I Had This Idea About Eddie Dating Reader Who Is Obsessed With Pop Boy Bands! Tysmm
I had this idea about eddie dating reader who is obsessed with pop boy bands! tysmm
i'm so obsessed with this idea bless you anon — the town freak tries to impress the local cool girl and, in true eddie munson fashion, it doesn't go as quite expected (friends to lovers, fluff, shameless it reference, 1.1k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
Eddie stands across the counter at Family Video and lays a collection of cassettes on top of it.
Steve blinks once at the tapes, then twice up at him. “…What is this?” he wonders, visibly dumbfounded.
“Do you interrogate every customer that comes in here?” the wild-haired boy quips, digging into the pockets of his leather jacket for some wadded-up bills. “Just scan it.”
“New Kids on the Block? New Edition?” Steve announces as he bags each plastic case. His chiseled features twist in confusion. “Who are you, and what did you do with Eddie Munson?”
“It’s not for me, dingus.”
“First of all, don’t call me that. And second of all, who the hell is it for then?”
“Someone. No one,” Eddie mumbles, shrugging and shifting his weight on his feet, doing a terrible job of hiding his sudden sheepishness. “Don’t worry about it.”
Steve’s eyes narrow. “A girl?”
“…Maybe.”
“A pretty girl?”
Eddie scoffs an unamusing laugh. “Sure. If that’s the only way your pea brain knows how to describe someone as… uncanny, and demonic, and fascinating as she is.”
Steve’s brows pinch in a subtle horror. He’s not sure what most of those words mean, but they don’t really sound like compliments. He just shrugs and decides not to press it any further. “…Okay.”
“She’s just into this stuff, okay?” Eddie confesses, gesticulating wildly with his ringed hands. “And I wanna like the things that she likes— Is that so bad?”
“Yeah, actually. It’s very, very bad,” Steve answers without thinking twice. He passes him the plastic bag full of tapes with a sympathetic glint in his eye. “’Cause that means you’re in love.”
—————
Eddie stands outside the arcade in wait for you. He knows you always come to The Palace on Fridays — right before the school day ends, so you have a couple hours of peace before the snotty middle schoolers run you out with their post-P.E. stench.
He wears a set of headphones over his untamed curls and a walkman clipped to his jeans. It plays a pop song he’s only ever heard on the car radio. Steve’s radio, specifically. He’s heard you hum it a time or two, and it’s the only time he’s ever been able to stand it — as if he needed another reason to prove Steve right.
He was head over heels, disgustingly, wretchedly, completely, utterly, and totally in love with you.
Propped against the driver’s side door of his van, he exhales smoke from his lungs and sees you walking down the sidewalk.
Your pink tights swish at the knees while your plaid skirt, in a grass green color, flutters around your thighs. Your sweater’s bright blue, and the only thing halfway matching the rest of your outfit is the bright emerald dinosaur pictured on the front of it.
You beam at the sight of him. “Teddy? What are you doing here?”
“I’d guess the same thing you’re doing here, sweetheart,” he quips, playing cool as he snuffs out his cigarette with the heel of his worn sneaker.
“Normally, you’re busy on Fridays… I’m starting to feel like you’re stalking me.”
Eddie’s deep brown eyes narrow, twinkling with dark chocolate. “And how would you know that I’m busy on Fridays?” he teases, tilting his wild head to his shoulder.
You shrug, faltering for a blink of a moment. “Corroded Coffin always performs on Fridays. Everyone knows that.”
“Well, maybe just you and the… four other drunks that happento come to the Hideout on Fridays,” he jokes with a boyish laugh.
“Touché,” you concede, smiling wider. “Whatcha listening to?”
You reach out for him, taking the headphones from his ears like you always do. You place them over your own head and expect to hear something loud and heavy — that’s what you usually catch him listening to, anyway. A wide smile blooms on your lips when a familiar song fills your ears.
“New Kids on the Block?” you wonder with a scrunched nose, voice distant with disbelief.
Eddie had been expecting this. He’d spent ten minutes praying this exact moment would happen, but he stumbles over himself about it anyway. “Yeah. Uh, Family Video— They’re selling tapes and stuff now— To keep from going out of business, I guess,” he stammers, laughing awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck. “So, I don’t know. I guess, I thought I’d—”
“Buy it for yourself?” you finish for him, with a knowing grin on your petaled mouth. “And then try to impress me by waiting outside the arcade I go to every Friday? Even though you’re usually busy practicing?”
You see right through him with little effort. Mostly because you’re one and the same — hopelessly in love and tripping over yourselves with it.
Eddie nods, then laughs. “Yeah, actually. That’s— That’s the half of it, yeah.”
Your smile quietens when you slip the headphones back over his head, fingers brushing his curls and palms grazing his flushed cheeks. “Maybe we can go together sometime?” you offer and step back from him again. “I can show you where they kept the real music. You know, make sure they got the right stuff to listen to.”
His chest swells. He almost forgets to breathe.
He never, in a million years, would’ve expected his first unofficial date with you to be at Family Video, of all places — but he’s grateful for it nonetheless. He figures he could go just about anywhere and be happy as long as he could look over and see you standing right beside him.
Eddie nods until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Sure. Yeah. That sounds— That sounds good.”
“I’ll call you when I’m free,” you tease and walk on by him.
You’re always free. He knows that. You’re always everywhere and nowhere all at once. Even now, standing right in front of him, you’ll disappear like you’d never been there at all. You just like to keep him guessing, really, and he knows that, too. It’s why he melts for you so easy.
“Okay,” he nods, rapid and utterly dumb.
“I’ll see you soon. Maybe.”
He watches you meander towards the entrance of the arcade. Words start to bubble in his throat. They spill out before his brain can decide whether or not to actually say them. “Please don’t go girl,” he blurts while the lyrics of the same song croon in his ears.
You spin around and blink wordlessly at him. You don’t look confused, but you don’t look impressed either. Eddie can’t gauge the emotion on your face, and he falters.
“That’s the... That’s the name of… of one of their songs,” he stammers.
He blinks, and you’re beaming again. A golden laugh spills from your lips, like honey and summer and sunshine. “I know, Teddy,” you grin — voice as warm and as fond as your glittering gaze.
He grieves when you turn away again, walking into the arcade without looking back at him once.
Eddie doesn’t breathe again until you’re gone, forgets how to until you’re done clouding his vision.
You’ll be the death of him yet.
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More Posts from Smilereads
“M’here, honey. I love you.” Don’t you know I’m insane?!!!! 😵💫😵💫
18+
Warnings: Language, soft smut, vaginal sex, and NSFW.
~*~
Clinging to Steve as he’s giving you his laziest, but deepest thrusts. Every ridge, every inch, it glides back and forth in your soaked walls, catching all the right places, keeping your body gone in outer limits. There’s no real rush, no hurried need. It’s a prolonged urge to take, to feel, to greedily indulge. Languid hands, your breasts smashed against his sternum, torso stimulated by the jungle that lines his stomach, right down to where you’re joined.
His tongue sloppily entangles with yours - pineapple wine still staining his breath, kissing you as if it’s his last night on earth. He smells like summer, like faded cologne and hair gel, the perspiration of making love to his best-friend turned lover - like Steve Harrington. You cling to his back, his full weight settling, moving in various paces, massive palms collecting purchase on your wrists, your thighs, everywhere he can seek. His overgrown tresses tickle your cheek, his nose nudging yours until they slip off of one another. That chain around his neck, you taste the metallic tang when you find yourself burying your mouth against his jugular to map out each mole and freckle available to you.
Steve gets verbal amongst jagged, winded, whining breaths.
“M’ here, honey. I love you.”
You run a hand up his neck’s nape, carding your fingers through his hair. He whimpers appreciatively. “That’s right, baby. You know what I like, don’t you?”
More vocalized speech will occur, but right now you’re both content to ride this leisurely pace, which eventually builds to an overnight crest, blue hour approaches, and it aches so fucking bad that Steve has to grip your hands and lace fingers for support, only able to get a series of movements before he spills inside of you, taking you with him.




steve who constantly tells his girl she's distracting him, when he's working and asks her to come over to family video, she'll be there, just as he asked, and he'll tell her she's not helping, that her being there is distracting him because she looks too kissable and he can't kiss her and work at the same time, she's a distraction when he's trying to get out of bed in the morning too, when he needs to get up and start the day but she just look so soft and feels so warm in his arms, she makes it so hard for him to leave her, to join the outside world
she'll come downstairs, all sleepy, barley awake to steve making breakfast and he'll tell her all about how she can't keep doing this, doing what? looking so pretty in the mornings, you're going to make me late. but stevie- oh okay, you win lets go back to bed. he tells her on the phone when there apart that she's stopping him from sleeping, he tells her in the car that he can't keep his eyes on the road if she keeps sitting there doing nothing, its silly and sweet, and he takes there little inside jokes very seriously but she knows steve loves her being his distraction
he loves kissing her at work and forgetting all about the customers coming through the door, he loves when she calls him late at night just because she misses his voice, he loves the whiny voice she does when she wants him to stay in bed for five more minutes, he loves having her sitting in his passenger seat, and he really loves when she plays with his hair as he drives, he loves getting distracted by her, he claims it's all her fault, that she's just too pretty, too sweet to ignore, but steve also admits happily that he's a weaker man when it comes to her, he'd be late to everything if it meant just one extra hug from his girl <3
Sooooo sweet 🥹
Always There - Steve Harrington



Summary
w/c 3.9k
a/n based off of this song that drops me to my knees every time I listen to it. Lyrics are out of order, ignore it ♡
Request
You’ve been waiting for your lover, what you’ll discover, is she’s always there.
Long were the nights you once thought about Steve.
Seven and knee scrapes, you’d been there with a GI Joe bandage. Twelve and arguing parents, you’d been there with your palms, warm over his ears.
It was natural with him, always had been.
Fourteen and his first girlfriend, you’d been there with open arms during their break up. Though, he didn’t seem to mind she’d left him for Jack Thompson, a stumpy boy a year older than them. Like he anticipated it, like he knew it was coming. It’d always bewildered you that he wasn’t upset his first girlfriend was stolen from him, but he had you he’d said, and that was enough for him.
16 and Nancy wheeler, you’d stub the toe of your shoe into the ground when she came along, and pretend she didn’t get to you the way she did.
Steve with her was a lump in your throat, but what were you to do? He loved her, he told you, It was different than the other girls. You couldn’t inadvertently scare her off with your silence, or push her away with darting glares in the halls. She loved him too. Or, so he’d thought.
Steve didn’t know why it felt like he was forcing himself to love Nancy. It stressed him, weighing down on his tight chest when he’d thought about the way she proclaimed them bullshit. Like he was just some fling, some distraction.
Not her distraction. His.
“Bullshit.” Nancy had slurred. “We’re bullshit.”
And Steve wondered why it was you he wanted to reach for in the moment. He knew you’d be there to wipe the cold water of Nancy’s indifference from his face.
His body ached as you held him that night under silly confetti sheets he’d bought you. The same sheets you’d brought to your new apartment. Pent up stress leaving his body in guttural sobs, It embarrassed him, pushed him further into your own aching chest. You didn’t mind, preening from the attention he’s been lackluster with.
You toe at his hip now, under the roof of an apartment you two call your own. Thinking about it makes you a nostalgic Steve calls you silly for, so you sit quiet as he grabs your socked foot, thumb pressing into the soft middle. “Foot message?”
20 and grown up, you feel like he’s been taking care of you more lately.
He drops your foot. “You wish.”
You smile, all the cheek he loves, but he doesn’t look away from the blindingly bright TV. Your shoulders drop, wishing you’d catch him looking at you the way you looked at him.
Twenty felt nice on him. Twenty warmed his skin and broadened his shoulders. It was shown in the way his arms filled the sleeves of his crew necks, the way he carried himself with a new lightness.
You’d always known he’d look good grown up, and twenty was grown up when you were sixteen. Taxes and rent, grocery shopping and working a job, you’d always known it’d be Steve you’d do those arduous adult tasks with. You just hoped it’d be as his girlfriend, not his roommate.
It ached the 14 year old inside of you. Roommate wasn’t the best adjective for what you were, but it worked. He was your best friend, your diary, your Steve. Not your roommate. He hated it, correcting everyone in a 20 mile radius when they called you that.
Movie night with your roommate?
best friend
It’s only fair when you decide to push his buttons a little. The lack of attention eats you, and you know he doesn’t like to talk about his dates to you. “How was Carrie?”
“Hm?”
“Carrie?”
“Oh,” Steve breathes out heavily. “She was fine.”
You nod slowly, though it still isn’t received, like the smile you had plastered on just for him 2 minutes ago.
He seems tired, though usually he’s able to muster a knock it off.
“There’ll be a second date?” You don’t know why you seek out this answer.
“Um,” his head lolls against the couch, turning to look at you. “No,” his head shakes, “I don’t think so.”
“What?” Your eyes squint. “Why not?”
His laugh is exasperated. “I don’t know, sweet thing.” Heat crawls up your neck, embarrassed at his unexpected attention. “Why are we playing 20 questions?”
“Sorry.” You murmur, drawing your knees up. Defensive, but he doesn’t mind.
“It’s okay.” He murmurs back, smile lilting his voice playfully. “Are you okay?”
Your eyes pop up to his. He’s grateful to make contact with them. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Cause we’re playing interrogate Steve.”
“I said sorry.” There’s a loose thread of the couch in between your fingers. You tie it anxiously.
“You didn’t need to.” He teases.
“I know.” You tease back, lighthearted. Just loud enough to hear, just quiet enough that you don’t have to use your voice, you’re scared he’ll hear the choke in your throat.
The couch below you crinkles as Steve turns back to his tv, and you’re embarrassed. So embarrassed.
He doesn’t know this, of course, but it still gnaws that he could see through your interrogation. As he’d put it.
“Y/N.” His voice is quiet.
The TV still plays, background noise though you pretend to pay attention.
“Hm?” You feign attention, or a lack thereof.
His hand drops from the couch cushion to your knee, squeezing concernedly. “Are you okay?”
Or maybe he does know. Maybe he knows more than you’d think.
“Yes, Steve,” There’s a weak laugh that makes him frown. “Are we playing interrogate Y/N now?”
“No,” he drags out, gently. “you just seem.. sad?”
You nod. “Thank you.”
“No,” he says again, a little more stressed. “I just mean- shit, I can tell you want to cry.” his chest hurts. “Did I do something?”
Your head shakes, words failing you.
He’s upset now. Not at you, of course, but at himself for being the reason you weren’t able to talk.
“M’sorry.” His head shakes, dismissing his earlier question. “Please don’t be upset with me, just.. tell me when you’re ready.”
You nod, knowing that he‘s still watching, though he’s turned back to Full House.
Something about him noticing your upset doesn’t sit right with you. He’s known you since you were 5, of course he can tell when you want to cry. Of course he notices the freckle next to your eye and the birthmark on your hip. Don’t all friends?
Your stomach stumbles and you get up, tripping to get to your small bedroom before Steve sees the tears. You and him had a small budget apartment shopping, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.
You’re grateful when Steve seemingly doesn’t follow, though he stands behind the door petrified. He’s the reason you’re hiding away, he’s the reason he can hear racketing sobs, and he doesn’t know what he did.
He thinks for a moment, that you must know what he’s been thinking lately.
—
Stay while in your slumber, tumble under, and never wake.
Family video is cold without you.
Steve doesn’t think there was ever a Family Video shift he didn’t work with you, and your vanishment has completely left him an absence of a boy.
Not that you quit or anything drastic like that.
Called in sick, is what Robin had said, and when Steve didn’t believe her, he’d had no choice but to tell the nosy girl what had happened the night before.
She’d sympathized with him like a good friend should, but that didn’t mean she agreed with him. She sometimes wish he had more interesting drama. He’d make a better coworker best friend.
“I mean, how do you think she feels, Steve?”
They sit on the floor of Family video behind the counter. Besides the establishment being empty of you, it was also devoid of customers, like your light drew them in. And they weren’t going to stand a ten hour shift if they hadn’t needed to.
His attention catches, looking up from the boxes Robin hands him to snap shut and throw in a crate. “What?”
She, unlike Steve, doesn’t look up, focused on the repetitious task of opening movie boxes, and stamping their return. “She’s your best friend of, what, 15 years?”
He doesn’t understand where she’s getting at, eyebrows scrunched in pure confusion. So what? “What does that have to do with this?”
Robin heaves a sigh, letting the stamp clunk down onto the hardwood loudly. If she notices Steve cringe, she makes no attempt to apologize. “I’m sure it gets tiring watching you go on date after date.”
“I do not go on ‘date after date.’” His pointed glare fails to cut through Robin.
“How many boyfriends has she had, Steve?”
On a normal day these questions would be tolerated. Today, they are not. “I don’t see what you’re getting at, Robin.”
She sighs again, more exasperated than before. His heart trips meanly at his friend being frustrated with him. “It hurts her feelings, Steve.” His head turns, Robin marches on. “I mean, she’s the only constant girl in your life, besides me, and you haven’t made a move!”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” His head shakes. “I just don’t want to lose her.”
“Did you want to lose me when you told me you loved me in the Starcourt toilets?”
Won't you tell her that you love her? And you'll hug her, most every day.
“I did not tell you I loved you.” His eyes roll. “Besides, I tell her I love her.”
Robin nods encouragingly. “That’s great, but is it the same way you told me you loved me?”
Steve loves Robin. It’s a deep twisting love that Steve is not ashamed to admit to anyone who asks, but even he knows that’s not the same love he holds for you. It’s different. Your his person. He feels a little sick.
“I think you should see sense, Steve.” Robin shrugs.
His hand runs over his eyes. “Thanks, Robs.”
“You’re welcome.” She chirps. “I just miss her here is all.”
Steve let’s his first smile of the day slip. “Is all.” He mimics
She laughs louder than him. “Shut up and finish your pile, you’re slowing me down.”
—
Walk a while in her summer, she is the drummer, of your beating heart.
Summer days are so much better when your best friend isn’t acting weird.
Weird is harsh.
The sun beating down heavily, your warm foggy head lays in Robins lap. Her fingers work through your hair, untangling tiny knots your brush didn’t glide through this morning. It’s nice. You breathe through your nose softly.
“Getting sleepy?” Robin murmurs, quiet in contrast to the shrieks of happy teenagers fifty feet away.
“No,” you huff, adjusting comfortably on her thigh, “just bored.”
“Hear that.” She nods, though only Steve can see. They’d wanted an outside day, wanted to skate and run and work themselves in the heat of the sun. Who was Steve to say no to that?
The blanket a languid tangle of teenage young adult limbs, he stares at the notable gap between your thigh and his. It’s raging and wide as the Mississippi River. He can’t stand it.
“What’s for dinner?” Robin asks into the air, but you know it’s not directed towards you.
“I don’t know,” Steve yanks a blade of grass from the ground. It’s soft between his fingers as his thumb glides against the smooth surface. He chucks it at Robin. “Ask the children’s mothers.”
She sniffs out as it hits her nose, he grimaces as she gently pulls it from where it’s landed in your hair. “Come on, you’re not gonna feed them?”
“What kind of dad are you, Steve?” You murmur into Robin’s thigh, tickling her softly.
He watches you, eyes still closed, reach out and flick his knee. It’s the first time you’ve directly touched him this entire evening. It sets off something awful in his chest.
“I mean- shit you know we gotta pay the electric,” His head shakes. “Can’t exactly afford Happy Meals for six.”
You sigh, ignoring Robin’s displeased mumble as you sit up. “I already paid electric, Steve.”
He doesn’t understand, tugging the brim of his cap down confusedly. Love will keep us together, it reads. Robin teased him for it, but he knew it was your favorite. “But we usually split that?”
“Just wanted to get ahead of things,” you shrug, not quite making eye contact. “figured you’d have some extra money for things like this.”
He hates the sincerity in your voice, eyeing your fingers as they tug the hem of his shorts absentmindedly. “You didn’t have to do that, babe.”
You shrug again, dropping your head back into Robin’s warm lap. “Wanted to.”
His head thumps with heat, or longing. He can’t tell them apart, covering his cool eyes from the heat of the sun with his hat. If it helps, he’ll know which the problem was.
Lucas is the first one to come running hungry. His nimble fingers punch a yellow straw into his capri sun, sucking greedily. Robin swats his hand when it overflows onto sticky fingers, mumbling something about the blanket. He doesn’t mind, tossing it into the grass.
“I’m hungry.”
“Hi, hungry.” You smile, though you don’t look up from your resting spot. Robin snorts at the unfunny joke, Steve cringes.
“Is she okay?”
“Just warm.” You nod, peeking at him. His visor covers the run from his eyes protectively, your eyes glint in a tease you won’t let slip. “We’re getting food soon.”
“Food?” Max drops to the blanket, kicking Lucas in the ribs softly, teasingly.
“We’re getting Happy Meals.” You affirm, reaching up to pull her thick red hair from her sweaty neck. Mike displeases.
“We’re not kids anymore.”
“You love the apple slices.” Wills elbow knocks Mikes.
“I could go for a Happy Meal.” Dustin disagrees with Mike. Max hums something of an agreement.
“Dollar menu.” Steve corrects, fighting off the petulant whines of 16 year olds in his ears. He’ll be buying you something pretty.
—
Don't you try to push or shove her, Find another, Or she'll walk away
The days following slow Steve down. Mentally and physically.
He doesn’t want to get up for work, doesn’t want to be ignored by you, to get a small smile for something that usually gets him your shining laugh.
You paid the electric in full so he could pocket some cash. He’d called the company that night to double check.
Not that he didn’t trust the veracious words from your mouth, it just startled him. You didn’t have to do that. You shouldn’t have done that. You’re a team, teams talk about these things.
He can’t help but feel that he’s the reason you haven’t talked to him.
You go grocery shopping and he could be sick. You buy for the both of you. Your fruit, his protein powder. Your snacks, your snacks x2 so Steve can share without feeling guilty. It’s a low punch to the gut.
It kills him that you do these things. These little things that splay your love embarrassingly on a table. You remember he doesn’t like Dawn dish soap and get Meyers instead. What is love if not attention? He doesn’t deserve it.
So he makes it up to you.
He does the dishes while your away, cleans the kitchen and stocks your coffee pods when they run low. Tiny acts he hopes won’t go unnoticed by you.
Though, this new act is not so tiny.
Creasing in the palm of his hand, the rough material of a tote bag handle squeezes. It’s warm, and slightly wet, from the warmth of his nervous hand. Is this too much? He’d got the prettiest bunch there, wrapping it in brown crinkle paper, cause no girl wants flowers in plastic Nancy had told him once.
He’s grateful to the teenage memory of her. A mental note to thank her.
Standing in front of your closed wood door, he can hear the loud music of the vinyl Robin had gotten you for Christmas last year. A thoughtful present, really, though you had to buy a record player to use it. You’d made Steve promise to never tell her, accepting the gift in a warm hug. She’d seemed really pleased.
“She's a woman in a dream, one that makes you fall in love”
He knocks, low enough to play it off if you don’t hear. But you do, of course you do.
There’s a soft shuffle. A click and a sputter of a record player dying down, a bed being situation on, and then a “Yes?”
He breathes out, turning the knob. It’s cold, and the gold paint chips off every so often, but it’s in your apartment that you and Steve pay for with your grown up jobs. If you could call family video that.
He can’t make himself walk in, leaving against the doorframe anxiously with his arms over his chest. It was supposed to be natural with you, you were his person. So why’d this feel so awful.
“I got you something.” He chokes out.
“You did?” Your eyes peak down at the brown paper crinkling out the tote bag. The sight of Steve Harrington with a tote bag. Where is your Polaroid?
Padding into your room cautiously, he pulls the flowers out gently. They’re rough around the edges, you can’t deny. Cleaned and snipped, you can see the spots he hadn’t meant to knick, and the way the paper dents in places it shouldn’t. “Still your favorite?” He hands them to you, still so gently.
“Yes,” you whisper, shocked beyond repair. “And the brown paper.”
“Eh,” he scratches his neck sheepishly. “Nance once told me girls didn’t like plastic wrapped flowers. I hope it’s not too fancy schmancy”
“I love any flowers.” Your honest voice mumbles. He almost doesn’t hear you as you look up to him. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” He nods. He opens his mouth to say something, closing it silently. Your amused smile rings around his head.
“Yes?”
His fingers twitch. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
You choke a swallow. “What are you talking about?”
“The dates.”
“The dates?” The space between your eyebrows crease like the paper in your hands. “Those never made me uncomfortable.”
“I just-“ He breathes out, dejected. “Never?”
Your brain sputters. “Did you want them to?”
“No?” He panics. “No, no!” His head shakes furiously. “Just, Robin said-“
He’s cut off by your loud laugh. “That was your first mistake.”
His head cocks.
“Taking advice from her.” You give with a shrug. He coughs, startled.
“Yeah,” he nods, serious, definite. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I mean, I love her, but this is the girl that had a crush on a Nashville wannabe for three years.”
He huffs a laugh that’s not all there. “Still don’t see what she saw in her.” His head shakes.
You squint, his dejected limpness detected quickly by your roaming eyes. “A voice only a mother could love.” You beg a laugh from him.
His shoulder shakes and his eyes flick to the posters covering the off white of your walls.
“Ok,” he breathes, patting his hip. “well I’ll get out of your hair.” He nods to himself. “Just wanted to give those to you.”
“Thank you, Stevie.”
The nickname pinches him and it hurts. He nods to you this time. “Anytime, bug.”
Ouch.
Crestfallen as a kicked puppy, he heads for the door. The sight stomps your heart.
Your weak voice stops him. “They never made me uncomfortable, but maybe a little jealous?”
He turns. “What?”
“I mean-“ your head tilts to the side, slowly shrugging. “It wasn’t fun hearing about Cass,”
“Carrie.”
“Carrie, and the other girls.” You pause. “Even if you never gave me the details.”
You tread a line of no return. Steve kicks you forward.
“But jealous?” He whispers.
You shrug, sheepish. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Your esophagus closes, no longer letting you swallow without a fight. That hurt. “Yeah,” you repeat. “Oh.”
The silence is deafening. Wow, you think.
You bring your fingers up to scrub tired eyes. They burn from your lack of sleep and the tears that threaten to front. “Maybe let’s just forget this?” Your shoulders deflate and he hates the crack in the end of the sentence.
“What?”
“Your ‘oh’ said a lot,” you breathe out self consciously. “So let’s just drop it before we can’t take back our words.”
Before we can’t take back our words.
“But I want that.” Steve frowns. “I want to not take it back.” He’s scared of tightness in his chest.
You pause. “Oh.”
He smiles. “Yeah,” he copies you. “Oh.”
It’s quiet after that. The whirring fan above you clicking with each turn. What do you say to that? This boy, the object of your affection for god knows how long, reciprocates your love.
“Wow.”
He laughs, his eyes squinting. “Right?”
“What wouldn’t you be able to take back?” You push lightly, daring a look at him. His hair mussed, his shirt wrinkled, you know he’s lost as much sleep over this as you.
“That-“ he starts slowly “That I’ve been into you since I was 14.”
You sit in quiet apprehension. The corners of his mouth ache from the smile he can’t wipe away.
“That I date to find a girl who compares to you,” His head tilts. “and they don’t.”
“We’re so stupid.”
“Just a little.” He grabs your arms gently and pulls you up to stand under him. The way he looks down at you kills the butterflies in your stomach and replaces them with something stronger. He tucks hair behind your ear, admiring. “You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever met, even when I don’t deserve it.”
You paw at his chest. “Stop.” You murmur.
He shakes his head. “You tolerate me to an extent I don’t understand, but I’m grateful.”
“I don’t tolerate you, idiot.” Your lips bend down. “I like you.”
He agrees quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment with his insecurity. “You know, before I talked to Robin I thought you were upset because you could read my mind?”
Your head shakes, amusedly disbelieved. “I take back what i said earlier, going to Robin for advice was amazing.”
“Shut up,” he pushes you back without letting go. “I thought you were hearing how much I wanted to kiss you.”
Your nose scrunches. “That’s so silly.”
“So silly.” He agrees, swaying you forward and backwards. “Is it silly that I want to kiss you now?”
“No,” you whisper. “I already knew that,” your face is stony faux seriousness. “I read your mind.”
He snorts, bending down to press his lips to your own. It’s soft and slow. His lips are smooth and if you didn’t know him like you do, you wouldn’t know he’s been using aquaphor since he was 18.
He pulls back gently and kisses you again quicker. “You’re so soft.” His fingers itch to slide from your waist and pull you in by your belt loops.
“Your chapstick.” You murmur, dazed.
“That shit is $9,” You know his annoyance isn’t real. “I need you to write me a check for what you owe me.”
“Can I pay you back in kisses?”
He pauses. “One kiss is .50 cents.” His eyes close, dramatizing his seriousness. “I need 18 kisses on the lips now.”
On the lips. You laugh at his wording. “I think we can make that work.”
She is what our love is made of.
Never too late for a valentines fic 💓💓
White Knuckles and Red Hearts | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

a cute little (I don't know what this work means, the fic is 3.9k words) oneshot for valentines day <3 IT STILL COUNTS BECAUSE ITS FEBRUARY
You had been paired together in Home Ec. You were making eclairs. Everyone else in your class sneered at him, hoping - praying - that they wouldn’t have to be in the same workspace as the freak of Hawkins High. Sure, you didn’t jump for joy when you met him in your designated kitchen space, but you gave him a warm smile and introduced yourself. From that moment on, your name rang through his mind like church bells. His hands shook when the two of you measured ingredients, but you quickly put him at ease with your effortless friendliness.
“So, eclairs huh… have you ever made them before?” You smiled over the metal bowl filled with various dry ingredients.
“Ahh, can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. Don’t find a lot of fancy baking in the trailer park. But I did spend about 10 minutes in a French class before I was kicked out so I do know that it’s french.” Eddie jousted back with a dry laugh.
“That’s where I knew you from! Your face looked so familiar to me!” You giggled. Eddie’s cheeks bloomed a glowing red. Your smile grew and you peeled your eyes away from him to form your choux.
“You know, in French eclair means flash.” You babbled. Eddie could see your cheeks were turning a darker pink than the rouge already donning your apples. Eddie wanted to listen to you talk forever. “They say it’s because the glaze on the top of them… or because people eat them so quickly, they’re gone in a flash!” You both looked up and locked eyes. You suddenly felt shy. Stupid under the glow of the big brown doe eyes peering down at you. How the hell did anyone think that this person in front of you was a freak, was dangerous, wasn’t worth friends?
“Sorry, I’m babbling now.” You turned away to begin whipping cream while Eddie had begun to boil water.
“No, no! Babble away! You have interesting stories.” Eddie praised.
The rest of the afternoon flew by as the two of you laughed, stole spoonfuls of chocolate, and filled your delicate pastries with sweet cream. The bell dismissing the students from their last period of the day startled the two of you out of your dream world. You handed Eddie the last bowl that needed to be put away and wiped your wet hands on your jeans.
“Well, thanks for being a great home ec partner, Eddie. If we get to pick our people next time, we should work together again.” You smiled and squeezed his shoulder as you breezed past him to grab your backpack. You flashed him another smile and waved at the door. Eddie felt his knees buckle. You were beautiful; Eddie had noticed you at the beginning of the semester, in awe of how simple and easy you made beauty look. You weren’t popular by any means, but as a member of the drama club, you had a great group of friends. Eddie couldn’t imagine why you would want anything to do with him.
DnD wasn’t the same; Eddie’s mind was not fully immersed in the world he had created. Usually charismatic and intense, he was tripping on words, forgetting important details he had set up last session. His mind was transfixed on you. God, he felt pathetic. You were the first girl that wasn’t in Hellfire or wasn’t trying to get free weed from him to be nice to you. Was that all this was? Was he that pathetic that he was going to fall in love with any girl who was nice to him? Surely not. You were different. Not every girl had glowing eyes like you did; nor did they have such a friendly smile, and the slightest dusting of freckles across their cheeks like yours. They didn’t genuinely laugh at his jokes or touched his arm like you did. You weren’t petty or rude or hung out with him as a joke or-
“Dude!” A squeaky voice rang out, interrupting his daydreams of your interactions. “I rolled a 16 does that hit or not?!” Dustin Henderson was not a patient person on a normal day, but now, the third time he had to snap Eddie out of whatever coma he was in, he was rapidly growing angrier by the second.
“Uh- yeah.. How many hit points does it take?” Eddie mumbled.
Within 25 minutes, the whole Hellfire party had surrendered to their DM, ending the session 40 minutes before their scheduled end. With a frustrated huff, the gaggle of high schoolers exited the stuffy prop room and into the dim hallways.
February rain was not uncommon in Hawkins. It had caught you off guard though. In typical midwest fashion, the morning had started out mild and sunny. Now, at 5:45 when you were attempting to flee the grip of Hawkins High and make the 10 minute walk to the comfort of your own home, you were met with sleet and rain. You paused at the thick glass doors keeping you warm and dry and let out a long sigh that clouded the vision in front of you. You shrugged your shoulders and pushed through the doors into the cold, wet parking lot. You were kept warm by the thought of seeing an outlandish metalhead in the morning. You had to admit, you had been scared by Eddie Munson. His hard shell deterred many people away, but when you were given the opportunity to get to know him today, you penetrated right through to his soft center. You had to stay after school to direct for the one act festival next month, but like Eddie, your mind was transfixed on your home ec partner. You replayed your conversations in your head as you headed to the main street that dissected the community of little houses and the high school field. You shivered into your jean jacket, cursing the fact that your fashion choices weren’t practical at all for a rainstorm in February. Your eyes stayed glued to the pavement in fear that your face would freeze solid if you looked against the wind. Your hair stuck to the sides of your cheeks. You moved your legs as fast as they would carry you.
Eddie jogged out to his van, now covered in frosted rain drops. The short jaunt already had made his hair heavy with moisture and left a shiver in his spine. His engine lazily sputtered to life and he tore out of the school’s parking lot. He couldn’t wait to get home to pick up his guitar and write you forbidden love songs you would never hear. His headlights pelted through the thick, icy rain. God it was miserable. As he rounded the corner of yet another sleepy avenue, he slowed his van and pulled to the side of the road. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief as he stared at your hunched over figure fighting through the storm (and very obviously losing). He pulled his rusted van over to the sidewalk just ahead of where you were trudging. You stopped and squinted towards the rusty Chevrolet Astro and the curly haired driver that was looking at you with his beautiful, yet worried, eyes. You could see Eddie’s tongue poke out of his mouth as he reached over to the passenger side of his van to unlatch the door.
“Hey, Y/N! Are you okay?” The boy had to yell to be heard over the pelting rain and the rattle of his exhaust pipe. “Do you need a lift?”
Your heartbeat quickened and your cheeks grew warm. You smiled at him sweetly. “It’s okay, Eddie. It's only a few more blocks to my house.”
“Are you sure? It’s terrible outside. I really don’t mind!” You paused in contemplation. Did you know Eddie well enough to get into his van? Most of your friends would say no, but you felt like you’d known him for a long time. You felt safe around him. So you shrugged your shoulders and hopped into his van with a small ‘thank you’ leaving your lips. A sudden wave of bashfulness hit you after you gave Eddie approximate direction to your house.
“I-I usually just walk, you know? It was so nice this morning, but…” you ended in a curt giggle, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in embarrassment. It made Eddie’s dimples sprout on each of his cheeks, like you had seen for the first time this afternoon.
“Well a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking at all! Let alone in weather like this!” Fuck. His lips moved before his brain could catch up and stop him. His eyes grew double in size and it was his turn for his cheeks to turn a bold red. “Sorry I didn’t mean- I mean-”
“It's okay Eddie.” You turned your head away from him to stifle your grin. “I appreciate the ride”
It felt like no time before Eddie pulled up to your house.
“Thank you again, so much for the ride. That was so sweet of you.” That damned shoulder touch again. The warmth from the hand around his jean jacketed shoulder sent molten lava straight to his heart.
“Hey,” he choked. He ravaged his cluttered console for an old napkin and a sharpie. He hastily scribbled his digits on the napkin and shoved it towards you, eyes glued to his knees.
“Here, take this, just in case you get caught in this shit weather again.” He didn’t feel your fingers take the paper. He peered up at you, cheeks bright red and brown eyes bright with rejection already. “You know, I just-I don’t mind driving you, you know? It’s strictly just-” He was interrupted by your soft hand around his wrist.
“Eddie” you cooed as you took the wrinkled paper from his hand. “You are the sweetest. Of course I’ll take it. I really appreciate it.” Your eyes locked with him and you felt electricity surge from him to you. You released your grip with a blush and backed away from his van.
“Maybe I can call you about some home ec homework too?” Eddie thought his chest was going to burst out of his chest.
“Y-yeah, doll. That would be great.”
He watched to make sure you got into your house, and left only when you flashed him a smile and wave from your door. He drove home smitten, still smelling your perfume, feeling your warmth from the empty seat beside him. Blissful giggles escaped his lips.
-
The shrill ring of the telephone startled Eddie out of his daze and brushed through the cloud in his room to the hallway. He picked up the phone and answered with a lazy ‘hey’. His throat closed when he heard your voice peep on the other end of the line. \
“Hey, Eddie. I-is this a bad time?” Yes. Eddie thought. He was just starting to feel his buzz, now he felt like he was going to have a heart attack.
“No! No not at all! What’s up, Y/N?” His baritone voice went straight to the butterflies in your stomach. You took a deep breath to ground yourself. You could hardly believe what he was doing to you. Yesterday, Eddie was a stranger to you, someone that was interesting to look at, but you hadn’t dared interact with him - he was too cool for you.
“I-I’m so sorry to ask this… but I think I left my history textbook in your van from this afternoon. I am so sorry but is there any way I can come pick it up or you could-”
“Oh! Yeah I will bring it to you, no problem!” Eddie choked. Your stomach sank in excitement.
“Oh, great, thank you so much!”
“I’ll be there in 10” Eddie hung up the phone before you could let out another apologetic thank you. You bit at your nails in selfish excitement.
Eddie raced through the darkening streets of Hawkins. He remembered where you lived like the back of his hand: past the school three blocks, to the left, then take a right and you were almost at the end of the street. Luckily the storm His headlights pulled up to the sidewalk in front of your house, like he did earlier that afternoon. To his surprise, he saw the upstairs window on the second floor illuminated with your excited figure. You sheepishly slid the window open and crawled through it and shimmied down the ivied siding. You trotted up to Eddie’s unrolled passenger window.
“Hey, Eddie. Thank you so much!”
“No problem. Front door broken?” Eddie chuckled.
“Nah, strict parents make for sneaky kids.” You wagged your eyebrows at him. You boldly opened his passenger door and snaked into the seat. Eddie’s cheeks grew warm with yours as your bodies were now closer (but not as close as you both craved). He sheepishly handed you your textbook, which you pulled to your chest.
“Thanks, Eddie.” you peeped. A sudden burst of courage hit you, and although your hands felt numb, you took a breath and let the words escape your mouth. “I need to tell you, I don’t think that you’re crazy and weird like people say.” You dared to look into his soft, dark eyes. “I think you’re really sweet, and funny. And it really sucks that Hawkins is too small minded to see how great you are.” You leaned over and gave him a sweet peck on the cheek before hopping out of the passenger seat. Eddie wanted to pull you back to him, to grab your face and press his lips to yours; but he was frozen in shock. He would have never imagined you ever wanting to talk to him again, let alone thinking he was a good guy AND pressing your perfect pout to his cheek?
“Thank you again, Eddie, for driving all the way over here. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He mustered up the strength to break out of his daze. “Yeah, doll. I’ll see you then”
With silent smiles, Eddie watched you retreat back up the siding of your house back through your window, pausing to look back at him.
Eddie drove home with a smile plastered to his face.
-
The second week of February was filled with stolen glances in the busy hallways of Hawkins High. Your home economics classes flew by, papers being graffitied with notes and doodles passed between the two of you. Your dreams were filled with Eddie. Every second or third comment to your regular grouping of lunch buddies was something that the metalhead said or did or comments that reminded you of him; But you didn’t dare disturb him and his gaggle of Hellfire-clad freshmen; just like he knew he would warrant a death wish by coming to speak to you and your friends. So, you kept your little slice of heaven to blushing smiles, secret notes, and your home ec class.
When the two of you both found yourselves at school late (which both of you were finding more excuses, Eddie would offer to drive you home. You would sheepishly follow him through the parking lot and take (what Eddie will now permanently hope is) your spot in his rusty van. You were scared to admit it to Eddie, but it was easy for your own revelation: Eddie was very quickly becoming your comfort person.
February 14th was usually a day that reaffirmed that Eddie was destined for a life of loneliness in Hawkins, Indiana. Until, he pried open his overfull locker and was greeted with a small green note with his name neatly printed on it.
“Eddie. Thank you for being such a great person to be around. I hope you have a great day - just like the rest. You deserve them.”
Under the message, your name sat with a small heart scribbled next to it. Eddie’s cheeks burnt a furious red. His big brown eyes scanned the hallway desperately, hoping to spot your bouncy curls, or hear your infectious laugh; but to no avail. He trudged through the halls. He strode up to Chrissy Cunningham and her gaggle of cheerleaders - your normal crowd.
“Hey Chrissy.”
“Oh- uh, Eddie?” The metalhead could tell that he had caught the girl off guard.
“Sorry, don’t mean to bother you in your natural habitat” the girls shifted uneasily. “But do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her… about home ec homework.” He wavered over his lie, and Chrissy caught the note grasped tightly in his hand.
“I haven’t seen her yet today.” The girl gave a polite but curt answer. The group dissipated, but Chrissy offered a light touch on his shoulder. “When I see her, I’ll let her know you need to talk to her.” With her words ringing in his ear, and the shrill warning of the morning bell, Eddie was alone in the hallway with his lovestruck mind. He decided to do what he did every time he was in crisis: go to the bleachers and make himself forget about all the shit that was worrying him. He spent the morning outside, but by the end of the day Eddie had spent his time either thinking about you, or tracing every inch of the school looking for you.
You had stayed home, school feeling less than ideal today. You had stuffed the note in Eddie’s locker at the end of the day - opting to stay even later than he did and walked yourself home. You didn’t sleep all night, and could barely get any food down today. Would he understand? You were only bold enough to make a move in subtleties. Would he care?
Eddie gripped his steering wheel with white knuckles. It was a drive that he wished was both over already and would never end. It was a short drive to your house from Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie had called Hellfire off and beelined out of the school when he found out you hadn’t shown up at all. He felt he had paced a trench in his bedroom floor debating whether or not he should go to your house. What if the letter was a mistake? Or if you were only reaffirming you only liked him as a friend? When the clock hit 9:30pm, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and trotted down the concrete steps. When the van rumbled to a start, he turned the radio fully off, too tempted to be absorbed in his own thoughts. The streetlights of your neighborhood illuminated the small red heart box and the humble bouquet of roses that sat where you normally did. Eddie chewed on his lip so hard he thought he tasted blood. His brakes squealed to a halt on the sidewalk outside of your tidy little house. He had hoped that the light in your bedroom would be off, so he could wimp out and go home and hide in his bed forever. But his heart skipped an excited beat when he saw the light in the window you had crawled out of a week ago was on, and it illuminated your figure moving through your room.His breath caught in his throat as he turned the key in his ignition and grabbed his wares to begin his journey up the ivy siding to your window.
-
You had hid yourself away in your room - cassettes, VCRs and books being your welcome distraction from your anxious heart. A tap on your window pulled you from Madonna’s breathy whines about living in a material world. Your heart dropped to your knees when you saw a mop of dark ringlets framing an alabaster face. Eddie’s eyes were wider than you have ever seen them, but filled with an unreadable haze. You rushed to the window and let the boy fall into your room. He straightened himself up with a nervous smile, you returned the sentiment. His hands stayed fixed behind his long body. He shifted his weight, but couldn’t help but inch closer to you as well.
“Hey” he peeped
“Hi, Eddie. What are you-”
“I-uh. I got your note.”
Your breath hitched and it was your turn to shift your weight. The spot on your carpet was suddenly too tempting to look at than Eddie’s face. His hands obscured his vision. In them you saw a small red box, and flowers. You looked up at Eddie with confused excitement; his face was warm, cheeks blushing.
“I looked for you all day at school today because I wanted to ask you if you’d be my-”
Before he could finish his sentence, you threw yourself into his arms. Your cheek could feel the pounding in his chest and he stood in shock.
“Of course I will, Eddie.” You breathed into him. You pulled yourself away from him and took the flowers from his hand. You placed them on your desk with a giggle. You turned to see the open box that Eddie had in his hand. In it laid a small chain with a pink and purple guitar pick. You gasped in awe and your eyes filled with tears.
“I thought, since I have one-” he pulled a red and black pick on a chain out of his Dio tee. “We could kind of match.” Eddie’s voice shook. His cheeks matched the red on his own necklace. You pulled him to you and pecked your plumped lips against his cheek. Eddie chuckled as he spun you to put your new favorite piece of jewelry on you. Eddie clasped the metal and ran his hands down your arms.
“Let me take you on a date, please?” He whispered. His hands sent shivers throughout your body. His lips pursed on the top of your head and you wished you could stay in this moment forever. You turned in his arms and draped yourself around his neck. His arms migrated from your arms to your cheeks. His doe eyes were dark with admiration, he wanted to devour you whole, but he waited, silently asking for permission to press his lips to yours. You silently obliged him and tilted your chin up to him. His soft lips met yours and the world slowed. His thumb traced small grounding circles on your jaw. Your insides filled with molten, a desperation for the moment to never stop. Eddie’s soft lips probed yours, lightly asking for permission to deepen your kiss. You permitted him with a content sigh and let Eddie show you just how much he really cared about you. All of the words he was too afraid to say to you, all of the times he wished that he could sweep you off your feet and kiss you in front of everyone. For the thank you he couldn’t give you for the note you left him. For the times he wanted to ask you out in his van, or the time he desperately wanted to tuck your wet hair behind your ear the first day he drove you home. He poured all his heart out to you and you felt it. You pulled away softly with wet eyes.
“Eddie, I would be honored.”
-
Taglist: @eddies-acousticguitar @mmunson86 @sadbitchfangirl @hideoutside @anxiousobserver @ali-r3n @brinleighsstuff @filth-fiction-archive @vintagehellfire @kirstinjayjay @darknesseddiem @poofyloofy @sluggzillaa @aol19 @dark-angel-is-back @keikoraven @emxxblog @adrenalineeerevolver @crybabyddl @lovemegood @cherry-pop3547 @cozmiccass @leelei1980 @trixyvixx @skylar-ish-meh @harrysgothicbitch @emsgoodthinkin @micheledawn1975 @thehuntresswolf @girlwiththerubyslippers @blueberry-lemon
Loveeeee
that guy ⊹ steve harrington
summary: After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him… | 2.6k words
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
The moment Steve steps through the glass doors of the diner, you wonder, for about the millionth time that month alone, what is it that you've done so wrong to deserve this kind of punishment.
It's Friday night, and on Friday nights, Steve Harrington goes on dates. It's just like clockwork, really: he meets a pretty girl, thinks she's the one, takes her out on a date, realizes quickly enough that she isn't quite what he was looking for, then comes here after having dropped her back home to sulk with you, in the diner that your family runs, still clad in the outfit he'd chosen especially for his failed date.
To be honest, he never looks sad, per se — more like disappointed. Frustrated, maybe.
You watch as he weaves around tables occupied by laughing friends, past booths filled with couples sharing desserts, then slides into a seat in front of you at the bar. Steve sits down with an exhausted sigh, ruffling up his hair before shooting you a tired smile.
"Hi."
You don't look up from where you're polishing the counter. "Bad date again?"
"Not even close. She talked about horses non-stop."
A quiet laugh slips past your lips despite yourself, and finally, you tear your gaze off the dark wooden surface of the counter to look up at him; he's got this pleased little smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the way they always do whenever he succeeds at making you laugh, even if just a little.
How are you supposed to keep acting like nothing's wrong when he looks at you like that?
You clear your throat awkwardly and make yourself busy stacking clean glasses next to the coffee machine.
"So...not the one, I take it?"
Steve leans forward against the counter and props his head up with his hand, sighing deeply.
"I'm starting to think she won't ever show up," he says quietly, running his other hand through his hair. You chance another glance at him and note how genuinely worried he looks. It breaks your heart almost as much as it annoys you. "What is it that's wrong with me, huh? I just don't get it."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
"You don't need to be nice to me. We've been friends since forever, remember?"
The word 'friends' makes you wince a little bit inside, but you hide the reaction behind a neutral frown. "Do you think there's something wrong with me? Because I haven't found the one yet either, you know."
Steve's expression softens as he looks at you, and once again you feel that horrible twinge in your stomach that you wish would just stop already.
"It's different. I mean—you're not actively trying to find someone." He reaches out to pull one of the half-melted mints out from the glass bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth with a shrug. "I go out looking for her and she just doesn't come. If she even exists, that is."
"She does."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I wouldn't hold my breath. God, why am I such an idiot, y'know?" Steve slumps over the counter with a groan, burying his face into his crossed arms. "My love life is a trainwreck."
"At least you have one."
He glances up at you curiously and lifts an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it. Do you want some pie?"
You're not about to tell him what you've only admitted to yourself mere months ago — that you're actually hopelessly, madly, stupidly in love with him, and that you have been ever since the two of you were just dumb kids racing around your parents' diner.
What makes it even worse is that you had no idea your feelings went that deep until Steve started going on these dates of his again. Before then, everything was normal — you met up every weekend and binged on candy, watched bad movies on your couch, drove around town together blasting The Clash on his BMW's speakers...it was good.
Until it wasn't.
"Wait, c'mon, you can't just leave me hanging like that," Steve presses. He shifts a little on his stool to better face you, then gestures at you with his hands. "You've clearly got something you wanna say, so, like—hit me. Lay it on me."
"Nothing. I'm just saying...at least you're trying, you know," you say carefully, measuring each word before speaking them. "And at least you're the one doing the rejecting. Could be worse."
Steve's eyebrows rise high up on his forehead and he looks at you incredulously. "Whoa, wait—are you trying to tell me you've been rejected?"
You busy yourself by filling two tall glasses with soda, then slide one to his side of the counter and keep the other for yourself. "Uh...kind of, yeah. But it's fine."
"But who the hell would even do that?" he blurts out. There's anger in his voice all of a sudden, a defensive fire in his eyes that makes you feel as if someone has punched you in the gut. "To you? You're like, the nicest person on the planet, and super pretty to boot. That's just—that's crazy!"
Your heart gives a violent little jump in your chest. He thinks you're pretty. Steve Harrington thinks you're pretty.
Pretty as a friend, you correct yourself immediately, and sigh as you sip your drink. Of course, it's nothing more than that — just meaningless words spoken in a moment of unthinking kindness.
"Seriously, who?" he presses on. "Give me a name. I'll fight him."
"You mean like you fought Jonathan Byers?" you smile behind your glass, looking at him from over its rim.
Steve looks embarrassed at the memory and drops his gaze for a second or two before meeting your eyes again with a playful little smile of his own. "Different situation, okay, but that's not the point. So? Who's the guy?"
"You...don't know him," you hedge.
"It's Hawkins. I know the stray cats here by name."
"Fine, well, even if you did know him, it doesn't matter. He didn't reject me, exactly...not really."
Steve frowns a little. "Okay, you're gonna have to start making sense now. This is hurting my head."
The funny thing is, he actually looks confused, as if he can't possibly fathom the idea of someone rejecting you. It's sweet, really — way too sweet for your liking, especially when you know fully well he doesn't see you in the way you'd want him to.
You lower your gaze to avoid his and instead focus on drawing random shapes on the counter with your index finger, where tiny droplets of condensation from your glass have pooled up on the dark wood. "I mean, I never really told him how I felt. Not directly. It just…never happened."
"Oh. Well, then how do you even know if he feels the same way?" he asks you, looking rather doubtful.
You steal another glance at him and almost regret it instantly. His eyes are trained on your face, patient and attentive like you're the only thing worth watching in the world. It makes you feel horribly small and selfish and guilty, because after all, what right do you have to want him when he so clearly wants someone else?
You feel like you could cry. You might, if you don't distract yourself with something fast enough.
"I just know. Do you want some pie? I'll go get you some pie."
Without waiting for a response, you rush off to the kitchen even though there's plenty of pies sitting on the display counter at the bar, and you make a beeline straight for the back exit.
The alley behind the diner is blissfully empty as usual, just a lonely dumpster and a handful of sad-looking shrubs and weeds peeking out from under the concrete.
No, you aren't going to cry.
This is stupid.
You press your back against the rough brick wall of the diner and breathe in deep the warm night air, then exhale slowly as you count to ten in your head.
When the door opens behind you and the diner's familiar chatter and clatter of cutlery spill into the alley, you wince, mentally cursing yourself for being so goddamn weak. You should have known better.
You don't have to look up to know that it's him.
"Are you hiding from me?" Steve's voice comes, quiet and curious and maybe just a little bit hurt, even.
"I got...suddenly nauseous," you explain weakly, still refusing to look up and meet his eyes.
There's a long stretch of silence, and you feel Steve move closer to you until he's leaning against the wall by your side. You finally look up and find him smiling, this gentle, amused little thing that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.
"You look just fine to me."
You stare up at the sky, head against the wall. "I thought I was gonna throw up."
He's still watching you, you can tell; you're keenly aware of his eyes on you, so much so that your skin prickles at the attention. "No, you didn't."
"No, I didn't," you admit with a sigh, and turn your head to finally look at him. He's got this little half-smile on his lips, the very same one you fell for years ago, and you curse yourself silently for never learning how to let him go. Really let him go.
"Hey. Listen. You don't have to tell me, okay?" Steve says gently, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face and tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on the edge of your jaw for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to wonder whether he knows what he's doing to you.
You don't dare to move. You're afraid of breaking whatever spell has seemingly come over him.
"I should've never asked. That was selfish."
"Forget it," you say.
He's standing close now, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to be able to look up at him properly. There's a strange kind of tension in his eyes, something dark and unsure and tentative, and his gaze darts down to your lips just the slightest bit.
You're fairly sure you're just seeing what you want to see, your foolish heart playing tricks on you. But you panic nonetheless, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if he moves any closer, he'll realize the truth — that you're a liar and a coward, that you've been harboring these feelings of yours for him for years.
"I should—I should go. Back inside," you mutter, pointing vaguely at the door with your thumb. "In there."
"Sure, yeah. Okay. In there," he echoes, not making a single move to leave. "Not out here."
"Yup. Exactly. In there."
"So you said."
"Yep."
The wall of the diner is digging into your spine uncomfortably, and your mouth is dry, and your knees feel weak, and your stomach is doing somersaults, and the longer he stares at you with those eyes of his the more you feel like you're burning from the inside out and—
He's not moving. All he does is look at you, really look at you, as if it's the first time he's really looked, as if he's seeing something that wasn't there before.
"Okay, so—"
You try to push past him towards the door, but Steve grabs your arm, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets go as soon as you look up at him, lifting his hand in front of him in an apologetic gesture.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," he says. He swallows hard and rubs his palm on the front of his jeans, a nervous little habit you think he's always had. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the carefully gelled strands, and it's probably the first time you've ever seen him look so flustered.
He laughs nervously and gestures at the ground with his hands as he speaks. "Look, this is just—this is just crazy, okay, but I think I, uh, maybe sort of realized something."
You blink at him, not quite certain you're hearing him correctly.
"Realized what?" you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.
Steve clears his throat and nods at you, seemingly pleased that you've finally spoken. "Yeah, well, this is stupid, but you know how you're always telling me to listen to my gut?"
"You're not making a whole lot of sense right now, Steve."
"Just bear with me for a sec, okay? This is like, totally new to me." He holds his palms up, and you notice his hands are shaking a little. "I just need a minute, alright?"
He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, then shoots you an apologetic look.
"Sorry, this is just...really weird," he confesses. "Weirdly real."
"You're freaking me out," you tell him, but Steve only smiles at you.
"Maybe I should just show you. Because, I mean, what if I'm wrong? That'd be terrible, obviously."
"Steve."
"Yeah, I know, but hear me out, okay?" he says quickly, and takes another step closer. You stand your ground this time, if only because you don't trust yourself to actually move without your legs giving out. "So, look. Here's the thing. You're, like—you're one of the most important people in my life. You've been there for me when nobody else was, and I...you mean a lot to me."
"Steve—"
"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."
He takes another step forward until he's crowding you against the wall, hand coming to rest next to your head on the brick. He's close, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne and shampoo and laundry detergent, and if you were to lean in even the slightest bit, your faces would bump.
Steve is a little out of breath, his lips parted ever so slightly. And he's still looking at you with that strange, searching expression of his.
"Is this okay?" he whispers.
"I don't—what?"
Your voice catches in your throat. There's no room for doubt in his eyes now, not even the tiniest, slightest sliver of uncertainty left.
"This," Steve murmurs.
He tilts his head to the side a little and leans in until you're sure your noses are touching, and you feel your eyes slip closed in anticipation.
"Is this okay?" he repeats in a whisper. "Please tell me I'm not crazy."
"I think I am."
His lips brush yours. It feels like an accident, doesn't last long enough to be anything but a dream. You can still taste the faint, sweet trace of sugar and mint on your tongue when he pulls away, though.
"Just to be clear," Steve whispers, his fingers brushing lightly over the skin of your neck, tracing invisible lines that make you shiver, "am I the guy from earlier? The one you like?"
You don't have it in you to deny it anymore.
"Yes. It's you."
A wide grin breaks out across his face, and suddenly he's everywhere; he cups your face in his hands, pressing eager, fervent kisses along the line of your jaw, trailing hot and open-mouthed down the side of your neck.
You giggle helplessly, grabbing Steve by his collar to pull him away from you and up to your eye level. He's breathing just as heavily as you are, his hair messy and his eyes bright.
"How do you do this to me, huh?" he pants, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You just—you just completely knock me out."
A pleasant little thrill rushes up your spine at that.
"Oh yeah?"
"Completely."
You kiss him this time.