#ahoy there (steve)

[i-wheeley-like-you]

people thinking robin used this whiteboard as some weird way to flirt with steve at the start of season three when in actuality she was a lesbian with no interest and did it solely to be an asshole and point out how bitchless he is

[hairmetal666]

"But why is he here all the time," he whines to Robin. She doesn't like him much, but Scoops is empty, and what else is he supposed to do? Not speak to her at all?

"Why do you care what Eddie Munson is doing at the mall."

"I don't care." He scoffs, rolls his eyes. "He's just always here. Doesn't he have anything better to do?"

"Do you?"

"He doesn't work here."

"Haven't seen you doing a lot of work here, Steve."

"You spent forty minutes yesterday drawing on your sneakers."

She shakes her head, but doesn't say anything because he's right and she knows it.

He goes back to staring at Munson, sitting on the edge of the fountain. He's relaxed back, legs spread, looking like he owns the place. The way he's leaning, his t-shirt rides up, showing a tantalizing glimpse of pale skin and the lightest dusting of hair. He doesn't remember his mouth being so dry before.

"You're such an idiot." Robin smacks herself down beside him. "Eddie's a good guy. Is this just because he's the freak and you're King Steve?"

"No!" He says it too loud, a few people in the foodcourt turn to stare. "I'm not that guy anymore. That's all just--" he flaps his hand, can't find the words.

She makes a disbelieving noise, eyes narrow. "I'll never forgive you if you hurt him."

Robin stomps off to the backroom before he can stop her, tell her he doesn't want to hurt Munson.

One of Eddie's friends says something that has Eddie stretching back to hear, pulling his shirt higher, flashing the dark line of a tattoo, and that's too much, that has him slamming his eyes closed, rubbing at his brow but all he can think is--

cold cinder block at his back, hot mouths and fumbling hands and long, deft fingers; desperate, bitten off moans; hands fisted into long curls; the hot, bittersweet taste of him

It was only a handful of times, quick encounters in the locker room, once under the bleachers in the gym. And Steve, he'd never--it didn't mean anything, but it meant everything, and Eddie's been all he can think of for months.

A group of middle school girls comes in, then, and he forgets about Munson as he scoops ice cream and blends milkshakes. The next time he looks to the fountain, Eddie is gone

---

Steve cleans up the remnants of a dropped milkshake at the store entrance, and his shorts are a little too tight, okay, he can feel the way they pull around his hips when he bends too much, but he has to clean the tile before the rush starts and customers complain. There's one spot, though, it's already dried, has to really put his back into it.

The food court is crowded by the time he finishes, bustling with customers. He turns to grab the bucket, and stops dead in his tracks. Munson sits on one of the built-in planters directly behind him. He was staring at Steve's polyester clad ass, but now his eyes travel up Steve's body, getting darker with desire as they go.

He's trapped in place by the force of Eddie's gaze, by the want there. They stare at each other in silence, Steve's blood thumping a vigorous rhythm.

The moment breaks when Robin's voice, calling his name, catches his attention. He turns back to his work without a word, but inside he's reeling.

---

Steve's opening alone, comes out from the back, and there Eddie is, lounging on the fountain rim with a magazine in hand. It's been a couple of days since he's been around, not since the incident. He watches as Munson languidly flips through the pages, seeming not to have a care in the world, and he--

Well, he's never really had to wait around for something he wants.

He stalks over to the fountain, stops when the tips of his sneakers touch the toes of Eddie's boots. And, yeah, he's in his dorky sailor outfit, but Munson didn't seem to mind the other day. Steve thinks maybe he likes it.

"Munson," he says. His hands are on his hips.

Eddie looks up, slow, taking Steve in. He leans back further, crosses his legs at the ankle. "Harrington."

They stare at each other. Steve starts biting his lip. Not as a move--he's nervous, suddenly, that all of this is a waste and Eddie isn't interested--but Munson's gaze hooks on his mouth, lingers, like a warm caress.

Steve's never initiated things between them before, isn't sure if it's working. He takes the chance, though, starts walking away.

He crosses through the seating area, past the counter, into the back, doesn't know for sure if Eddie is following until the door doesn't close right away behind him.

There's a single beat of a second where they watch each other and neither moves, before Eddie is on him, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him into the wall.

"What the fuck is this, Harrington, huh?" They're close enough for their noses to touch. "You ignore me for months and now--"

"You're here all the fucking time," he snaps back. "Sitting in the same spot like you own the place."

"So, I'm not allowed to be at the mall now?" Eddie sneers. "God forbid I'm in sight of the king."

Steve tries to pull away. "That's not what this is, and you know it."

"Then what is it, Stevie? Spell it out for me real slow to make sure I understand." He leans in, a little, and Steve stops breathing.

Eddie's lips brush his, a gentle press that isn't quite a kiss, not yet. His knees go weak, the wall at his back the only thing holding him up, but the kiss doesn't deepen. Instead, Eddie steps back, laughs. "You think I'm this easy, sweetheart? That you can lure me with your little sailor costume and I'll come without a fight?"

"Am I wrong?"

Eddie scoffs, turns his head, and Steve thinks he overplayed it, that his misread everything.

"Fuck you, Harrington." Eddie grabs him, then, hands fisting into his sailor shirt. "Fuck you and this stupid, sexy outfit. Fuck you for knowing this would work on me."

His mouth presses against Steve's throat, and he moans, clinging to Eddie's jacket.

"Listen to you, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs. "Making all those desperate, pathetic sounds for me. Almost like you missed me or something."

"I did." He groans as Eddie's mouth moves along his jaw. "Missed you so much, haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Eddie sinks his teeth into Steve's cheek, and he has to stifle his shout. He's harder than he can remember ever being before, thinks he could come just from the feel of Eddie's teeth in his skin.

"That's not what you told Billy," Eddie says. "When he almost caught us."

"I didn't want him to hurt you," he gasps. "I--I didn't want him to have a reason."

Eddie pulls away, Steve grasping after him. "I can handle Hargrove."

"He hit me in the head with a plate." Steve points to the small scar on his forehead. "That's how I got that concussion last year."

"Oh," Eddie blinks. He cards his fingers through Steve's hair, pulling it out of the way to see the scar better. "Sweetheart. I thought--" he swallows, throat working. "I--I keep coming here to see you. I wanted--"

His hand falls to Steve's neck, drawing him in. For a second, Steve thinks it's another tease, but Eddie does kiss him this time. It's deep, desperate, so thorough he thinks Eddie's memorizing the taste of him. He doesn't want it to ever stop, not for a second.

Outside, someone starts hammering on the counter bell, shouting for service.

They slip apart, Eddie still gently cradling the back of Steve's neck. "Come over tonight?" Eddie's eyes are so dark, wanting, he could drown in them.

"Yes." Because there is no other answer.

He lets Eddie out the back door just as Robin yells from the front, "Harrington! We have a customer! I haven't clocked in yet!"

"Be right there," he yells back, but not fast enough that she doesn't catch a glimpse of Eddie slipping out.

She whirls to him, brow in an angry furrow. "Steve! I told you not to hurt him!"

He can't stop his smile. "Buckley, I promise you, Munson can take care of himself."

[munsster]

fixer upper

A/N: IM ACTUALLY SO EMBARASSED TO ADMIT THIS IS BASED ON ‘FIXER UPPER’ FROM FROZEN 💀💀💀 does that mean it counts as a song fic…….. (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: The kids aren’t saying you can change him, per se. They’re only saying that love’s a force that’s powerful and strange. 2.8k words

Warnings: fluff, babygirl steve, cursing, mentions of toxic (?) relationship, hopeless pining, pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting

Steve can barely see through his rose-tinted daydream, but he's sure he recognizes your smile as soon as you enter the food court. And you lead a trail of whiny teenagers right to his register. This is the fourth time this week you've heard about Steve's lusturous hair and dazzling eyes. You have to hand it to them, they're not bad salesmen, just a tad young to elicit ethos. What the hell do they know about love anyway.

That's what happens when you're licensed and free on a Friday afternoon: babysitting duty. Now, in the event that Steve had been the one saddled with the party on his day off, he would've argued that they're not really babies and they should be self-sufficient. Knowing Dustin, however, this argument proves to be false almost every time.

But it wasn't Steve, it was you. Steve doesn't think he's heard you complain about one thing in your life.

Not even your deadbeat boyfriend called Brad. Who, as Dustin and Max and Robin love to remind him, is utterly replaceable and on thin ice every other week. Steve knows better than to get his hopes up after three months of having them crushed, though. He's learned to live with the strong sense of yearning he feels whenever you're within thirty feet of him.

Take now, for example: you're coralling half a dozen brats into a somewhat single-file line without even having to raise your voice. He should think it's impressive, but he's too distracted by your lip gloss and your voice and the way you did your hair today.

"I hope you give discounts to distressed young women," you tease, brows knitting when you look up at him. This is the part where he's supposed to respond with something charming. Sexy and charismatic, maybe.

"Oh, uh," he chuckles, "No, I mean, yeah. Sure"—Oh, but you smile at him and all that pent up charisma flies out the neon-framed sliding doors. They chatter out their orders at lightning speed, and he can barely catch half of what they're saying when you look at him like that. You finally make it to the register and pay half price. And your cone is always on the house, of course.

"Isn't he such a gentleman?" Max says unenthusiastically. Lucas elbows her side before retreating with Dustin.

"He's also a great driver!" Will chirps, shuffling away to one of the booths with Mike and El who giggle the whole way there. You turn back to Steve who stares off at them incredulously.

"You see what I have to deal with?" you say with some degree of affection for the chaos.

"Aw, come on," Steve says, tilting his head with a shrug, "you love it."

"I think they keep forgetting I already have a boyfriend."

Not much of a boyfriend if you ask me, he thinks.

But what he says: "Ah, yes. The elusive Brad."

You roll your eyes and grin at him. You know Steve has a crush on you. Or else the kids and Robin wouldn't be so adamant on marketing him to you. It's sweet, really. And honestly, you don't think Steve's unfit to play boyfriend or anything, but you're also not disloyal.

Your scoop melts down the side of the cone between your fingers. Steve nearly hurls himself across the counter handing you a thick stack of napkins.

"Shit, thanks," you huff, lapping at the stream of sticky ice cream. His stomach churns as his face screws into a sickly smile.

"Yeah. No problem."

"No, really"—you wrap a napkin around the cone, shoving the rest into your pocket—"I don't know what I'd do if I had to pay the entire bill everytime one of them had a craving."

"Really, it's not a problem," he shrugs it off like it doesn't come out of his paycheck. "I like helping out pretty girls when I can."

You giggle and tilt your head. "Steve Harrington, you're my hero."

He's almost embarassed at how fast his face flushes red hot and frantic. He reaches for the back of his neck on impulse, and any attempt he makes at seeming suave is foiled by Robin patting him on the shoulder.

"If you think that's heroic, there was this one time he singlehandedly saved Hawkins with this sick baseball bat with nails—"

He huffs, "Robin—"

"No, seriously! Don't be so modest, Steve, you're selling yourself short!"

"I'm not trying to sell myself at all!" he says, turning her around and guiding her towards the door to the back room.

"Great seeing you!" she hollers over her shoulder just before disappearing behind the swinging door. You wave with a chuckle. Steve tuts, fixing his sailor hat and shaking his head.

"Did you really do all that? Save Hawkins, I mean?" you ask. And you seem genuinely interested which is why it guts him. The one girl who actually gives a shit is coincidentally unavailable.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging, "but only to clear my conscience. It's like penance, or whatever."

You giggle, not sure if he's being truthful or playing it off. He meets your eyes and he's sure his heart stops dead in his chest for a beat. Nobody pulls off mall lighting like you.

The kids come skipping back to the counter, declaring they've all got different wants and needs around the mall for the next few hours.

"Okay, hold on, I promised I'd have you guys back before my date," you say, Steve overseeing the conversation from over your shoulder.

"Well," he interjects, "when's your date?" All the attention shifts to Steve, and he suddenly wishes he could swallow up the words and take them back for good.

"Two hours from now. Across town," you say, looking a little guilty knowing he's about to make the kindest offer of the year.

"I'm off at five, so I can just"—stop talking—"take them home after my shift."

"Steve, really, you don't have to—"

El grins, eyes wide as she whispers in Max's ear.

Steve shakes his head, "Sweetheart, believe me, I want to. Besides, you've already been through enough with the rascals. Go have fun."

You turn to the kids, almost pleading with them to accept Steve's generosity.

"Is that okay with you guys? I don't wanna leave you stranded," you admit.

They nod in agreement, throwing out a couple yes's and sure's. They're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, but you still feel bad dumping them on Steve like this.

Dustin interrupts: "This really just goes to show how Steve is a great candidate for marriage and other domestic relations. He can be odd at times and he might care too much about his hair, but you can tell by his actions that he would be a very reliable husband, a generous life partner, and—"

"And a great friend," you giggle, trying not to let Dustin get too carried away. You have sat through enough of his speeches for one day. "Now, quit trying to set us up!"

Steve rolls his eyes at the boy. "Seriously, at least wait 'til she's single. Then she can reject me for me."

You whip back to face him with a sour look on your face.

"Steven! That's not—that's rude to yourself," you huff, "Say three nice things."

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at you.

"You're pretty, I like your shoes, and you smell nice."

"About you!"

"Ohh," he feigns surprise, "No." But you reach across the counter to whack him on the arm with a shocking amount of force. The kids chuckle from behind you. Steve can't help but smile when you raise your brows proudly. "Fine! I am deserving of love, I am great company, and my hair looks particularly shiny today."

"Good," you nod, "I agree. And I have to go, see ya!"

"With which one?" he says, watching you jog out of the store waving. "Wait! Sweetheart? Agree with which one??"

Steve sighs sharply, hands perched decidedly on his hips as his gaze falls flat on the militia of pre teens staring him down.

"What do you want?" he says.

"You're hopeless," Max says, mouth pressed in a hard line before she wanders off, arm-in-arm with El.

"Yeah, dude. And kinda desperate," Mike shrugs.

"Hey," he grumbles. Who knew such harsh words could come from such little humans. You'd think they'd be harmless at this age. You'd be wrong. 

"You're a total virgin," Dustin says, very matter-of-factly.

Steve cocks a brow, honestly trying not to laugh at the severity of Dustin's demeanor when he says it. "I don't even think you know what that means."

Dustin blinks. "Well, I think you haven't had sex in long enough that you qualify as one."

"Shit."

...

Much to Steve’s surprise, it only takes butthead Brad two more weeks to absolutely shatter your heart. No one knows the complete details other than it happened at a frat party and you had to walk back to the dorms alone. But Steve doesn’t need complete details to know he wants to shatter Brad’s jaw with his fist.

But he also vowed to use means other than violence to get his point across. He should be awarded for the amount of restraint it took to see your bloodshot eyes and not speed immediately off towards Asshole University like a Brad-seeking atomic missile.

Of course, he’s thankful you felt comfortable enough to call him. In fact, he was the first one you rang. And he knows this fact because you told him while you were sniffling away tears a week and a half after the break up.

Now, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his beemer, curled into your sweater, and listening to late night soft rock radio while he focuses on the dark highway ahead of him. You hadn’t wanted to do anything else but sit in his car and think. His heart clenches everytime you wipe away a tear with your soggy sleeve.

He pulls off the highway during an ad break, finding a secluded diner surrounded by nothing but trees and gas stations. He pulls into a parking spot near the back of the lot where the overhead lights aren’t blinding, but you aren’t completely in the dark. He leaves the car on so the cold doesn’t seep in, engine still purring softly from under the hood.

“Who needs ‘em,” he says in attempt to lighten the mood. “Being single is way cooler. Take it from me. You get a bed all to yourself and you can fart whenever you want.”

You’re frowning, but you know he means well. You just can’t help the fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, come here,” he whispers, leaning over the center console and dipping his hands over your shoulder and around your waist. His arms feel so strong and so warm where they envelop you entirely. Steve always was the best hug you ever receieved.

You can’t help but chuckle wetly into his collar after a moment.

“God, he was such an asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, duh! Doesn’t take a genius to…” Steve laughs, pausing and brushing the hair away from your damp cheeks. “I know, sweetheart, and you deserve heaps better. You were always way too cool for that loser.”

You blink up at him in the low light. There’s a kind of twinkle in your eye that makes the tips of his ears hot. This time, you reach for him, weaving your arms beneath his jacket with a deep sigh. Your breathing slows against his neck, and he rubs your back while your arms tighten a little around his waist.

He can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking whenever you look at him with your doe eyes, seemingly sweet and far too inquisitive. He knows you’re probably just looking, maybe thinking of something else. But the hopeless romantic in him rattles his rib cage and shouts you might actually consider him this time.

“Wanna go get shakes? On me,” he whispers. You sniffle, wiping your aching nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

“I can pay for myself,” you tease, popping open the car door when he cuts the engine.

“Nope! Sorry, I don’t let girls pay, remember? Super sexist, I know. Plus the whole pretty privilege thing. Honestly, I should just be paying you at this point,” he says, hooking his arm around your back and feeling yours reach for his shoulder as you march towards the diner.

“I agree, rich boy,” you chuckle, “Reparations are in order for wrongdoings on behalf of your sex.”

He chuckles. He’s absolutely head over heels.

The waitress seats you at a cozy booth in the corner and makes a casual comment about the cute couple, asking how long you two have been together. Steve flounders at the question, flustered and pink in the face.

“Oh, we’re actually… not together,” you say, laughing awkwardly when she pouts and, again, remarks on how cute you’d be together. You order shakes for the both of you before perching your chin in your hand. Steve’s still reeling when the waitress walks away.

“Funny. We can’t even escape the third-degree from complete strangers,” you tease, winking at him from just a few feet away. Jesus, he’d think you were trying to kill him if you didn’t seem so lighthearted and playful.

“Yeah, pretty funny,” he sighs. And he’s probably being so obvious. Or maybe that’s how he is all of the time, so his heart eyes seem subtle. Or it’s obvious all of the time.

The waitress slides the shakes in front of you, and the bright red cherries sink further into the whipped cream.

“You know,” you murmur between sips, “I always thought you were pretty cute.”

He nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate malt, clearing his throat and trying not to crumble in on himself.

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot,” he huffs, “Mostly from little old ladies, but—Hey!”

You flick him and say, “Really! I know it’s not couth considering… Brad and all, but…”

“You’re being facetious,” Steve accuses.

“No—”

“Sarcastic!”

“Steve—”

“Ironic?”

“Try serious!” you hum, “I’m just saying, you’re very handsome. I was shocked to learn you were single when we first met.”

Steve’s blushing and puffing trying to maintain eye contact.

“What can I say? I’m just,” he huffs, “I’m not really worried about it.”

You tilt your head. “You’re not?”

“Nah. I know the right girl will find me in the end. Even if it takes a while. I don’t mind waiting for the right one.”

You settle back in the padded seat, wincing when it squeals beneath you. It makes you feel a little dejected, but you suppose he’s right. Especially because he seems so confident. So sure. It’s admirable. You want to be that sure of soulmates and love and the future.

“I feel the same way,” you whisper. He finishes off the rest of his glass with a smile.

“Though, it doesn’t exactly help having a bunch of little shitheads telling you to go get laid all the time,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it” you lean in, “Just break up with him, steve is so much nicer. Dump that loser. Steve has a big crush on you.”

“They said that?” Steve’s not dumb, he’s sure you know by now, but he thought it was all conjecture. They will be hearing about this next time they want free ice cream.

“Yeah, that was like their main point. But I know with all the love in my heart they’re all full of shit.”

You shrug, and he chuckles dryly. He can’t decide whether you knowing is for better or for worse.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Steve drives you home. You fall asleep in the car, and he keeps the radio low so as not to wake you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, he doesn’t care about the time or the fact that he lives far. He does, however, care about the way you smile lazily and peck his cheek in thanks.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says it but he wants to tell you what he’s feeling. He wants to ask if you’re over Brad. He knows you’re not and that’s okay, but he wants to ask if he can hold your hand to keep it warm. He wants to ask what kind of flowers you like and if it would be okay for him to drop them off on your doorstep tomorrow. He has so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to suffocate you.

He doesn’t know that you wouldn’t mind him asking.

more like this

masterlist

[meiz-draws]

🦇⚓️

[stervrucht]

A lil' scoops!Steve.

[2jihiir0]

what if Eddie had found them in the bathroom instead … 🍨🚽🌀♡ ̆̈

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Robin gets horrible period cramps during her employment at Scoops Ahoy, she's in pain, she's annoyed and she's stuck there with Steve Harrington of all people. She just sits in the break room, hoping her misery will soon be over, but of course Harrington can't stay at the counter for five minutes and decides to enrich her suffering with his presence.

She expects a stupid quip from him, something about her slacking off.

Instead, he looks at her with a jock equivalent of sympathy. "Cramps?" he asks and Robin's jaw drops to the floor. "I mean, none of my business, I know, but you look really miserable. Did you take a painkiller?"

Robin just shakes her head, clutching her stomach. "Left mine at home," she mutters. "And I really need to get some...supplies, but I can't even stand up. What a day."

Steve just nods and turns around and Robin thinks he'll leave her alone now, maybe mock her for too much information, but then she sees him through the window - he's temporarily closing the shop.

His majestically hairy head peeks through the window as he asks: "Tampons or pads?"

"...pads?"

Steve nods and disappears from her sight.

Robin is pretty sure she hallucinated the whole thing, but ten minutes later Steve is back, pads, painkillers and a...

"A burrito?" she asks and she has to laugh, she really does, because what the fuck is happening?

Steve just shrugs and grabs a handful of napkins. "No heating pads in a summer shopping mall, so I had to improvise. These things take ages to cool down so if you wrap it, it should stay hot for a while and help."

A few minutes later, Robin is back, having used her "supplies" and Steve urges her to sit down, handing her the carefully wrapped burrito. "I'll cover the counter, but if you need anything, let me know."

Robin wants to tell him many things, such as How did you know all of this?, Weren't you supposed to be an asshole?, How did you come up with the burrito idea? and much, much more. But she's really tired and the painkiller is taking its time, so she settles for the shortest one.

"Thanks, Steve."

(look, we all know Steve had many girlfriends and with his caring nature and observation skills, he'd be a cramps relieving pro)

[steddiealltheway]

Steve sighs as Robin cackles and opens the door to the break room to add yet another tally to the “You Suck” side of her whiteboard. He hopes she lingers for a bit so he can get a break from the constant reminder that yes, he does suck. But the stupid hat and sailor uniform is enough of a reminder already.

And okay, maybe he enjoys Robin’s company a little bit, so maybe he doesn’t want her to linger for too long.

But he’ll never tell her that. Not in a million years.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots someone walk into the entrance and he turns to give his “ahoy there” speech that Robin refuses to utter a single word of. Only, he gets a little choked up when he realizes he knows the person.

Well, not exactly knows him. But it’s hard not to know of Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Especially if you go to high school with him and happen to be a jock, god forbid. Not that Steve ever disagreed with the things he said, although some of it went right over his head - okay, most of it did. But! All things said, Eddie had a habit of making himself known to people.

“Ahoy there!” Steve announces louder than intended. “Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain.” He leaves out his name because what’s the point? It’s not like Eddie isn’t aware of his existence or at least his last name which sometimes made a feature in his tabletop speeches.

“Steve Harrington,” Eddie says for him, apparently knowing his first name. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Surprisingly, it’s not said in complete distaste. In fact, Eddie is smiling widely at him, eyes roaming over the uniform and landing on the hat.

Steve sighs, “Trust me, I know. So, what can I get for you today?”

Eddie smiles wickedly and asks, “Why don’t we set sail on this ocean of flavor and you can show me around, captain?”

A blush creeps its way up Steve’s neck and begins to burn at his cheeks. Probably from the humiliation. Nevertheless, he points out each different flavor and goes into detail about what’s in each since Eddie seems to be enjoying the humiliation, but Steve doesn’t mind it too much since he feels like he’s getting his undivided attention. And something about that makes Steve feel… less sucky.

He glances up at the end of his speech about the last flavor and catches Eddie staring at him with a small smile on his face, more genuine than before.

“What?” Steve can’t help but ask.

Eddie shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but the lie is clear to both of them. “I’ll get the USS Butterscotch.”

Something about the flavor makes Steve hesitate.

“What?” Eddie asks this time, slightly defensive.

“Nothing,” Steve says with a shake of his head. “Cup or cone?”

Eddie laughs, “Come on, you can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Make that face and then pretend like you weren’t thinking anything.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “And you can?”

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he leans across the top of the glass dramatically and puts his head in his hands. “I’ll get a cone please.”

Something about the image makes Steve laugh as he grabs a cone and scoop, making the order for Eddie. "You know." he says, wishing the ice cream was the slightest bit softer, "I was expecting you to get something like death by chocolate or coffee."

"Why's that?" Eddie asks curiously.

Steve glances up at him and shrugs. “Those flavors are more…” he struggles to find the right word.

“Metal?” Eddie asks, sounding almost hopeful.

“Exactly.”

The smile on his face grows. “Well, I’m glad you see me as someone metal, Steve. But what, just because you’re a jock, I’m supposed to expect you to like some gross flavor like bubblegum?”

Steve frowns. “I like bubblegum ice cream.”

Eddie sighs and runs his hands over his face. “Of course you do.” He takes a moment to look over Steve again. “But looking at you now, I’d assume your favorite flavor would be the USS butterscotch.”

“Because of the stupid hat, right?” Steve asks as he drizzles extra caramel on the top of the cone.

“I think the hat is cute,” Eddie replies.

The comment sends Steve’s heart into a bit of a frenzy for a moment before he collects himself and hands the cone over in exchange for the bill in Eddie’s hand. He counts the change two times, trying to make sure he doesn’t make a mistake as a bunch of panicky thoughts go through his head. He hands the change over quickly but hesitates when Eddie stares at it and frowns. “Something wrong?” Steve asks.

Eddie glances up at the menu, down at his change, and takes a moment before saying, “Sorry, you just charged me for a single scoop when this is a double with an extra topping.”

Steve frowns and looks at the cone. “The topping is on the house, but that’s a single scoop.”

Eddie glances up at him and raises his eyebrows.

“A generous single scoop,” Steve corrects himself.

There’s a pause before Eddie’s smile widens, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up cutely. “I think i just found my new favorite ice cream place.”

Steve laughs, “Better than Linda’s Ice Cream Parlor?”

“Linda would call this a triple scoop and wouldn’t give me a topping but she would still make me pay the extra just for asking,” Eddie complains with a smile.

“Well, I would never do that to you.”

“Is that so?” Eddie asks, leaning forward a bit.

Steve’s eyes glance down at Eddie’s lips momentarily as he tries to come up with a response.

“Hey dingus, there was a horrible delivery you missed…” Robin trails off as she looks between the two, effectively ruining the moment.

“See you around, Harrington,” Eddie says with a wink, tongue darting out and gathering up a bit of white ice cream and letting it disappear into his mouth.

Steve feels a familiar heat in the pit of his stomach and nearly groans. Instead he hurriedly tells Robin, “I’m taking my break!” And effectively ignores the look she’s giving him.

Back in the break room, Steve walks up to the board and stares at it, glancing at the “You Rule” column and whispering, “Almost,” before sighing and putting his head in his hands.

He can’t believe that Eddie Munson is sending him into a sexuality crisis. Yet, he hopes he comes back often the rest of summer. And maybe he’ll finally be able to get that “You Rule” tally.

[disjointed-art]

Eddie was never the same after seeing Steve in the scoops uniform

[itsdjover]

I will never not think about how season three has the scoop troop go through the most insane traumatizing things ever (Steve and Robin got tortured, Erica and Dustin had to stage a rescue mission with no help, and Dustin straight up killed a man- if you interpret it that way-, not to mention all of them almost falling to their deaths in the elevator) and then it doesn't get mentioned at all the next season.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Alpha!Eddie Munson being asked to help fellow Alpha! Steve Harrington’s knot to stay down longer during sex. As the second Steve gets inside an omega his knot immediately pops. Eddie agrees to help under the conditions that he gets to decide when and where he helps train Steves knot. Of course a few sessions go by with no luck, up until Eddie decides playing with the others prostate could possibly help.

Now Steve doesn't understand how the staffs area of scoops ahoy was the perfect place to test this out for the first time, and he kinds of regrets agreeing to this. Not because he doesn't enjoy it, but because he has to stay silent.

His shorts are currently down to his ankles and his hand’s covered tightly over his mouth as tears roll down his face. His legs are spread out as his cock is pressed uncomfortably between his stomach and the table. Their goal of having him last longer than a second has been met but now his knot is swollen and cock is leaking more precum at each thrust from behind.

Eddie’s purposely thrusting against his prostate. His own Knot starting to catch against Steve’s rim.

Steves very close to having the best orgasm of his life when Eddie pulls out, flips him over and jerks off all over Steve’s agitated knot. Then proceeds to pull Steve’s shorts up, pat him on the ass to be on his way.

“You just told me to help you not knot immediately. Never asked me to teach you how to cum properly big boy.”

[hairmetal666]

Closing shifts at Scoops Ahoy are always boring, but Robin took off early to study and nobody is coming in for ice cream at 8pm on a school night in mid-winter. Steve's alone and has been for the last forty-five minutes, with no end in sight.

He's doing tricks with his scooper, counting how many times he can twist it through his fingers without dropping it (57 so far), when the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen, walks in. He's got long dark hair that falls in perfect curls around his shoulders; wide eyes the same deep brown of fresh, dark coffee; and the most perfect plump mouth.

Steve can't move, his head going fuzzy. His eyes catch on the man's chest--visible through the black mesh tank top he's wearing-- revealing tantalizing swirls of black ink and the glint of silver bars through each nipple. The guy also has on leather pants that cling to the line of his legs like a second skin.

Jesus. Steve just realized he's bi and the physical embodiment of his wet dreams walks into the store like it's nothing. He's going to die.

The man rushes to the counter, his eyes finally falling on Steve, and it's like his feet get caught on each other for a second before he struts forward. His face melts into this heart-stopping smile, bringing out the cutest set of dimples Steve has ever seen. This is it, Steve is done for, time of death, 8:06pm.

"Ahoy, sailor," the man says with a mischievous glint in those dark eyes.

He returns the smile and somewhere, somehow, finds the words to reply, "I think that's my line."

Steve leans towards the counter, but in doing so, drops the scooper hanging from his fingers. The metallic clatter is harsh against the tile, and blood rushes to his cheek. "Whoops," he mumbles. He ducks down to retrieve it, mentally kicking himself for his clumsiness.

The man's smile only grows, and now there's a faint flush across his pale cheeks. And fuck if Steve can't help but smile right back, to let their eye contact linger.

"What can I get you?" He asks. His voice is way too low for regular customer service, and if he flutters his eyelashes too--well, that's between him and the USS Butterscotch.

"I know this is ridiculous. It's late and it's starting to snow," the man says. He leans over the counter. "But I need a strawberry shake to go."

"Strawberry shake, good choice," Steve nods. "Coming right up."

They don't stop looking at each other or smiling as he blends up the drink, and when he hands the cup over, their fingers brush, linger, both their faces staining red.

"How much do I owe you?" he asks.

Steve shakes his head. "On the house."

"You really know how to charm a guy, sailor-boy."

"Maybe I'm hoping to see you again."

"Depends," the man says. His smile widening, his dimples getting somehow deeper.

"On?"

"How good this shake is." He winks.

Steve thinks he might burst into flame before the man can taste the drink, but then the guy glances at his watch and curses. "Sorry, sweetheart, I gotta run. Been a pleasure, sailor."

And with that, he runs from the store, strawberry shake clutched in his long-fingered grasp.

Steve collapses against the counter, burying his face in his hands. He's not ever gonna recover from that.

---

Eddie's guitar is in his lap, his melted strawberry shake at his side. He can't get the guy from the ice cream shop out of his head.

Fuck, he had all that perfect hair under that silly little hat; his face dotted with cute little moles and freckles; eyes that flashed from honey to gold to green flecked hazel; and the poutiest, most perfect lips ever had Eddie seen. Not to mention how he looked bent over in those itty bitty shorts. Shit, if he isn't totally done for.

He can't stop smiling.

That is until a guitar pick hits him right in the forehead, dragging his attention back to his surroundings.

"Earth to Eddie," their manager, Chrissy, says. "You go on in ten minutes."

"Don't tell me you didn't get the stupid shake." Gareth shakes his head.

"No, I got it. Not to worry."

"Then what's up with you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie can't help the huge, stupid smile that illuminates his face.

"There was a guy," Eddie sighs.

Chrissy and his bandmates share a look. "Let me guess," Gareth says. "You walked in and he was like 'Oh, Mr. Munson. Let me get you ice cream, let me suck your dick. Oooh, you're so hot. Corroded Coffin is my favorite band.'"

"C'mon, no. I don't even think he knew who I was."

At one point, that would've bothered him. But now, after five years of hooking up with dudes who were only interested in famous Eddie Munson, he likes that the guy from the ice cream parlor seemed totally oblivious. That, when his eyes lit up with interest, it was for genuine attraction and not name recognition.

"Did you get his number?" Chrissy asks.

He slumps. "No."

His friends all groan. Another guitar pick flies at him, getting caught up in his curls.

"Well, you'll go back tomorrow. Now get your head in the game, Munson! You have a sold out stadium to play!"

---

"I'm not kidding you, Robs, he was the hottest guy I've ever seen. I didn't even know dudes could be that beautiful."

"Uh-huh," she says.

"You're not even listening." He jabs her in the ribs, making her squeak.

"Sorry, sorry," she bats his hands away. "Describe him again?"

And he does, leaving nothing out. Once he's done, Robin is gaping at him, gum about to fall out of her open mouth.

"What?"

She grabs his wrist, dragging him out of the store.

"Robin, what are you doing? We're supposed to be working!"

She doesn't answer, just hauls him to the record store down the hall.

"Was it this guy?" She asks. She's out of breath.

"What?"

"Steve! Was it him?" She gestures to a new release display and it's Steve's turn for speechlessness.

He's surrounded of images of the man from last night; on magazines, CDs, cassettes, on a couple posters hanging on display. He's with a couple of other guys, they're in a band called Corroded Coffin, but all Steve can see is deep brown eyes and plush lips, the bright dimples.

"Well?" Robin demands.

"Yeah," he nods. "That's him."

"Oh my god!" Robin screams. She grabs his arm and squeezes. "You flirted with Eddie Munson! Steve! You minx!"

"It was nothing," he blushes. "He's probably got someone already, anyway. I mean, look at him."

Robin makes a little face. "There are some rumors, but nothing serious."

"It was a nice dream," he says. He gives her a little smile. "Now, let's get back to work."

She loops her arm through his. "Whatever you say, dingus."

---

It's been a long day of slinging ice cream. Maybe Robin's revelation that the cute guy from the night before was an insanely famous rockstar is to blame, but Steve is exhausted.

"Hey, dingus!" Robin calls from the front.

"Yeah?" he mumbles.

"Some guy is here for you. He looks a lot like Eddie Munson."

She's not even finished with her sentence before Steve is vaulting back behind the counter, coming face-to-face with the man of his dreams.

Eddie's gorgeous, his face already flushed a faint pink. And just like the night before, Steve can't help but smile at the man before him, who dimples up immediately in return.

He forgets that Robin is there until she says, "Go get 'em, tiger," and snaps him in the chest with a towel.

With Robin gone, they still don't say anything for a second, both smiling and blushing and staring at each other.

"So, uh, I guess you're wondering why I'm back today."

"That's easy," Steve says. "It was the best strawberry milkshake you ever had."

Eddie laughs with his head back and Steve is stuck staring at the long lines of his throat.

"Well, it was the best, no question. Made me realize I was a fool not to ask for your number."

Somehow Steve's smile grows. He jots his name and number on a Scoops napkin, passing it to Eddie who does the same, before carefully ripping the paper in half.

"We're still on tour for the next three months, but I'll call you when I can?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Talk soon, sweetheart," Eddie leans into Steve's space, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Steve still has a hand resting on the spot when Robin re-emerges.

"Oooh, you've got it sooo bad," she sing-songs.

He's so happy, he can't even bother to shush her.

---

Corroded Coffin has a new album out. It's a huge hit, number ones across the board, a fixture on MTV. It's full of heavy metal love songs, sales bolstered by the rumors that Eddie's been in a secret relationship for years.

They're at the Grammys, nominated for Best Metal Performance. The band has moved on down the red carpet, but Eddie's still answering questions, their assistant waiting with him. The interviewer asks Eddie, "There's a lot of speculation about your romantic life because of this album. There are rumors that the song 'Sailor Boy' is in reference to how you met your lover. Will you tell fans about the person you're dating, the one who inspired the album?"

"No," Eddie smiles for the camera. "But oh, do I love the way he moans," he sings a lyric of the song in question before giving the interviewer a lascivious wink, and continuing on down the carpet.

Years later, after Eddie and Steve are comfortably out and married and Corroded Coffin has cemented themselves in metal history, the video of that interview will be uploaded to YouTube.

It's obvious, now, the way Eddie and Steve, the "assistant", gravitate towards each other. How Steve flushes a pretty crimson that spreads below the collar of his shirt as Eddie sings. The way Eddie smirks at him with a raised eyebrow. The way his hand cradles the small of Steve's back as they walk away together.

It causes a frenzy online, fans compiling blog posts and videos of moments of Steve and Eddie being totally obvious about being in love before the world knew that they were.

Eventually, Steve posts a photo to the band's webpage. It's of him and Eddie at Scoops Ahoy. He's wearing his uniform, and Eddie is in a faded Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans. They stand at the counter with their arms around each other, smiling hard, eyes locked. He captions it with, "putting the sailor boy allegations to rest."

[munsster]

Hi I just read fixer user and I loved it! I was wondering if you could do a part 2 💖💖

an act of true love

A/N: (your pfp made me scream and curl my toes) an unexpected amount of ppl rlly enjoyed this dynamic. i suppose i have found my people 🤭 (gif creds: @kingofscoops)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: In the dead of winter, there’s absolutely nothing that could keep you warm. After all, only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart. 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), mention of toxic ex boyfriend, cursing, gross flirting

Steve can hear you shivering through the receiver and your stuttered breaths crackling through the cord. You’re begging him to come over and fix your radiator in the middle of a snow storm. The roads aren’t closed yet, but a thin white powder blankets his front lawn and the top of his beemer and he can see the flakes whipping through the stream of light pouring from the streetlamp. So, he piles every blanket he has into his passenger seat and braves the drive to your house.

Does he know how to repair a busted radiator? No.

Is he determined to do anything you require of him? Every single day for the rest of his life.

He’s crouched by the window of your living room, looking for any telltale signs of wear or leaking. You’re standing just behind him, bundled in two blankets and holding a spare flashlight. He’s quiet as he tinkers, but your mind is racing watching his soft toned arms through his cream thermal and his back muscles working when he turns over his shoulder to glance at you with a dashing smile. You nod quickly when he says something, though you’re not exactly sure what.

“Sweetheart?” he coos, raising his brows when you recoil under his gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t listening,” you say with a chuckle. He grins, dropping his head in understanding.

“Sorry, I know it’s boring,” he says, “but has it been making noises or anything?”

“Oh, yeah! It kinda groans when I first turn it on and it sounds like it might explode for the first couple minutes. I guess I’ve tuned it out by now.”

“That’s probably not a good sound then,” he teases, turning back to the radiator with a puzzled look.

“No, probably not.” You shuffle off to the kitchen, setting a kettle on the stove and humming softly.

After half an hour of tinkering and a roll of tape, Steve stands and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“That should do it! It’ll probably take a sec to heat up again,” he sighs, and you emerge from the kitchen, balancing two hefty mugs brimming with whipped cream. “Ooh, what’s this?”

“Hot cocoa. Secret family recipe,” you tease. In actuality, it’s just the standard package of chocolate powder and sugar. The secret lies in the healthy dash of cinnamon you mix into it.

“Secret, eh? Guess that gives me a reason to come see you more often,” he hums, following you to the couch and taking one of the mugs from your hands. It warms him up nicely, and he knows you gave him the bigger mug on purpose when you smile triumphantly. He takes a sip, moaning at the sweetness. You giggle at the whipped cream kissing his top lip.

“I hope I’m reason enough,” you say with a faux pout. He sits close enough to share the pile of blankets with you, your thighs pressed against one another in the captured heat.

“Duh, you’re the main attraction,” he huffs, “Your hot chocolate is like the flashy side show. It’s pretty neat but not quite as cool as the reason you bought the ticket.”

You giggle into your mug, face hot in the bellowing steam. Or because of his dimpled cheeks. Or the way his eyes swoop over your face. Or maybe the way he came rushing to your rescue in a storm without a second thought.

“Any new Brad-related developments? Or is he still giving you shit?” he says, swallowing a warm gulp of liquid chocolate.

You groan, head lulling back against the couch. “He keeps calling to say I’m a cold hearted bitch and then immediately hang up. I think he forgot that he’s the one who broke up with me.”

“Right, right. Why’s that again?”

“Something about his family’s values. And how he hates my friends,” you say, “I just remember getting mad because he seemed so jealous and mistrusting. Honestly, in hindsight, he was really childish about the whole thing.”

You shrug it off, but it snaps his heart in two all over again. He doesn’t even want to know the gorey details because he knows it’ll boil his blood. Just knowing that asshole said something like that to you makes his fists ball up in frustration. But he thinks of what you said. What did Brad have to be jealous about; he had the entire world and Steve never bat an eye. Not to you, at least.

“Jealous?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, he’d give me all these ultimatums where I’d have to choose between you and him. So random,” you huff. Though, maybe he was justified in some way. You and Steve have been this close since the day you met. Any love interest would feel threatened by his charm and that smile.

“Oh… weird”—He watches you take a cautious sip from your mug like maybe you regret saying anything at all—“Yeah. That’s random. Had no idea I posed such a threat to that guy. He seemed so… self-assured.”

You stare blankly, shrugging when you mutter, “you can call him a narcissistic prick, i don't care. And yeah, I was kinda surprised the first time he brought it up, because a big part of why I was attracted to him was for his confidence” you chuckle, “No idea what went wrong!

Steve absentmindedly squares his shoulders, sitting up straught on the plush cushions trying to make himself look strong and reliable and confident. You sip your hot chocolate and look at him funny.

“Are you okay?” you say, holding in a laugh.

He nods. “Oh, yeah. I’m just super confident ‘s all.”

You snort, choking on the sip you’d sucked down, pinching your eyes closed when he lurches forward with a worried look slapped across his face.

“Shit, here, let me help,” he huffs, setting his mug aside and wiping the drips from your chin with his sleeve, “Oh, god, are you hurt???”

You cackle with tears pricking in your eyes when he carefully takes your mug and places it next to his. You pat dry your neck, and he watches you softly.

“Stevie, you’re so sweet.”

His heart flutters in his warm chest when you smile at him.

“Well, I dunno about that.”

“No, seriously. You’re so caring and thoughtful, I’ve never met anyone like you,” you whisper.

He takes a shaky breath in.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You nod heartily and grin wide, and you notice he’s staring at you. So you kick his calf under the blanket.

“Hey, ouch!”

You giggle, but he’s quick to grab the crook of your knee and tug you close so you’re laying flat on the couch. Your hands cover your face when he tickles your sides and leans over you playfully. He’s almost glad you can’t see him blushing or feel his heart racing or hear his head booming with thoughts of you. He gasps when you plant your socked foot on his thigh, but he holds your elbow gently to keep you close to him while he leans over you.

You’re laughing, and he can confidently say it’s his favorite sound. You palm his chest, and he takes a deep breath in. Your eyes flick open because you’ve never felt someones heart beat so fast and so warm just beneath your fingertips. He’s flushed and pink but he looks like a prince in the orange lamplight. And he’s so close to you.

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, barely grasping, and you crane your neck towards him. You watch his honey eyes draw over your lips just before he leans in and kisses you.

His hand molds into your side, melting over the exposed skin like hot syrup. You press into his hold and smile with your fingers drawing up and across the back of his neck.

But the kiss short lived when he pulls away, shoving a hand through his ruffled hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Steve huffs, standing and backing away, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I should go!”

He crosses the floor in a daze, forcing his feet back into his shoes before you even can sit up and call after him.

“Steve, wait!”

But he’s shaking his head and reaching for the ice cold door handle with his jacket barely slung over his shoulders. He whips the door open, and you can see the pure white snow floating down in sheets outside.

“Keep the blankets! Just call me if the radiator breaks again, and I’ll see you!”

The door slams shut.

You tut, hand coming to your lips as you look around at the scene before you. The abandoned mugs on the coffee table, his blankets folded over the back of the couch, your repaired radiator whirring softly in the corner. The absence of Steve. What would the kids say. You know they’d lose it, but would they be upset if you ended up together. Would they realize they changed their minds and you’d jeopardized not only your friendship with Steve but with the entire party.

What if everything changes?

Oh, but what if nothing changes: you and Steve tip toeing around each other, the kids scheming and giggling at your misfortune, but now changed by the fact that you’ve kissed Steve. And he kissed you back. And you like him so much.

"Oh, god.”

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