an idiot for not picking you." She says firmer this time.

"What?" I ask, confusion still evident in my voice and face.

"Look, I love Nancy, but she's not right for Steve Harrington," Barb explains, "I always thought you and him would end up together."

Oh.

"And don't try lying to me like Nancy does, I can see it in your eyes every time we talk about him, (Y/n)," Barb continues, "That's the look of love."

I open my mouth to speak, then close it again, struggling to find the right words.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Nancy," Barb says in a hushed tone, "See you later!" She finishes cheerfully walking away, leaving me standing by Nancy's locker alone.

With Barb's words still fresh in my mind, I walk to class.

I can see it in your eyes every time we talk about him, (Y/n).

That's the look of love.

|☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆|

During my third block, English class, three sharp knocks ring out from the door before the principal steps inside. For a split second, the room goes silent.

"Sorry to interrupt, may I see (Y/n) Henderson for a moment?" He says gesturing towards me.

I feel my classmates judgmental stares as I walk out of the classroom with the principal. Walking behind him to his office, I catch a glimpse of Steve talking with Tommy in the hallway. Noticing my gaze, Steve meets my eyes, his own tinged with concern. I just shrug in response.

When we arrive at the principals office I'm met with, Jim Hopper, Chief of Hawkins Police, and Nancy waiting anxiously.

"What's going on here?" I ask, sitting down next to Nancy flashing her a look of confusion.

Hopper narrows his eyes at the both of us making me uncomfortable. I find myself bouncing my leg nervously in response.

"When was the last time either of you saw Will Byers?" Hopper asks, searching for answers.

Nancy was quick to speak.

"Well, I saw him last night when he came up from the basement with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas." She says, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

"(Y/n)?" Hopper asks me while jotting down Nancy's previous statement on his notepad.

"We rode our bikes home last night, I assumed he made it back," I say, picking at my cuticles anxiously, "Joyce rang me up this morning and asked if Will had stayed over..." I trail off thinking about this morning's odd phone call.

Will didn't come home.

"Okay, here's what I'm going to have you do. Go back to class and when you get home make sure both your brothers are their friends are well-behaved. And whatever you do, don't go looking for Will. Do you understand?" Hopper says sternly, making sure both Nancy and I get the message. We nod our heads nervously at his words.

"Good, you can go," Hopper says.

Nancy and I rise to our feet promptly exiting the office. Before closing the door, I hesitate, and look back.

"Hopper, is Will gonna be okay?" I say, showing my concern. A crease forming between my eyebrows.

Hopper reassuringly says, "Yeah, kiddo, we'll find him."

<3

next chapter . masterlist . steve harrington masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[prettyboyjohnny]

JOHNNY VOICE LINE TRANSCRIPT 🥩

I wrote these out a long time ago but never posted them anywhere! Based on [x].

>Nancy's voicelines<

Notes:

• I could've copied the game subtitles, but I didn't 'cause they suck.

• I haven't played enough Johnny to know where some of these lines start and end. Please let me know if I've made any mistakes in that regard!

• I was gonna include tone indicators, but tone is subjective. No one wants me to mark the Feed Grandpa voice lines as "Flirty."

Thanks!

VOICELINES

Encounter Start

Now look at this! Somebody's ready to fight!

This is gonna end... Very badly for you.

Yeah-ha-ha! Oh, that's it! Hit me...

Imma gut every single one of y'all! [Inhales, laughs under breath] Come on... Come on!

Exit interaction

Nobody leaves until I say so!

Ain't nobody leavin' just yet!

Got it.

Nobody's leavin' alive! Y'all not fast enough! ... Good try, though.

Feed Grandpa

Get your fill, old man.

It always tastes best when it's fresh, don't it?

Here you go, old man.

You're lookin' better already... Now help us!

Oh, you're thirsty today.

Victim found

HA HA! It's playtime!

Heh heh, it's playtime...

Hahahaha, I always find 'em!

You should know better than that! ... Come on out, now.

Hey there! [Laughs]

Well! Look who we got here! [Laughs]

Hit victim

Oh! Now I got ya!

Yeah! Take it! Take it!

It's better if you die right quick! Trust me!

This would be simpler if you would sit still!

Yeah! You gonna be leakin' after that hit.

Idle

Nobody escapes me.

How the hell did those kids find us? [Sighs] I should've been more careful.

If Grandpa was able, this would be over by now... I better go feed him.

Damn it, Johnny... Get your head straight! Come on, now!

I gotta fix this... Now!

Cook seen

I'd watch that tongue of yours, old man... It might go missin' one day.

I thought you knew how to run this household... THIS is a mess!

Damn it, old man! Put those ears of yours to use already!

Where are they?! How the hell did they get loose?! I can't fix this by myself, old man.

Stop barkin' orders at me! You ain't gonna like the results.

Hitchhiker seen

Surround the property with some of those traps already! This is getting outta hand fast!

You're one shifty little sumbitch... I'll give you that. [Laughs]

How you make those weird ass traps of yours, anyway?

Would you. Settle. The Hell. Down already. You're scattering all over the dang place. We gotta focus!

Grandpa is gonna tan our hides if we let them get away. Spread out!

Leatherface seen

That's it, boy... Go kill someone now.

Go on, put that saw to use, big boy! What're you waitin' on?

If I were you, I'd go and check out Grandpa. We're gonna need his help!

Let's go now, boy! Grandpa ain't gonna be too pleased if you let them escape.

Just get outta my way, boy... I'll show you how real killin's done.

Sissy seen

Are you gonna help me out, or just stand there lookin' pretty?

If it ain't askin' too much, before you go and run off again, would you mind helpin' me out?

Before you go runnin' off with those back-house hippies again... Can you PLEASE find these damn kids?!

Sissy, what the hell're you waitin' on? Get to it!

Sissy... Are you even listenin' to me? What's goin' on in that head of yours?! Damn!

Lose enemy first

Aww, you leavin' so soon?

It's alright, big boy's gonna be wearing your face soon enough... After I'm done with you, that is. [Laughs]

You know... I was actually kinda fond of that girl, I-I didn't really wanna hurt 'er... But, as they say... Family first, y'know?

You ever watch someone die? Oh... You ain't never quite the same after that, lemme tell ya.

Ohohoh, you can run all you want... It ain't gonna matter much longer.

Lose enemy sub

[Scoffs] You're all gurgle and no guts! I thought you were tougher than that!

I'm gonna find you... I will! I promise!

You wanna know how your friend died? I can show you!

L-Listen now! E-Everybody's time comes eventually!

The bad man's in me... And you gonna meet 'im real soon!

Lose enemy long

Your little friend put up a better fight than this... Come on... Make it interesting, will ya?!

They always try to hide... It's always the same game... [Laughs]

You folks don't know who you messin' with! Nobody ever gets away from me.

You're just delayin' the inevitable! YOU HEAR ME?

Come on out now, let's play.

I got plenty of space in the cold room for you.

Match start

It's time. [Chuckles] Seems they've got some fight in 'em after all.

I knew I should've handled this myself... I'll fix it.

That's what I get for taking it easy on them. Time for them to join that little friend of theirs.

See blood trail

Oh, this is gonna be easy.

Hey, you okay? You seem to have lost a bit of blood!

Now... let's see where you scurried off to.

You know... Bleedin' like that ain't gonna help your cause!

Don't bleed out on me yet! I need you awake!

See enemy first

Don't worry. I like it when they run.

Look, you're gonna want this to end fast. Trust me on that.

Well, don't run! I just wanna see how it feels.

There you are! [Chuckles] You kinda remind me of your little friend.

See enemy sub

This is pointless, you know. Quit stallin'.

Don't worry... I'll find ya.

[Growls] I'm gonna see your insides before this night's through!

Oh, you ain't gettin' away! I'm keepin' you.

Come on back, now.

Got something I wanna show you! [Laugh]

See family member

Well! Look who decided to lend a hand!

Check the doors and generator. We can't let them leave. You hear me?

Y'all need to start pullin' your weight around here. This is gettin' old!

Grandpa's gonna be in a fit if we let them escape. Start searchin'!

Would y'all... Help me already. PLEASE!

See trapped victim

We gotcha! [Laughs]

You ready to meet the bad man?

You got one!

Looks like you might be hurtin'. Might wanna be watchin' where you're steppin'.

[Laughs]

See victim escape

Maybe I can still catch 'em. Yeah, down by the tracks.

Damn... They're free... For now.

This isn't gonna be good.

Damn it, Johnny! [Scoffs] ... The old man's gonna be riled up now.

Use ability blocked

Ain't no tracks here...

Nah... got nothin'.

Better wait a minute.

Not quite yet ... [Inhales] Almost ready.

Use ability

Time to play. Now... Where did you go?

I'll find ya. Don't you worry about that.

Go ahead and hide... It ain't gonna matter.

Where'd y'all run off to?

Use ability success

[Hums] ... There you are.

They always leave a trail. Always so careless. [Chuckles, inhales] ... This is too easy.

I'm on your tail now!

Execution

You're gonna look real nice... Next to that friend of yours!

That's it... Die for me!

This... Is only gonna hurt... For a minute!

You should've never came here lookin' for that girl!

You ain't gettin' away! I'm keepin' you!

[Last edited March 2024]

[lovebugism]

“ Sneak out and come watch the stars with me. ” this gives me such Steve vibes. maybe something cute and romantic? I’m in my feels hahaha

thanks for your request, angel! please enjoy xoxo — steve takes his bad-at-feelings gf on a romantic outing. it goes exactly how he expected. (mean-ish!reader, fluff, 1.8k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

The forest behind the suburbs of Maple Street is sparse and full of green. Illuminated by a blue moon and blinking yellow fireflies, Steve holds your hand and leads you through thin trees and tall grass. 

You follow behind him and try hopelessly to keep up with his longer strides. A cat-like grin pulls at your mouth as you joke, “You know, when you said you wanted to sneak out and watch the stars, I thought that was a euphemism for something.”

Steve looks over his shoulder at you. His honey eyes squint as he flashes you a lopsided smile. “Is that really how low you think of me, sweetheart?”

“I just forget how much of a romantic you are sometimes.”

Your sneakers scuff against the dirt when Steve stops suddenly in front of you. He takes a step closer, smoothing his broad hands up your bare arms. His sparkling touch leaves prickling goosebumps on your skin. He stops at the sleeves of your t-shirt, long fingers warm where they sprawl below your shoulders.

“That’s exactly why I have to remind you then, huh?” he singsongs, bending softly at the waist to kiss you. 

You’re too busy rolling your eyes at his cheesy remark to meet him halfway. His plush lips brush the very corner of your mouth.

A couple more steps, and the woods break off into a clearing. A black lake sits in the middle of it all, sparkling under neon moonlight. The other side is lined with thicker trees in a more velvet shade of green. It’s lush, filled with the buzzing sounds of nightlife, and smelling heavily of summertime.

It’s the kind of beauty that takes your breath away. Sort of like the pretty boy beside you.

Steve catches you staring, and you cower. You purse your quiet smile to the side of your mouth when he flashes you a similar grin. Your eyes narrow accusingly, “How did you know this was back here?”

The boy’s beam ebbs instantaneously, mourning the fleeting moment of pure adoration. His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, tugging you closer to the clearing. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just sit, yeah?”

Before you can complain about your good jeans getting dirty, he strips himself of his summer jacket and spreads it on the grassy bank below you. He shoots you a knowing look in the meanwhile — full of twinkling eyes and quirked lips — as though anticipating your protest. You meet it with a halfhearted glower.

“How many times did you come out here with Nancy Wheeler, then, huh?” you tease as you descend onto the polyester fabric.

Steve huffs when he plops down beside you. “You’re an absolute glutton for punishment, you know that?”

“I just like making fun of you—”

“Of course you do.”

“—And also, I think it’s really funny you took me to a spot you used to take your ex,” you conclude with a giggle sputtering from your mouth. Your laugh is high and airy, like it’s actually funny to you and not a confession of misplaced jealousy. 

It’s the only reason Steve smiles softly back at you. “Shut up,” he grouses quietly despite his grin. “I just wanted to get out of that house, alright? It was getting way too loud in there.”

The Wheeler’s were having a weekend get-together. There was no real occasion for it other than the want to decorate their big house and bigger backyard for the summer season. You figured that was the sort of thing rich people did whenever they got bored.

The afternoon was pretty tolerable, but the kids only seemed to get more wired as the night progressed. You could only tolerate the yelling in Mike Wheeler’s basement for so long.

“We can’t stay gone for too long,” you tell him as you settle into his side.

Steve wraps an arm around your shoulder to press you further into him. The side of your arm rests against his ribs. His cologne embraces you the same way he does, engulfing you with its clean musky scent.

The boy laughs. “Why? ‘Cause everyone will think we’re screwing?”

“No,” you drawl with your own breathy giggle. “Because I promised Holly we’d do your makeup before bedtime.”

A beat passes. You tilt your chin to stare up at the boy beside you. You met his deadpanned expression with a mischievous grin. 

“No, you didn’t,” he challenges with narrowed honey eyes.

“I absolutely did— right after I promised we’d play Princess and Dragons with her, actually.”

Steve’s brows pinch. “Since when do dragons wear makeup?”

“…You’re the princess, Stevie.”

“Right,” he concedes, licking his lips and trying his best to feign annoyance. He’s too full of adoration for you not to smile, though. His pink lips quirk in a crooked smirk as he shakes his head at you. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

“Oh,” you hum. “You love me, huh?”

That phrase was a new one. Well, between the two of you, anyway. 

You’d said it first — blurted it, really — at breakfast a few mornings ago. Steve griped that you beat him to the punch, right before he said it back to you. He said he’d wanted to say it for a while but could never find the courage to. You haven’t quite let him live it down.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbles.

“Well, that just sucks for you.”

“Does it now?”

“Mhmm,” you answer wordlessly as you lean in closer to him, your mouths mere inches apart. You can smell Coca-Cola and chocolate ice cream on his breath when it entwines with your own.

“And why’s that?”

You grin when your noses brush together. “‘Cause I love you back.”

“God,” he grimaces quietly. “That’s disgusting.”

You nod. The tip of your nose brushes the structured bridge of his. “Absolutely repulsive.”

Your lips lock hardly a second later. His plush pink ones press against your own in a lingering peck. 

You didn’t know how much you missed the feel of him until now. You hadn’t felt so starved for him all day, but now that you finally have him against your mouth, you feel like he’s bringing your withering figure back to life.

You sigh against him. You feel the smile on his mouth at the feeling of the heavy breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. Steve pulls back, then kisses you deeper. His plush lips part to open yours. His tongue slips between them, warm and wet. The irregular pattern of the pink muscle juts against your own. 

You vaguely feel his hand curl around the back of your neck before you feel the dewy grass pressing against your back. 

A soft gasp is inhaled through your nose when the boy unexpectedly lays you back. Your eyes flutter open while your lips continue to be so ardently kissed. You squirm at the feeling of your shirt dampening and wonder if the icky feeling is worth being so close to him.

Before you can answer, you gasp again. This time through your mouth.

Steve pulls back, frightened that he’s hurt you. His wide chocolate eyes dart over your face, checking for any sign that something might be wrong. “What? What happened?”

“It’s Hercules!” you answer.

His brows furrow. “It’s what?”

“Hercules! The constellation! You can only see it in the summertime—” you explain, pushing your hands against the boy’s shoulders. “—Get off!”

Steve huffs and rolls onto his back, propping himself on his elbows. You rise once more with your chin pointed towards the black sky. You spare him a brief glance. A smile pulls softly at the corners of your mouth when you see the boyish pout on his face.

“You’re the one that wanted to watch the stars, remember?” you remind him.

“I wanted to watch you under the stars,” he corrects in a monotone. “That’s totally different.”

“Just c’mere and look.”

He sighs but abides you anyway. When he sits up beside you again, you reach over his lap for his left hand. You rest your pointer finger next to his and trace the blinking constellation along the velvet blue sky. “These are the legs, see?”

Steve squints. “Sorta…”

“It’s kinda like he’s running, right? And those are the arms.”

A beat passes. The boy’s puzzled gaze flits between you and the night sky. “…Is that it?”

You squint at him. “What do you mean, is that it?”

“He has no head,” he explains as if you haven’t noticed.

“…Okay?”

“How can it be Hercules if he doesn’t have a head?” the boy scoffs like it’s some unsolved travesty.

“Because it’s a constellation, Steve,” you giggle.

“Well, it looks a lot more like a crab than a Hercules, babe.”

“There’s already a crab constellation. It’s Cancer.”

Steve shrugs, pink lips jutted softly out. “Well, they got it all backwards.”

“I’ll let Ptolemy know,” you quip with the loving roll of your eyes.

“Who?”

“Ptolemy. The astronomer,” you answer in a monotone. You’re met with a pretty face contorted in confusion. “Did you not learn anything in science class?”

Steve thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nope.”

You laugh at the honesty of his answer. “We literally had Ms. Cook’s together. Twice. Astronomy One and Two.”

“I only took those classes ‘cause I knew you’d be in them,” the boy scoffs.

“Shut up…”

“I’m serious— well, Astro One, I just got lucky. But then, senior year, I dropped chemistry for Astro Two so I could spend my last semester with you.”

Your heart swells at his words, warmed by the thought that he’s been whipped for you just as long as you’ve been for him. 

You’ve never felt truly worthy of his love. Not now. Not ever. 

Girls like you aren’t supposed to end up with guys like Steve. 

Of everyone he could’ve chosen, he chose you — the girl who finds affection close to impossible basically all the time. The girl who throws out mindless insults easier than I love you’s. But he loved you, anyway. 

Of everyone else — it was you.

“Is that why you spent five months sitting behind me and annoying the absolute shit outta me?” you joke instead of telling him you love him so much you could cry.

“I prefer the phrase wooing the shit outta you,” Steve corrects with his head tilted to his shoulder. “But, sure. Yeah.”

You shake your head with a fond smile hinting at your lips. “You’re disgusting…”

“Well, it worked,” he counters, a proud grin on his face. “Here we are, two years later, watching the stars while you lecture me about Pa-moley or whoever the fuck.”

“Ptolemy,” you correct, smiling just as wide as he is.

“Right,” he hums back. His chocolate eyes sparkle when he looks at you, twinkling with stars and adoration. “I can’t imagine being out here and getting smart-mouthed by anyone else.”

Through burning cheeks, you quip “That’s because no one else can do it as well as I can.”

Steve beams. “Exactly.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 98

Part 1 Part 97

It’s fucked up, but Steve’s never been happier. He’s not sure how much of it’s the drugs, and how much is the relief, but it sits like a weight on his chest that he never wants to shake off.

There’s a constant stream of visitors. Ms. Byers, who’s taken to cupping her cool hands around his face and kissing his forehead each time. Uncle Wayne, who’s calluses are starting to become as familiar as Edde’s to the skin of Steve’s palms.

Barbara and Carol, attached at the hip in a way he can’t parse. He doesn’t think he was gone that long. How did this happen? But he knows that flirty smile, knows what his best friend’s fingers trailing over Barbara’s shoulders means.

Tommy doesn’t come. It shouldn’t hurt, but – But. Something inside him tightens and contracts. It might just be his heart.

Jonathan and Nancy come together. Jonathan’s bubbling over with apologies, contrite in contrast to Nancy’s fuming.

“You should have called me,” she says, curly hair practically raising with the power of her ire. “I could have helped.”

From his seat by Steve’s side, Eddie huffs and puffs and barely holds back his yell. He doesn’t see the way her fists are curled, can’t see past the veneer of control that hides the worry behind it.

“I was possessed, Nance,” Steve replies, smiling up at her. His face hurts with all the smiling. “I didn’t even know who you were.”

She sputters and stalls while Jonathan stands beside her, shooting worried looks out of the corner of his eyes.

He can almost feel the hole they’d left in his brain. The shape of their outlines at high school parties and in line at the cafeteria. Nancy’s firmly raised hand, Jonathan’s slumped shoulders. It’s filled now.

He wants to fill it with more memories, so many that the bad ones just shake loose.

“Oh, alright,” she huffs, settling down on the other side of the bed, far away from Eddie’s twitching fingers. “But that won’t work as an excuse next time.”

The kids are easy; they come in a pile, stacking against each other in his room’s doorway until Dustin comes pouring in, everyone else after him. They all crowd onto his bed with no regard to his personal space. Even Mike slinks onto the end to sit with sullen shoulders and shining eyes. 

They’re like puppies, yapping over each other for his and Eddie’s attention. Will’s planning a new campaign, and his eyes light up when Steve agrees to play.

Chief Hopper comes next with a girl hiding behind his back, clutching onto the hanging lapel of his jacket. Her head peaks out behind him, curls springing wildly from her scalp as she smiles shyly at Steve. 

“I know you,” Steve says.

The chief huffs, as the beams, and says her part in their little play, “I found you.”

Steve shuffles up in his bed, not looking as he feels Eddie prop up pillows behind his back. He holds his arms out and open, waiting even as his muscles begin to strain. 

She shuffles out from behind Chief Hopper, head down as she climbs onto the edge of his bed, butting her forehead against his chest like a cat. He puts his arms around her, slow as he feels what he’s come to find out are burns of varying degrees. No one will tell him what they’re from, but Carol had looked especially shifty when she’d witnessed the bandages being changed. He elected not to ask.

The girl doesn’t put her own arms around him, just lets her hands settle into her own lap and leans in. 

“You really are a supergirl, huh?” Steve asks, reaching his hand up to play with her curls. His splinted finger knocks against her skull once before he holds it back as best he can. 

She leans back to beam up at him, eyes alight. “You can call me El”.

They probably both look stupid, smiling at each other, one of them all banged up, the other in what must be Chief Hopper’s cast-offs. 

Hopper clears his throat when the silence lingers. He stomps in his clunky work boots over to the seat beside Eddie and sinks down, almost reclining into it despite its straight back. Eddie curls away from him, glaring at the man like he’s got a live grenade. 

Or like he’s been searched for drugs before and doesn’t want the fuzz to be sniffing around. Steve laughs, loopy and pleased while they both look at him with the same furrowed brows and worried frowns.

“You alright, kid?” Hopper asks gruffly, reaching out to put his meaty hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve winces, feels the bandages pull until Hopper drops his hand. 

“Did you know she was real?” Steve asks, reaching out to pull one of El’s bounciest curls atop her head. It all goes straight and taught and then bounces back into place.

Hopper snorts. “Where do you think she’s been living?”

“Oh,” he replies. 

His brains clicking in his skull, weighed down by morphine and too much sleep, but when his gaze flickers around the room, he recognizes the awkward grimace on Eddie’s lips.

“You knew,” Steve accuses, finger pointed toward Eddie’s face, to emphasize who he’s accusing. His finger shakes unsteadily until Eddie snatches it out of the air and pops it into his own mouth to bite down. “Ow, what the fuck?”

Eddie’s dimples pop around it as he nibbles into the knuckle one more time before letting go with a suctioning pop. “Don’t be mad, Stevie,” he weedles, looking up at Steve through his lashes with wide, innocent eyes, even as his prominent dimples give away his amusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Steve’s slightly damp finger flicks Eddie’s nose until he hisses and snatches Steve’s hand to interlace their fingers with a shrug. “I thought it would be funny.”

It’s hard to hold a grudge when El giggles, light and airy as it breathes life into the room.

“He’s got you there, kid,” Hopper replies, reaching out again, this time to ruffle El’s hair. 

Steve huffs, “whatever, man,” but his lips are little traitors and they can’t stop from turning up at the corners. “See if I introduce you to the next superhero we meet.”

Eddie squeezes his hand, familiar callouses scraping against Steve’s palm. “You’ll introduce me, Stevie.” he replies. Steve closes his eyes as he feels warm lips on the back of his hand. “You love me too much.”

Steve closes his eyes against the feeling, still smiling even as his healing skin pulls, and his finger feels unwieldy and wrong, and his head aches and floats up toward the ceiling. 

Yeah, he really does. 

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

Part 99

[tearueful]

One Up (Homelander x Reader)

A scene that has been rattling in my brain that I needed to get out. [Ao3 link]

Homelander catches you calling him your boyfriend | Homelander x reader, gender neutral reader. No warnings beyond Homelander being Homelander and language.

"Well- Homelander and I are dating." You snap out, not even knowing why you said it in the first place. All you know is that you wanted to one-up that stick-up-his-ass HR brat bragging about banging a D-list supe.

"We're going to go-", You pause because the amusingly shocked faces within the cluster of your co-workers morph into various levels of fear and unease. You sense him before he speaks; prey tensing up as a predator draws close.

"Well- Homelander and I are dating." You snap out, not even knowing why you said it in the first place. All you know is that you wanted to one-up that stick-up-his-ass HR brat bragging about banging a D-list supe.

"We're going to go-", You pause because the amusingly shocked faces within the cluster of your co-workers morph into various levels of fear and unease. You sense him before he speaks; prey tensing up as a predator draws close.

"Hey sweetheart," He purrs the words close to your ear as Homelander leans in from behind you. "What are ya gossiping about?" He heard you and your false claim. Of course, he fucking heard you.

"I- Oh." Instantly, color blooms over your face as you turn your head enough to glance at him. He's painfully close, the heat of Homelander palpable against your cheek. Turn your head a little more and you could kiss him. 

You'd never dare. Your words have been damning enough.

"N-nothing, babe." You stammer out, tugging a smile into place as your heart jackhammers within your chest.

Homelander settles a hand on the back of your neck with a soft creak sounding from the leather his gloves are made out of. The action is possessive; which sends a thrill straight down your spine. The sort of thrill one gets when the roller coaster harness feels a little too loose to be safe.

One finger slides up and circles the skin of your neck briefly as your breath catches in the back of your throat.

You snap your gaze forward back to your co-workers who hang about in stunned silence. With Homelander backing you up, the skepticism is bleeding away before your eyes.

Nancy from IT breaks the silence, "I didn't realize you two were a couple!" She presses on, voice cheerful. "I can't wait to hear how that happened."

"It's a funny story," Homelander interjects, voice smooth and dripping with his camera-ready charm. The sort that hides his fangs. "Maybe we'll share it sometime."

Homelander's hold tightens, fingers digging in with a grip that could pop your head right off your shoulders. The threat is clear. Comply or else. The laugh Homelander releases is in stark contrast, jovial and warm with a flash of those white white teeth at your co-workers.

Your co-workers laugh along automatically because everyone in the office knows to appease this erratic supe, or else they end up another mistake for Vought to sweep under the rug.

"Alright," Homelander clips out as he abruptly drops his hold from your neck. 

"Don't forget our plans for tonight, babe." With a wink in your direction and another fanged smile at your coworkers, Homelander sweeps away.

[memoiremunson]

Fright - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie grows protective as you disappear on a night out with the gang.

A/N: Woah, it truly has been forever since I've written something but I wanted to dip my toes back into writing for my love, Eds! I wanted to pop this out as a trial run for how I feel about writing fics again so please enjoy!

Word Count: 811

Warnings: angst, kissing, fluff, alcohol, panic/anxiety attack, protective Eddie

● - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ●

The night had been going so well. You and Eddie had decided to take advantage of the cool summer night and managed to convince the entire group to go out. 

The alcohol had been flowing and the atmosphere was electric as you all met up at the bar. Steve suggested bar hopping which led the group to bounce from various bars and clubs before settling on one to finish out the night. 

The final bar had a classic bar top table and further inward had a hidden indent where it transformed into a club atmosphere. Laughs and smiles were thrown left and right as you danced and drank with Nancy, Robin, Steve, and your doting boyfriend, Eddie. The flashing lights illuminated Eddie’s wild curls, spotlighting his happy aura. 

Eddie then leaned down to your ear, shouting over the music, “I’m going to get another beer. do you want something?” 

You giggled as the vibrations of his voice tickled your ear.  

“No babe, I’m good, thanks!” 

Gently caressing your elbow, he asked “You okay here?” Eyes dancing across yours to ensure that you truly felt okay to be alone.

You nodded your head enthusiastically as you flashed him one of your infamous smiles solely reserved for his pleasure. 

Happy to see you so happy, he matched your smile and gave you a kiss on the cheek, making his way through the various pressed bodies and exiting the dance floor. 

You continued having fun and dancing until you felt a sudden wave of anxiety creep through you and wash over your entire body. 

Instantaneously, your heart began pumping. You grew extremely conscious of your body, and the urge to cry was so strong that you felt the tears threaten to drop down. The only thing on your mind now was getting out of the space immediately.

You quickly grabbed onto Robin’s arm, shouting out that you were going to get some fresh air for a moment. She asked, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah! Just need some fresh air, I’ll be right back, I promise!” you replied, giving her a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask your panic before weaving quickly through the sweaty bodies. 

As soon as you stepped through the club door, the crisp cool air granted a sudden relief. You exhaled a deep sigh and closed your eyes as you felt the fresh air enter your lungs. 

The street was busy with laughter and smiling drunken faces, somewhat easing your feelings of discomfort. You looked both ways down the street before deciding to veer off to the left in hopes of walking off your heightened nerves around the building. 

Your racing mind seemed to slow as you watched your shoes move forward on the pavement. Tuning into your breath and grounding yourself came naturally as you continued to round the street. 

As you circle your way back to the front of the club entrance, you catch a mess of dark curls bobbing frantically around. You recognize the curls immediately as you’ve come to know them quite intimately and quicken your pace to catch up to the bouncing figure. 

You finally meet his panicked brown eyes, instantly stopping him in his tracks.

“Sweetheart, where were you? Are you alright?” He asks as he tightly grabs your shoulders, leaning over to scan his eyes across your figure for any signs of distress or injuries. 

“I just needed some fresh air. I mean ... I told Robin I’d be right back.” You reply, voice soft as you can see how frightened and frazzled he seems. 

“You should’ve let me know, sweetheart, I got nervous something happened!” His grip slightly tightens as his voice grows louder, more on edge. 

“Then I thought I heard an ambulance and got even more scared and- … ” You cut him off by placing a hand on his cheek.

 “Hey … I’m ok, I promise…” Your eyes both search each other for a moment before his finally soften and melt into yours. 

“I’m sorry I scared you … I really didn't mean to,” you say softly. 

He carefully brings your hand to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss into your warm palm before bringing it down and clasping it with his much larger hand. 

"Alright...how ‘bout we call it a night, yeah?” You felt guilty at the potential of ruining the fun everyone seemed to be having but eventually gave in to the signs your body seemed to be giving you. 

“Ok, Eds…” Eddie then slung an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in tightly to his body before doing your rounds of goodbyes to the rest of the group. 

As you leaned your head against the window of Eddie’s van, you couldn't help but grow warm at the thought of Eddie being so protective over you and how you are so very lucky to know you are cared for intrinsically. 

Thank you for reading, Angel! <3

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level Two

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter. “I’m gonna need you to stay late tonight,” Murray said through a mouthful of his sandwich. You startled, realising he was talking to you. Robin sunk down in her seat, her eyes trained on her microwaved pasta. “The games are getting serviced, but they’re not gonna be done until, pshh, midnight? Maybe.”

“What?” You stared at your boss, your own lunch forgotten about. “But Robin was working that, wasn’t this already, uh, discussed?”

“Buckley has a medical appointment,” Murray replied, too busy staring at some coffee stained sheets of paper to give you any attention. “And I don’t like to pry into my employees personal lives, so, you’re it, kid.”

You turned, neck snapping to the girl. She was already grimacing, knowing fine well that you knew there was absolutely no appointment. Your friend had spent all week gushing about a date she had at the weekend, you just assumed it was Sunday, not Saturday, seeing as she was already on the rota for the late shift. 

“Oh no. I hope you’re not too sick, Robin,” you said through clenched teeth. 

The girl sunk further down, her nose level with the table and her lukewarm pasta. She had the good grace to wince and mouth ‘sorry’ at you, eyes wide and apologetic. 

“Anyway, you and Harrington can utilise your time and do something productive, like cleaning the popcorn machine,” Murray waved a hand, distracted, knocking his coffee mug dangerously close to the computer. 

The popcorn machine hadn’t worked since 1973 but you didn’t bother mentioning that, too hung up on the other name that Murray had lumped yours with. “Harrington?” You glared between your boss and Robin, who was now positively morose. “Steve? Steve’s on the late with me? No. No.”

Murray laughed, a mean cackle that told you there wasn’t really any point in arguing, but you tried anyway. “Murray, please, c’mon. Can’t Argyle do the late? Carver? Literally anyone else?”

The man snorted, finally turning on his computer chair, the wheels protesting and he was grinning at you, gaze amused through his wire rimmed glasses. “They’re busy.”

“So am I!” You attempted, voice cracking. 

“You owe me approximately…” he turned back to his desk, rifling through the mess there until he produced what looked to be your timesheet. You bit back a swear. “…five hours this week. And that’s not including the forty minutes you were late this morning, so, I think we can compromise on you doing the late and keeping your job, alright?”

You didn’t say anything, just turning back on your chair to slump down to Robin’s level, arms folded and eyes stormy. The girl knocked your ankle with her own, mouthing another apology across the table, and if it weren’t for the fact she’d been trying to work up the courage to ask Nancy out for months now, you would’ve definitely have done something childish, like knock her pasta off the table. 

But you didn’t. You were fine. It was fine. 

“Make sure you lock up properly when you leave,” Murray reminded you unnecessarily, ‘cause that was Argyle’s bad habit, not yours. “And play nice with Steven - but not too nice.” He ruffled your hair as he passed, already leaving for the day despite the fact there was four hours left of opening. “There’s cameras everywhere, and some of them actually work. We don’t gotta see that, and I got out of the porn business years ago.”

Silence settled over the staff room as he slammed the door behind him, his last comment making Robin firmly push her lunch away. You blinked and stared at her, both of you thinking too much. 

“Is he… was that a joke?” She asked, hesitant to know the answer. 

“I have no idea.”

—————

Steve arrived as the last of the staff left, coming from his day off to spend the next six hours with you in the dark arcade, waiting for a team of greasy haired men to push some buttons on each machine, wiggle a joystick or two and then demand a couple of hundred dollars for their effort. 

It was unnerving to see the boy in normal clothes, no real need for his staff shirt or name badge. His white t-shirt made him look even more tanned, sunkissed from the afternoons spent by his pool, the cotton lit up ultraviolet under the arcade lights. 

“What time are they comin’?” He asked in lieu of greeting, heaving himself up to sit on the desk, narrowly avoiding the bag of chips you’d been snacking on. 

You huffed, an annoyed sound that the boy was so used to, snatching your chips away before he could crush them further. You shrugged, moving away from Steve, eager to put some distance between you and him, ‘cause he smelled too damn nice. 

Like sunscreen and summer, leftover chlorine and a cologne that was probably more than his last paycheck. It was annoyingly distracting. 

“Don’t know, Murray said anytime between seven and ten.” You were already tired, draping yourself over the counter, used ticket stubs sticking to your arms. “This fucking sucks.”

“Didn’t you miss me?” Steve grinned, spinning on the desk to face you, his legs crossed in front of him as he leaned forward, taunting. He was good at giving you the eye, that gaze he gave all the girls, thick lashes fluttering, honey brown stare all soft and warm. 

Too bad it didn’t work on you. 

“No. But I’m glad to see you managed to pick up a sense of humour as well as an STD by the pool today.”

Steve laughed, unperturbed by your vicious comment. It hurt less when you smiled at him like that, all pretty and pleased with yourself, smug about it. “You’re particularly catty today, princess. Still not managed to reclaim a Dig Dug victory?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve grinned. Riling you up was his favourite thing to do. But all too soon, you were pushing yourself away from the desk, chips forgotten about, and rounding the counter. You sighed, looking around the empty arcade as if doing anything was better than talking to him. 

“I’m gonna refill the ticket machines,” you declared, not looking at him when you spoke. “Murray said you need to clean the popcorn machine, so, Godspeed.”

Steve blanked, staring at you as you walked away, bare legs lit up in pinks and blues under the lights, your shorts a constant distraction for him. He hated them. “Wait, what? The popcorn machine hasn’t worked in fucking years.”

“Not my problem!” You waved him off before turning the corner, disappearing behind the chunky machines that had stood since the beginning of the seventies. “Have fun, Harrington.”

Steve let the service men in an hour later, the silence that had fallen over the arcade interrupted by mechanical beeping and the switching on and off of each machine. He hadn’t seen you since he’d first arrived and the fact that he’d only managed to get one rise out of you was severely disappointing. So he searched through the large room, navigating the rows of games in a way he knew all too well, each screen flashing invitingly, the promise of a new adventure stuck behind each one. 

He knew where to find you, it wasn’t all that hard. But he still stopped to watch from afar as you bashed the buttons on the Dig Dug machine, swearing softly to yourself when the game didn’t do what you wanted. It beeped angrily, the screen flashed and a patronising ‘game over’ sign flooded the black background. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” he called out, too happily. 

You spun, scowling at the sound of his voice, his cheery negativity, his wide smirk. A sound of dismissal left your throat, annoyance clear on your face, but you couldn’t resist the bait. “There’s like, three buttons and I only need to use one of them,” you snapped, “how can I be doing it wrong?”

Steve joined you at the machine, leaning on the side of the bulky game, lit up by the flashing neon lights that hung above it. He was six different shades of yellow and orange, all golds and ambers and peaches across tanned skin and brown eyes. He was smug looking, eyes flickering from yours down to your fingers that were prodding at the button, bashing it furiously as you tried to blow up the Fygar’s that were in your way. The game beeped again, angry, and you were back to the main menu. 

Steve’s name flashed obnoxiously from the top of the leaderboard, the number one beside it, setting your teeth on edge. You pushed another coin into the slot, took a deep breath and tried to ignore the boy beside you. 

Steve only managed another minute or two of polite silence before he was sighing. “Jesus, look, like this, yeah?” His hand covered your own, the one hovering over the button and you froze, staring at him from the side of your eyes. “It’s about timing, not how hard you can mash the button into the board.”

You knew how to play. You were number one last week, you weren’t a novice, Dig Dug was your favourite game. You should’ve shaken him off, snarled something mean about men thinking they always knew best but you were frozen, still staring, looking at the boy like a deer trapped in headlights.

Steve pressed his fingers over yours as the game restarted, the tinny, electronic music beginning all over again. He was methodical about it, pressing the shooter only when the enemies got close enough, a vast difference to the way you manically shot on sight. But he frowned when he realised you weren’t moving at all, the joystick frozen in your other hand. 

“C’mon, you’re not exactly helping,” he complained moodily. “S’wrong? Scared I’m trying to seduce you or somethin’?” 

You scowled at that, shifting under Steve’s touch, glaring at him from where he still stood beside the machine; one, warm, wide hand still covering yours. His fingers were so much bigger than your own, swallowing your own against the buttons. 

“As if you could,” you were quick to shoot back, but you ducked your chin, glaring at the screen through your lashes. “More concerned about where your hands have been.”

You heard him huff out a laugh, a breath through the smirk that seemed to always be on his lips when he was around you. He pressed your fingers down again when you tilted the joystick, successfully blowing up three of the little pixelated enemies on screen. 

“Now, now, princess,” Steve’s voice was low, smooth. You hated it. “Don’t act like you weren’t letting Carver drape himself over you last Wednesday.”

You wrinkled your nose at the memory, not liking Jason Carver any more than you did Steve, but at least the latter didn’t invade your personal space like Jason did. The blonde boy seemed to think his old letterman jacket was a one way pass into a girl's pants, no matter how long it had been since high school had ended. 

You had absolutely no interest in Jason, you never had and you told him as such on the daily. But it was still fun to say, “you sound jealous, Steven.” You smirked the same as him, letting your gaze slide to him from the side of your eye, watching as he frowned, cheeks rosier than normal in the arcade lights. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he bit back, eyes focused on the screen, his fingers jabbing over yours a little harder than before. “You’re not my type.”

It shouldn’t have cut you as much as it did, a cheap jab, wrapped in barbed wire but it stung all the same. You sneered, a nasty thing, shrugging Steve off, his hand moving from yours and leaving it cold. You pressed the button alone, blowing up the pixels until there were none left and the level cleared. The screen flashed with a new high score and you tilted the joystick with more force than necessary as you typed out your initials. 

Your name took first place on the leader board, knocking STEVE H. to the number two spot. The boy didn’t say anything as you walked away, his eyes on your bare legs, as usual, the taste of regret sitting heavy on his tongue. 

[1986harrington]

I DON'T WANNA BE YOUR FRIEND (I WANNA KISS YOUR NECK) The Valentine's Day Collection: Part 1/3 Word Count: 1200 Warnings: 18+ (eventually)

It had been a little over a week since you told Steve that you had a date tonight, and his imagination had been taunting him about all the different ways it could go ever since. But you turning up on his doorstep just after midnight? That wasn't one of them.

Valentine's Day was fast approaching and - given his current relationship status - it wasn't something Steve was particularly thrilled about.

You were all bundled into his BMW - you and Steve up front, Eddie, Robin and Nancy in the back. You were parked up in the lot of a shitty diner somewhere between Dustin's house and yours, which had become somewhat of a regular occurance on the way home lately. Steve had insisted it was purely so you could all spend at least an hour together having a semi-grown up conversation without the gaggle of "demanding little shitheads" lurking around. But everyone else knew it was because geographically, you were the next logical drop off after Dustin, and Steve was never quite ready to say goodnight to you.

Well, everyone else but you.

On this particular night as you sat in the front with Steve, you had turned in your seat a little so you could face both him and your friends in the back. At some point you'd become uncomfortable enough that you had to readjust your legs, which ended up across Steve's lap.

You'd asked if it was alright, if he was still comfortable, and Steve had barely managed to supress the embarassing flush of his cheeks with a strained "mhm" that cracked to an almost-squeak somewhere in the middle.

The warm press of your bare skin through the material of his jeans made it hard for him to concentrate, while you went back to your conversation none the wise, laughing at whatever nonsense Robin and Eddie were bickering about in the back. Steve found his mind wandering, unable to zone in any of the overlapping conversations spilling from the backseat as his friends yelled over each other. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers began fiddling with the edge of your sock that was rolled down around the top of you well-worn chucks. When his thumb ghosted across your skin - rubbing soft, mindless circles just above your ankle - your leg twitched a little and Steve immediately moved his hand to push it through his hair nervously.

"Shit, I, uh - sorry. I didn't mean to do... that. " He apologised, all bashful and adorable and you nudged at him with the toe of your shoe.

"It's fine, Harrington, relax. It was actually kinda nice. Jus' tickled, that's all."

Steve's head was swimming.

It was nice.

His hands. Touching you.

Did that mean you wanted him to keep going?

No, surely if you wanted him to you'd say so, right?

Or maybe, you were giving him entirely too much credit, assuming that he wasn't a total dumbass and could read a girl without explicit instructions.

Should he maybe just compromise? Put his hand back on your leg but just not move it? No, that would be dumb. Then he would just be holding your leg like a weirdo.

But if he doesn't put it back, where the hell does he put it? There are 5 adults crammed into a what can hardly be described as a spacious car and there's only so much space to go around, and you did put your legs there to begin with and-

Then you moved, twisting back around in your seat, complaining of a twinge in your back and suddenly you were gone, and his decision was made for him. Steve was still silently cursing himself by the time you finally settled back into your spot, attempting to stretch out the best you could without bumping the roof.

As you did, your top that had been loosely tucked into the waistband of your shorts slipped free, exposing a stripe of warm, soft skin around your waist and Steve practically choked on fresh air before Robin changed the topic of conversation.

"So, what's everyone's big plans for next weekend?"

Miserable grumbles sounded out from everyone in the car, before Steve felt a soft thud on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Stevie," Robin teased, hand dropping from where she had nudged him playfully to poke at his ribs. "You must have some sort of game plan?"

"Hey, hey, back off, Buckley!" Steve squirmed in his seat, accidentally setting off the horn with his elbow as he batted her away.

"Tell me your plans and maybe I'll consider it," She teased, reaching for his ribs again.

"Hey, no. I don't- Robin, seriously, stop - I don't have any plans!" He all but yelled, thrashing around in his seat until she let up. "What's so goddamn special about next weekend anyway?"

"Of course you'd forget," Robin sighed exasperated, slumping back into her seat and admitting defeat.

"It's Valentine's Day, dummy." You replied, a wink sent in his direction along with a gentle nudge of your shoulder against his.

"Oh yeah, right. How could I forget? You know, with me being so chronically single and all."

"Hey, Harrington, don't be such a debbie downer! I bet you could get a date with like, 50 girls, if you wanted."

Yeah, but none of them are you, he grumbled to himself.

"Hm?" You asked sweetly - too sweetly - and when he lifted his head to look at you, he swore it got more painful every damn time.

"I, uh, nothing. You're right. I guess I just didn't really think about it this year."

Lie.

He'd thought about it plenty. Specifically, about asking you out. And not to sit in a movie theatre and make fun of dumb movies, or eat greasy diner food, or babysit a rabble of unruly teens - although he loved doing all those things with you.

No, he wanted to ask you out on a proper date. Wear a proper shirt with buttons on it, pick you up at your house, bring your mom flowers, take you to eat actual food in an actual restaurant with fancy silverware and napkins that you put on your lap and then, on the way home, you could stop by Lover's Lake. Sit out on the hood of his car and look at the stars and pretend your lives normal for once. Then he'd drop you off at home, walk you to your door and if God was on his side, kiss you goodnight.

But none of that happened. Because you'd already turned to face Robin, and as he reached out over the console to take hold of your wrist, to turn you back toward him and ask you that very question, you said:

"Actually, I uh... I have a date!"

Nancy and Robin squealed from their seats in the back, leaning forward to grab at your arms, a chorus of "Oh my god" and "How come you never told us?!" and "We want all the details!" ringing out through the confines of the car.

In the frenzy, no one noticed how Steve slumped back into this seat. How his brow furrowed and his shoulders dropped, one hand rubbing at his jaw, the other tapping with anxious frustration against his thigh.

No one except Eddie, who slapped a hand down on Steve's shoulder from behind in a rare display of reassurance.

"Don't start quitting now, Harrington. It aint over until the fat lady sings."

[queerofthedagger]

you can leave (don't go far)

[Steddie; no warnings; ao3]

---

At the one-month mark of dating Steve, Eddie starts a list.

To the One Who Loves Him Next:

— 1. If you hurt him, I will find you and make you regret the day you were born this side of the dimension. Yes, this is a threat; no, you don’t need to understand it beyond: be good to him.

It isn’t a serious, sentimental reason that makes him start writing, is merely something born out of a little too much whiskey, band practice, and contemplation of Steve’s—everything, really.

It grows, though. For reasons that Eddie is aware of but tries not to think too much about, he does not tear the page out of his notebook the next morning, doesn’t cross out the words or burn them in the kitchen sink.

So this is how it starts; a threat of bodily harm because Eddie does not think he could bear ever seeing Steve hurt again. A message to a stranger because Eddie does not entirely trust himself to be the one who will make Steve happy for the rest of their days, no matter how badly he wants to.

---

— 2. He will always love Robin more than you (although in a different way). Accept this; it is a good thing.

The summer of ‘86 is dwindling, fall stretching its spindly fingers across the golden Indiana fields, and if anyone were to ask Eddie, he would say that things between him and Steve are good. Great, even, better than he had dared to hope for, back in summer when he had kissed Steve for the first time, half-certain that whatever Vecna and his bats had failed to accomplish, Steve would finish any second now.

He hadn’t; instead, he had kissed Eddie back as if it was the first breath of fresh air in years, and somehow, Eddie had been allowed to keep him. They don’t go shouting it from the rooftops, but their friends know. Wayne knows. The people who matter know, are happy for them if, perhaps, sometimes a little exasperated with their utter inability to keep their hands to themselves.

So when Robin appears on Eddie’s doorstep on one early September evening, the sky a riot of pink and orange behind her, he isn’t remotely prepared for anything but a friendly visit.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, and waits just about long enough for Eddie to sit down at the rickety kitchen table before she adds, “It’s about Steve. About both of you.”

“Did something happen, is he alright? I thought—“

“He’s fine,” Robin cuts in, an apology flashing in her sharp eyes before it’s all unyielding resolution again. “It’s getting serious between you two, right?”

Even with the reassurance, the dread settles in Eddie’s stomach, his fingers fiddling with his rings.

It is, though, the initial infatuation giving way to something solid. Something a little terrifying, if Eddie is honest, but worth it. So, so worth it.

“Yes,” he says, holds her eyes, still not sure what the purpose of this is. As much as he likes her, he doesn’t have whatever freaky intrinsic understanding she and Steve share. He’s fine with this, most days, but right now it feels like she knows something he does not, and he has never handled that feeling particularly well, so— “I don’t see how that is any of your business, though.”

He knows it’s a stupid thing to say the moment he does, not that it is of any use by then.

She smiles, somehow both mirthless and understanding. “Look, Eddie, I like you. You know that I like you, right?”

She actually waits until he offers her a jerky nod in response. He kind of wants to crawl out of his skin.

Finally sitting down across from him, she leans her elbows on the table; he has the distinct impression of being an insect pinned to a board.

“See, Steve is… He is serious about this, has been from the start. And while I wasn’t around when the entire thing with Nancy blew up, I still picked up a great many of the pieces. It’s taken some considerable time and effort, and as much as I love Steve, as much as I am willing to pick up his pieces, over and over, until the end of our days, I would prefer if he didn’t have to shatter in the first place.”

It isn’t exactly what Eddie expected, but now that the words lie on the table between them, he isn’t actually surprised.

He smiles, can’t help it. “Are you giving me a shovel talk, Buckley?”

Her posture doesn’t change, and neither does her expression. “Yes. I like you, as does everyone else, but I’m not above bribing El into making you disappear, no matter what baby Wheeler or Dusty-bun have to say about it. If you’re not serious about this, now is the time to get out with your pretty face intact. Last chance.”

Eddie thinks of the start of a list, still at the back of his notebook. Thinks of Steve’s tired eyes and the walls he builds, and how Eddie has been taking them down slowly, carefully, brick by brick. How Steve lets him. Thinks of how Steve touches him, fingertips dancing across skin with a gentleness that Eddie still isn’t sure he deserves, and how even among lingering suspicion and Hawkins’ cage and the suffocating need to get out, every single day with Steve is like finding true north.

He thinks of his fear and his uncertainty, of how a part of him still expects Steve to wake up one day and finally realize that Eddie isn’t worth all this, that he still wants the Winnebago and the six kids and the sticky-sweet picket-fence-life more than he wants Eddie’s chaos and Eddie’s music and all of Eddie’s stupid, annoying idiosyncrasies.

Thinks of fear and jumping and outrunning the past, of the fierce protectiveness in his heart that is also shining back at him from Robin’s eyes.

He smiles. “I can’t promise to never hurt him, Buckley, we both know that. But if I ever do it on purpose, you have full permission to get El to snap my neck and dump me in the quarry.”

He means it, too, is the thing. She keeps looking at him, the old kitchen clock ticking in the background, steady. Eventually, she gives him a sharp nod before her features soften back into familiarity.

“Good,” she says, and she’s already getting back up again while rummaging through the pockets of her jacket. “Here, you’ll need these even if Steve is too proud or stubborn or—well. You know.”

Moments later, he is alone again, with a list crammed onto a single sheet of paper in Robin’s looping hand. It is a careful, organized collection of: what triggers Steve’s migraines. What helps against Steve’s migraines. What helps after nightmares. Random things to avoid due to assorted trauma. What to do when he ties himself up in knots over the kids or his parents or any of the things he worries about too much.

It goes on, is, Eddie realizes, a complete run-down of every little piece of knowledge Robin has on how to take care of Steve.

Eddie has no doubt that she herself does not need it written down, that she has accumulated all these little pieces of information naturally because she is the one person that Steve has no hope of fooling.

Whatever misplaced strands of prickling jealousy had still been tangled around Eddie’s heart finally dissolve. He takes the list and adds it to the page in his notebook that has another one already started; just in case Robin ever has to make good on her promise.

---

— 3. He is the most self-sacrificing person you will ever meet, but he is also still a bitch at heart; don’t take it personally (in fact, sometimes it’s fun to encourage him, but don’t tell anyone).

See, the thing is, Eddie has never been particularly great at following instructions—probably would have had fewer troubles finishing school if rules came easily to him.

So when Steve goes down with a bad migraine, Eddie does not, in fact, do as Robin’s list tells him and leaves him alone.

Yes, sure, at this point, he can gracefully take his second place, can easily admit that she would know best, especially after those post-Starcourt days where migraines had been a far more regular occurrence, but—

But. Failure to deal with instructions aside, it also simply feels wrong; to heed the signs, stock up the kitchen, and leave Steve to his silent suffering.

So he pushes. He knows he shouldn’t but he does, asks, “Are you sure you’re alright, I can move the DnD session—“

He should know better even without Robin’s list, really, but then, Eddie has never claimed to be a smart man. Especially not when it comes to Steve.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Just a long shift and—“

“Oh come on, that’s bullshit,” Eddie snaps, stepping closer. He freezes when Steve steps back.

“It’s not bullshit, I’m fine. I don’t need you to hang around here whining that you missed nerd night—“

“—that’s not—“

“Not to mention that it’s not as if there is anything you could do. Last I checked, you had neither superpowers nor sudden mind-reading skills, so how about you let me decide whether I’m fine or not? I’m not one of your made-up damsels in distress, you do know that, right?”

Eddie watches as regret washes across Steve’s face instantly, but it only marginally lessens the sting of it. He grits his teeth and grabs his jacket from the kitchen chair.

“Fine, deal with it on your own then.”

“Fine,” Steve bites back; pain always makes him more bitchy, not that he lacks the skill on the best of days.

Eddie isn’t pissed enough to slam the door when he leaves, but it’s a close thing.

---

The little anger Eddie could muster up has drained away once he drops the kids back home that night. He is itching to check on Steve, to apologize, to convince him to let Eddie take care of him, damn his stubborn pride, but he doesn’t.

It takes almost two days until there is a knock on the door of the trailer, Steve looking washed-out and tired and, most of all, sheepish.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped—“

Eddie pulls him inside, kisses him lightly as soon as the door is closed. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I should have known better.”

Steve’s brows furrow, even as he keeps leaning into Eddie, as if the mere prospect of stepping out of his space physically pains him. “You couldn’t have known that I turn into an asshole who snaps at his boyfriend when he wants to take care of me.”

Shrugging, Eddie kisses him again, stays close, nose brushing along Steve’s. “Call it an inkling; now come on, you can make it up to me by listening to the retelling of the absolute disaster that the session was.”

There is a moment where Steve keeps looking at him, eyes dark and serious and fingers digging a little more firmly into Eddie’s sides—as if he isn’t entirely sure that it can be this easy.

In the end, though, he nods, smiles a little. Follows Eddie into his room, already asking all the right questions, and Eddie vows right then and there that it will always, always be exactly that easy.

---

— 4. His parents are absent more often than not and his father is a bastard, but he will still miss his mother on her birthday. Don't try to distract him; if he trusts you with this, simply be grateful (muffins help; so does whiskey).

It isn’t on Robin’s list, so when early February rolls around and Eddie wakes to an empty bed, he doesn’t think anything of it, at first. Later, when he finds Steve staring into space in the kitchen, when the smile once Steve notices him is brittle around the edges, when Steve’s coffee goes cold and the house stays silent and the space between them seems to twist and grow, he thinks it’s another migraine.

He runs a careful hand down Steve’s arm, presses his mouth to his temple. “Want me to leave?”

Steve frowns, turning to look at Eddie. He seems as if he is about to say something but clothes his mouth again, fingers tangling in the front pocket of Eddie’s hoodie. “No, I just—stay?”

Perhaps the most devastating part of it is that he sounds uncertain about it, the hesitation in his voice settling like pins and needles beneath Eddie’s skin.

He steps closer, watches Steve’s face for the dismissal that never comes, and loosely wraps his arms around him. “Of course,” he finally says, exhaling carefully when Steve’s forehead comes to rest against his collarbone.

It’s a gamble, to ask, but Eddie’s always been willing to risk too much when it came to Steve. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t answer, long enough that Eddie accepts that he won’t actually get one.

The light shifts in the kitchen, the February days still short and tentative. Eventually, Steve huffs, though, as if he is annoyed with himself. “It’s my mom’s birthday. She’s… Back when I was a kid, we used to spend the day baking and watching stupid movies and—I mean we haven’t done this in ages, it’s not like it matters but—“

“Of course, it matters,” Eddie says, with more vehemence than he means to. “Sorry but—if it matters to you, it matters. There’s no use in beating yourself up over it.”

Steve grimaces, toying with the loose threads on Eddie’s hoodie. “Yes well, I’d like it to not matter, though.”

Humming, Eddie looks through the dimly lit kitchen, this quiet sanctuary that isn’t really theirs, at the end of the day. “Let’s override it, then.”

“Literally what are you—“

“We’re going to bake something. Or well, you tell me what to do and do most of the work while I look pretty and snack on the dough. We’ll make something simple, and then we’ll watch a bunch of stupid movies you can pick and—“

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to, though. If you do, anyway—we can do something else if you’d like. Anything but go hiking, that is, you’re not getting me to—“

He’s cut off when Steve kisses him, hard enough that Eddie staggers a little with the force of it.

It’s good, though; they make muffins that Eddie drowns in frosting and sprinkles, watch enough Monty Python to make Eddie’s brain leak out of his ears, and fall asleep on the couch once the sugar high fades, afternoon melting into evening.

If Eddie opens Robin’s list back up the next day to make sure he doesn’t forget to make a tradition out of it, if it ends up on two lists because for all the love threatening to crack his ribcage open, Eddie still does not trust himself regardless, not fully, not enough, well—

Then that is no one’s business but his own, is it?

---

— 5. Always, always put him first; he deserves someone to do that, for once. I am too selfish to give him up and too selfish to not ask for more than everything, so if I do have to let him go one day, you'll better make it worth it.

“Are you really sure about this?”

It is the umpteenth time that Eddie asks this, and Steve merely rolls his eyes. Leans over the open door of the Beemer to kiss him once, still not bothering to answer.

It’s sweet, the way it all has been sweet; the pipe dreams of getting out of Hawkins, the even bigger pipe dreams of large cities and small gigs for the band. Eddie’s future has always been one big pipe dream, and then came Steve Harrington, determined to spin them into something real and solid.

Because of course, he does; he is the most self-sacrificing person Eddie knows, and no matter how often he asks—what about you, your six kids and the Winnebago and all those sugary dreams that should be far more attainable than whatever Eddie dares to hope for—Steve always smiles. Always kisses him, easy, and says that it’s fine. That he’s happy wherever Eddie and Robin go, and isn’t it lucky, how they seem to agree, for once in their lives, that San Francisco is a good choice.

Perhaps the worst thing, Eddie thinks as he drops into the car stuffed with what little they own, is that he believes him, too.

He presses his fingers to the warm skin of Steve’s neck when they drive past Hawkins’ exit sign for the final time, and he prays and prays and prays that one day, he can make it up to him.

---

The plan was never for Steve to come across the list, at any point.

More than once, Eddie had been this close to throwing it away, to scoffing at himself and his sentimentality, his fear, the way he sometimes still looks at Steve, sun-kissed and happy, and cannot believe that he is allowed to keep this. That he won’t fuck this up.

He never does, though, always stares at the points, the few there are, and thinks that if one day he does have to let Steve go, he wants—

Well, it’s complicated. No one will ever see that list, least of all whoever Steve will love that isn’t Eddie.

Eddie will know that it exists, though, that he wrote it and what it says. He’ll remember the time that he wished Steve happiness even if it wasn’t with him. He cannot allow himself to forget this, even if—if—despite his trying and holding on and all this overwhelming, aching, solid love, the most important thing in his life does implode, one day. 

Which is, of course, why Steve has to find the list eventually. He has a knack for it, Eddie likes to joke, to always get into the places he should stay far away from, find the things he is not supposed to see, without any fault of his own.

It’s particularly stupid because it’s Eddie who throws him the notebook, meaning to show him some notes for a campaign for when the kids visit.

In his defense, he does have a lot of notebooks. He really should have thought of it anyway, though.

He doesn’t notice that anything is off for at least five minutes either, still thumbing through the Monster Manual and keeping up a steady stream of commentary.

It’s only when Steve fails to laugh at one of those really dumb jokes that he never fails to laugh at that Eddie finally looks up.

There is nothing particularly obvious about the sight; Steve sitting on their couch, brows furrowed, random black notebook lying on the coffee table in front of him. Somehow, Eddie knows, though.

He has the dumbest urge to snatch the notebook away. To claim that it isn’t like that, tear out the page and burn it in the ashtray, pretend it never existed in the first place.

Instead, he keeps very, very still. It is the first time in a long time that he has no idea how Steve is going to react to something, isn’t sure at all whether he will get a stupid joke and teasing for being a sap, or hurt for thinking that they won’t last, or—

He doesn’t know, is the thing, and it makes him itch with the urge to do something. Anything.

In the end, though, Steve merely closes the notebook carefully and looks up. His expression is soft, a little exasperated, and anything Eddie might have wanted to say tangles and sticks and stays in his throat.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, voice quiet. He gets up and walks over to where Eddie is sitting at their desk, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

“But you love me?” Eddie can’t help but ask, leaning his head back until he can look at Steve, upside down and still obnoxiously pretty.

Steve huffs, and presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s mouth, his nose, his forehead. “But I love you and, for what it’s worth, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie says, and he thinks all the love and the warmth and the tenderness must show on his face because Steve kisses him again, again and again until Eddie’s neck hurts and his lips are bruised.

Which, really, if he had known that this was the reaction he’d get, he would have shoved the list at Steve ages ago.

---

Eddie thinks that is the end of it, the gentle teasing Steve levels at him about his attempt to be threatening notwithstanding.

He isn’t even sure when Steve does it, but one day Eddie opens the godforsaken notebook again and finds a loose scrap of paper tucked between his and Robin’s list.

To the One Who Loves Him Next (Steve ’s Version):

Learn to love his music and the campaigns he writes; you don’t have to become either metalhead or nerd, but if you do not love his enthusiasm, I know someone with a wicked aim.

He gets nightmares, and he will not tell you what they are about. Even if you knew why he had them, it wouldn’t change anything; just be there, make sure there is always a small light on somewhere, and if all else fails, reading from the Lord of the Rings helps.

He is a package deal; even if I have to lose him, he has a family that loves and needs him, and neither you nor I will be the reason that he has to go without them. We also share joint custody of a bunch of really annoying kids; be nice to them or see the point about someone with a mean aim.

Defend him; he will pretend that the vitriol doesn't get to him, but he deserves better, anyway.

If you hurt him—run. I'm probably just waiting for an excuse to try and win a fight against you.

“I think if we asked Robin about it, she would tell us that threatening bodily harm to possible future partners falls into the more concerning areas of codependency,” Steve says from the doorway. “But to be honest, I really don’t care; I think it’s sweet of us, actually.”

Eddie laughs, the sound a little wet. He skims the list again, then a third and a fourth time, before carefully setting it back into the notebook, and the notebook aside.

“Come here?” he asks, watching as Steve walks over to where Eddie is still sitting on the sofa, his heart like a war drum inside his chest.

He pulls Steve down to him as soon as he can reach him, and pours all the things he wants to say but doesn’t have the words for into the following kiss.

“For what it’s worth,” he says when they break apart, just far enough to lean their foreheads together, “I think it’s very sweet, too. Very poetic of us, even.”

Steve laughs, the low sound wrapping around Eddie’s bones. “Right? There's a very simple way to avoid that, after all.”

Eddie smiles, presses the curve of it against Steve’s jaw, and breathes him in. “Is there, now?”

“I simply have to make sure you’re not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

If anyone were to ask Eddie, that is an absolutely perfect solution; he bites his agreement into Steve’s soft mouth, makes a vow out of it, and marvels at the way Steve answers as if he understands it, too.

He’s simply not going to let go; after all, Eddie is exceptionally good at holding on.

[transvampireboyfriend]

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8

When they get to the lake an hour later, Eddie is the first to come spilling out of Steve's car.

He walks several paces away from it, tuning out the post-drive chatter of his friends, his arms stretching above his head as he walks closer to the lake, stopping a few feet away from its shore.

Eddie inhales deeply, enjoying the fresh air and admiring the sunrays twinkling on the water. He can feel them on his bare arms too.

So.

Maybe the world won't end because he said a bit too much about how good he thinks Steve Harrington is.

Steve came out to them last year, on a sunny afternoon when they'd all been lazing around, reading magazines on Steve's living room after spending all day in his pool. Nancy and Eddie were arguing about how hot some actor was.

Eddie can't remember who it was now, but what he does remember is Steve casually saying "I can settle this argument, lemme see", and crawling on all fours to where Eddie and Nancy were laying practically on top of each other.

They must have worn the same perplexed expression when Steve declared "He's hot", because he then took a look at both of them and shrugged, said "I like both. I like whoever" and that had been that.

So Eddie knows Steve would not make a big deal over him basically saying he finds Steve attractive, but he's still worried, because their sexualities don't automatically mean Steve will like him like that and Eddie would never assume that, but now Steve might think he did.

He looked uncomfortable in the car and it's the only explanation Eddie can come up with.

And Steve's never been particularly receptive of Eddie's gestures, Eddie tried flirting a few weeks after Steve came out and Steve froze, whenever Eddie pays him a compliment Steve gets a little weird like he did in the car, Eddie's tried asking him to do stuff together like go on a hike, or Eddie teaching Steve to play guitar or he's even asked him to dance but Steve almost always backs down when the activity involves touching Eddie.

And it's fine. Eddie can understand, he's not everyone's type, it's cool. He just wishes he could shake the attraction off, but so far he's had no luck. If anything he only feels more attracted to Steve with every day they spend together.

And Eddie doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

So Eddie needs to be careful not to let it show too much, because then Steve would feel forced to verbally reject him and Eddie just knows that Steve would hate that, not to mention he would be devastated himself.

Steve can't know.

After all Eddie said in the car, he'd been thinking maybe it had been a terrible idea to come along on a week long trip to a remote cabin with Steve. He'd already shown too much of his hand by gushing about him to everyone who would listen, Eddie spent the whole trip kicking himself over it.

But, as a dragonfly circles him, Eddie thinks of his friends, and he decides he can be an adult about this. He'll clear things up and apologize if Steve's still uncomfortable and they'll have a normal week.

This is meant to be fun and he always does have fun with his friends, Steve included. He always has fun with Steve especially, and he won't let his dumb feelings ruin that.

Eddie listens to quick steps coming up behind him and then a small but firm hand slaps his back.

"Are you alright?" asks Nancy, coming to stand next to him.

Eddie scoffs, doesn't turn to look at her.

" 'Course I am," he supplies "why wouldn't I be?"

Nancy gives him a withering look.

She was the first to find out about his crush, already knowing Eddie so well within a couple of weeks of their friendship.

Eddie fondly rolls his eyes, finally looking at her.

"I'm fine." he assures her "It's fine."

He offers her a smile and turns back to the lake.

Nancy gives him a once over before she wraps her arm around his waist.

Eddie sighs into the touch, her warmth comforting even in the mid day heat.

"Don't lose my fucking scrunchie" she threatens.

Eddie chuckles "I promise I won't" he lies, probably.

"Stop making promises you can't keep." Nancy shoots, untangling from Eddie's side "We should get you your own."

"Maybe I could make some!" Eddie suggests, "To replace the ones I've lost,"

"How did we switch from you buying them to this?" Nancy asks, her mouth tilting into an amused smirk.

"Oh come on, this way is more fun!" Eddie protests, almost stomping his foot in his excitement.

"You don't know how to sew" Nancy reminds him.

"Do too!" he protests, thinking of his many customized jackets and jeans. Though, he'd never made something so delicate as Nancy's pretty hair accessories.

"And Buckley said she'd teach me!" Eddie concedes.

That startles a laugh out of Nancy, "Yeah, I'd like to see how that goes" she says.

"Oh, I bet you would" Eddie shoots back winking at her. He gets shoved for it.

"Shut up." Nancy demands, giggling.

As their laughter dies down and Eddie straightens up, Nancy turns to the lake.

"It's so pretty here" she comments, looking out at the forest tree line beyond the water.

"Sure is" Eddie agrees, watching birds fly by.

After a while Nancy slips her hand in his and interlaces their fingers.

"C'mon," she says "we're the designated lunch ladies"

"Oh?" Eddie asks, following as she tugs him along.

"Yup! Steve and Jonathan are unpacking and Rob and Argyle called dish duty"

"Thank god for that," Eddie quips

Nancy laughs "That's exactly what I thought"

part 3