#cooking in Nanci's Home kitchen

[nancisbakeshoppe]

https://www.youtube.com/@NancisBakeShoppe

[hucklebucket]

🔪

[upsidedownmvnson]

tell me you love me | steve harrington

warnings: fluff (warning lol) friends to lovers, idiots to lovers,

a/n: i actually really loved this <3 i hope you do too

tell me you love me vol 2

Steve Harrington had already tried twice in his life to confess his love for you.

The first time, you two were in the tenth grade and you had just accepted stupid Jack Warren's invitation to prom, so Steve didn't bother. That was back when he was settling into popularity anyway, so he got over it pretty quickly. He was dating Cathy Bartlett the next week.

The second time, Robin had made him pinky promise not to date you. She had held him down, sat on his back and twisted his arm until he pinky swore that he wouldn't do anything to destroy the delicate ecosystem of the friend group. There was already one awkward ex-situation in there.

But Robin was right, you were not like the girls he normally dated. If things went wrong he wouldn't be able to just sweep it under the rug, it could have painful ramifications for all his friends. Although... he didn't actually think it would go that bad. Steve would find his mind wandering on the idea often. He pictured the two of you in the kitchen, side by side cooking dinner and talking about your day. When he thought of you, it felt like home. It felt like somewhere he could build a house and live forever.

If he could only get the words out, he'd realize how quickly you'd accept him. He'd realize he wasn't the only one of you that was stupid in love.

You had been in love with Steve since you could remember. But never once thought he'd shared your interest, not with all the girls around him all the time. The way he shines in their attention and basks in their praise, it's enough to make you sure he's happy with how it is. Or he probably wouldn't have told you all about his date with Debbie Dabbenthorn, right?

Tonight, you, Nancy and Robin were at a party. Something Steve desperately tried to make not happen. But he was working, so there was no one to stop you girls from coaxing each other into drink after drink, which you always did. The three of you always drank too much, and Steve always got stuck trying to coral you and Robin into his car.

At the party, Nancy was handing you another red cup filled to the brim, sloshing over the side and coating your fingers. You hadn't noticed.

"I love when we ditch the boys," Nancy said, smiling as she sipped out of her own solo cup. "It's so fun!"

"Same," Robin said, slinging her arm around Nancy's shoulers, making the two of them sway and laugh. They caught their balance and cheered drinks. "Hey, help me find the bathroom!"

It wasn't hard to find, but it was hard for all three of you to get there without knocking into each other, but it didn't matter. The three of you giggled the whole way, laughing too hard over barely anything. Enjoying the simple joy of being with your friends on a party.

The line for the bathroom was short, only a few people deep. Nancy was grilling Robin on her love life while Robin evaded every question with a vague answer, soon, she turned it onto you, focusing Nancy on the other singler girl in the group.

"Do you not think anyone is cute at least?" Nancy said, not quite believing you when you say you didn't have a crush on anyone at the moment. You shrugged, trying to avoid admitting that it was her ex boyfriend that really turned your head. Robin chuckled, and slid into the bathroom.

You started sipping your drink when Nancy asked, "Not even Steve?" and you nearly choked, but you coughed once and composed yourself. You stared at her, confused as to why she would bring him up.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, and you looked into your cup, noting that you'd need a replacement after this trip. "But it would be okay with me."

Robin opened the bathroom door again, reassembling the trio be throwing her arms around both of your shoulders. "New drinks!" she cheered, steering you all in the direction of the kitchen.

"Drink up," Nancy giggled, "and then let's dance!"

So that's what you did, you guys drank and danced and had a great time. Until Jonathan came to pick up Nancy. That's when you saw that it was after nine, so Steve should've been on the way to come collect you and Robin from your drunken outing. You told Robin again how nice it was for Steve to come get you.

"But c'mon, you love him right?" Robin asked, laughing at your shock.

"I do not love him," you argued, but you did. Robin shrugged, but didn't look convinced. "He just is beautiful, that's all."

"Nah," she said, brushing off the idea with a wave of her hand. "You just love him."

"Do not," you mumbled. But Robin already leaned the other way when Vicki walked up to talk to her. You leaned further into the couch, the ugly thing was very comfortable. Steve should be there any minute.

"Hey," Robin whispered, "Vicki invited me to go with her friends to the lake... Are you gunna be okay here? You're not too drunk are you? Because if you think you can't stay awake, I'll stay of course..."

"Robin, go! I'll be fine for like two minutes..." you slurred, you were pretty drunk but Steve really was going to be there any second.

"Okay!" she didn't have to be told twice before she was scrambling after Vicki in her love-drunk haze. Or maybe just regular drunk, but Robin was feeling giddy anyway.

Steve was running behind because he lost the address that Robin had given him. She'd just ripped off a corner of a piece of paper, and Steve had lost it at some point in his shift. When he finally found the place he was thirty minutes behind.

When he got inside you were curled up on the couch alone, snoozing while some couple made out next to you in the spot Robin had vacated. He smiled when he saw you, and took a knee next to you, trying to wake you up nicely. He stroked your cheek, and tucked some hair behind ear, making you stir softly in your slumber.

"Time to get up," Steve said, "Where's Robin?"

"Went with Vicki," you whispered, rubbing your eyes, smudging whatever makeup wasn't already ruined from the dancing.

"Well, how mean of her to leave you here all alone," he said, running his thumb along your cheek again. "Can't trust you guys alone now though, she did leave you to fall asleep at a house party. That's like really bad, I'm mad at her."

You made a soft noise in response, his stern voice was, not so stern. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. Leaning close to you, rubbing your cheek, hair falling perfectly on his forehead and you just wanted to reach up and brush it away like he did. But your hands were wedged under your head, and you were afraid that if you stirred even an inch, he would leave, and this moment would be over.

"Guess you'll just have to make sure you come with us next time," you whispered, eyes bloodshot and glossy from all the alcohol. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The party was still raging around him, and he easily could've found a place within the girls, but he was content in this moment with you. Your eyes started feeling heavy, and you couldn't stop them from constantly fluttering shut.

“C'mon let me help you up babe,” Steve said, aiding your drunk figure. The nickname made your stomach flip. You were dead weight, giggling as he took care of you and grabbed your things and still found the patience to be kind to you, musing like he was interested in all your drunk babble.

“You're just so pretty, Stevie, it's stupid,” you cooed, finding a place beside him with his arms around you for balance as he lead you, slowly, to his car.

"D-Don't say that stuff," Steve said, voice cracking at the beginning. You were drunk, and it was dark, but you still noticed the blush on Steve's cheeks, and you smiled.

He opened the door for you, and you commented, "so romantic," while holding your hand over your heart, and Steve's heart raced. He went around the trunk of his car to get another second of fresh air, if you saw him in the light you were sure to see the heat he felt in his neck and cheeks. You were flirting with him, and he couldn't contain his excitement every time you complimented him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes.

The entire trip was like that. From the moment he was in the car you were just a loose cannon of compliments and praises. This combination of him sober and you drunk has never happened while alone before. Were you this flirty with him when he was drunk too?

The answer was yes. The real reason Nancy knew you really wanted Steve was because whenever you two are drunk and together you look like you're in love... because you are. Holding hands, head on shoulder, legs across laps, big bright smiles that made everyone think you were truly, madly, deeply in love. Everything that's just a little too friendly, but never crossing that silly little line that kept you both under the umbrella of just friends.

You were a delight in his passenger seat. He only wished you spoke like this when you were sober, because then maybe he'd know for sure you love him too.

"Hey Steve?" you asked, voice coming out as almost a purr in your sleepy state. Steve's heart melted. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat and moving his hand over to your lap, intertwining your fingers. Your hands were cold to the touch, but all you felt was the comforting warmth of him. You were both smiling, goofy grins to match the butterflies in your stomach. "You can hold my hand whenever you like."

You made another happy hum, but said nothing else. The ride was short. No words exchanged, just the quiet songs on the radio, turned low to let you drift off in the passenger seat.

When you got to his house, he parked the car, looking at you. He didn't want to wake you. And he didn't want to let go of your hand. Maybe he should just stay in the car all night.

Of course he didn't do that. Steve weaseled his way out of your grip, not bothering to hide how pleased he was that you whined at the loss of his touch. he helped you out of the car, encouraging you to climb on his back for "an express ride to the VIP bathroom," and he delivered, carrying you, all dead weight and giggling, to the bathroom where he left you to clean up. You put on the clothes he delivered, Plaid pajama pants and a big grey shirt. Well, you put the shirt on, the pajama pants were thrown into the tub, because you couldn't be forced to wear pants.

"Steeeeeve," you slurred, leaving the bathroom, giggling and bumping into the doorframe.

Steve was standing in the doorway to his room, wearing only blue plaid pj pants. His torso on glorious display, while he stood frozen at the sight of you. You stretched your arms over your head, and the shirt rose, exposing your panties to him. He nearly choked looking at you.

"Can I sleep in your room?" you asked, smiling at the effect you had on him. "Look how cute I am," you said, turning around and lifting the shirt while bending over slightly, giving him a perfect view of your ass, with the panties laying deliciously over your cheeks.

"Jesus," he muttered, unable to look away but trying to force himself to. He shouldn't be sneaking a peak while you were this drunk, but in his defence you were the one showing him. "Come to bed, just put your shirt down."

"It's your shirt," you teased, obeying him anyway. You danced behind him into the room, and crawled into bed. It smelled so good, it smelled like him. You could've stayed by Steve's side under these blankets forever.

You lay facing Steve, in his overly big, overly comfortable bed, too tired and drunk to keep your eyes open, but you still try. Steve smiles at your determination to stay awake, he watches your eyes blink quickly, trying to shake the sleep away.

You want to reach over and intertwine your hands, you don’t. He wants to reach out and brush the hair off your forehead and behind your ear, he doesn’t.

“Are we in love, Steve?”

The sharpness of your question cuts him, wounding him in a way he didn’t know was possible. He wanted to speak, but there were no words. No charismatic come back, and no way to avoid the lingering question in the air. Steve holds his tears back. He really did love you.

When your eyes peak open, he’s nodding. His eyes filled with tears that he refuses to let you see, but you see. "Yeah, I think so."

“Why is it so sad?”

“Because we're best friends," he said, "and I can't lose you."

"Tell me you love me," you whispered, silly mood replaced with a tight feeling in your throat, like you were going to cry. But you held it back.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

He wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss you. But instead, he just sighed, and found your hand under the sheets, and held it tightly. He was frozen. This was his dream come true, so why did it feel like a nightmare? Like you were right there, but he couldn't have you. Like he was doomed to stay in love with you, and never actually get to be with you.

“I will still love you in the morning whether I say it or not, Stevie.” Your eyes finally started winning the battle, and they stayed closed more than they stayed open, too heavy too fight.

"I know babe," he said, watching as you breathing changed and your eyes didn't open again. "I will too."

[upsidedownwithsteve]

CH10. Cheque, Please! | The Menu [2.2K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

ONE YEAR LATER

The diner was packed. 

Tables were full, the large room a buzz of chatter and music, the speakers playing an old sixties bop. It was a familiar sight, one that happened more often than not since Jim sold the diner. The new owner ripped the place apart, down to its old bones before he put his life savings into it. 

New floors, new tables and chairs, artwork on the walls that were signed by Argyle, a photo of the whole staff taken and framed by Jonathan, Jim Hopper at the forefront, a wide smile on his face on the last day before his retirement. The bulbs in the neon sign outside had been replaced so it no longer flickered, the green and blue glow of it now announcing the diner’s new name, proud and bright for everyone to see. 

Eddie’s Slice Of Chicago. 

“Door! Behind!” You yelled out as you entered the kitchen empty plates piled high in your arms and Jonathan took them from you with practised ease. 

Steve was on the grill, still hesitant and not as fast as Argyle, but he was flipping burgers quicker than he had last week. His chef whites were brand new, his name badge shiny and his front of house position taken over by Nancy. Everyone was in new uniforms, freshly pressed and a sage green, aprons still without stains and a pocketful of pens that didn’t run out of ink too quickly. Robin was taking orders, laughing with a family from out of town, letting their toddler grab at her finger as she promised them to return soon with their pizzas and shakes. Dustin was helping Max run a large order to a table of backpackers, a border collie under the table at their feet, getting its ears scratched by the new start, Mike. 

There was a sign on the staff notice board, up beside the employee of the month, a piece of ripped paper with the words “SIXTY FOUR DAYS SINCE THE LAST FREEZER BREAKDOWN.” The rest of the space was filled with staff photos, polaroids and prints of the group at a fourth of July picnic, a barbecue at Jim’s in the summer, huddled around the kitchens countertops in the winter, drinking from mugs filled with Argyle’s homemade horchata, the frame that held Billy’s scrawled termination letter, an old napkin that held a small conversation in pen. 

It felt more like home than ever. Even when Eddie wasn’t there. 

Everyone answered to you in his absence, unofficially in charge when the boss wasn’t here. It had taken some getting used to, hell, you’d even tried to pawn off the responsibility to Nancy, or Steve, anyone who’d been at the grill longer than you had. But Nancy was part time, back at college during the week, taking Robin on dates in the evenings and Steve was too busy being trained as a new prep chef to worry about invoices and deliveries. 

So you stepped into the role cautiously, softening to the idea when Eddie kissed you something fierce and told you that there wasn’t anyone else he trusted to do the job. His acceptance letter had come the month after taking over the diner. A thick, white envelope that lay heavy on your doormat because he’d finally moved in, sharing your small apartment with you like he did everything else. 

Clothes. Jewellery. Books. Records. Food. Kisses. 

Vincennes University offered Eddie the chance to do what he hadn’t been able to before. Refining his craft, learning new skills, working in a state of the art kitchen with equipment he’d come home and gush to you about. The diner was doing well enough that tuition wasn’t a worry anymore and suddenly, the long commute into Indianapolis for classes four days a week seemed worth it. Eddie was passing with flying colours, receiving accolades and opportunities at every given moment and when he came home, exhausted but happy, he came home to you. 

Bone tired, he’d slip into the apartment, socked feet padding gently over the floorboards, Tupperware full of something delicious to be stacked in the fridge. He’d find you curled up somewhere, a black cat called Basil in the nook of your bent legs. He’d kiss you sweet, he’d kiss you soft, warming you up to a simmer until you forgot how much you’d missed him that day. 

It was all worth it. 

“Table eighteen wants extra hash browns and booth six needs two pepperoni’s and the Hawkins special, chefs,” you called to Steve as you slapped the orders onto the bar. 

“Got it,” Steve and Argyle called back, one a little more nervously than the other but it was okay, ‘cause Eddie was home soon. 

Eddie was home soon. 

He’d called from a pay phone outside of the school, voice buzzing with excitement, with pride, and yours mirrored his back. He’d be on the train soon, he’d meet you at the apartment, if you could get away early. So you handed your keys to Nancy and she grinned, knowing there was a cause for celebration waiting at home for you. You drove Eddie’s van back along the road, coming into town on the familiar stretch, passing Wayne’s, the trailer park you both visited every Sunday for dinner. 

The apartment door was unlocked, dimly lit in the early fall gloom, already smelling like garlic and tomatoes, like fresh bread and the scent of Eddie cologne that lingered on his jacket that hung in the hallway. Eddie’s records were in the shelves by your books, his guitar hanging from a hook in the tiny office room, his shoes on the bench by the door. He’d transformed your kitchen when he’d moved in, a decision that had been all too easy to make. There were  pots and pans hanging from the rack, shiny, sharp knives that he was scared of you using without him there, jars and tubs of ingredients stacked high in the fridge and the pantry. There were fresh herbs in planters on the window sill. The radio always played. 

The kitchen always felt like the heart of the home. 

That’s where you found Eddie, sweater sleeves rolled up and grinning at you from the stove top, a large spoon in hand as he mixed in some fresh rosemary to the pot of sauce. He greeted you with a glass of wine, the cheap stuff that you liked best, catching you in a kiss before you could bring the cup to your lips. 

He kissed you soft, kissed you sweet, humming when you laughed into his mouth, his free hand slipping inside of your shirt to ghost his fingers over your ribs. 

“Hi,” you whispered. You’d never tire of this. This warmth, this kind of greeting, this feeling of coming home. “Good day?”

Eddie nodded, stealing another kiss, catching the corner of your mouth. He gazed at you, eyes shining with excitement and you could practically feel the buzz in his bones for what he was about to say. 

“I got it.”

You blinked, once, before your smile turned into a grin and it stretched wide. You barely had the common sense to place your wine on the countertop before you launched yourself at the boy, your arms wound round his neck as your crushed your face into his curls. Eddie whooped, a joyful thing as he lifted you off your feet and grinned against your throat. 

“You got it,” you whispered back to him, everything in you frilled with awe and pride. 

“I got it,” he repeated again. His voice sounded thick. 

The internship with Chef Emmelie was something that everyone in Eddie’s class was vying for. Eddie had spent an insane amount of time on his application, using you as his own personal taste tester in both work and home. New recipes were concocted, old dishes were reworked and it had all paid off. Eddie had been hand picked to work alongside one of the country’s greats, assisting in setting up a new restaurant, a fine dining establishment that promised to deliver nothing but the best cuisine to the masses. Eddie would help create the menu, and hopefully, maybe, eventually, take over as head chef. 

It was another level of surreal. 

“I knew you would,” you mumbled into his neck, pulling back only to crush Eddie’s cheeks in the palms of your hands and give him a kiss that ducked his breath away. His lips tasted salty, but perhaps that was your own tears you could taste. Eddie just held onto you tighter, his stew mix bubbling away without any attention. “Where is it? Have they told you where you’re setting up?”

You’d held Eddie’s hand as he clutched his application letter and promised him that no matter where they sent him, you’d follow. The only thing that tied you to Hawkins, was the boy and Basil was easy enough to smuggle into a cat carrier, once you could catch him. Wayne had squashed any hesitancy from Eddie immediately, waving him off and saying that there would be private jets for each of you once he hit the big time as the new celebrity chef. And of course, there was the diner. 

Eddie laughed then, a breathy, disbelieving thing and he finally shuffled to settle you onto the small dining table that sat in the corner of the kitchen. He nudged his way in between your legs, sniffling when Basil appeared to wind around his own ankles and the only sounds were the purring of the cat and the simmering of dinner. You held your breath, brows raised, expectant. 

London? Dubai? Paris? Los Angeles?

“They wanna set up in Chicago.”

—————

Going back to the city you left was a lot less daunting with Eddie by your side. 

Wayne moved out of the trailer park and into your apartment, something that made leaving a little easier for Eddie. He still owned the diner, and promised to stop by at least a few times a month if scheduling around the new restaurant would allow. He’d found a new manager, a woman from town called Joyce who loved to bake and knew enough about taxes and accounting that she didn’t fuck up order and invoices. She loved the place like Eddie did, promised she’d do it proud. 

(She met Jim on Sunday in summer and after she served him her famous cherry cheesecake, one date in the park had turned into three, into five and now they were inseparable. They spent most of their time walking around town, visiting farmers and Jim enjoyed his retirement by helping Joyce create new desserts for the diner.)

Eddie’s internship came with an apartment in the suburbs, a small townhouse that was far enough from the hustle of the city that you felt more at home than before. It was less bright, less loud and Basil had a garden to roam in, a bench beside a vegetable patch he could bathe in the sun from. 

It had a pantry and old oak floors, a huge window that looked out onto the street that was lined with cherry trees, and a nook in the living room that you liked to read in. You found a job, pretty easily, a vintage bookstore on the edge of town that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, old pages and older stories. It was owned by an old man who let his dog sleep under the front desk, who brought in pastries for breakfast and made you sweet tea in the summer. 

The restaurant opened in the spring. Hit headlines the following day, praising the special on the menu made by newcomer chef, Edward Munson. By the summer, the heat was climbing and so was Eddie’s popularity. He was running the restaurant, got to create a new menu every six weeks and the waitlist was booked out until Christmas. He told you he loved you every time you paid him a visit, on your lunch break, a whisper between a kiss hello and goodbye in the kitchen, coy whistles from his staff that he burned pink at. 

And when you both drove back to Hawkins for long weekends and holiday stays, you crammed yourselves and Basil into your old apartment with Wayne, packed his freezer full of food and tried to convince him to take in one (maybe two) of the strays from the trailer park to keep him company. 

You spent the Fourth of July with the diner crew, in the backyard of Jim and Joyce’s new home, sharing Polaroids and newspaper clippings of the restaurant, of your new home, Eddie’s menu. Steve was in awe but nothing could beat the look of pride on your boyfriend’s face when Steve told him he’d mastered a French omelette. Argyle was running the kitchen, Nancy had been promoted to assistant manager, part time or not, and Robin had helped Jonathan in running a Sunday morning coffee club, where Hawkins residents got to taste test new bean flavours over a pastry breakfast and some town gossip. 

Eddie didn’t scowl much, not anymore. 

And when you next bumped into Chrissy, you waved at her from under the tuck of Eddie’s arm, diamond ring glinting on your left hand in the sun. She didn’t have much to say to you, not after that. 

[alleiwentcrazy]

The point is, Steve can’t hear.

A person can get hit in the head only so many times before it takes effect and does permanent damage. Steve’s incessant claims that being in the front row when the fight breaks down does nothing to him, that he’s safe and alright as long as everyone else is, mean very little in the face of cold, evident facts.

His hearing isn’t intact. It takes him a while to adjust to this reality, but with the help of his friends, he eventually does. Thanks to Nancy’s fierce bullying of the government guys who come to Hawkins to assess the situation and cook up some half-assed excuse for everything that’s happened, Steve now has a small army of well-paid doctors that really seem to be eager to help. He also gets state-of-the-art hearing aids that, well—they work, but Steve’s range of possibilities is still quite narrow. Let a few people into the room, let them speak simultaneously and all he can hear is static, rustles and crackling.

But he’s pliant. He listens when Robin tells him they have to get in the car and hit the road to get to his appointment on time. He lets her help with inserting the aids properly on the days he’s just too impatient and too bugged about how they feel and look to even care if they help him hear. He’s not dismissing her enthusiasm when she starts learning sign language before he even gets a chance to discuss it as his option.

He’s doing a lot of things for her, even if they’re supposed to be important to him first. To be honest, these days it’s mostly doing things for Robin that keeps him going. He would have gone completely numb ages ago if it weren’t for her and her unique ways of picking up the severed pieces whenever he crumbles.

He’s also doing it for Dustin. If Robin is his twin sister, Dustin is the little brother he’s never had. And Dustin… It’s just been too rough on him. It’s been rough on everyone; how could it not be if the only thing they seem to be able to do is wait? Wait for the lab guys to figure out a way to end this. Wait for the panic to cease. Wait for Max to wake up.

Wait for the grief to pass.

They wait and wait, but it never stops—on the contrary, it brings fresh, equally unwanted feelings. They’re always there, lurking behind the corner like a kitten that wants to launch itself at an unsuspecting owner – only with them, there won’t be any playtime involved. Steve recognizes this feeling. It’s the same feeling he’d had in that Winnebago when he was dropping off Max, Lucas and Erica at Creel’s doorstep. An awful anticipation of doom waiting to happen.

He doesn’t like it. He’d like to find a way to do something about it, but he can’t seem to get to the core of it.

Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s hearing things when he really can’t be hearing them.

At first, Steve writes it off as him being paranoid. It happens only when he’s home by himself, so it’s the only logical explanation – he takes off his aids, he gets too attentive about his surroundings, right? He thinks he hears something, but it’s only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

Especially because what he hears are mostly usual, non threatening things. The sound of water running in the bathroom (he goes inside, everything is dry and quiet). The sound of kitchen drawers being opened (he goes to the kitchen, the cabinets are exactly the way he left them). The sound of cutlery being dropped on the floor (but he hasn’t even taken anything out in the first place).

He even gets used to it. Things happen, his brain is weird. It’s confusing, sure, but hasn’t he seen worse things? He definitely has.

But it doesn’t keep him away from sleeping with his bat perched on the side of the bed. If he sleeps at all, if a sudden sound of breaking glass doesn’t keep him awake until his morning shift with Robin, when he can finally leave this goddamn house and take his mind off of things.

Steve tries to ignore it. He really tries, but the point is—Steve can’t hear things like running water in the bathroom when his aids are off. Hell, he only makes it out if he focuses on it when they’re in, so why the heck can he hear it so well? Why are the sounds multiplying?

It goes on for weeks. He avoids the topic for as long as possible, trying to shoo away the obvious similarities between his house and the house that made him hate spiders and cringe at fireplaces not too long ago.

It gets a little too real on just some random Tuesday, when his kitchen positively explodes with sounds the second he gets the hearing aids off. Cabinet doors slam left and right, mugs fall to the floor and shatter, forks and spoons seem to be getting thrown around like ragdolls—but Steve sees nothing. He hears it, he hears it so loudly it hurts, the cacophony of noises he’s never even heard before, but his eyes register no proof of it. He curls down on the floor, expecting sharp glass pieces to cut his skin, but nothing happens. Nothing’s here.

He still covers his head, tucked away in the furthest corner of the kitchen, waiting for it to just stop, to leave him alone—

Steve doesn’t know how long it takes, but when it’s finally done, his knees are shaky and his breathing is ragged. He snatches his aids and takes off, straight to Robin’s house. He doesn’t even lock the door, a thing his parents would kill him for if they knew.

It’s the first time he explains everything to her. It would be hard not to, because she sees right through him. His panicked, restless eyes are enough indication of things not being right.

“Maybe, uh—I think I’ve read something about hearing loss and auditory hallucinations? That they happen, sometimes, especially if the loss of hearing is sudden?” she says, already flipping through her notebook where she keeps all Steve-related stuff and pacing around the room with enough force to make a hole in the carpet.

Steve’s not convinced. “It seems pretty real to me,” he mumbles and frowns. “But that’s the point of it, right?”

Robin shrugs. He notices that she has a small set of wrinkles around her eyes. Steve looks at them for a second in total disbelief. They already have some worry wrinkles, and they’re not even well into their twenties.

He’s gonna lose all his precious hair in a span of months if this doesn’t stop.

*

They decide to bring it up during his next appointment, still hoping that it’ll maybe go away on its own. Robin tries to make him get a consult straight away (what if it is rabies after all, Steve, like a really really really weird, belated presentation of rabies?), but he waves it off. The option of hallucinations doesn’t soothe his nerves, but as long as it’s not a chiming clock, he can avoid confronting it for a while longer.

It doesn’t go away, though. Steve can’t quite pinpoint it, but it almost feels like—well, it obviously doesn’t feel like it’s real enough to be real. But there’s something that accompanies the sounds, the lack of evidence, the missing of this ominous feeling that Creel’s house inflicted on him.

The sounds—it feels like they bear a presence. Steve’s still scared and gets spooked by them whenever they happen, but he’s no longer truly afraid of them.

Some of them are even comforting. The sound of his pillow being fluffed up before he gets to bed, the sound of pen scratching on paper whenever he leaves his journal open on the desk, the whooshing sound of a lighter being opened and closed – they all make this eerie place his parents have left him a little less empty.

He rarely lets himself think about it that way. He may be a little kooky, but admitting that he’s lonely enough to find hallucinations comforting would be way too much to handle at the moment.

So Steve can’t hear, but he learns to accept the fact that, apparently, sometimes he can. He doesn’t know how it works—to be quite honest he doesn’t know a lot about experiencing hearing loss at all, despite now being hard of hearing himself—but it just makes its place in his life.

He thinks about it a lot, but he tries not to overthink it too hard. It just happens. Things fall to the floor in his house, curtains get torn, the fridge gets opened frequently. He just can’t see it. His mind hears it, but his eyes don’t get the memo. He lives for longer than a week. It’s probably a good sign; nothing’s going to make his bones snap in two now, probably. Hopefully.

Things change suddenly.

Steve tries to spend as much time with Dustin as possible. Between work, his appointments and Robin, Dustin, Max and the kids are his top priority. He doesn’t think he would be able to function if he let himself take a breath and step down from his piled up responsibilities that he chose to take on himself. They keep him together. They keep him going.

Besides, Mrs. Henderson gets really worried. Sometimes it’s just better for Dustin to stay with Steve, and Steve is more than happy to be with him, even though it seems that Dustin doesn’t really like his cold house either.

It’s one of Dustin’s quiet days. He gets them, sometimes—Steve knows that trying to get him to talk on one of those days is a lost cause, and his ears are killing him. He was in such a hurry this morning he didn’t take the time to put the aids in properly. Work was overflowing with people, too, so now his temples are throbbing from trying to pick up the chatter from the static. Seriously, how is it possible that people still spend so much time watching movies in the face of almost-apocalypse, Steve doesn’t know.

“Would you mind if I took my aids off for a while?”

“Go ahead,” Dustin mumbles, bending over his new book.

Something flips inside Steve’s chest. He knows it’s not supposed to be like that, it’s unlike Dustin to be so… not himself. But what can Steve do? He can’t make him talk. He can just wait, nothing else.

He gets up to leave his aids on the counter and pour himself some coffee. He should probably start making dinner soon, but he decides to take a few peaceful sips first.

It’s weird. To sit with Dustin Henderson, of all people, without a single word. Steve glances at him every once and again, but Dustin either ignores him or genuinely forgets that he’s there.

Steve’s so deep in his thoughts about Dustin, he doesn’t even look to the side when a sudden sound of kitchen chair toppling over cuts through the silence. His eyes are trained on the kid.

Who flinches. And frowns. Steve can swear that he fights the urge to look around.

Each and every chair Steve keeps in the kitchen is standing where he placed them in the morning after breakfast. Nothing real has happened. But Steve heard it. And, apparently, Dustin did too.

Steve’s brain is working overtime for the rest of the evening, and he desperately tries not to show any of it. He’s jumping into conclusions. It was an accident; dumb luck. It’s nothing. He’s working himself up, nonsensically.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s nothing. It was only one chair, one sound, but the feeling that accompanied it was strong. Too strong to be nothing.

He waits to drop Dustin off at home like he’s on pins and needles, fumbling with his fingers and keys and pacing around. Maybe it’s better that it’s one of Dustin’s quiet days, he mostly gets away with it, getting only a few side glances.

When gets back home, it’s late, but he’s buzzing with anticipation nonetheless. He can finally do something. He discards his aids haphazardly, not nearly as carefully as he should, and starts running around the house. The house his parents built is huge—but the kitchen turns out to be quite small when he’s finally done with arraying at least a dozen lamps there. He has to raid three of his father's garages to get enough extension cords.

When he turns them on all at once, he has to take a step back and shut his eyes, because it’s too much light.

Just the right thing he needs.

His heart is beating so fast he can almost feel it ramming against his ribs. That’s about how far he’d thought this plan through.

“Come on,” he says and clears his throat, trying to gauge how his voice may really sound now. He repeats himself, hoping that it’s louder this time.

Nothing happens for a while, but he knows he’s close. The feeling is here. The presence that hasn’t left him in months. It’s here.

Steve walks around the kitchen, moves the lamps a little, shakes some of them. His hands are clammy and it feels like he’s chewed through his cheek at this point, but he can wait. He’s waited for a long time. He can wait a while longer.

When the microwave beeps, he stops breathing for a second.

Until it beeps again. And again.

“Oh god,” he breathes. He doesn’t know if he speaks clearly or not, he doesn’t even care. “Come on, show me that it’s you. Come on, come on—”

The lamp furthest to the left starts blinking, slowly at first. Then the one next to it, then another one, and another one, like someone’s walking around and making them flicker one by one.

They’re blinking so much one of the bulbs goes out. Steve doesn’t hear it hiss, so he knows it went out here, now. He knows it’s real.

“Oh god,” his hand goes to his mouth. His eyes are weirdly itchy. “Oh god, is it really you, Eddie?”

The lamp directly in front of Steve goes wild. When he reaches out, it’s almost like he can touch the presence that’s here with him.

And it’s Eddie. Eddie’s here with him.

[livwritesstuff]

Eddie knows that he’s good at pushing buttons. It’s a whole-ass hobby for him, he’s pretty sure, given how much enjoyment he gets out of it combined with the skill-level (high, obviously – he’s had fifty-something years of practice). 

Steve, Eddie’s live-in husband, is on the receiving end of the button-pushing more than anyone else, and he’s a pretty good sport about it most of the time.

About once a year, though, Eddie manages to push the exact button that sends Steve straight into deep-freeze mode.

He’s very good at it. Maybe even as good as Eddie is at triggering it in the first place, so on day three of getting nothing but silence from Steve – his soulmate, the light and love of his life – he decides to take some action.

Action starts with bribing his two oldest daughters (away at college) into coming home for the weekend because…duh. Steve loves their kids more than anything (and definitely more than he loves Eddie at the moment), so that’s a relatively low-effort home run.

“So what the fuck did you do, then?” Moe asks the second she and Robbie walk through the door.

“Who says I did something?” Eddie counters (ridiculous, because he totally did do something, but damn, she could have jumped to that conclusion even a little slower).

Moe doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just fixes him with one of those Steve expressions she’s been firing at him since practically the day she was born.

“He totally did something,” Hazel tells them, “It might be hopeless. Getting you home might not even fix it.”

“Oh, how you underestimate me, daughters,” Eddie says, “This is just phase one.”

He holds up his phone to show that he’s already calling Robin.

She picks up only a second later.

“What do you want, Edward?”

“Hey Buck. Just wanted to make sure you don’t forget about dinner at our house tonight.”

Robin is silent for a while.

“Uh…what dinner?”

“You know! Dinner! We’ve got all three kids home this weekend, remember? You were gonna bring that game Steve likes? He’s all excited!”

“Oh my god,” Robbie mutters, “You are such a gaslighter.”

 Eddie silently flips her off.

“Let me see if Nanc–”

“Nope,” Eddie hastily interrupts, “Don’t ask Nancy. Just be here quarter to five.”

“Uh, oka–”

Eddie hung up.

“Pa-thetic.” Moe rolls her eyes.

Steve emerges from his office exactly at five o'clock that evening to see that their kitchen is filled with his children and friends and the smell of what Eddie’s got cooking on the stove, and it isn’t until he’s got a massive grin on his face and his arms around Robin’s shoulders that he finally asks, “Wait – what are you all doing here?” 

“You didn’t know we were coming?” Robin asks, shooting Eddie a suspicious look.

“No, they aren’t talking,” Hazel pipes up.

Eddie surreptitiously smacks her arm and mutters, “Be cool, will you?”

[rottenaero]

Saw someone say El gets found by Wayne instead of Mike and the gang to which I say hell yeah.

Waynes working late at the plant when hears these noises coming from the woods, then a girl with a shaved head rushes out to grab his coworkers sand which they’d forgotten about hours ago.

She dirty, wearing a hospital gown, and he approaches her. Asks if she has a place, and she’s so fidgety that he’s shocked she hasn’t run away. She must see something to trust in him because when he asks if she wants some real hot food, she says yes.

He grabs an extra coat from his trunk so she can cover up and brings her through a drive through, lets her eat her food in the back while drives back to the trailer. It reminds him of Eddie, when his father had first gone to jail. His hair was buzzed and he was cagey, but was quick to pick through his burger and fries.

He brings her home, learns her name is Eleven, and Eddie meets her. He’s excited to meet her an quickly gives her the nickname El which just sticks. She warms up to the pretty quickly.

About a week after she first gets there, Steve Harrington shows up, trying to get weed for Tommy because the fuckers to lazy to get it himself.

She pokes her head out of Eddie’s room and sees him. She immediately comes out. “Shit,” Eddie mutters, “El, just stay in there another minute.” But she doesn’t, she goes straight up to Steve and just stares.

“Pretty…Pretty hair.” Steve beams, and crouches down to her level. “Thank you. Wanna touch it?” He asks. She nods enthusiastically, starry eyed as she reaches out and runs her hands through it.

“Didn’t know you had a little sister, Munson.” He raises a brow between the two. Eddie doesn’t reply, just stares at the sight.

“I- Uh, yeah.”

“You don’t,” Steve starts, pauses. El’s still playing with his hair when he continues. “You don’t smoke anything around her, right?”

Eddie is quick to shake his head, “Jesus! No Harrington, I only do it when I’m out of the house.”

El pauses. “..Harrington? You are Steve then.”

Steve nods, and Eddie’s are blown wide mouthing nononono, “Yeah, why?”

“He talks about you sometimes.” She shrugs, and pulls away, before looking up at the long-haired guy who looked embarrassed.

“Eggos.” She states. He nods, “Alright, Harrington, the goods, they might take a minute.”

“Dude, are you serious? It’s like 3pm.”

“So? The girl wants Eggos, why not?”

“Because it’s not healthy?” He sighs, gets up, and walks into the kitchen like he owns it. He opens the fridge door, and the freezer. “Do you have panko crumbs and cooking oil?”

He approaches, and leans against the bar, a bit hunched so he doesn’t knock down a hanging mug with his head. “It’s a no on the panko, but we’ve got some veggie-oil.”

Steve grabs eggs and chicken from his fridge and setting them on the counter, and begins opening random cabinets. He gets to the one with the food and grabs half-eaten lays chips, flour, and oil. “Got any seasoning?”

“Dude, what are you even doing?” He asks, El comes up beside him and jumps onto the counter. Steve opens another cabinet and grabs a couple seasonings. “Cooking real food.”

“Well aren’t you a little house-wife.” He snorts as Steve takes a pan off a nearby hook and puts it on the stovetop. His eyes widen, “Oh wait, you’re serious?”

“Uh,” Steve fills it with a little bit of oil, “Duh?” He gets a couple bowls out, cracks some eggs into one, another he puts flour and some other shit into.

He pushes the bag of lays to El, “Can you crunch all of these into tiny pieces?” Before going back to whatever he was doing.

In the end, the chicken tastes good. El loves it, and when Steve leaves she mourns him.

“I like him. He’s nice.”

Steve starts coming over everyday, usually during lunch but sometimes dinner, and makes them foods.

She meets the party who are looking for Will when Steve suggests she meet some friends from Hawkins, and introduces her to Nancy’s little brother.

Eventually, they all get sucked into the upside down when Eddie learns she has powers, and Steve fights the demo-gorgon.

Then El disappears and they’re all super upset, and when they found out that’s she was alive they’re pissed.

She still loves Hopper, but she also loves Wayne so they do weekend swaps and shit.

Steve starts greeting Eddie at school, hanging out with him sometimes. Eddie notices how he doesn’t let anyone touch his hair, but the way that anytime El asks he’ll gladly let her.

Idk, I think it’s sweet. Wayne gets another kid he adores, Eddie as her lame-but-cool-to-her older brother, and Steve as the babysitter, not just for her but Eddie too, because he’s also not allowed Eggos at 3pm are you fucking kidding me??

El is at Hoppers the week the whole star court thing happens and him and Wayne goes to pick her up and she’s sobbing, and Steve’s got his face beaten in.

When Joyce suggests she being El with her to California, Eddie doesn’t want her too, but Wayne thinks it’s best so they hug goodbye.

Steve still drops by everyday.

[strangersteddierthings]

I'm thinking of leaving town.

The words bounce around Steve's head endlessly. Eddie had said them so casually. Like it wasn't going to be a big deal to anyone that he leaves.

And logically, it's not. It shouldn't be. Eddie's a high school graduate and no longer a wanted criminal, thanks to the shady government that fucked everything up to begin with. The logical next step is getting out of the town that still hates him, even if they're no longer actively hostile, and make something of himself.

And he's not even the first to go. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan are all off to their chosen colleges and

And Steve doesn't want to stop him from going. He thinks it'll be great for Eddie. He plans to leave town, too, once the kids graduate.

He just thought he'd have more time. To figure out himself. And Eddie. And if they could be SteveandEddie someday.

So, the words continue to bounce around Steve's head for the next three days, until Robin calls him for their weekly catch-up. He asks about college, and her new crush, a girl named Michelle, and if she's still planning to come back for Christmas break. She asks after him, too, what's going on in his life, how he's liking working at hardware store and is it better or worse than Family Video (it's better), and of course asks after everyone left in town.

"Eddie's thinking of leaving," Steve says.

"Oh. Really?" She sounds confused more than surprised.

"Just thinking. He didn't say for sure, but it's on his mind."

"And how are you taking that?"

"I thought we'd have more time."

"How much more time do you need?" Robin's voice is filled with laughter and he can just imagine the playful eyeroll. "It's been eight months. It took you like five seconds to ask out any girl that flirted with you at Family Video."

"Eddie's different."

"I'm just... it's not like you, to not go after what you want."

"Eddie's important."

There's silence on the other line before, "Important enough to love out loud?"

Oh. Oh.

Robin always knows what to say to get Steve to see the obvious thing in front of him in a way that doesn't make him feel like an idiot. "Yeah. Important enough to love out loud. I'm telling him tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Quick turn around, Steve."

"Yeah, well, you're right. I always go after what I want, and I have to tell him before he goes. Even if he decides to still go, at least he'll know."

"Brave."

"No. Brave would have been doing this six months ago when I first looked at him and thought he looked kissable."

"No, that would have been stupid. You had a gay panic to get through and it was better that Eddie wasn't involved. Trust me."

And he does. Vickie was going through the same panic and had Robin and that... well, there's a reason he asks after Michelle and not Vickie.

"Right. Of course. Five months ago, then."

Robin laughs through the line and Steve feels resolve settle in his stomach.

-

Steve goes to the Munson house directly after his shift. Eddie's van is gone but Wayne's pickup is there, so Steve lets himself in, calling a greeting to Wayne.

"In the kitchen," Wayne calls back.

Steve wanders into the kitchen to see him with a rolling pin in hand and an empty pie plate nearby. "Baking?"

"Sometimes you just want a homemade apple pie," Wayne shrugs, "and there are two ways to do that. Woo somebody who will make it for you, or do it yourself. I'm picking the easier option."

Steve laughs, "alright. Need any help?"

"Recipes over there. Apples need peelin'."

Steve washes his hands and gets to work.

The pie is cooked and cooling, and Wayne has migrated to the couch with a beer since Steve offered to whip up supper. Wayne was going to make lasagna, so Steve starts pulling things from cupboards and the fridge and gets to work.

Eddie returns home as Steve is layering the lasagna in the dish.

"Wayne, I see you hired a chef!" Eddie shouts in the general direction of the living room before hopping up to sit on the counter opposite Steve.

Wayne laughs but doesn't say anything in response.

"Hey Eds," Steve flashes him a smile before getting back to dinner. He tops it off with more cheese and then shoves it into the oven. He grabs the dial timer from its spot in the cupboard and sets it before turning to give his full attention to Eddie.

"What brings you over tonight?" Eddie asks.

"I wanted to talk to you. Ask you something, really."

"Moi?" Eddie places a hand on his own chest, fingers spread and voice filled with fake surprise.

"Mmm, the one and only," Steve says, stepping into Eddie's space. Not close enough to touch him, but enough that he doesn't have room to hop back off the counter.

"And what could be so important that you had to make me dinner about it?"

"Would you go on a date with me?"

Eddie's eyes go wide and his mouth opens and closes a few times before snapping closed. He blinks down at Steve, but Steve's patient. He can wait for Eddie to process. "I- what, you're serious?"

"As a bat bite," Steve says, reaching a hand to rest it on Eddie's side, atop where he knows Eddie is scarred in the same way he is. "I thought I'd have all the time in the world to get there. To the asking. We'd get to know each other better. Deeper, I guess. But then. Well, you said you were thinking of leaving. And I realized I don't have all the time in the world."

Eddie's eyes roam Steve's face. Whatever he's looking for he must find because his legs fall open and he reaches for Steve even as he's already stepping into the space Eddie's created for him. "We can have all the time you want, Stevie."

Steve grins. "I don't want to stop you leaving, if that's what you really want. But, maybe we can postpone that? I want to stay close, until the kids graduate, but after that I'd follow you anywhere."

Eddie brings a hand up to Steve's face and before he's even made contact, Steve's shoving his cheek into Eddie's palm, nuzzling at him like a cat. "No need to be following. I'd rather you walk beside me."

"I can do that, too."

"Jesus, Stevie, I can't believe- I mean, I'd hoped, when you came out, but like," Eddie giggles and it's the sweetest sound Steve's ever heard, "like, it's hard to believe you want me back."

"Take it to the bedroom!" Wayne's shout from the living room startles both of them and they burst out laughing when they make eye contact again.

Eddie's other hand joins his first on Steve's face, and he pulls him into a kiss before they're even finished laughing.

[tartarusknight]

Eddie Joins the Family

Eddie didn’t think that he would get a big family when he pulled Dustin, Mike, and Lucas into Hellfire. He didn’t think it would happen but it did. One day, after school he’s stopped short at the sound of his name. He stopped and glanced back to see a redheaded girl. She looked familiar but he couldn’t place her. She had a skateboard under her arm and a determined look on her face. “You’re Eddie Munson right?”

Eddie frowned, “I don’t sell to kids.”

Her nose wrinkled, “ew. I’m Max, Lucas’s girl- we’re friends.” She stumbles a little and his eyebrow raised. 

She rolled her shoulders back, “can you give me a ride home? I missed the bus and we’re neighbors. I can give you embarrassing stories of any of the boys,” she waves her hand but he can see her nerves. 

“Sure,” he shrugged and she brightened. However, she was definitely trying to hide her emotions. “Our chariot awaits, milady.” He opened the door for her a swept his hand towards his shitty van. However, it didn’t stop there. Suddenly he was driving her more and more. Even though she didn’t even join his club! Okay, but she was quickly becoming one of his favorite freshman anyways. 

But Max wasn’t the only one. One day he ran into Nancy Wheeler and she actually stopped him. “Eddie, right?” Her eyes were hard and he shifted nervously. He gave her a small nod and she cleared her throat. “Mike’s really looking up to you lately.”

Eddie grimaced, “he could’ve picked someone better.”

She nods in agreement which stings only a little. He knew it was true. “You’re going to meet me twice a week. Give me your schedule.” She ordered and he stood there dumbfounded. “It wasn’t an option, come on.” She waved her hand. 

So he took a moment and wrote it all down before handing it over. She frowned, maybe at his shitty hand writing or the way it was kind of jumbled. “We have study hall the same hour. I’ll get a pass and I’ll meet you.”

“Uh, why?”

Her glare was terrifying, “because if he’s going to look up to you than you can give him a good example. I’m not going to let you keep failing all your classes and show him what it’s okay.” She snapped and Eddie wasn’t sure if he’s ever been this shocked before. “Understand?”

“Aye, aye, captain.” He gave her a weak salute before she turned and walked off. 

Then suddenly he and Nancy were working together often and in the few classes they shared she offered to be paired with him. It was freaky and his friends were just as weirded out as he was. But he had to admit that as they met after school a few times, that maybe, just maybe they were becoming friends. It wasn’t confirmed until one day she was painting his nails as he rambled about an idea he had for a campaign. Except she wasn’t just listening, she was giving him tips and helping him develop it even better. 

And with Nancy came Karen Wheeler. The woman would give him baked goods and thank him for all he was doing with Mike. It was weird but she made amazing cookies so he dealt with it and fucking Ted who didn’t deserve Karen. However, it got even worse when he made a comment that he mostly cooked for himself and his uncle since Wayne worked the worst hours. That had him in the kitchen with Sue Sinclair, Claudia Henderson, and you guessed it, Karen Wheeler. 

The three moms taught him all their tips and tricks, telling him he could impress any girl with his new skills. He didn’t say he wasn’t interested in any girls. Instead, he grinned and took all the information he could. It became a weekly thing and he got all the good gossip that wasn’t high school bullshit. And he gave them all the high school bullshit they wanted. 

And suddenly he became a babysitter for his younger friends. The freshman were annoyed at the development and Eddie got paid to hang out with them so he was fine with it. It didn’t happen often, since apparently Eddie was the back up babysitter. He didn’t care... that much, he was just curious. But being the back up babysitter gave him Erica Sinclair who quickly became his arch enemy and favorite. They didn’t do much but when he was in charge of her they would argue back and forth before retiring to painting mini figures with music playing in the background. 

However, that wasn’t even the end of it. Because suddenly Dustin was introducing him to Robin Buckley. Apparently Dustin had been trying to get her and their friend together but since they didn’t seem to get their act together, Dustin believed him and Robin would work together. Eddie and Robin took one look at each other and saw the fruitiness of the other. Which gave him a friend to talk about all the shit he dealt with that no one else did. No one else but Robin. 

Robin was a beauty and became one of his closest friends. They often spent time at his trailer and she started eating lunch with him and Hellfire. Of course Dustin was being a little bitch about it but Eddie and Robin claimed their were completely platonic. Which had the young members echoing, “with a capital P.” 

That one comment brought in the last of the party that remained in Hawkins, Steve Harrington. Steve was someone he knew from school but this Steve wasn’t what he expected. The first interaction after all the bragging the rest of the party did for him didn’t match up with his old vision. Eddie was leaving Hellfire and noticed Robin standing next to the man, waiting for the kids. “Eddie!” Robin waved like he wasn’t walking towards her already. 

He grinned, “hey Buckley, fancy meeting you here.” Then he glanced over at Steve and god dammit, he was still as pretty as he had been back in high school. 

“Harrington,” he drawled and watched Steve’s face grow pink. Which was curious...

Steve smiled and it wasn’t a smile Eddie had seen on him before, not really. This looked completely real and a little dopey. “Hey, Munson, I heard I’m missing out on the Munson friendship train.” He tilted his head a little and his hair flopped. The kids were already getting into Steve’s car but neither Steve nor Robin looked to be in a rush to leave. 

Eddie laughed a little awkwardly, “Yeah man. You don’t know what you’re missing.” He waved at himself and watched Steve’s eyes drop to follow his hands up and down his body. Which was... it was... Eddie didn’t really understand what he was feeling. 

He cleared his throat, “welp, enjoy driving these gremlins home.” He waved at the back seat. However, when he looked at Steve the dude look upset at the idea. Which was weird because he’s been told over and over how much Steve loved the kids. He waved and jogged off to avoid anymore of that. 

But that wasn’t the last he saw Steve. No, in fact, suddenly Steve always picked them up. Nancy no longer took time out of her schedule nor did any of the parents. And when Eddie went to his weekly dinner session with the moms they all laughed and said Steve was a good babysitter, always so caring about their time and kids. 

And well... Eddie didn’t hate it. Not one bit as Steve got there about 30 minutes early each time and watched the end of the session. Then he’d help Eddie clean up and they’d talk until they parted ways. Some times Robin was with him and most of those nights they’d meet him at the trailer after dropping the kids off with a movie for the three of them. Except soon, Steve would stop with or without Robin. 

Eddie loved and hated his time with Steve. Because the more time they saw each other, the more Eddie fell for the straight boy. He was done falling for straight boys so it pissed him off. But it didn’t stop him from putting his legs in Steve’s lap during a movie. Or letting Steve play with his hair. Or letting Steve kiss-

Okay the kissing was knew. And Eddie wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Not when during Grease Steve got up from the couch to sing and dance along. Eddie had laughed and when he was pulled to his feet, he stumbled into Steve’s chest. It was just the two of them but even if they had been in a crowded room, Eddie was sure the only thing he would’ve seen would’ve been Steve. 

Steve had cupped his face and smiled, “You’re the one that I want, o o oo honey. The one I need,” Steve had sung so soft and Eddie blinked at him, shocked. “Eddie,” Steve whispered as he leaned in closer. “Can I kiss you?” Eddie had made some noise that he’ll never claim and nodded frantically. Steve kissed like it was a sport that he never got less than gold in. Eddie pressed in and they moved in sync. 

And when they dropped next to each other in Eddie’s bed. Eddie didn’t think Steve might be as straight as he previously thought. “You know,” Steve started after they both regained their breath. “All I heard for weeks was Eddie this, Eddie that. Suddenly even the moms were in love with you. And it was so god damn annoying. Cause I knew they were all right. I remembered you from school, how free and open you were. When Dustin and the others mentioned you befriending them I knew they’d be okay. But I was jealous.”

Eddie looked over at him, “You were jealous? Of me?”

Steve snorted and Eddie didn’t think it was fair that even that was endearing. “Of you, of them. I don’t know... but I saw my shot and I took it.” He shrugged and Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Dude, you were like my gay awakening! I serious!” Steve had a big smile on his face and Eddie grinned back. 

“Really? Little ol’ Eddie Munson was King Steve’s awakening?”

Steve smacked him and rolled so he leaned over Eddie, “yeah. You were.”

They grinned at each other, “so you were checking me out when you first picked up the kids.”

“Hell yeah I was,” Steve winked and it was so dorky. He was flushed pink but still trying to stay confident. “To be honest, I lied when we started talking.” Eddie raised an eyebrow, insincerity rising up in him. But then Steve flushed more, “I didn’t want to join the Munson friendship train. I wanted to see what you’d be like as my boyfriend.” Steve wiggled his eyebrows and Eddie couldn’t stop the laugh.

“Yeah?” He flipped them so he was on top of Steve. Steve looked pleased as he did so. “Get ready, big boy. I’ll show you what you’re missing.” He promised and kissed him just because he could. 

Steve broke it though, “so, you, Eddie Munson agree to go on a date with me?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “yes. I Eddie Munson, will date you, Steve Harrington. You can pick me up tomorrow at 7.”

And Eddie would swear that Steve’s eyes fucking twinkled. “It’s a date.”

So, yeah bringing Dustin, Lucas, and Mike into Hellfire was one of the best decisions he’s ever made. Maybe one day he’ll thank them for giving him the best year he’s ever had. 

[sparkle-fiend]

Fruity Four Advent Calendar, Day 21: “Midwinter Night”

When they come across the tree in Walmart, Eddie practically starts to vibrate with excitement. "We gotta get it, Steve, please. Please, please, please. I need that tree."

They're shopping for decorations for their first ever apartment together, and they do need a tree, but... "Why that one?" It's obviously artificial, 7 ft tall and solid white. 

"We never had space for a real tree, so Wayne got a little plastic one that fit on the coffee table. It looked just like this one." Eddie waves his hand at the tree in question, like a magician showing off a trick. "I loved that thing." 

Looking at his boyfriend's bright, hopeful face, Steve easily concedes. 

They add some ornaments, a string of rainbow-colored lights, and a tinsel star to complete the recreation of Eddie's childhood tree. 

Once it’s all set up, they stand back and admire the way the lights shine pink, blue, yellow, and green against the white branches. It does look pretty; plus, Steve’s father would hate it - which adds to the appeal. 

(Sometimes the flash of colored light makes his heart race, bringing to mind the memory of a charging demogorgon, or the burst of fireworks against melted flesh in the atrium of Starcourt mall - but Steve ignores it. It'll be fine.)

It is fine... until it's not.

***

Steve comes home, tired and feeling the start of a migraine. He heads through the living room toward the kitchen, intending to grab some water and a Tylenol - when the upstairs neighbor cuts on a vacuum. The muted roar doesn't sound much like a demogorgon, but with the Christmas lights twinkling nearby it's enough to trip something in Steve's weary brain.

He's not in their apartment anymore. He's in the dimly lit hallway of the Byers' house, the smell of gasoline burning in his nose. The lights are flashing, which means the monster is coming - but he doesn't have his bat. He fumbles around the coffee table, searching... it was just here a minute ago, right? His heart is pounding like a drum, pulse rushing loud enough to muffle the voice calling his name.

"Steve? Steve?!"

He can't tell if it's Nancy or Jonathan, but they sound frightened. "Hold on Nance!"

Warm hands grip him by the shoulders. "STEVE!!"

If he doesn't find that bat they're going to die, and it'll be his fault... all his fault... 

"Please baby, come back to me. It's okay - you're okay."

It's not Nancy or Jonathan. Not Robin or Dustin or Erica calling his name.

It's Eddie leaning over him, dark curls falling like a curtain over Steve's face. His cheek is smudged, and for a second Steve thinks it's blood. They're back in the Upside Down and Eddie is bleeding out under his hands...

"Steve," Eddie says softly. He's warm and healthy, wounds sealed into scars; and the smudge on his cheek is just sauce. 

Because he was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Steve can smell it now, sausage and tomato and garlic.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Eddie asks gently.

Steve tries to explain without mentioning the lights, but Eddie knows him too well. He asks just the right questions to work it all out, and the look of guilt that crosses his face hurts worse than a blow to the head. 

Eddie gets up and goes to the tree, yanking the plug from the wall and plunging the room into gloomy darkness. "Ed, you don't have to do that..."

"I do Steve, I absolutely do.”

Steve sighs. It's the night of the winter solstice - the longest, darkest night of the year. It'll be even darker with the tree stripped of lights. "At least wait until tomorrow."

Eddie pauses his task of carefully unwinding the light strands from the tree without disturbing the ornaments. "Come here." He tugs Steve off the floor and maneuvers him onto the sofa. 

"Lay down for a minute, okay? I got this." He fetches a cool cloth and a glass of water, along with the Tylenol Steve originally meant to find.

"What about dinner?"

"It's done. I'll just pop it in the fridge, and we can eat when you're feeling better."

Steve wants to protest, but the pain in his temples has escalated to a blinding pitch. He agrees to close his eyes for just a minute - drifting off to the sound of Eddie humming softly in the background.

He wakes to the same sound and assumes that only a few minutes have passed; until he sees the clock. "Two hours? Shit, you shouldn't have let me sleep so long!"

Eddie shrugs. "You needed it. Besides, I had to run an errand."

He leans behind the tree and plugs a cord into the outlet, filling the room with a soft yellow glow. Apparently, Eddie had replaced the lights while he slept.  Clear, simple bulbs - no frills or flashing patterns. "Are these okay? Be honest." 

Steve nods. It's not as pretty as it was before, but it's comforting; like the lamp he used to keep by his bed. 

Eddie reheats dinner and they eat it straight from the pot, so there won't be more dishes to worry over. The plan was to watch a movie, but Steve is still exhausted even after his nap - worn out by the headache and the panic attack; so they just cuddle together in front of the tree.

Curled against Eddie, head resting easy on his boyfriend’s shoulder, Steve says, “I'm sorry about the tree. It doesn't look like the one you had growing up anymore."

Eddie puts an arm around him and squeezes. "I like this better. We're making a new tradition."

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: I can’t sleep, I miss Eddie, and we still going through it, babes… So I channeled it into this. Love y’all, and thank you for making my dark days brighter ❤️

Warnings: Hurt that ends in comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, fluff, depression, anxiety, mentions of past trauma/injury (Eddie’s wounds), & mental illness (reader has bipolar disorder).

The noise is soft, quiet enough that you can hear it if you lay to listen for a few seconds. Then it raises in octaves, a few clatters and curses. And despite the haze of your mood, a brief bit of fog dissipates, pinching your brow into an amused raise.

“Shit, fuckin’… slap my ass and call me your whore.”

You cover your mouth with a snort, as your fuzzy sock clad feet touch hardwood, and you make your way into the night light lit hallway. There’s a buttery glow from your kitchen that spills out around the corner, giving you a perfect view of your overly theatrical friend — Eddie Munson, as you come into the eye-line. He’s clad in a black t-shirt and whitewash jeans, his pizza decorated socks covering his own feet. His curls are damp, bordering on drying, and he hums a rhythm as you watch him flip a golden shaped object with your Goodwill gifted spatula. You perch yourself against the paneled wall, a warmth stirring in your belly.

He’s had to have used your spare key, and now he’s here before it’s barely even daylight — making something in your kitchen? First off, he wakes up this early? And second, he can cook?

That’s what leaves your mouth, following a series of scolding laughters when he’s clearly startled and drops the utensil on the stove. His rings clink together as he pinches his shirt collar, and you want to apologize, an instant guilt brimming you at surprising him like this. After everything that happened a few months ago, you really should’ve thought your entrance through (despite this being your own home). Eddie tuts, a smirk suddenly finding him amongst his Bambi eyed mirth.

“You scared the shit out of me, kiddo. Thought you were another hoard of bats coming for my other nipple.” He snatches up the utensil and flips it Steve Harrington style, calming your sudden anxiety, and easing your guilt.

You make your way over beside him, bare hip resting against the kitchen counter. He smiles softly, pouring in (what you now see is pancake batter) more of the mixture, flashing a wink your way. You look so fucking perfect and soft, just in socks, panties, and your oversized shirt with stars and crescent moon prints scattered about on it. He’s used to seeing this on you, but it never gets old. When you nursed him back to health after he was released from the hospital, you both grew a lot closer, having been mere acquaintances beforehand.

Changing his dressings, soothing his nightmares, helping him in and out of the shower — you took care of him in ways Eddie never knew existed. You were fearless, you were brave, you were funny, you were smart, you were beautiful and sexy, and as Nancy Wheeler had put it — he was totally fucking in love with you, like old classic — tickle your belly and balls type of romance movies. Once he had reluctantly left to return to the trailer with his uncle to repair the damage, he found that his desire to be near you had increased. And all was going well, until you started staying away from everyone, your voice languid and breathless when he’d call. He was worried it was your own processing of things that occurred, even if you’d been through it a few more years than he had, but Wheeler came through again with her knowing.

You were dealing with something that Eddie recognized as ‘manic depression’. He’d heard about it, seen it printed on the pamphlets in the nurse and guidance counselor’s office. Bipolar disorder. Nancy had explained (with the help of Steve) that you get like this sometimes, that it almost always follows your elevated periods of elated euphoria. Combine that with everything else that happened to you — Eddie immediately went into protective care mode.

He’d gotten up, showered, dressed, and phoned Harrington since he wasn’t able to drive yet. Steve came without question, especially fast on his way when Eddie mentioned the errands were for you. Both boys had gone to the local fabric shop, purchased the curtain and rod, tripped to the grocery store, and Steve had dropped Eddie off. He used his spare key and got to work on his speciality: chocolate chip flapjacks. He intended on surprising you with them, maybe waiting until he thought you were awake.

He didn’t mean to startle you, nor upset you. He’s quick to ease and relax, joking with you, praying you’re not mad that he’s here, invading you, your space, and whatever you’re going through.

Eddie flips the last cake, sprinkling in a few chips, and he’s flashing a cheshire grin, one that fades to a crooked tilt of his lips. “M’ sorry… I didn’t mean to, sort of… break in here? I planned on waiting — shit, that sounds creepy. No, I just wanted to have this ready for you… whenever you might, maybe want to have it?”

You cause his heart to swell ten times in size when you smile and reach up to push a lock of his curls off his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You’ve put an old movie on TV as you devour the fluffy, butter and syrup covered mountains. Whatever Happened To Baby Jane. Like you, Eddie is comforted by classic horror films, and can easily fall asleep to the controlled atmosphere they contain. When forks clatter against floral printed ceramic, and you take Eddie’s plate, deciding to forgo the dishes, he makes a beeline for the remaining bag, showing you the other items. You nearly cry on the spot, emotions circulating that you aren’t prepared to deal with today.

Turning off the living room television, you follow Eddie into your bedroom and help as he mounts the new rod and hangs your blackout bedroom curtains. And you… maybe sneak a few looks at the way his shirt rides up and his jeans tighten across his ass. It doesn’t take long before he’s got them secured, first breaks of dawn light spilling in through your blinds and illuminating his sweet features. Your fingers itch to touch, and you think he might reach for you, might feel the same wild, heart racing sense of vertigo, yet being serenely satiated.

“Oh yeah, here.” He slides his wallet from his back pocket, the chain dangling across his palm, and he pulls a small square card with a quote on it — out, handing it to you.

One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide

Below it, you recognize his doodling. A hand drawn, mini bouquet of daisies. He might not be able to afford real flowers, but he can use what skill he does have and draw them for you. He just hopes that you don’t mind. Your eyes are brimmed full of tears when he looks back up to catch your reaction. His gut sinks into his ass, and he fears he overstepped or set something off.

Hell, probably both.

He tries to backtrack. “No, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to make you upset, sweetheart. I just… I was trying to find something to think of to say, because my words kind of get lost in my mouth, catapulting into the space of my brain.”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” Your voice is jagged, tone being dragged over fragments of emotion, throat swollen and damp with it.

He keeps going, more bold to be vocal now. “I think that it’s okay for you to ride it out here. You don’t need to force yourself into ideas of sunshine and physical activity. You’ve been through so much shit, and if your brain is on fire, then you deserve to put it out and let it fuckin’ rest.” He approaches you cautiously, tone gentle and warm like honey going down, almost raspy with it. “You don’t need to force yourself to be okay. Not with anyone, and sure as hell not with me. I mean, you’ve seen my guts hanging out and my nipple ripped off, I’d say we’re well past pretending, aren’t we?”

You’re speechless, body growing heavy and eyes tired. You can’t convey the hope that blooms, popping a bubble through the haze of the fog inside you. It’s not much, but it’s enough to help your psyche stop the race and let you breathe. Eddie is able to sense your fatigue, and he reaches out to squeeze your shoulders, motioning to the hall. “You close these on up and I’ll call you later tonight, yeah?”

He gets about two steps away from you and you’re calling for him. It’s comedic how fast he turns around. “Eddie? Will you stay?”

You’d turned the movie back on, on the set in your room, curtains closed and leaving the expanse shrouded in the glow of the set. Your head is resting on his chest, his jeans on the floor, legs tangled in yours beneath the patchwork quilt. The air conditioner is going, right along with the steady beating of two hearts, and Eddie doesn’t stop you when you knuckle-nudge his splayed palm up, pressing his fingers open to slide your own through. He accepts, squeezing, lacing, looking at you through the opening of light, and you lean into the kiss he presses to your crown. You’ll talk about things later, but for now… It’s okay.

[luvrxbunny]

sundress

Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Prompt: Sundress

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, piv, unprotected sex, some praise (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.9k

A/N: couldn’t figure out how to end this *crying in the distance*

Steve opens the front door with a sigh, his hand running through his hair as he walks in. His day was more stressful than it needed to be. There was an early summer rush and Robin had left him high and dry to hang out with Nancy so he didn’t even have time to find someone to cover her shift. The only thing that got him through the day was the thought that you were at his home. 

His parents are away for a month and after one week of you going back and forth between your house and his, he offered you to move in with him. You’ve been with him since, the little light at the end of his tunnel. He likes having you around, having you here when he gets home, it makes him feel like an old-timey married couple. You’re usually working at his desk, in his shirt and sometimes his jacket. Today’s sight is awakening something inside him though. 

You’re in a sundress, and an apron, cooking at the stove. He can smell something sweet in the air, like you’ve been baking and humming a song in the kitchen. It’s a scene out of a movie from the '60s; you’re dancing around the kitchen with that pretty, soft smile on your face. You light up when you see him. “Steve!” You put down the bowl you were mixing and wipe your hands on your apron before rushing over to him. “I wanted to have a picnic or something? We can stay inside if you want- I’m not sure what the weather’s like but-” 

He wraps his arms around you and drops some of his weight on you, earning a giggle at his name. He stays silent, breathing you in and imagining how peaceful life would be with you. He’d come home to this, almost every day, you in your frilly little apron, baking for him and greeting him with that beaming smile of yours. If he’s lucky you’ll let him get you pregnant, and you’d have a little one on your hip while stirring whatever you’re cooking for dinner. Maybe some he’d come home early to you dusting around the house, sweeping, or mopping. His housewife. Steve wants you to be his housewife. “Steve?”

You question softly, he’s silently inhaling your scent, his hands slowly tightening around you. He groans low against the top of your head and sighs again. “Missed you.” You squeeze him tighter and snuggle your head into his chest. “I missed you too, baby.” You slowly lift your head and he moves his to let you. You stare into his eyes for a bit before leaning up to kiss him, all the tension leaving both of your bodies. He slides his hands to your shoulder and pulls you closer, towering over you as you try and pull away with a giggle. 

“My stuff’s gonna burn, Stevie!” You slip out of his arms and head back into the kitchen, muttering about how your muffins are going to be crunchier than you wanted. He feels like he’s in a dream as he watches you turn off the oven, inspecting your muffins before pulling them out. He takes his shoes off as you finally finish your meals and desserts. You’re setting everything up on a blanket you put down in the middle of his living room. He’s moving sluggishly as he takes off his vest. 

You notice his heaviness, how down he seems and it wipes the smile off your face. “Do you want to? We don’t have to- I know you’re probably- you might be tired. We can-” He smiles to himself at your rambling before walking over to you and placing a grounding kiss on your forehead. He shakes his head and puts on a smile for you. “I’m alright, baby.”

He’s silent for most of the night, listening to the drama of your life and your new obsessions, he’s attentive while listening but doesn’t speak up often. You’re now washing the dishes as he packs up the rest of the picnic. He’s bringing you abandoned dishware, dropping the occasional spoon or cup into the sink with an apologetic face you meet with a smile. You’re almost finished when you hear his footsteps come up behind you, you’re waiting for him to put another dish in the sink but instead, he just stops behind you. You feel like you can see the broad shadow he’s casting over the sink area as he stands. You try to stay calm, ignoring the way you buzz under his gaze until you finish the dishes. 

You take your gloves off and turn to him with a smile. He already has a desperate look in his eye, one you had expected to see when he walked in earlier, it was the whole reason you whipped out your apron. You’d seen the way he’s been looking at you since you’ve been living with him so you wanted to test something out. But poor Steve came home too tired to give you any reaction. Now that he’s fed and energized though, the sundress that’s been hiding beneath your apron looks really good. He’s staring right down your cleavage, not even trying to hide his gaze and you don’t hide the obvious step forward you take to press his bulge against your lower stomach. His eyes flutter shut and he gives you a shaky exhale, his cool breath fanning over your face. 

“But my muffins…” You trail off, a soft pout resting on your face. He chuckles at you, a smile splitting his soft lips as he brings his hands to your cheeks and leans down. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He kisses you with everything he has and his hands immediately leave your face to reach your thighs, tapping them twice for you to jump. He lifts you, holding you with your legs wrapped around his waist tightly. He walks over to the island in his kitchen and sits you there with a groan as you bite into his lip softly. “I need you.”

He says it differently than he normally does, less frantic and urgent, more pleading, more needy. You caress his face gently and your heart warms at the way his eyes flutter shut.  “I know, Stevie.” He whimpers and leans into you, pressing you against the cold granite of the counter and draping you in his warmth. His hand is bunching in your dress, pulling them up to your hips, and moans, happily surprised to find you wearing nothing underneath. His eyes shoot open and lock with yours, painfully aroused by the shy smirk on your face. 

You giggle at him and push your hips up, prompting him to keep moving, he shakes his head at you, feigning disappointment as he turns his attention back to your leaking pussy. His rough jean material digs into your sensitive thighs and lips as he presses himself against you. Your hands fly to his belt desperately, pulling at any leather you can get your hands on and hoping you pull the right thing at some point. Steve lets you struggle, he watches your hands fumble on his belt, frantic for his cock. He tries not to let his smirk get on his face but your frustrated whine at his uncooperative belt forces the smile onto his face. He brings his hands down to gently pull yours away from his belt. 

You pout below him, upset that his belt wasn't working with you. He takes it off himself and wiggles his jeans down with his briefs, leaving just enough room for his cock and throbbing balls. He wraps his hand around his cock with a sigh, bringing your attention away from your little tantrum and back to him. He watches you look him over and your gaze locks on his red, throbbing cock. He waits for you to look back up at him but you don’t your eyes stay on his dick as he slowly pumps it. He’s trying to stay calm but your gaze is turning him on so much he’s started to leak onto you, a small string of precum dripping down from his tip and rolling down your mound, getting lost between your lips. 

You shiver and finally look up at him with begging eyes. He holds your contact, bringing one hand up to your face to keep it turned toward him as his other hand guides his dick into you. His breathing stutters at your overwhelming warmth, at the way he’s instantly coated in your slick. He takes a deep breath and leans down to you, pressing his chest against yours before pushing the rest of his cock into you. You scream out his name and your hands bury in his hair, his favorite feeling. “Just like that, Stevie. Right there, my love.”

His eyes roll back at your praise and his hands come to your hips, pulling you onto him while he thrusts into you with all the energy he has left. His head is resting on your chest, his ear on your heart, and listening to the way it’s pounding. His eyes are clenched shut, trying to focus on your pleasure instead of the way you’re sucking him in. He’s already pulsing inside you and you’re fluttering around him. Your hips keep twitching in his grip, trying to fuck yourself on his dick faster than he wanted to fuck you. Even though his hands are stopping your hips from moving, your pussy still chokes him every time you try, uncontrollably tightening on him and forcing groan after groan from his lips. 

He grinds his hips into you slowly, nudging his tip into your cervix and his patch of curls into your clit; the perfect combination, Steve knows it too. He already has a smirk on his face when your moans kick up, pitching into something ethereal. His hips snap into you more desperately as he feels his balls tense. He lifts his head off of your chest and your hands are pulling his face to yours instantly. You moan into his lips, your lips wet and bitten against his, he can’t help the whines that fall into you. His hands leave your hips to hold your face to his as his hips take on a mind of their own, fucking into you with a pace that’ll have both of you exploding in a matter of minutes. 

Your face is stuck in a shocked, silent moan as you stare at him, little whimpers resembling his name are the only noises he’s able to get out of you until your eyes roll back and you go limp against him. Ragged moans shoot out of you as you suffocate him, your hands almost ripping his hair from his head as he thrusts into you, chasing his orgasm as he watches your eyes cross. His cock throbs again, a warning before it explodes inside you. 

You can feel his warmth burst and spread throughout you and he grunts your name against your lips. His eyes shut tight, every muscle pulled tense as he shakes against you. The only sounds coming from him are gruff curses and your name. His hands are shaking as he cradles your face, keeping it close to his as his hips jerk into you, thrusting with the aftershocks of his orgasm before collapsing against you. You stroke his hair with a soft sigh as you try to even your breathing. He’s just resting against you, so loose you feel like he could slide onto the floor. 

All the stress from his day is gone. He thinks he could do this, deal with the stress of his job, whatever stress his outside life throws at him. He'll be okay as long as he's coming home to you.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[justice4billiam]

So I know everyone's always talking about nsfw with Billy and that's great but what if a girl just wanted to be his bsf? She (forcefully) move dhim in with her and she gets him Christmas presents, and she bakes and cooks for him and just loves him like soulmates, but not romantically??? You think he'd like this???

Now that I've dumped my Brain on you hi I'm Lillie <3 you don't have tow rite this tysm!

Billy Hargrove x PlatonicFem!reader

Word count: 6,083

Warnings: Nothing too bad. Just Billy being Billy. So, cussing but maybe even a little less of himself actually.

Author’s Note: GURL, I am so sorry. I held onto this for SO long and I didn't mean for it to be over 6k words lmao I am so hard on myself when it comes to writing but I decided to just let it free. Nice to meet you, Lillie. ❤️ I hope you like it.

Platonic Soul...Whatever

“Get in here,” you snapped, yanking your best friend into the living room by the scruff of his jacket.

He’d been holed up in the spare room, hiding out like an antisocial pussycat.

Billy huffed, his eyes rolling, clearly pissed at the night you’d planned. But he kept his mouth shut, letting you drag him in without a fight.

You were in the middle of having a housewarming party for the new apartment you moved into last week and the whole gang was there much to Billy’s dismay.

“What’s going on?” you asked, keeping your voice low to keep it just between you two.

Billy was always weird at the get togethers, but he had been getting better at it. Friendly even. But today he was different. Something was eating at him, and it was worrying you.

“And don’t give me ‘nothing.’ I’m not dumb.” You shot him a look that meant business.

He scrunched up his face, lips pressed tight, and looked at you like he was weighing his words.

“It’s nothing,” he said at last. “Just… the usual crap back home.” He shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but at you.

“Billy…did he—” you started, your eyes scanning him for any sign of trouble.

He shook his head quickly.

“No, not this time. But I gotta head out early tonight, okay?” His blue eyes were hard when he looked at you.

To anyone else, it might look like anger, but you knew it was something else. Sadness. And it looked all kinds of wrong on him.

You wanted to dig deeper, but now wasn’t the time, not with everyone else around.

You gave him another once-over, didn’t see any harm, and nodded.

“Alright, Hargrove.”

He let out a sigh of relief, probably glad he didn’t have to spill it all.

You noticed his hand twitch toward his pocket, then drop. He remembered the no-smoking rule in your place. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright,” you said, fixing his jacket and giving him a pat.

“Go have your smoke. When you’re ready, come back in.” You winked, letting him know it was cool.

Billy’s head shake was subtle, his face drawn tight. “But, its colder than balls out there.”

It was early December, and the chill was just setting in—nothing compared to what was coming. But Billy always had a thing against the cold. You almost laughed, suddenly thinking back to last winter when he’d ended up ass-first in a snowbank outside your old place.

The guy never gave a damn about rules, but here he was, actually listening to you for once.

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-resigned.

“Fine, light up in the spare room, but for God’s sake, open the damn window.”

He gave a snort, that smug look taking over.

“Cheers, darlin’. The fine women of Hawkins will be singing your praises for saving my… assets from frostbite.”

Classic Billy, always with a line.

“Ewe, dramatic much?” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you headed for the kitchen.

————

As it grew late, the place began to clear out. Nancy and Jonathan, along with their group, were among the first to leave.

You couldn’t help but feel an excitement for Nancy and Jonathan—they’d just spilled they were heading to Emerson College in Boston after the summer.

Nancy’s grip was firm, her eyes like deep pools in the dim light.

“You sure you won’t come with?” she pressed, searching your face for a sign.

Jonathan was all half-smiles and shrugs as he stepped up beside her.

“We could hide you in a suitcase,” he joked, his arm finding its home around Nancy’s shoulders.

You let out a laugh, a short, sharp sound.

“I’ll stick to my own bed, but thanks,” you shot back, catching Billy’s eye for a moment. He was leaning against the wall, a silent lookout.

You weren’t about to ditch without Billy. He was anchored here until Max was done with high school.

That was the unspoken rule between you two. Max was in the dark, but you and Billy had spent a night diving deep into that conversation—his fears of leaving her to deal with Neil alone.

Billy and Max’s relationship had gotten better since that October at the Byers’.

They still snapped at each other like firecrackers, but that was just their way. You’d grown to love having them around.

Max was like the scrappy little sister you’d picked up along the way.

But Billy was different.

He was your solid ground, your constant. You didn’t need to spell things out for him; he just got it. He could dial down your stress with a glance, and you could temper his anger without a word.

It reminded you of something you’d read in a dog-eared book that you checked out from the library: platonic soulmates.

That was the label for what you had with Billy—no bullshit, no fuss, just an unspoken understanding that ran deep.

Billy scoffed at the soulmate idea, brushing it off as a load of crap. But when the book you’d been quoting mysteriously disappeared after that heart-to-heart, you didn’t need three guesses to know who’d snagged it. You let it slide, settling the library fine without a word. It was a small price to pay for the bond you shared with your so-called platonic soulmate.

“The offer’s open,” Nancy reiterated, her voice trailing off as she and the others made their way out.

Mike and Will managed half-hearted waves from the doorway, while El gave you a tight squeeze around the waist before moving on to Billy.

He tensed up, his eyes darting to you in a silent plea for rescue as El’s arms wrapped around him.

You stifled a chuckle. El was the only one brave enough to tackle Billy with affection.

Maybe it was her history with real monsters that made Billy’s temper seem trivial. Or perhaps it was her upbringing with Hopper, another man known for his temperament.

Billy cleared his throat, a hint of discomfort in his voice.

“Okay, don’t need all that,” he mumbled, gently disentangling himself from El’s embrace and stepping back.

His expression grew even more puzzled when El simply beamed at him.

Max stepped in, her arm around El, guiding her towards the door.

"Yeah, El, don't you know?" Max exclaimed, looking over her shoulder at Billy, mischief twinkling in her eyes.

"He's like the Grinch or whatever." She continued, her hands waving about as they walked to the front door.

"He doesn't want to be hugged and cared for because his heart will grow too big for his body, and if you haven't noticed, he already has to worry about falling over with all that hair on top of his head." Her smirk was infectious.

Billy shot Max a flat, unamused look, but you and Mike couldn’t contain your snorts of laughter, which you tried to mask with a cough as Billy’s gaze turned to you.

El, puzzled, studied Billy’s unruly mane and then glanced at Steve’s voluminous hair in the kitchen.

“I don’t see any problem,” she commented innocently.

‘If anyone should be worried, I think Steve would fall over first.’ She glanced between Max, Mike, and you, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

You rolled your eyes as you watched Billy smile smugly as Steve turned toward them upon hearing his name.

Steve looked over, his eyebrow raised in question.

“What’s this about my hair?” he asked, his hand automatically fluffing his locks.

Mike, clearly over the day, rolled his eyes.

“Let’s go, El,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out after the others.

“See ya,” Will murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he followed behind, giving a small wave to the remaining group before disappearing into the night.

You caught a glimpse of his downcast eyes and wondered what could have made him so down.

Steve exhaled a weary breath, the kind that’s been through too many late nights and too early mornings. “Gotta head out,” he said, a half-hearted grin on his face. “New job at the Hunting & Camping store starts tomorrow morning.”

Your eyes narrowed, a quick glance thrown to Steve, then to Robin, who was playing cards at the kitchen table with Lucas and Dustin.

“What about Family Video?” you asked, your voice edged with a hint of suspicion, but it was Robin you were counting on for the truth.

You also worked at Family Video, but whispers of Steve quitting hadn’t reached your ears.

The thought alone was enough to unsettle you. Work with him was one of the few highlights in a job that could often be boring. You really hoped he wasn’t; you genuinely enjoyed working with your two close friends.

Robin didn’t even look up from her cards.

“Don’t worry, he’s still with us,” she called out, her voice steady over the clatter of the game.

“Royal flush!” She stood up, her shout a victory cry.

“Deal with it, boys!” she taunted, pointing at the boys who just shook their heads in defeat.

Lucas was all frustration and disbelief.

“How does she always pull this off?” he muttered, throwing his hands up in surrender.

Dustin’s chair scraped loudly as he stood, his face a mix of annoyance and admiration.

“She’s got some kind of magic or she’s cheating!” he accused, his finger jabbing in Robin’s direction.

Robin’s laugh was sharp and bright.

“I’m not cheating,” she shot back, her hands on her hips, her stance all defiance. “It’s just you two dinguses can’t play.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Take it easy, you three,” you said, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

You turned back to Steve, your expression softening just a bit.

“Two jobs, huh?” you said, the tease clear in your voice. “Looks like Harrington’s playing the adult card now.”

Steve’s smile was a blend of resignation and a challenge.

“Dad’s cut me off,” he admitted, a hard edge to his voice. “All about ‘earning my keep’ now. So, I’m doing it my way.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar tug of empathy.

Your own parents had given you the boot when you ditched the college route. They couldn’t wrap their heads around why you’d stick around this nowhere town.

Your fingers twisted together, the old sting of ‘failure’ creeping back up. But then there was Billy, his hand finding yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. It was his silent way of saying, “We’ve got this.”

You looked up, catching Billy’s eyes. They were a clear, steady blue, like the sky after a storm. His smile was quick, a silent conversation passing between you two without a word.

“Well, anyway…” Steve’s voice broke through as everyone started to pick up their stuff.

The goodbyes were thrown around, even Billy’s nod to Steve was surprisingly chill, a small sign that maybe, just maybe, there was some common ground to be found. You clung to that hope, that small nod, as the night came to an end.

After the rest left through the front door, you caught Steve’s arm before he could leave.

“Hey, I gotta tell you, I’m really proud of you,” you said, your voice carrying the weight of genuine respect.

“It’s tough, starting new,” you added, a glance at the nearly empty space to signify you really did get it.

Steve’s smile was quick and sincere.

“Thanks, Y/n. Means a lot, you know? And hey, we’re overdue for that movie night,” he suggested with a playful wink, pulling his jacket closer as a cold draft slipped through the open door.

Your eyes fell on the new TV, with its built-in VHS player—Steve’s housewarming gift to you.

It was a generous thought, but it felt like too much. You’d insisted he take it back, but the bulky set remained, a silent testament to Steve’s stubbornness. He’d assured you it was no big deal, that it was better off here, getting some use.

You acknowledged his gesture with a nod, your face stoic but your eyes hinting at a silent vow to make the most of his gift with endless movie nights.

As Steve’s grin widened, he stepped out into the night, his laughter blending with the voices of Robin, Dustin, and Lucas as they disappeared down the street. You watched from the doorway, the figures of your friends growing smaller in the distance.

Billy’s voice cut in from behind, a dismissive edge to his tone. “Count me out for movie night.”

You turned, a smirk playing on your lips.

“Too bad, Billy,” you retorted, the playful challenge clear in your voice. “You’re coming, whether you like it or not.”

He was about to argue when Max’s anxious voice interrupted.

“We should go too,” she said, her eyes darting around, signaling something was wrong.

A wave of concern washed over you.

“What’s the rush?” you asked, your voice laced with worry. “It’s not even eight.”

Billy’s curfew was a constant shadow, ten o’clock sharp, a little later if Max was with him. You knew the rules too well, had seen the consequences on his skin—bruises and cuts he’d dismiss with a hollow laugh.

But there was that one night, the truth spilling out in the dark, his voice a low rumble at your window. “My dad,” he’d said, the words heavy with unspoken pain.

“Max, get your coat,” Billy’s voice was tight as he flung the door open again. He pulled out his cigarettes, his movements tense.

His hands shook as he tried to light one, and you stepped in, your hand steady, lighting it for him.

“Billy,” you said, your voice low, “everything alright?”

He glanced away, then back at you, a forced smirk on his face.

“Just gotta be home early,” he lied, smoke trailing from his lips.

You nodded, the unspoken words hanging heavy.

“If you need anything…”

He gave a small nod, a silent understanding.

“I know. See you later,” he said, and then he was gone, his figure blending into the night, Max following close behind.

You closed the door, the silence of the apartment heavy around you.

In the quiet, you made a silent vow to always be there for Billy, to stand by him as you had that night he confessed. It was a promise made without words, one you intended to keep.

————

The clock’s red glare read 1:27 a.m., the only light in the otherwise dark room.

The soft creak of the door was like a whisper, but it jolted you awake.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sat up, squinting into the darkness.

The light from the hallway cut a sharp outline around a familiar figure—Billy, the only other person with a key to your place.

“Billy?” Your voice was thick, still wrapped in the remnants of sleep.

As your hand reached out for the lamp, his figure moved closer, a shadow in the half-light.

“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, and his hand was on yours, guiding it away from the lamp. His touch was cold, sending a shiver up your arm.

“Are you okay?” The words were barely a whisper, concern threading through them as you climbed out of bed, reaching into the darkness towards him.

He sniffed, a sound so faint you might have missed it if the room wasn’t so deathly quiet.

“I’m…” he started, his voice barely there, then clearer, “No.” It was a stark admission, cutting through the silence.

“Oh, Bill…” you breathed out, your arms finding their way around his rigid form. Your hands rested gently on his neck, and you felt him lean into the embrace, his own arms wrapping around you.

A shuddering breath escaped him, betraying the facade of control he always tried to maintain. His head rested heavily on your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in his body beginning to unravel.

The silence was broken only by his occasional shivers, and you felt the dampness on your shirt where his tears had soaked through.

“We’ll get this sorted,” you said, trying to infuse your voice with confidence as you reached out to touch his cheek.

But he pulled back sharply, a quick intake of breath hissing through clenched teeth.

You flicked on the light, and the room was suddenly too bright, too real.

The sight made you pause—a large, open cut above his eye, blood running down, sticking to his lashes, pooling around his now swollen-shut eye.

He raised his hand, a silent plea for patience.

“It looks worse than it actually is,” he insisted, his voice strained. You noticed his lip, swollen and split, distorting his words.

You stood there, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

This was more than just a late-night visit; it was a cry for help. And you were determined to answer it.

“Let’s clean you up,” you said firmly, ready to do whatever it took to help your friend.

“We’ll figure out the rest after.” The promise was unspoken but as solid as the ground beneath your feet. You were in this together, no matter what.

Billy’s nod, small and pained, told you he understood.

After the long, meticulous process of cleaning him up with the first aid kit, the two of you now sat at the dining table, the silence filled with the soft clinks of the kit being put away.

The tension had eased somewhat, replaced by the quiet understanding that always seemed to exist between you two.

Billy’s face, now cleaned of blood, showed the stark reality of his life at home, but here, in the safety of your apartment, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability.

You were just about to speak when an urgent knocking on your door cut through the stillness.

You exchanged a puzzled look with him before you got up to answer it, Billy close behind you as you did.

Max stood there, her eyes wide with concern.

“I had to make sure he was okay,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Billy’s expression hardened for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out so late, Max?” he asked, his tone a mix of anger and concern.

Max’s gaze flickered to you before settling back on Billy.

“I couldn’t sleep not knowing if you were… if you were safe,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped aside, letting her in, and she moved directly to Billy, her small hand reaching out to touch his arm gently.

Billy’s initial irritation faded as he looked at his sister, his eyes softening.

“I’m here, I’m okay,” he reassured her, his voice more gentle than you’d heard in a long time.

The three of you sat around the table, a makeshift family in the middle of the night, bound together.

You watched them, the siblings who had been through so much, and felt a fierce protectiveness rise within you.

“We’re going to figure this out,” you said, your voice firm, catching both their gazes. “Billy’s staying here now. He’s not going back to that house.”

Max’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded, a look of relief passing over her face.

Billy just sat there, his eyes on the tabletop, his jaw clenched.

You knew he was wrestling with the decision, the weight of years of abuse and control not something he could shrug off easily.

But you also knew that this was the only way forward.

“You’re safe here, Billy. This is your home now,” you said, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “We’re in this together.”

Billy looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours, and in them, you saw the flicker of hope that had been absent for so long.

He nodded, a silent acceptance of the new reality.

Max stayed for a while longer, until her eyes grew heavy with sleep, and you set up the couch for her to crash on.

As you turned off the lights and headed back to your room, Billy followed.

The room was silent, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, almost tangible.

Billy lay beside you, his body a rigid line of tension and unspoken pain. The darkness seemed to press in closer as he hesitated, then spoke into the void between you.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was a low rumble, barely more than a breath. “Me living here… and Max. What if something happens when I’m not there?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you let the silence answer. You thought about the weight of his words, the gravity of the decision he was facing. It wasn’t just about him; it was about Max, too, about breaking away from the life he knew, no matter how broken it was.

“I’m sure,” you finally said, your voice a soft but firm counterpoint to the darkness. “You can’t keep putting yourself through hell. And Max… she’s safer with us than she is in that house.”

He was silent, and you imagined you could hear the cogs turning in his head, weighing your words against his own fears and doubts.

“And what about Neil?” His question was a whisper, but it might as well have been a shout in the stillness of the room.

You took a deep breath, feeling the resolve settle in your bones.

“We’ll deal with Neil if we have to. But you… you need to be safe first. We both know if you stay there, it’s only going to get worse.”

Billy shifted beside you, a rustle of movement in the dark. “I just… I don’t want to leave her alone with him.”

“Max won’t be alone. She’s got us, and she’s got you. And she’s always welcome here, anytime. This place is as much a home for her as it is for you.”

There was a long pause, and you felt the moment stretch out, a bridge spanning the gap between fear and hope.

“Okay,” he said at last, the word a small surrender to the inevitable. “Okay.”

You reached out, finding his hand in the darkness, and squeezed it. It was a promise, a vow made without words, that you’d stand by him, come what may.

The night deepened around you, but in that shared silence, a new understanding was forged. You and Billy, against whatever the world might throw your way. Together. And that was enough. For now, it had to be.

————

Your apartment was filled with holiday atmosphere, the first true place you both made your own. The smell of pine mixed with the smell of pasta sauce that was cooking, a new recipe you were trying out in hopes it would become an annual thing.

Christmas was right around the corner, and the excitement was as heavy as the garland hanging on the walls.

Billy was due back any minute from his second job at the auto shop, a position he’d taken up since moving in. The days were long, and the work was hard, but Billy told you he enjoyed the job. That was all that mattered, you supposed.

You had the day off and had spent it transforming the apartment to feel more festive.

Billy’s arrival was indicated by the sound of the door swinging open, his frame filling the entryway as he stepped in from the cold. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the festive transformation with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he shrugged off his jacket, revealing the smudges of grease on his forearms.

“Yeah, but I left the tree for us to do,” you said, gesturing towards the undecorated tree standing in the corner.

He grunted in acknowledgment, a sound that was almost a laugh, and headed for the shower, leaving heavy footprints in his wake. You seized the moment to call Max, knowing she’d jump at the chance to join in.

When we finally sat down for dinner, the table was like a little patch of food surrounded by all the crazy decorations.

Billy’s first bite was met with a nod of approval.

“This is way better than Susan’s cooking,” he declared, the corners of his mouth turning up as he chewed.

Max chimed in, her voice muffled by a mouthful of pasta, “Yeah, beats the hell out of it.”

“If you keep cooking like this, I’m gonna end up fat,” Billy joked, patting his stomach, though his tone suggested he wouldn’t mind that outcome.

“That’s what the exercise equipment’s for,” you quipped, pointing towards the hulking mass of different metals that dominated half the living room.

When Billy first lugged his gym gear into the apartment, neither of you had really thought through where all of it would go.

The living room quickly became a makeshift gym, with dumbbells, a bench, a barbell, and weight plates claiming their spots among the furniture. It was a bit of a mess, but it was a lived-in mess, a sign of life happening in real-time.

You didn’t mind, though. In fact, you found a certain charm in the chaos. With the holidays approaching, you got creative, weaving tinsel and garland through the iron grips of the weights and draping festive cheer over the cold steel of the barbell. It was an odd juxtaposition, sure, but it worked. The living room was transformed into a space that was uniquely ‘you and Billy’—a little rough around the edges, but full of heart.

After dinner, the three of you approached the tree. Billy picked up an ornament, examining it with a critical eye before hanging it on a sturdy branch.

“Never had much use for these things,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of nostalgia he’d never admit to.

Max laughed, reaching for a trinket. “Come on, it’s not so bad. Looks good, even.”

The evening wore on, filled with the clinking of ornaments and the occasional deep chuckle from Billy as he recounted stories from last year’s Christmas you all celebrated together then too.

You noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at the tree, the way his rough exterior gave way to a quiet appreciation for the moment.

It was a simple night, but it was laced with the promise of many more to come.

As you all stepped back to admire the now-decorated tree, Billy’s arm brushed against yours, a silent acknowledgment of the shared experience.

“Not bad for our first tree,” he said, and you could hear the unspoken thanks in his voice.

————

The oven’s chime signaled the cookies were ready, a sweet aroma mingling with the crisp winter air that Billy let in each time he cracked the door for a smoke.

He stood in the doorway, a barbell in hand, half-watching the MTV countdown, half-engrossed in his workout.

“You’re letting in a draft,” you said, pulling the cookies out and setting them on the stove.

Billy took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him. “Well, if someone would let me smoke inside…”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you walked over to him.

“You know the rules,” you reminded him, standing close enough to feel the cold air he was letting in. “Besides, I don’t want our cookies tasting like smoke.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he mockingly conceded, taking one last drag before you nudged him out the door with a laugh, quickly shutting it behind him to keep the warmth in.

You darted away, but Billy was quick, shoving the door open and dropping the barbell with a thud as he chased after you.

His laughter mixed with yours as you ran down the hallway, the playful chase a familiar dance between you two.

You ducked into his room, thinking you’d won, but a misstep had you tripping over something unexpected. Both of you tumbled to the floor, a mess of limbs and uncontrollable laughter.

“Clutz,” Billy teased, but there was no heat in it, just the warm humor that had become a staple of your interactions.

“It’s not my fault, it’s this—” you protested, sitting up to see what had tripped you. In your hand was the missing book, Platonic Soulmates. You turned to him with a triumphant smirk.

“I knew it!” you exclaimed. “You did take it!”

Billy scoffed, trying to maintain his innocent facade.

“Must’ve gotten mixed up with your stuff,” he said, but the sheepish look in his eyes betrayed him.

You shook your head, the smile on your face impossible to contain. Billy sighed, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.

“Alright, maybe… maybe we’re like platonic… soul… whatever,” he grumbled, finally admitting to the bond you both knew was there.

The laughter had died down, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. You both lay on the floor, the carpet’s coarse fibers imprinting on your skin.

Billy stretched out beside you, his presence a solid comfort as you both stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

The world outside seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of tranquility. It was a rare moment of stillness for Billy.

Then, his voice broke the silence, soft yet carrying a weight that filled the room. “Thank you.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “For what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Billy’s voice was gruff, a stark contrast to the softness of the moment.

“Thanks for stickin’ around,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as if he was addressing the room rather than you.

“Seems like everyone’s always after something. Neil… he wanted me to fall in line. People at school just wanted to ride the wave of whatever popularity I had. And the girls, well, they didn’t look much past the surface, did they? But you… you’re different. You never wanted anything but to hang out. That means something. So, yeah… thanks.”

Billy’s words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. They settled around you, heavy with the weight of a life that hadn’t been kind. You felt a surge of something fierce and protective, a sadness for the battles he’d fought alone.

“You don’t owe me thanks, Billy. That’s what friends do,” you said, your voice low and steady, cutting through the emotional fog.

Billy’s gaze met yours, a silent conversation passing between you. His eyes, a clear blue that had seen too much, held a gratitude that was raw and real.

You both took a moment, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of his words. It was a pause that said everything without a single word spoken.

“You’ve got me, no matter what,” you said, the promise as solid as the ground beneath you.

After a deep breath, you stood up, offering Billy a hand.

“Come on, I baked you cookies,” you said, a gentle nudge towards the simplicity of everyday life.

Billy took your hand, rising to his feet.

“Alright,” he conceded, a hint of a smile on his face. He paused, a playful challenge in his eyes.

“So, about smoking in the house—”

“Nope,” you cut him off with a chuckle, already heading to the kitchen. “Not happening, Hargrove.”

He followed, his chuckle a low rumble that filled the room.

“Worth a try,” he said, the mischief still alive in his voice.

————

Christmas morning broke with a spirited truth that no holiday movie could capture.

The apartment was quiet, except for the soft hum of the heater and the distant sounds of the outside world waking up.

You were determined to share this moment with Billy, to give him a taste of something genuine and heartfelt before the chaos of the party preparations began.

You found Billy still buried under his blankets, his room a stubborn sanctuary of everyday life among the holiday transformation of the rest of the apartment.

“Billy, come on. Just one present before we start the day,” you insisted, your voice cutting through the silence as you tugged at his arm.

His response was a gruff murmur, an indication to his dislike to mornings.

After a bit of coaxing, he relented and followed you into the living room, his body language a silent complaint against the cold that greeted his bare skin.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of Christmas lights, the tree standing like a flare of the season’s good spirits.

Billy, hair tousled and eyes half-closed, slumped onto the couch, clad only in his red plaid sleep pants.

You joined him, draping a throw blanket over both of you to fend off the chill. Then, with a gentle motion, you placed a small, wrapped gift onto his lap.

He eyed the present with a mix of curiosity and a hint of that guarded look he always had.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.

“Of course I did. You’re my best friend,” you replied, watching as he unwrapped the gift with hands that were more used to handling tools than delicate wrapping paper.

The keychain, a small silver house, caught the light as he held it up. It was a simple thing, but it was heavy with meaning.

“It represents us finding our place. Our home,” you explained, your voice low but clear in the quiet of the room.

Billy was silent for a long moment, the keychain turning slowly in his hand.

“I’ve never really had something like this,” he admitted, his voice a low rumble. “A place that actually feels like home.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you.

“Well, you do now. And we’re going to make sure it’s a damn good one.”

Billy’s smile was a rare sight, his brows furrowing as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the softer emotions.

He stood up, the blanket falling to the side, and shuffled out of the room with a gruff, “Hang on.”

You watched, curious and touched, as he disappeared down the hall. Moments later, he returned, something concealed in his hand.

“Got something for you,” he said, his voice rough around the edges.

“What is it?” you asked, leaning forward with interest as he sat down across from you.

“Just… give me your hand,” Billy instructed, his usual brass demeanor faltering slightly.

You complied, placing your hand in his, feeling the calluses on his palm—a testament to his hard work.

“Close your eyes,” he added, a hint of command still in his voice.

You rolled your eyes but did as told, a smile on your face. “Always so dramatic,” you teased.

There was a pause, and then Billy’s voice, softer now, “Alright, open.”

When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of a bracelet made of sea glass on your wrist. The colors were a myriad of blues and greens, like the ocean he so loved.

“You made this?” you gasped, your eyes lifting to meet his. He looked back at you, a mix of pride and something similar to vulnerability.

“It’s from that beach in California I told you about,” he explained, his fingers gently turning the bracelet on your wrist.

“That place was my escape, you know? And now, well, you’re kinda like that for me here.”

You sat up, touched by his words and the sentiment behind the gift. “Thank you, Billy. This means a lot.”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a half-smile.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he joked, but you could tell he was pleased.

In response, you reached out and pulled him into a hug, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a thank you, a promise, and an acknowledgment of everything you’d been through together.

“Now come on, get ready,” you said, standing up and pulling him to his feet. “You’re helping me with the Christmas party food, whether you like it or not.”

Billy grumbled, a mock scowl forming on his face.

“You just like bossing me around,” he said, but there was no real annoyance in his voice, just the comfortable banter that had become the foundation of your friendship.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” you laughed, giving his arm a playful swat.

Billy’s laughter, deep and genuine, filled the room.

It was moments like these that reminded you why being Billy’s friend was worth every second.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #3

CH.3 Sunny Side Up | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Talking to Eddie became a little easier after that night. Just a little. You greeted each other on morning shifts with tired nods, maybe a small ‘hi’ from you, a grunt from him that you’d learned not to take offence to. You’d watched time and time again as Jonathan brought his coffee to the kitchen, handing Eddie a mocha full of chocolate syrup and the boy received another grunt in thanks too. 

The diner became more familiar, as did your colleagues and it made your heart ache a little when you realised you melted into their routines, their little world as easily as they did with each other. Steve knew your favourite song, liked to turn it up when it came on the radio, pointing at you with enough fanfare to make you flush when he sang the lyrics into the end of a wooden spoon. 

Robin had invited you to hers, an unofficial girls night after a Sunday late shift that became a habit without meaning to. You shared her apartment space the way she shared yours, leftover pyjama shirts in each other's drawers, rented movies swapped between television sets. And at times, when she was home from college, Nancy would join you both, curled on the loveseat with Robin as they listened to your horror stories from Chicago. 

Argyle would offer you rides to work, always passing you on the days you missed the bus, pulling over his brightly painted van with a lazy grin and a yell of “jump in my ‘lil Chicago pizza.”

It was easy, comfortable, a slow kind of life that you craved in the city, the long days and quiet nights that you were more suited to. Hawkins was far from the white picket fence dream, but you loved your little apartment with its view of the cornfields, the long road out of town that you knew took you to work. And when the bus stopped on Sundays and you walked to the diner, you’d pass that old garage the same way you did on your first day in town and wave to Wayne. 

It was easy. It was simple. 

That Tuesday, you clocked in early after swapping a shift with Nancy, the heat rolling into the side door with you as the sun rose. It was the earliest you’d started and the diner was still quiet, a lack of customers between the midnight hours that the truckers frequented and the breakfast rush. The radio was up louder than usual, the smell of fresh bread coming from the ovens, a huge bowl of batter on the counter beside some chopped strawberries, glittering with sugar. 

“Hey! Hey what's the matter with you, feel right? Don't you feel right, baby?”

You could see Jonathan in the front of the diner, setting clean tables with new cutlery, Argyle trailing behind him - not necessarily helping, but definitely talking animatedly about something. Jim was in his office, groaning over receipts and copies of everyone’s vacation requests, two empty mugs of coffee in front of him. You weren’t sure where Ed—

“Jesus, watch it!”

You gasped on instinct as someone collided with your shoulder, a dull pain that wasn’t all that sore but scared you nonetheless. Eddie was glaring at you, holding a hot tray of morning rolls aloft with a dish towel. 

“I could’ve fucking burnt you,” he snapped, setting them down on his station with a clatter. 

You winced, an apology on your tongue, already tasting sour. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t hear you say corner, or, or door or—”

You watched as Eddie’s frown disappeared momentarily, a soft drop of his expression that made you realise at the same time he did, that he didn’t give any of those warnings at all. You thought he’d apologise then, maybe back track with a rare smile but instead his scowl deepened and he set about pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 

“Stumbling ‘round like a baby deer, man,” Eddie huffed, his voice low, like you maybe weren’t meant to hear. But you did. “Gonna end up seriously hurtin’ yourself— or someone else. Not supposed to be in the damn kitchen, told you you weren’t made out f—”

Tears burned the corners of your eyes at the first sign of conflict but your heart pounded and you let yourself get wound up. You squared your shoulders, sucked in a breath and let the sting of your eyes and the lump in your throat fuel you. “Hey!” You snapped, only sounding a little watery, a little soft. “It wasn’t— it wasn’t my fault. You’re supposed to tell someone you’re coming if you’re holding something.” You blew out a breath, acutely aware of how Eddie was watching you with raised brows. “Especially something hot. And I don’t stumble.”

You glared right back at the boy, hoping you looked as intimidating as he did, throwing your hands on your hips for good measure until you felt too much like your mom and dropped them back by your side. You squirmed in the silence, pulling self-consciously at the hem of your uniform dress, still trying to keep your lips in an annoyed flat line, your brows as turned down as Eddie’s. Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, throwing a pound of butter into a huge mixing bowl. It made the station shake with a thud and he turned his back to you before he spoke, shoulders stiff, a tattoo that curled up from his back to the nape of his neck just visible for the way he’d pulled his curl up in a bun. 

“Why are you always in such a bad mood? Huh? And I’m allowed in the kitchen,” you added, hating that you sounded haughty, but fuck this boy and his attitude problem. The hot and cold act was starting to wear thin. “I work here too.”

He turned then, the sleeves of his chef whites rolled up to his elbows, ropes of muscle and lines of ink curling around his forearms. His fingers were covered in butter and sugar, and when he took a few steps closer, brows raised at you in a challenge, he smelled like cinnamon. “That right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t back down, even though your stomach flipped. You lifted your chin higher, tried to give it back to him as good as he gave it out. “You think I come here for the good of my health?” You wanted to bite, you wanted to sink your teeth in and draw blood. You wanted to hurt. The taste of honey on fresh sourdough lingered on your tongue.  “I heard the food is shit.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared at your childish barb, but as immature as it was, the boy gritted his teeth and stormed back to the work station. The bowls clattered against each, steel on steel and the spatula he’d been using got launched into the empty sink. 

“Just stay out my way,” Eddie grunted. 

 The sharpness of his words made your throat tight, face scrunching unhappily because what had you ever done to him? You decided not to answer, pressing your lips together instead and hoping Eddie didn’t see your watery eyes when you stalked past his table. You ducked into the office, slamming your locker door as you shoved your bag inside, shouldering into Steve by accident on the way back out. 

“Oh, sorry— hey, hey,” Steve frowned, catching sight of your face. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, just smiling and shrugging him off, already pulling out your pad and pen from the front of your apron, as if the quiet diner was suddenly full of people who were desperate for their orders to be taken. You didn’t look at Eddie as you left, disappearing between the table and booths, hoping for something to clean until a table filled up. 

You didn’t see it, you didn’t hear it, but Steve walked to Eddie’s station with a scowl that matched the other boy’s and stole the spoon that was in his hand. 

“Hey!” Eddie’s head shot up, eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. “Give me th—”

“Stop being a dick,” Steve scolded, holding the spoon over his head when Eddie tried to grab it across the bench. “You’re being an ass, man. And for what?”

Eddie glared, reaching for the stolen utensil and swearing when Steve rapped the back of his knuckles with it. “What’re you even talkin’ about?”

Steve scoffed, “don’t act dumb, Munson, it isn’t cute. What have you got against the new girl?”

Eddie didn’t answer, giving up and crossing the kitchen to rake through a drawer for another spoon instead. He stalked to the refrigerator too, still scowling, piling more ingredients in his arms as he went. He walked back to Steve with eggs and fruit, jars of spices that were all different colours. Steve was still standing, shirt sleeves rolled up, his name badge on upside down. 

“Well?”

“Steve, just—” Eddie let out a huff and set a pan on the stovetop, flicking on the switches until a blue flame appeared. It bloomed into red, orange and Eddie spooned some butter into the pan. “I don’t have anything against her.” His cheeks were hot, he could feel it. A pink flush that went across his nose and attacked the tips of his ears. He cracked an egg too vigorously, shell in the yolk, making it burst. He swore. 

“No?” Steve didn’t look convinced. He handed Eddie back his spoon. “Doing your damn best to convince her otherwise. Poor kid looked like she was about to cry.”

Eddie’s eyes shuttered closed at that, guilt gnawing a hole in his chest. He cracked another egg, watched it turn white over the heat. He really wanted a cigarette. 

The bell for the diner door rang, signalling the arrival of customers, a bleary eyed bunch of business men that looked like they were from out of town. Their suits were too sharp, close shaven beards and briefcases making them look like sore thumbs against the garish decor and sticky booth seats. Both boy’s watched you approach their table, smiling sweetly and nodding shyly as you scribbled down their orders. When you turned to head to the hatch, a piece of paper ready to be slapped onto the stainless steel bar, Eddie watched as the men eyed your behind, appreciative faces and shared whispers about the way your legs looked in your dress. 

He cracked another egg, eyes narrowed, chest tighter than before. 

“Say sorry,” Steve finalised the conversation with a friendly slap to Eddie’s shoulder as he passed him. You were only a few tables away, head ducked down, eyes hidden as you approached. Steve looked serious as he said, “fix it.”

—————

By the time the clock hit eleven am, Jonathan was coaxing you into going for your break, handing your orders to Steve as he cleared the table your customers just left. He waved away your protests, voice quiet and soft as he handed you the dollar notes that were left for you beside a ketchup stain. 

“I’ve got it,” he tsked. “Go on, go get some food or somethin’.”

So you smiled and pulled off your apron as you headed through the back, already sipping on a glass of lemon water you’d poured yourself at the bar. You could hear Steve greet a family at the front door, all charm and sweetness, and the radio in the kitchen was still playing. Breakfast was almost over but the place still smelled sweet, syrup and cinnamon, cooked pancakes and fresh bread, maple bacon that the diners always ordered an extra plate of. 

Argyle was at the sink, washing a pot and he smiled as you walked across the tiles. “Wassup Chicago town?” There were bubbles on his arms, a walkman clipped to the waistband of his chef whites and headphones around his neck. “You lookin’ for Eddie?”

You frowned without meaning to, wondering if you could get away with pinching some leftover breakfast without anyone realising. Jim didn’t mind, but Eddie was way too particular with his leftovers. 

“Uh, no,” you answered. “Should I be?”

“Think he was lookin’ for you.”

You didn’t get to ask anymore questions, or even laugh at the idea of the chef seeking you out, because Eddie was coming back out from the pantry with a new bag of sugar. His eyes flitted to you as he walked to his bench, cheeks a little pink and he sprinkled some of it over a bowl of chopped fruit before he said anything. He nodded to the stool he made you sit on the other day, the one at his station and it was only then you noticed there was a plate sitting. 

Two perfectly cooked eggs, sunny side up with a huge slice of orange that was arranged like a smile. There was a single blueberry in the middle of the plate, plucked from the bowl that Eddie placed beside it, finishing off the smiley faced breakfast. 

“You hungry?” Eddie murmured, his voice softer than it had been when you last ran into him. He kept his head bent, curls framing his brown eyes, lips twisted. “You didn’t have breakfast.” 

“Wh—?” Your lips parted, your apron still fisted in your hand and you rounded the station slowly, eyes on the boy like you were waiting for the joke to land. 

Eddie’s gaze shot from you to the stool and he tilted his chin once more. “Sit.” His demand wasn’t bossy, despite the bluntness. His voice was so much more gentle than you’d heard it before. The frown was still there, the stitch between his brows but his eyes looked softer, honeyed caramel, brown sugar, the stickiest kind of toffee. “Gonna get cold.”

So you sat, looking behind you to glance at Argyle, wondering if this was strange enough for him to take notice too. Sure enough, the boy had stopped scrubbing, his hands still in the hot water as steam rose up around his confused face. He was watching the both of you, eyes glancing between you and Eddie as he tried to work out what was happening. 

Eddie turned his back on you as you stared down at the meal he’d made you, eyes still wide and something inside of you sank at the idea of his walking away. But he spun back, a fork and knife in his hand, wrapped in a napkin. He didn’t hand them to you, but he slid them across the counter, his expression neutral - you couldn’t work him out. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and Eddie nodded. You wondered if Steve and Jonathan got their breakfast made for them when they went on break, if they came into the kitchen to a bowl of fresh fruit - mangoes and berries and brightly coloured slices of citrus. You thought it would be best not to ask. “Looks good.”

Eddie hummed and nodded, waiting until you picked up your cutlery and unfurled it from the wrapping. He made his leave then, cheeks pink, curls going a little frizzy in the heat and he ducked away, picking up a crate that he took into the freezer, the large door thumping behind him. 

The napkin fell to the table as you took out your fork, marvelling over the way the yolk burst perfectly as you dug in, golden liquid pooling across your plate. You picked up the blueberry nose before it got caught, popping it into your mouth and humming at the flavour. And when you looked down, there was a word scrawled across the napkin, faded black ink on white tissue. 

“Sorry.”

—————

Eddie made sure he waited long enough for you to be gone by the time he appeared from the walk-in, nose red with the cold, skin goose pimpled under his uniform - because fucking hell, why did he decide to hide in the freezer? He came back out warily, keeping his back against the tiled wall as he peered around the corner. You were gone from his station, your twenty minute break already over and he could see your empty plate and bowl stacked at the sink beside Argyle.  

He squared his shoulders and tried to act normal as he stomped back into his kitchen, frown set back on his face but his heart was thundering. It made him feel ill, the way his chest got right, the way his stomach flipped. His station was clear of your plates, but you’d left the napkin there, the corner of it tucked under a plastic quart container so it didn’t float away. 

There, in your much neater handwriting and the pink pen you liked to take orders with, was a reply to the boy’s scrawled apology. 

“Thank you.”

Eddie stared at the words for too long, until the rosy coloured ink went blurry and his cheeks turned the same shade. He wasn’t sure where you’d gone, but he could smell perfume he assumed was yours, lingering between the stacks of chopped strawberries, the halved mango on the counter. 

“You got a crush, my friend?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up, a scowl set back on his face instinctually. He liked Argyle, he didn’t mind him at all, but the boy was standing by the sink and was looking at him knowingly. Argyle grinned and raised his brows, waiting for Eddie to answer. 

“What? No.” Eddie slammed the napkin back down on the desk. Argyle was still grinning. “Shut up.” Eddie waited until the other boy returned to the dishes before he took the napkin and folded it up, tucking it into his pocket. 

He’d bin it later, he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal. 

—————

The day Eddie was scheduled off on the rota was a much busier day. It seemed like bad luck, the main cook’s day off coinciding with the monthly farmers market that was set up in Hawkin’s Main Street. The square was filled with stalls, fresh fruit and vegetables in crates, the smell of homemade soap, lavender and rose on the breeze. The tiny storefronts helped funnel the crowds in the direction of the diner, lines of cars driving to the restaurant for breakfast, their trunks full of fresh goods and Mrs Sinclair’s apple pie slices. 

It meant your day went too fast, the tips good and the chance of a break slim. Argyle was pushed to his limit, the freezer used more than ever as the full tables called for a quicker turnaround, the frozen burger patties being used instead of the way Eddie liked to make each one fresh. But Eddie wasn’t here and you certainly weren’t thinking about him, so he didn’t need to know. And when your shift ended at five, the dinner rush was just as crazy so you stayed on until six and helped Nancy clear a table of twelve guests, two families from out of town that had too many kids and there were lines of coloured crayon along the walls that just wouldn’t shift until you gave in and brought out a bottle of bleach. 

She was grateful enough that she split the table’s tip with you, something you tried to wave away but she insisted and stuffed the dollar bills into the front of your apron, not caring about the stains, the dryer grease, the spilled coffee there. Nancy looked just as undone as you. But it had been a good day - you missed the chance to eat, and maybe get something made for you by Eddie - but you had enough cash rolled up in your purse to start a new stack in your freezer at home and the bus back into town should be due any min—

The bus rolled past before you could get to the stop, the tires squeaking in protest as it passed you by, your feet not able to take you out of the parking lot quick enough. And it was still fine, there was still a little light in the sky, that navy-lilac kinda way that told you nightfall was coming soon, or maybe rain. Maybe both. 

So you pulled the strap of your bag across your chest and wished your uniform wasn’t as starchy and tight, ‘cause the heat still lingered even in the evening, warmth collecting in the shadows even as indigo coloured clouds rolled in above. The rain didn’t hit until ten minutes into your walk, a Misty drizzle that had you scrunching your face until it turned into a downpour. A heavy summer storm where thunder shouted at you from the distance, way out across the cornfields and making the sky flash white. You ran down the sidewalk where there weren’t many places to stop, to shelter and you suddenly wished more than ever that you still had your shitty old car that you barely needed to use when you lived in Chicago. 

But the garage was coming up, a familiar building with peeling red paint on its walls and a huge shutter that was already closed a third of the way. You hoped and prayed that Wayne was still around, wondering if it would be too cheeky to ask if you could finally take him up on the offer of that ride he once asked if you needed. Weeks of passing by and waving to him - and offering a snickerdoodle from the box you once took into work for Jonathan’s birthday - had built up a quiet sort of friendship. 

The garage was quiet and the bell sounded as you pushed open the door, the workshop floor stained with oil and paint, leftover footprints that would never clean off. Cars sat asleep, some with their hoods up, engines ripped out and dismantled on the floor, and thank god, there was still a light on in the office. A warm glow through a window, the outline of a man sorting through papers and his head lifted when he heard you bump into the side of a workbench, a tool you didn’t know the name of clattering to the floor. 

You winced and raised your hand in a greeting and an apology. “Sorry, hi— I just— it’s raining.”

Wayne laughed after he got over his surprise, beckoning you in with an oil stained hand. His tiny office smelled like gas and burnt tires but his smile was as friendly and tired as it always was. “Miss the bus?” He asked. 

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. Out of the summer air, the garage was cooler and you were drenched, goosebumps trailing across your forearms. “Drove right by me.”

Wayne tutted, sympathetic and he pushed what looked like a stack of invoices into a tray for tomorrow. “That’ll be that Hagan boy, never should’ve been allowed the job. Doesn’t pay any darned attention to nobody.” The man patted down his pockets, searching for his keys. “Jus’ gimme a minute and I’ll drop you off, think the boy took my damn keys. Hey, son—”

Another figure appeared in the doorway, cutting off Wayne’s call. This man was tall and broad shouldered, with dark curls that weren’t tied back. They hit his shoulders, wild strands springing around brown eyes that quickly widened at the sight of you. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Hey!” Wayne snapped with a frown. He whacked the boy’s shoulder with a rolled up newspaper he grabbed from his desk. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. I raised you better than that, you little delinquent.”

Eddie looked astonishingly different out of his chef whites and your surprise showed on your face. Out of his uniform, you could see more skin, more ink. Tattoos curling around his forearms and creeping up towards his biceps, black leaking across lithe muscles that you didn’t get to see at work. He was all dark, black jeans with rips in the knees, a black T-shirt that was well worn, the band logo on the front unrecognisable from wear and from the fact that your music taste was wildly different. 

Jewellery he didn’t get to wear glitter on him, silver rings on almost every finger, skulls and orjer horned things around his knuckles, a silver chain peeking out from underneath his collar. There was a hole in the hem of his shirt, heavy scuff marks on his big boots. He was still scowling at you though, a familiar sight that made him look more like the Eddie you knew. 

You glanced at Wayne, still confused as to why he was scolding the line cook from your work. You looked back to Eddie, lips trying to wrap around an explanation. He made you feel like you weren’t supposed to be here. “I— the bus. I missed the bus.” You swallowed, an awful shyness coming over you, or maybe it was nerves. “It’s raining.”

The weather was making itself known as the storm closed in, heavy, fat drops of rain pounding on the tin roof of the garage, a deafening roar that only got heavier. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie called back, raising his voice to be heard over the din and his cheek got him another smack from Wayne. 

“You better hope I don’t find out you talk like that in the kitchen, boy,” Wayne pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie, to which the boy merely rolled his eyes at. “I’ll ask Jim, he’ll tell me.” When Eddie didn’t reply, Wayne pulled on his jacket and set about collecting more sheets of paper. He asked Eddie for his keys and pocketed them before saying, “Ed’s, be a good ‘un and take my friend here home, yeah? I gotta finish up this mess.”

When Eddie raised his brows and dropped his jaw, you were pretty sure your expression was the same. Except you were burning, both at the embarrassment of Wayne being so sweet and the idea of having to spend time with Eddie alone. 

“Friend?” Eddie scoffed. “Since when?”

You wanted the floor to open up below you. “I can, I can just walk.” You jammed a thumb at the door, at the torrential rain that was still falling angrily outside of it. “I think the rain has stopped…”

Thunder bellowed from above. A leak in the corner of the work floor dripped onto an old tire. Wayne stared at you both, unimpressed. 

And that’s how you ended up in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. 

[eds6ngel]

why can i see either nancy or eddie being in absolute HEAVEN with a nara smith coded reader and them falling in love with their cooking and sweet domestic mannerisms during their relationship 🎀 can you please perhaps do a blurb on that with whoever you choose?

had to whip this up asap! i chose eddie as my brain conjured up some background quicker ♡ also i’m not the best baker/cook, so sorry for any inaccuracies !!

warnings: fem!reader (reader referred to as ‘momma’.) teen pregnancy mention. abortion mention. r is a stay-at-home mom. established relationship. kissing. swearing. food mentions. rockstar!eddie. eddie book context but i changed said context. just lots of fluff!! [0.6k].

Yours and Eddie’s lives hadn’t always been easy.

When you found out you were pregnant at 16-years-old, you were locked and loaded in to have an abortion. Your parents immediately agreed to the decision, wanting you to continue your education and graduate with your high school diploma.

However, after crying your eyes out the night before the scheduled appointment, you just couldn’t do it. And after nine long months of pregnancy, you gave birth to your baby girl Joni, named after Eddie’s mom’s favourite singer.

You moved in with Eddie and Wayne at the time, realising it was easier to take care of a baby in a smaller, more secluded home, rather than a family home full of your bustling, younger siblings.

But, luck managed to strike the two of you when a girl named Paige offered Corroded Coffin a record deal. Your boyfriend made it big.

Big enough that you bought your own home in the center of Indianapolis.

When Eddie wasn’t touring with the band, he would take over from you, looking after Joni whilst you got to doing your favourite activity: baking.

Eddie relished in the fact that he got to see you dancing around the kitchen in your pretty, little apron, decorated with strawberries and calligraphy writing that spelled ‘Kiss the Cook.’

He would always sneak up behind you when you were baking, making you shriek and pressing a firm kiss to your lips, teasing “Just following your apron, sweetheart,” with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What-cha makin’?” he would always ask with his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder.

And your answer could be anywhere from chocolate chip cookies to a new homemade stew, but, in typical baker fashion, you were always making bread.

“I attempted a new sourdough starter whilst you were off in Europe, and it seems to have worked this time! So, I’m attempting to make some sourdough bread for you.”

“Mmm,” he hums contently, “Sounds delicious.”

“I hope it is,” you replied, “I bought a store-bought one for Joni, but she literally turned her nose up at it. She’s got your fussiness, Munson.”

“I think fussiness is an understatement. She’s getting the rockstar attitude instead of me,” he chuckles.

“But, hey, at least we’re both fans of chocolate. Can always put that on our bread, can’t we, babe?” he yells to his daughter, who simply replies with ‘Dada.’ She’s not quite there with her words yet, but at least she knows who you both are, which is a good start.

“Well, the two of you might just be in luck. Take a look outside.”

Eddie reluctantly lets go of you and steps out into your shared garden to find a new tree had been planted.

“Babe, what is this?”

You cheese at him, “A cacao plant! I’m harvesting cacao beans so I can make authentic chocolate for you!”

Eddie literally moans in delight, running up to you and smacking a kiss onto your cherry-flavoured lips.

“You’re perfect. I love you. I can’t wait. I have to tell Joni.”

His energetic self bounces off to his child, literally singing “Baby, baby! Momma is the best!”

You love your little family so much. You can’t wait to marry Eddie one day so you can have more of his beautiful children. Children which he treated as his own personal best friends. But, maybe that’s what family was all about. Maybe it was creating and loving your own best friends on the deepest level possible.

taglist: @cosmorant @ye0nvibezzn @tlclick73 @superlegend216 @agxxb

eddie masterlist.