by Starfucker19
Michael was on his way back home after another failed date attempt when he came across a little flower shop.
Words: 2571, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: spideymbj - Fandom, Spiderman - Fandom
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Peter Parker, Michael B. Jordan
Relationships: Michael B. Jordan/Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield/Michael B. Jordan
Additional Tags: Fluff, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Peter Parker owns a flower shop, Michael can't keep a date, Dead Aunt May Parker (Marvel), Family Issues, Michael B. Jordan as Mary Jane Watson, supportive parents, Strangers to Lovers, Chance Meetings, SpideyMBJ, spidertorch, Spiderstorm
via https://ift.tt/oYRjVBb
✴︎MBJ johnny storm, who’s extremely cocky when it comes to flexing his muscles around Peter. Bragging with words like “bet you ain’t never seen biceps look this good huh.” Making Peter practically drooling, not hearing a single word he says
Johnny stares at himself in the mirror flexing his back muscles and biceps
“bet you ain't never seen abs look this good parker” he smirks to himself, turning around to show Peter more of his V line
Peter stood there with a little drool down his lip, snapping photos of johnny with no care
“What were you saying again?”
AG spiderman/peter parker , taking pictures of Johnny everywhere. No matter what the day is like, he loves tkaing pictures of his lover any chance he can get even when he’s upset or angry
— “dude I look terrible in that picture!” Johnny cries on his knees staring down at the photo of him
“What i think it looks adorable” Peter reassures him squatting down to pat his back
“You took this picture of me while I was snoring,” Johnny let out glaring at Peter
“Still cute..!” 
MBJ Johnny storm, who steals peters sweatpants almost like everyday just to end up burning it whenever theres a mission
—“Are you serious! This is the fourth sweats this week, dont you have any of your own.” Peter shouts at Johnny from outside of his window
“Sorry your pants are more comfortable, I’ll get you new ones later!!” He yells back, his words at fading away as he flew faster
“I’ve gotta start locking my doors now..” peter murmurs to himself shutting the window
AG spiderman/peter parker, who tried to give Johnny waves but fails miserably due to the fact he’s not good with hair, only photographs
—“ I don’t think I did it right..” Peter muttered to himself, holding the durag in his hands,
sue giggles standing in front of the bathroom door holding a towel , “maybe let’s stick to what we do best peter”
“Yeah…I like that idea a lot more” Johnny mumbled, a tear rolling down his face with disappointment
MBJ Johnny storm, who gets extremely jealous when he notices black cat and ghost spider trying to hit on Peter, ends up sabotaging their cool moments and back flips with a little fire
— “joh-I mean torch! What the heck did you do that for” spiderman yells at the human torch, floating in the air with blazing heat
“I didn’t see them..and besides my finger slipped” Johnny smirked cockily as he lied through his teeth staring dead into black cats eyes
“So my bad…not” he whispered to himself rolling his eyes at black cat
AG spiderman/ peter parker, who likes to try on Johnny’s suit and clothes, wondering which inspo would look good for his new costume
—“say you wouldn’t mind if I kept this right?” Peter says with the biggest grin on his fast, a large pile of clothes stacked on top of each other
Johnny stares at him raising his eyebrow as he takes a bite into his burrito, “sure..”
MBJ Johnny storm, who loves surprising Peter with different cameras nearly like once every week
— “Johnny are you serious this is like the third camera you’ve gotten me this week!” Peter shouts holding the expensive camera in his hands
“Eh who cares. If you don’t want it I can get you another one” Johnny replied back smirking at him, shrugging his shoulders
“Dude you’ve gotta be kidding me..”
—
this is lwk terrible but it's whatever ion en cur fr 😔
And now, a very silly one-shot based on this Tumblr post.
Steve is kicked out of his parents house and has all of five minutes to grab everything he cares about— which isn't much. He leaves with the clothes on his back, the cash from under his mattress, and a handful of photographs of him and his friends.
After paying first and last month's rent plus a security deposit, he realizes he can either furnish his new apartment, or eat, but not both. He buys a pillow and a blanket, trashpicks some odds and ends to stand in as furniture, and luxuriates in a dinner of frozen lasagna.
He spends the next couple weeks working as many hours as he can stand. It makes it a bit easier knowing how comfortless his apartment is— Family Video may drain his soul a little, but at least there's air conditioning, and chairs. But his new spartan quarters are almost like a badge of honor, a reminder that he doesn't need to live like his parents, surrounded by plush carpet and formal dining rooms and plaid wallpaper. And honestly Steve is feeling pretty proud, like he's actually doing well for himself for the first time in his life.
Until the break-in, anyway.
Exhausted after a double shift, Steve dragged himself past the threshold of his apartment on autopilot before he even registered that the door was already open.
There was a strange man standing in the middle of his living room.
Now, just because Steve had no furniture, that didn’t mean he had no weapons. He wasn’t a complete idiot. There weren’t any couch cushions to stash daggers underneath or whatever, but he'd stashed the nail bat behind the front door, a can of mace under the milk crate he sometimes sat on, and a housewarming gift from Nancy in the form of a revolver duct-taped to the underside of the wire spool he'd been using as a table.
He was mid-decision of which of his weapons to lunge for when the guy turned around to face him.
He was gorgeous— Steve cursed his survival instinct for that being the first and only thing he noticed— with dark hair pulled up to reveal the tattoos on every inch of his skin. He looked like he belonged in a punk band, or maybe prison.
To add insult to injury, he wasn’t concerned or even surprised to see Steve there, despite the empty muslin laundry sack thrown over his shoulder like Santa Claus's sketchy nephew, leaving no mystery of what he was there to do.
"This your place?" the guy asked dubiously, as if he had any right to ask questions. "Cuz I broke in to rob you, but shit, man, you got nothing." He laughed, casual as anything despite being caught red-handed. Steve could only stare, open-mouthed and stunned by the confession.
"Wait here," the man said, sauntering over and bracing an arm on Steve’s shoulder as if they were old friends.
Bizarrely, there were still no warning bells going off in Steve's head, even as he took in the stranger’s face: sharp features pulled into a hard line, with tattoos creeping up his neck, onto his jaw and cheekbones.
He looked like the kind of guy that Steve's mother would cross the street to avoid, clutching her purse tightly and refusing to make eye contact.
But Steve held his gaze without fear, caught up in the warmth of his beautiful brown eyes, made only more striking by the scar slicing through one eyebrow. There was something soft there that caught Steve off guard and left him wanting to know more, a gentle curiosity even as Steve's eyes darted down, drawn to the movement of the man skillfully flipping a butterfly knife shut with one hand and slipping it into his pocket.
The man gave him an apologetic smile. Steve studied it, told himself he was analysing it for signs of danger, trying to suss out the likelihood he was about to be stabbed.
But the truth was, all he could focus on was the plush curve of the stranger’s lips, pulled taut into a perfect cupid’s bow.
The gentle curiosity was back in full force as the man's hand slid up from Steve's shoulder to the side of his neck, a far more intimate touch that had Steve frozen, unable to think of anything but his own pulse hammering away under the pads of the stranger's gentle fingers.
"I'll be right back," the man promised with a soft, reassuring squeeze to his neck. And with a wink and a reckless grin, he turned and slipped out the door.
Steve stood there stunned, only sitting down on his milk crate when the world went dark around the edges and he realized he was hyperventilating, and in real danger of passing out.
The man was not right back. By the time Steve fell asleep hours later, comforted only by a single pillow and blanket on the floor of his lonely apartment, he still wasn't sure if his a reaction was to the danger, or to the stab of desire he felt the moment the man touched him.
Steve was awoken the next morning by a knock on the door. He crept over to look through the peephole with his hand hovering over his nailbat in the corner, but let his hand fall to his side when he saw that the man from yesterday, his burglar, was back— and he'd brought friends. Even while mentally berating himself for his own stupid naivety, Steve opened the door.
Not a second later, somebody pushed past him to enter the apartment. Or tried to, anyway. Two new strangers stood in the doorway, holding a heavy wooden dining room table, bickering and ignoring him completely as they attempted to angle it this way and that to get it through the doorway without snagging the legs.
"Manners, gentlemen, where are your manners?" the man from yesterday called loudly from behind them, obviously irritated. "Sorry to intrude, pretty boy. We come bearing gifts,” he said with a mischievous smile that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. “This here is Jeff and Gareth," the man announced, pointing to them each in turn: Jeff was dressed all in black, with thick locs covered by a slouchy black beanie, with a heavy padlock and matching key around his neck, and Gareth, in red plaid pants, a Mohawk and a noise piercing. "And this is Freak," the man continued, gesturing at the heavy-set one with curly hair, dressed in more leather than seasonally appropriate, carrying a television— with a built-in VCR, no less.
Without warning, the burglar dove to kneel at Steve’s feet, puffing his chest out boastfully as he reached to take his hand. Maintaining eye contact all the while, the man placed a loud, deliberate kiss to the back of it.
He was, without a doubt, the strangest person Steve had ever met.
And all Steve could think about was tackling him to the ground and tasting every one of his piercings.
He laughed at the thought, loudly and helplessly, which only seemed to encourage the man to press more kisses up and down Steve’s wrist. What a bizarre moment, he thought, to become fully cognizant of his own same-sex attraction.
"As for me," the man said with a dorky little bow, releasing Steve’s hand to place one on his own heart while throwing the other out in a theatrical flourish, “you can call me tomorrow.”
His friends all groaned, dragging dining chairs into Steve’s tragically empty living room and stacking them haphazardly next to the table.
“Sorry,” the man said, shaking his head as if just realizing he’d misspoken. “I meant to say, you can call me Eddie. But, you know, now that you mention it…” The man— Eddie, apparently— reached into his back pocket, pulled out a tattered piece of corrugated cardboard, and handed it to Steve. It was clearly a torn piece of a pizza box, roughly the size of an index card. There were unmistakable smears of dried sauce, and the edges looked as though they’d been aggressively torn by hand. Steve glanced up, brows raised in question.
Eddie just gave him a hopeful little nod.
Steve flipped it over and sure enough, there was a phone number there, scrawled in barely-legible Sharpie. He looked up again to find Eddie grinning at him shamelessly.
“Yeah, let us know how that works out for you,” Jeff sighed, pulling out a cigarette, sticking it behind his ear, and tossing the pack at the back of Eddie’s head. “If you’re not back at the van in five minutes, we’re leaving without you,” he called over his shoulder as the three of them filed out of Steve’s apartment.
Eddie scoffed, bending over to pick up the pack, taking one for himself and lighting it, right there in the middle of Steve’s living room.
“Oh, one more thing,” he said, all faux innocence. “I think I got you a bed too, but that might take a couple days.”
Eddie took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling heavily in deep satisfaction. Then, eyes half-lidded, he gave Steve a look so filthy, so openly wanting, leaving no room for doubt of what was on offer.
“When can I come… give it to you?”
Steve felt like the breath had been punched out of him. He choked, whether on the smoke or the implication, coughing as he scrambled to figure out what the hell to say to that.
Because despite all rational thought… the attention wasn’t unwelcome.
Was it a bad idea to flirt back within hours of his first inkling of being interested in men? Probably.
Was it an even worse one to flirt with the guy who broke into his apartment and then did… whatever this was? Absolutely.
But this guy seemed to know a thing or two about bad ideas, and Steve was feeling inclined to trust the expert.
“Do these lines actually work for you?” Steve asked teasingly, letting his voice fall into the lower register he had once reserved for sweet-talking cheerleaders under the bleachers.
“I don’t know, big boy,” Eddie shot back, brown eyes gleaming as he stepped in closer until their toes were almost touching. “You tell me. Is it working?”
Between the proximity and the secondhand smoke, his head was spinning once again. "Steve," he found himself saying despite his better judgment as he allowed his eyes to sweep over Eddie’s face, taking in every detail. Feeling emboldened by the shameless, hungry look Eddie was giving him, he reached out to pluck the cigarette from Eddie’s lips, took a long drag and exhaled through his nose before carefully placing it back.
All the while, Eddie watched him, dark eyes tracking his every move like a shark drawn to blood in the water.
"My name,” he said, voice low and gravelly, “is Steve. So when I call you tomorrow, I won't have to introduce myself as the guy you reverse-burgled."
"Revurgled," all three of his friends supplied helpfully in unison from just beyond the door, out of sight.
Steve jumped back, startled, and just like that the moment was over.
Eddie whirled around and stormed out of the apartment, berating his friends for their poor timing, not even bothering to say goodbye or close the door on his way out.
Steve stepped out after him, watching as the four of them disappeared down the hall, still bickering the whole way. He reached into his pocket, reassuring himself that the phone number was still there.
He wondered how soon was too soon to call. Because he was sure of it now: he just couldn’t wait to get into Eddie’s bed.
Fic where Eddie starts finding all these little notes with ‘Munson’ written on them. He unfolds the paper and written inside is a single letter.
He gets a K, an O, an R, and so and so until he can rearrange the letters to spell S K U L L R O K.
He never finds the C and thinks maybe it’s a clue to who is sending them.
He thinks briefly when he’s hiking out to Skull Rock that maybe Chrissy Cunningham was leaving him the notes. She’s been smiling at him in the hallway more lately, but no.
No.
He definitely made a mistake coming out here. He’s probably about to die because - “Harrington? What the fuck.”
“Finally,” Steve groaned from atop the rock. “About time, Munson.”
“Did you - Are your little friends planning to jump out and attack me?” Eddie asks, scanning the horizon. “Or is this some eleborate way to ask for drugs?”
“Why would I bring my little friends to the make out rock?” Steve asks, making a face at the thought of bringing Dustin up here. “Gross.”
“Why would you bring me here?”
“Oh,” Steve says, realizing that - “I don’t know. Just bored. Figured you were good at word puzzles.”
Eddie just stares at him and Steve stares back, unashamed and unabashed. Eventually, Eddie sighs, “What is the significance of leaving out the C?”
“I forgot the C? Damn it,” Steve swore and then shrugs, “Whatever.”
There’s silence and then Steve asks, “Since you’re here, wanna make out?”
written for this month’s @steddiemicrofic prompt “delay, 408 words” | rated: g | no cw | tags: modern setting, meet cute, crush at first sight, singer steve
When Eddie‘s flight is delayed a whole day, he’s left stranded in Chicago.
Maybe not stranded– the airline gets him a room, of course, but now he has sixteen hours to kill, and he’s not gonna spend them in some stupid airport hotel watching cheap TV. It’s only been two hours, and he already feels like climbing the walls.
So he takes a cab to the city, and after some walking around, he finds a bar with live music.
The music is good, not exactly Eddie’s type but the guy singing definitely is.
He’s hot– skin dotted with moles, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his face or pointing every which way, chest hair peeking out of his shirt. He’s also goofy, making faces at the crowd and joking with the band.
Eddie gets a beer and sits at the bar, facing the small stage so he can watch the guy’s set.
Once it’s over, he says hi to a few people before sitting down next to Eddie, waving at the bartender.
Eddie doesn’t know what makes him speak. This guy is probably straight and way out of his league, but he’s in Chicago for only one night, so–
“Hey, man. That was good,” he blurts out, shifting closer to be heard over the chatter and the music.
The guy looks at Eddie, and his breath catches. He’s even more beautiful up close.
Especially when he grins, brushing his hair back. “Thanks!” He tilts his head like a puppy, too adorable for someone so hot. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around.”
“Well, I’m from Indiana.”
The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “No way! Me too! Robin and I moved here a few years ago.”
He points at a girl at the end of the bar. During his set, she was singing along to his songs, and now she’s talking to the drummer.
“Your girlfriend?” Eddie asks. It’d make sense– high school sweethearts moving to the big city together.
“Best friend,” he corrects, spinning the stool so his knees press against Eddie’s thigh. “I’m not dating anyone. You know, in case you wanted to buy me a drink."
Eddie perks up. “I’d love to buy you a drink, sweetheart.”
“Steve,” he says, scooting closer.
“Eddie.”
“So, Eddie.” Steve props his chin on his palm, fluttering his eyelashes. “What brings you to Chicago?”
Eddie waves the bartender over. “You know, Steve,” he says, smirking. “I’m starting to think it was fate.”
rated m | 956 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: famous corroded coffin, normal dude steve, flirting, steddie getting together
also on ao3
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
It’s a stupid job, but it’s a job. Steve just needed the job.
File clerk is a “woman’s job” according to both of his parents, but he gets paid better than any other job he’s qualified for and the secretary always brings him cookies on Fridays so he can’t complain. Not many people can say they get to file important documents for a record label in Chicago.
He’s met extremely important people. He accidentally spilled coffee on a guy who looked a lot like Ozzy Osborne. He wasn’t. He doesn’t think.
“Excuse me, do you know where studio five is?” A voice accompanies a loud knock on the office door. He’s usually alone for most of the day, so someone appearing in his little alcove is a bit unexpected.
He thinks back to the tour he got on his first day. He never really leaves the front hallway. He talks to Sharona at the front desk every morning, puts his lunch in the break room to the left, clocks in, heads to his little hole in the wall to file.
“All the studios are on the second floor,” Steve explains as he turns around to face the voice. “Oh. Oh my god.”
Eddie Munson is standing in his doorway. Eddie of Corroded Coffin fame. The guitarist who just graced the cover of Rolling Stone fully nude except for his guitar.
That guy.
“See, they told me one through five were on this floor. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted them.” Eddie rests his head against the doorframe and sighs. “Sorry for bothering you. You look busy.”
Steve’s still a little starstruck, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. If he does, he’s apparently not gonna say anything. He’s just gonna let Steve suffer.
“Actually, could you show me where the elevators are? I don’t wanna take the stairs with my sweetheart,” Eddie smiles at him, standing up straight.
Oh. So the rumors are true. Eddie’s got himself a girlfriend. Apparently one who is important enough to come to the studio with him to record new music. Steve lets out a breath as he accepts this information. It’s not like he had a chance anyway.
“Sure, let me just lock the drawer,” Steve accepts he’s going to have to suck up the ridiculous crush he has on this rockstar and be helpful. It may not be in his job description, but he’s gonna help Eddie and his sweetheart get to where they need to be.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? There was no one at the front desk or I would ask them,” Eddie actually sounds a bit like he regrets bothering Steve now, but Steve could use a break. Sometimes spending hours on end in this small room is enough to make him edgy.
“No, I need to stretch my legs. It’s a quick trip.”
Steve leads him out of the room and closes the door.
When he turns, there’s no other person standing by Eddie. Cool, so Eddie’s high and hallucinating. Steve doesn’t get paid enough for this.
“Where’s, uh, your girlfriend?” Steve looks around to make sure she didn’t wander somewhere she shouldn’t be. Honestly, he doesn’t care if she does.
“My…wait.” Eddie laughs. “My sweetheart is my guitar.”
Steve looks down to see the guitar case by the wall. It must be the one that’s from the photoshoot.
“Oh yeah. I knew that.”
Eddie smirks now, stepping into Steve’s space. “So you know who I am?”
It should be annoying that he’s so full of himself right now, but Steve knows it’s an act. Or the interviews are an act. Maybe Eddie’s good at lying and both are an act.
“I know you don’t record here usually. Your home studio is LA.”
“Yeah, it is.” Eddie grabs his guitar case and settles his shoulders. “We decided to relocate for the next album. Got a bit tired of the California lifestyle.”
“So you picked Chicago?”
“Jeff picked Chicago. We all do what Jeff says. He’s the smart one.”
Steve laughs. “So you’ve said.”
“He lives for the praise, don’t let him fool you. That’s why I talk him up in every interview.”
Steve starts to lead them to the elevator. “He seems like the leader. He didn’t mind you getting the cover?”
“What, of Rolling Stone? God, no. They suggested nudity and he bailed.” Eddie shakes his head. “Ironic considering he’s the most fit of all of us.”
“I dunno. I think you were perfect for the cover.
“The guitar was there to hide the fact that I don’t have abs,” Eddie laughs as they both step into the elevator. “I’m scrawny and pale and probably not what anyone wants to see naked.”
“I bought three copies,” Steve admits.
Eddie’s looking at him, up and down, checking him out. It can’t be mistaken for anything else.
“Why did you need three?” Eddie asks as they arrive at the second floor.
“Well, one is kept under my bed,” Steve hopes he understands what he’s saying. By the choking noise Eddie makes, he does. “One is for the coffee table. One is for emergencies.”
Eddie lets out a hysterical laugh. “What kind of emergency would you need a copy of my magazine for?”
“Horny ones.”
“Do you regularly have those?”
Steve leads him to the studio he needs, taking his time so he can spend as many seconds with Eddie as he can get away with. Once he’s in the studio, he probably won’t see him again.
“Since that article came out, they’ve been happening more often,” Steve smiles to himself. “I’m kinda into the pale and scrawny look.”
“Noted,” Eddie comes to a stop next to Steve. “When do you get off?”
Eddie’s eyes are fully focused on Steve’s lap. The tight denim stretched across his thighs, his big hand moving leisurely. Like Steve’s in no hurry, like he doesn’t know Eddie’s pulse is jackhammering in his neck.
Steve’s got a ring on his index finger. The one Eddie put there to stake his claim until he can move it down two fingers, until he can spin it into gold. For now, the silver band is glinting like a promise in the low light, not allowing Eddie to look anywhere else. He’s mesmerized.
Eddie could never deny that he’s possessive of what’s his — and Steve? Steve’s his. He’s his, and he’s the best thing Eddie’s got. Nothing else is even close.
Words: 1888, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Light BDSM, Switch Eddie Munson, Switch Steve Harrington, Clothed Masturbation, Clothed Sex, Jeans, Coming In Pants, Bodily Fluids, Come Licking, (Light) Spit Kink, Light Restraints, Hair Pulling (Light), Boys In Love, Tenderness, Sexual Overstimulation, Hand & Finger Kink
Harrington’s lips part and his cheeks flush red and he swings, wild and uncoordinated, barely glancing Eddie’s jaw with the weakest, flimsiest punch Eddie’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It doesn’t even stagger him.
He sways backwards, eyebrows shooting up, utterly bamboozled. “That was it?”
Harrington gapes at him. “What?!”
“Dude,” Eddie laughs, splaying a palm flat over the throb in his ribs. “Are you kidding me? That was terrible.”
“Well if you’re so good at this, maybe you should come do something about it then!”
Eddie’s eyebrows damn near shoot right up off his forehead. “Are you asking me to teach you how to throw a punch, Harrington?”
Harrington hesitates, something in his exasperated confidence faltering, before he squares off his jaw and raises his chin. “Maybe I am.”
***
Or, Steve asks Eddie to teach him how to fight. Four years later, they finally get around to it.
Words: 3000, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 16 of Stranger Things Drabbles
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Enemies to Lovers, speedrun edition, idiot4idiot romance, Good Parent Wayne Munson
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Author: Eddies_ArtofSuffering
Explicit
No Archive Warnings Apply
M/M
Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Crush at First Sight, Stranger Things 2, Love Confession, Slow Burn
Summary:
In 1978, Susan Mayfield marries George Munson instead of Neil Hargrove.
In 1984, Eddie stumbles upon the tender moment between Steve and Nancy that night at Lover’s Lake.
It was the summer of 1986, the summer that everyone called him Stevie.
–
The Steddie Dirty Dancing AU that you’ve all been waiting for.
Words: 1517, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Jim “Chief” Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Joyce Byers, Will Byers, Jonathan Byers, Ted Wheeler (Stranger Things)
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington & Jim “Chief” Hopper, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson & Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Eddie Munson
Additional Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Alternate Universe - Dirty Dancing Fusion, Inspired by Dirty Dancing (1987), Quote: Nobody puts Baby in a corner (Dirty Dancing 1987), Nobody puts Stevie in a corner, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Pansexual Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington, Protective Eddie Munson, Good Parent Jim “Chief” Hopper, Step-Siblings Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Minor Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler, that pains me, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove is His Own Warning, Ted Wheeler Being an Asshole (Stranger Things), Bad Parent Ted Wheeler (Stranger Things), Period-Typical Homophobia, Found Family
stranger things s4 timeloop AU except its ROBIN!!!
And she slowly starts to notice that Steve and Eddie act much more differently when Robin isn’t cajoling Steve to get together with Nancy in her timeloops.
Noticing that Steve offering to go with Eddie rather than Nancy and Robin makes all the difference…
And not to mention, his response changing to when Eddie calls him ‘Big Boy’
Loop 7
Eddie: Harrington’s got her, dont’cha, Big Boy?
Steve blushes intensely and stares.
Robin, expects everything to happen the same as it did before.
Only for Steve and Eddie to be missing at the same time for a few minutes as everyone is gearing up to fight…with a few hickies plastered on both of them as they get ready to go into position in the Upside Down.
Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson hate each other. At least that's what the press is saying.
Also known as the Actor!Steve AU.
It starts like this: Steve is in Los Angeles. He’s just began shooting his new period drama show and the first round of promotion is starting as well.
Personally, Steve doesn’t like this part of his job very much. It’s tiring, and also kinda boring, talking to the press. They’re always asking the same questions, always trying to make Steve give out more information about his personal life or trying to get on his good graces by flattering him in the most obvious ways. If he could, Steve would stick to just acting, but he’s still not famous enough to skip talking to the press and going to events if he wants his shows and movies to catch the public’s attention. So, he sucks it up and tells Robin she can let the reporter in so Steve can start his sixth(?) interview of the day.
The woman is nice enough, he guesses. She asks about the show, what Steve can share with his fans, what his fans can expect of this new role. Then, of course, just like every single reporter that came before her, she asks how Steve felt about working with Nancy Wheeler for the first time since they broke up. It’s so predictable that Steve would roll his eyes if he could. Sadly, he can’t. It wouldn’t be polite of him; it wouldn’t look good. So Steve plasters one of his trademark smiles and says the same thing he did to the other reporters.
“Nancy is a great actress and one of the best friends I have. Working with her is always a joy.”
And it’s not even a lie. Nancy is great and she is one of his best friends. Their relationship ended, yes, but it was a mutual understanding, and they parted in good terms, with no bad blood between them. They broke up almost two years ago, there’s no reason for things between them to be weird anymore.
That’s not what the press wants to know, though. They just want Steve to let something slip so they can explore it, distort it and publish it as truth. Steve’s been in this industry for enough time to know how it works.
The reporter seems unimpressed by his mild answer. She insists, mentioning Jonathan Byers, Nancy’s new boyfriend (fianceé, actually, but that information is not public knowledge yet) just to see if she can get a reaction out of him. Poor woman, she’s gonna have to do better than that.
When she realizes Steve’s not going to give her anything, the woman deflates. She moves on to other topics, prods Steve a little about his personal life, but her heart is not there anymore, Steve can see it.
“Alright, Steve, we’re almost done here, I promise,” the reporter (Anna? Anne?) says. “We asked your fans to send us questions on our Twitter page and selected a few.”
“Okay.”
The woman takes a minute to go over her notes.
“Okay,” she says, straightening her posture on the armchair she’s sitting. Steve does the same, more out of respect than anything. “@lysa_07 asks: did you always want to become an actor, or did you think about following a different career?”
“When I was in school, I played basketball and wanted to go pro. I was pretty good, actually, some universities offered me a scholarship and everything, but I got injured when I was in my senior year. Had to go through knee surgery and eight months of PT just to be able to walk by myself again.”
“So acting was your second choice?”
“At first, yes. But looking back I think I’m better off where I am right now. I loved playing basketball when I was a kid, but by the time I got injured it was more about winning than anything else. The fun I used to feel when I was playing was not there anymore because I was always worried about failing and letting my team and coach down. So, I guess even if I didn’t get injured, I would eventually have given up on basketball anyway. Living under that kind of stress is not for me.”
Nodding, Anne(?) types something on her tablet. “Yeah, I get that. I was on the soccer team in high school, the pressure really is crazy,” she agrees. “Okay, second question. @harringtons_fan_5_ever: What do you like to do in your free time?”
Steve chuckles. “Call me lame, but all I want to do when I have free time is go home, see my dogs and sleep as much as I can. There’s nothing better than that.”
“They don’t travel with you? Must be hard being away from them for so long.”
“They’re old dogs, travelling is too stressful for them now. And, yes, I miss them like crazy, they’ve been with me for over ten years.”
“Oh, I see. I hope you get to see them soon, then.”
Another pause as the reporter types something else on her tablet. Steve takes the water bottle on the small table beside him and takes a sip, his throat a little parched after talking for so long. He hopes the woman is being honest and they are almost done, because Steve can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
“Last question is from @justaccoffingirlie,” she says. “It’s two questions, actually. First, she asks: In terms of music, what are your favorite genres? And follows with: what do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”
“I guess pop and classic rock are my main choices when I’m making a playlist,” Steve answers, thoughtful. “Sorry, but what was that second question?”
“What do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”
“Is that a band?” he asks, a small frown forming on his face as he tries to make sense of whatever the woman expects him to answer. “I’ve never heard of them before.”
“Yes, it’s a metal band. They’re very popular, their new tour has been sold out for months. They released their third album a couple of months ago.”
“Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.”
For the first time since the interview started, the reporter smiles brightly, nodding once again, this time with more enthusiasm.
“Yeah, they’re pretty big, you know!?” she says. “Their fans are very passionate.”
“Oh, good for them, I guess.”
“It sure is. Thank you very much for your time, Steve. We should publish this interview in two weeks. We’ll send all the details to your team when the article comes out.”
“Sure. It was great talking to you.”
In retrospect, Steve should have suspected something was not right. Anna had looked too satisfied by the end of their little chat. But he suspected nothing. After almost two hours, Steve just wanted to go back to his hotel room. He had a plane to catch that night and an eight-hour flight to Europe awaiting him.
-
-
Two weeks later, that interview he’s given is the last thing on Steve’s mind.
The make up team is working their magic on him whilst Steve reads for the last time his lines for the scene they’re about to start shooting that morning. Nancy is in the chair beside him, chatting with the hairdresser as the woman works on her as well. It’s all a little chaotic, but familiar enough for it to be relaxing in a way.
That is, until the door to the make-up room is slammed open and a pissed off Robin shows up on the threshold.
“Robin? What happen—” Steve begins to say but stops when Robin starts beating him with what seems to be a rolled-up magazine.
“You are a dumbass!!” she says, hitting him with no mercy. “Why do you do this? Do you fucking hate me, Harrington?!”
“What the hell, Robin!? Stop!”
The make-up artists scramble away from the woman, letting Steve all by himself to deal with her. Traitors!
“You. Are. An. Idiot!” she says, furious.
Steve grabs her wrist when she tries to hit him again and takes the fucking magazine out of her hands. That doesn’t stop her; Robin just starts slapping him with her bare hands.
“Hey, Robin, come on, stop hitting him,” Nancy, beautiful, sweet Nancy says, coming to Steve’s rescue. She grabs Robin’s arm and pulls the other woman away from Steve, forcing her to sit down on the chair she had previously been using. “Breathe, Buckley, you’re not making any sense.”
“You want me to make sense? I’ll make sense. I’m gonna kill this fucking idiot!!”
Steve gets up from the chair before Robin can reach him again. “You’re crazy!”
“Of course I am! You’re always trying to make my life difficult by opening your big, fat mouth. Why can’t you shut up, Harrington? Why?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did!”
“What did he do, Robin?” Nancy asks, just as confused as everyone else in the room.
Robin takes a deep breath, massaging her temples.
“Look at the fucking magazine, Steve,” she hisses.
Still lost, Steve unrolls the magazine and looks at its cover. It’s him. It’s a picture from a photoshoot he did a month ago, his name printed in big yellow letters announcing his interview on page 17.
“They published my interview, so what? Why are you pissed at me?” he asks, staring at the flattering picture with narrowing eyes. There’s no mention of Nancy on the cover, which is good in his humble opinion.
“I’m pissed at you because you are a dumbass who doesn’t know how or when to shut up. Why did you have to mock Corroded Coffin? Have you lost your mind?”
“I did what?”
“Oh, Steve,” Nancy says, mournful. “Tell me you didn’t do that.”
“I have no idea what she’s talking about, Nance, I didn’t mock anyone.”
Nancy grabs the magazine from his hands and opens it, flipping pages until she finds Steve’s interview. Her eyes roam over the page for a moment, then she lets out a small sigh.
“’When asked about Corroded Coffin’s new album, Steve Harrington claimed he has never heard of the band before and found funny the idea of a band with such a silly name being so famous,’” Nancy reads aloud, whilst Robin glares daggers at him. “’Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.’”
“I never said their name was silly!” Steve defends himself.
“But you implied it, that’s more than enough for these people, you know that,” Robin says. “What were you thinking, Steve?”
“Oh, come on. You’re overreacting, Robin. No one’s gonna care if I find a band name funny or not. Relax, woman.”
“Sorry, Steve, but Robin is right,” Nancy says, closing the magazine and giving it back to Robin. “Corroded Coffin’s fans are crazy loyal. They’re gonna go nuts when they read this.”
“Not you too, Nance.”
“But it’s true, Steve. Seriously. Corroded Coffin has one of the biggest fanbases I’ve ever seen. Their concerts are always packed. I went to one of their concerts with Jonathan last month and the crowd was insane; they screamed so loud my ears were ringing for hours after the show.”
“If they’re so famous, why haven’t I heard of them before?”
“Because you’ve been listening to the same ten artists since High School, that’s why,” Robin says, flicking him on the forehead. “Pray to God that their fans don’t take this shit to heart, Harrington. Because if they do, they’re gonna make your life, and by extension my life, a living hell.”
“At least he didn’t say anything about Munson,” Nancy laughs. “Now that would be a bad call.”
“Who?”
“Oh my God, you’re hopeless,” Robin groans, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.
She throws the magazine at Steve, then storms out of the room, slamming the door shut and without looking back.
Steve frowns at the magazine in his hands, his own face looking back at him from the cover as if mocking him somehow.
