pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: two friends grow closer with every box checked.
chapter warnings: fluff, serious pining, steve is borderline pathetic, i've made r like dr. pepper and twizzlers (and back to the future), lmk if i missed something!
wc: 2.1K
a/n: chapter two is here!! this is mostly a "filler chapter", and the next chapter will likely be shorter, but i promise we're just getting starteddd
please dont forget to comment your thoughts and reblog to help me reach more people!
chapter one | chapter three
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
#13 - Get a tattoo
Back in high school, Steve had never spent a Valentine’s Day alone. This might sound amazing to the average guy: King Steve gets all the girls, King Steve always has a date, King Steve sure is lucky, blah blah blah. What they don’t understand is that he was the guy in the relationship; in a patriarchal society, in the 80s at that, Steve was stuck paying his monthly allowance on various sweets and flowers for girls he never even liked.
Then came the years after graduation. His girlfriend dumped him for her stalker, the world went to shit, and worst of all, he couldn’t seem to get a date to save his life–let alone his reputation. Therefore, he’s spent countless Valentine’s Days in his parents’ big, empty house, all alone. And with no more allowance, and his job barely paying him minimum wage, he can’t even afford the discounted candy the day after.
To say Steve hates Valentine’s Day would be the understatement of the century.
And yet, against his better judgment, he finds himself bundled up outside Mel’s Tattoo Parlor on this fateful Valentine’s Day, awaiting your arrival. He grumbles as he looks from his watch to the sign outside the store.
HALF-PRICED COUPLES TATTOOS
For tattoos over $100
Valentine’s Day Special!
“I’m here!” He hears a shout from across the street, and his head shoots up. “I’m here! Sorry. The stupid motel alarm clock didn't go off,” You laugh quietly as you catch your breath. “Glad to see there’s no line.”
“There never is,” Steve muses, “Why do you think they have a sale?”
You shrug and thank Steve for holding the door open, sauntering to the counter to write your names on this list.
“I’ll be with you once I finish this one,” Mel waves, then gets back to work, leaving you and Steve sitting alone at the entrance with nothing but the gentle buzz of the tattoo gun to fill the silence.
You open her portfolio and flip through the designs–varying from simple and delicate to intricate and traditional. You hum at a few, lifting the binder to show Steve the ones that stick out. Steve looks around the shop, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans.
“You nervous?” You ask, glancing at his hands.
Steve clears his throat, bringing his hands together as he shakes his head. “Nope.” His voice is an octave higher than usual.
You rest your hand on his, trying to catch his eye–and failing miserably because his gaze is locked on where your hands are touching, his cheeks bright red. “You don’t have to get one with me,” You reassure him, “I’m not gonna force you, Steve.” He looks at your face and nods, “I want to.”
You smile, removing your hand from his to show him the design you’ve had your eye on. His hand flexes involuntarily, as though seeking your touch. He decides then that he’d do just about anything, so long as you hold his hand through it.
Mel finishes up with her client and calls you over. The three of you begin discussing design and price.
“Have y’all decided what you wanna get?” Mel asks, and you hum thoughtfully. “Actually,” You start, “I was hoping to get something that isn’t in the binder, is that all right?”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what it is first, then I’ll let you know if I can do it,” Mel smirks, crossing her arms.
You chuckle, “Right, sorry. I want to get a checkbox with a checkmark through it. I know it’s weird, but-”
She interrupts you, “That ain’t even close to the weirdest request I’ve gotten. I once tattooed a man’s scalp to look like hair.” You laugh at that. “On a normal day, it’d cost $50 each, but if y’all are getting it done together, I’ll lower the price to $50 for both.”
Steve looks at you and nods, “I’ll get the same thing.”
This piques your interest, and you furrow your brows at him. “You really want to get it too?” Steve shrugs in response, “I have to remember this somehow, right?” You smile at him, and Steve just about swoons.
All right, then, lovebirds,” Mel starts, “Who’s up first?” You volunteer, and the tattooing commences.
You let out a pained breath through your nose, face twitching slightly from the discomfort as the needle pokes rapidly into your forearm. The tattoo is done in a flash, and you admire Mel’s work, thanking her profusely as you switch spots with Steve.
Where you powered through the pain like a champ, Steve is barely holding back tears from the moment the needle first enters his skin.
“You’re such a baby,” You laugh, allowing him to squeeze your hand nonetheless.
“The guys always are, hon. You get used to it,” Mel muses, causing you to snicker. Steve can’t decide if he’d rather silently curse you or worship you at your feet for the way your nose scrunches up in amusement. He lands on the latter.
“I hate you,” He hisses, squeezing his eyes tight as Mel starts on the checkmark. “‘Course you do, Stevie,” You place a quick peck on his nose–lighter than a feather’s touch, and yet it sets his whole body ablaze. “It’s almost done,” You soothe him quietly.
The way your eyes peer into his makes him feel jittery and giddy like a little kid. It forces all the pain away until all that’s left is the undeniable feeling of--
Steve lets out a yelp at the harsh pinching feeling in his arm. “All done,” Mel says with a knowing glance at Steve. He huffs, glaring slightly at the older woman as he reaches for his wallet from his back pocket.
You stop him, fingers grazing his arm gently, “I’ve got it,” You say matter-of-factly.
Steve tries to protest to no avail as you roll your eyes and hand Mel the money you already had ready, along with a substantial tip.
For the first time in his entire life of torturous Valentine’s Days, someone is buying something for him. And as you exit the parlor together, he can’t help but feel that all-looming feeling wash over him once again.
-
#9 - Go to a drive-in movie
The car is quiet. The radio crackles lowly, and the bumpy road shakes the car slightly as you look out the window. Steve looks away from the road to watch your face, smiling slightly at your fascination with the miles and miles of woods.
“You don’t have trees where you come from?” He asks lightheartedly. He expects a joking glare, a laugh, a shove to his shoulder. What he gets is a sorrowful sigh as you straighten. “Not really, no. I grew up in the city; the closest we get to a forest is a patch of trees for the dogs to piss on.” You scoff.
“Oh,” He mumbles, prompting you to smile, attempting to lighten the mood you’d sullied. “That’s why I moved here,” You say, bumping his shoulder with yours, “I told you, I needed to get away.”
“And that was because of the city?”
You take a deep breath, “It was because I felt trapped, lost. I needed an escape.”
“So you came to a small town in the middle of nowhere,” He smirks at you, and you laugh, “So I came to the middle of nowhere. I wanted to be no one.”
He stares intently at the side of your face, “Then let’s be no one together.” You turn to face him, your expression turning remorseful. He clears his throat, “Until we finish your list, at least.”
“Yeah,” You whisper, the car fading back into the previous quiet. He can still feel your eyes on him for a moment longer.
Steve silently kicks himself, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut as he pulls into the drive-in lot. He puts the car in park once he finds a suitable spot: in perfect view of the screen, while also being close enough to the concessions. He unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle.
“What do you want from the snack shack?” He asks, not yet daring to face you in fear of embarrassment. “Dr. Pepper and a popcorn to share?” You ask, your tone soft.
Steve nods, pausing when you reach toward him, “And Twizzlers?” He looks into your eyes, his heartbeat skips for a moment, and he nods again, barely able to form words, “I’ll be right back.”
He can see you changing the radio to the proper station from where he stands in line, watching as you kick your feet up on the dashboard, cracking your neck side-to-side.
“Sir?” The cashier startles him. “Hi, yes. Sorry,” He quickly apologizes.
“What can I get you?” The teen behind the counter asks. Steve takes a moment to remember how to speak, “Uh, a large Coke, a large Dr. Pepper.” Steve slows, waiting for the cashier to input his order, “A medium popcorn, and a pack of Twizzlers. Please.”
“That’ll be $20,” He says, and Steve hands him the money. The boy nods after ensuring he paid the correct amount, asking him to wait a moment, then turns to retrieve his order.
Steve stands with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around the lot; there are more cars than he expected–although that’s likely because of the movie playing tonight. He turns his focus to his car, smiling at the sight of you picking at your nails in boredom.
The cashier taps on his shoulder. “Right. Sorry. Thanks,” He smiles awkwardly, shoving some cash into the tip jar. He grabs his order all at once, the popcorn squished slightly between his arm and his chest, the Twizzlers poking out of his pocket.
You open the door as he nears, taking the drinks from him and placing them in the cupholders. He takes a bite of the popcorn as he takes a seat, handing you the Twizzlers, receiving a kiss on his now-reddened cheek. He slides open the center console and places the popcorn inside.
The movie begins to play, and you lean over to whisper to him, “I watched this movie when it first came out. I’ve been obsessed with it since. I think I own it on VHS.”
Steve laughs, “You like Back to the Future that much?” You look fully serious as you reply, “You have no idea. I used to have multiple posters of Marty and Doc in my room. They’re the only things I wish I could’ve taken with me,” You say solemnly.
“It’s a tragedy. Truly heartbreaking.” He deadpans, and you scoff, shoving him with a grumble, “Shut up.”
He laughs, turning his attention to the movie, acutely aware of the childlike glint in your eye as you watch. He can barely focus on the movie, as great as it is.
You sit comfortably beside each other with the muffled sound of the movie playing through the car speakers. Steve manages to slide his arm around you, his heart pit-patting in his chest as you settle against him.
The credits begin to roll, and Steve already misses the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He looks at you with a soft smile.
“Just as good as you remembered?” Your face lights up again with a wide grin, “God, it was so much better. They simply will never achieve this level of perfection in cinema again. It was ahead of its time.”
“You know,” Steve smirks, “Some people say the sequel is even better than the first.”
You let out a loud, dramatic gasp, nearly dropping your cup as you reach up to clutch your nonexistent pearls. “How dare you insinuate such a thing. The first Back to the Future is a masterpiece. To suggest otherwise is blasphemous.” You cross your arms over your chest defiantly.
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree, then,” He trails off, baiting you to continue your tangent.
“We absolutely will not. Under no circumstances can I be friends with someone who has such horrendous opinions about cinema.”
Steve laughs, his amusement only growing as you smack his shoulder. “How about we continue this little movie marathon? We can rent the second Back to the Future, watch it at my place?” He suggests, mentally crossing his fingers.
Your scowl morphs into a small smile before his very eyes, and you pretend to think it over, tapping your chin for effect. “I suppose that’s only fair,” You hum. You settle back into your seat, munching on your last Twizzler as Steve pulls out of the lot.
tensions rise and sparks fly. will this ember catch fire? or will time finally catch up to them? find out in next week's chapter!
heyyyyy sorry i posted this so late 😭 (ill be honest and say i completely forgot i had a schedule) dont forget to reblog and comment!!
pairing: best friend!eddie munson x fem!reader / steve harrington x reader
synopsis: What does it mean to be in love?
warnings: pining, cheating (reader cheats but not on eddie), marijuana use, suggestive content, i'm a tease (sorry), hurt/no comfort, minor proof reading, reader described as having hair and wearing red lipstick (she also sits in eddie's lap i think)
wc: 2.6k words
a/n: this was intended to be a blurb based on an instagram reel, but it kinda spiraled... hope you enjoy anyway :P also its lowkey kinda confusing but basically it starts out like times eddie loved you a lot then it spirals into a moment in your "relationship"
main masterlist | eddie masterlist | read on ao3
What does it mean to be in love?
Eddie smiles as he hears your footsteps behind him. He lets his eyes flutter closed with contentment as you cover them with your hands. He can smell the faint scent of your day-old perfume, and the fragrance fills him with warmth.
"Guess who?" You ask.
Eddie hums. He could listen to the sound of your voice for the rest of his life.
He taps his chin with faux-thought, "Lemme think," He lets out a short puff of air from his nose, "Gareth?"
He can visualize you rolling your eyes the way you do, can see the small scrunch of your nose as you shove him playfully. He opens his eyes as he rubs his shoulder dramatically, sending a pout your way.
"Hey," He whines, "that hurt."
"You'll be fine, you big baby," You snort as you take the seat beside his: the one he saves for you every day; the one he's saved for you for the past four years.
He shakes his head, his curls falling in front of his face as he groans, and he sends his head back. "You've wounded me," He cries out, alerting the entire cafeteria to his nonsense, "You claim you care for me, and yet you've wounded me, you foul woman!"
He'd continue his theatrics, no matter how exhausting they get to be some days, so long as he can hear the bubbling sound of your laugh. A wide grin overtakes his face as he turns his gaze back to you.
It means your entire world revolves around them.
"What's your favorite color?" You ask him one mundane day; your gaze focused on your scraggly cuticles as you pick at them.
The question momentarily stuns him; Eddie's never really thought of his favor color before. He's always known his least favorite was grey—Why even have a favorite color if you're just gonna be boring?
But his favorite?
No one's ever asked him his favorite color before, that no one has ever cared enough about him to ask such a seemingly ordinary question. No one, that is, but you, apparently.
The thought makes his heart beat out of his chest and he finds himself staring at your lips, his mind going numb. Those delightful lips: plump and soft and—God, they're painted with the richest, most elegant red he's ever seen. Dark as blood, and sinful as hell, he wants nothing more than to see that color smudged after he kisses you silly, transferring some to his own eager lips.
He only flicks his gaze up to your eyes when your waving hand enters his vision, snapping him out of his daydream.
"Hello?" You ask expectantly, "I asked you a question."
"Right," He mumbled, thinking hurriedly of a reply when it hit him: The answer was right in front of him; smeared over those gorgeous lips that drive him mad with desire.
"Red," He finally replied after a beat, not a doubt in his mind, "Definitely red."
It means you can't spend a waking day without them close by.
He holds your hand tight in his as he stares intently at the phone on the wall. His foot taps anxiously against the linoleum of the trailer's kitchen floor.
"It'll be all right, Eds," He can feel your breath against his sleeve as you lean into his arm, squeezing his hand tighter to ground him.
Eddie sighs, allowing his foot to come to a halt. "I know," His voice is shaky, his free hand curling repeatedly into a fist, "It's just-"
"I know. You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. This is your choice," You press a gentle kiss to his shoulder, "I'll be here for whatever you choose."
Eddie closes his eyes as he feels your lips against the fabric, and he's suddenly cursing the Gods for preventing him from feeling the soft curve of your mouth on his skin.
"Thank you," His voice comes out strained, muffled by the pounding in his ears.
You turn his face with your remaining hand, forcing him to stare directly into your gorgeous eyes. "It's what friends are for." Your thumb smooths over his cheekbone soothingly.
His eyebrows furrow slightly: Friends-
The shrill ring of the phone interrupts his thoughts, and he reaches for it with trembling hands. He brings it to his ear and lets out a soft breath as he hears a robotic woman's voice.
"This is a collect call from Hawkins County Correctional Facility. You are receiving this call from Alan Munson. Do you accept the charges?"
Eddie shudders, his eyes turning to your face to relish in the reassuring smile you send his way as you hug his arm tightly. He looks back at the receiver and sighs.
"Yes."
It means you need them like you need air to breathe.
His day grows a little brighter as he sees you sauntering towards him; a bright smile pulling at your lips; your eyes squinting as the grin reaches the apple of your cheeks. It's the way your face lights up every time you see him, the slight pep in your step as you walk toward him, that fills Eddie with the hope for a future with you—no matter how unrealistic that may be.
He watches as your jacket falls from one shoulder, revealing the smooth skin, now dotted with goosebumps.
"Hey, stranger," He muses as you near the table.
Your voice comes out breathy and rushed as you all but squeal, "I just got asked out by Steve Harrington!"
His face falls suddenly as it feels as though his heart is about to explode. All the hope he previously felt now squashed under the freshly-polished shoe of Steve mother-fucking Harrington.
He can barely hear your muffled words as you recount the details. His heartbeat in his ears is the only proof he has that he's still alive.
"Eddie?" He hears you ask, bringing him out of his head as his eyes flick to yours. "You okay?"
He nods dazedly. "Just peachy," He forces a grin onto his face, his teeth grinding harshly.
You stare at him skeptically as you nod your head, continuing on with the story.
And God, Eddie has never wanted to die more.
It means that some days you feel your heart ache with longing.
It's been three weeks since you started dating King Steve. Three long, torturous weeks. Eddie's surprised he's lasted this long, listening to you talk about all the firsts you've had with the asshat; He's surprised he hasn't yet broken down or exploded from the anger and pain coursing through him. The only thing that seems to settle his fury is the look on your face as you gush to him: your best friend.
He can't—he won't be the asshole who tries to ruin your relationship for his own gain. Not when you're this happy.
As much as it kills him to see you with Steve, as much as he knows you'd be so much happier if you just gave him a chance, he won't ruin his relationship with you.
And so, he decides to step back a bit. He refuses to exit your life completely; you just mean too much to him—however selfish that may be. But he does understand that he can't burden you with his feelings for you.
So, he stays away. It started with cancelling after school plans, claiming he was 'too busy' or 'had homework.'
Then it slowly started evolving the longer you went out with Steve: He distanced himself more socially; choosing to spend lunch in the library, skipping some of the classes he had with you, passing you in the halls without so much as a wave—although that was quite the effort.
Eventually, however, you began noticing these changes. Bit by bit, you saw the way he stopped hanging out with you, and frankly, you were hurt. You had thought him to be your best friend, but now that was changing and you had no idea why.
Which is why you now stand on the small square of cement that acts as a front porch, your fist pounding against the metal of the front door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Let up, would you?" You here Eddie's faint grumble from inside and you stop, shoving your hands into your pockets.
The door swings open, and you come face to face with Eddie's bare chest.
"Jesus, what's y-" Eddie stops midway, his mouth agape as he stares at you. "Hi," He whispers after a moment, his eyes still wide.
"You ignore me for three weeks, and all you have to say to me is 'Hi?'" You cross your arms in front of your chest; your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "You had better have a good explanation for why you're acting like such a prick."
Eddie looks down at the ground as though he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have. He steps aside when he sees you shiver slightly, allowing you to enter the trailer. He rubs the back of his neck as he closes the door.
"Well?" You ask him, your voiced laced with frustration.
Eddie sighs, "I just figured you wouldn't want me hanging around as much anymore," His voice is low, ashamed, "Y'know with you dating Steve and all." He spits out his name like it's a slur.
Eddie knows this isn't the case, but he can't will himself to be honest with you—to tell you the real reason he's stopped talking to you.
It seems to be enough for you, however, as your face softens and your arms fall to the side.
"Eddie," You frown, your head tilting in sympathy, "I never wanted for us to stop being friends." You huff, mentally kicking yourself for causing this, "I'm sorry I was so annoying about Steve, and I promise I won't talk about him from now on. It's just," Your gaze falls, "no one's ever liked me like this before."
Eddie wants to scoff—to tell you you're wrong; that he's loved you for years, that he cares for you more than Steve ever could.
But he doesn't
A moment passes before Eddie clears his throat, forcing a playful smirk to hide his hurt. "Wanna smoke?"
Your mouth twists upward as you nod, following him into his bedroom happily.
He lights the blunt with the Zippo on his nightstand, taking a hit before passing it to you.
Your minds begin to quiet as you sit in comfortable silence, puffs of smoke swirling around you. You turn your head toward him, smiling softly.
"What?" He asks, "Do I have something on my face?" He wipes at his cheeks, feeling for anything out of the ordinary.
You allow your gaze to fall to his lips, watching as they wrap around the joint, breathing in the smoke, and exhaling an intoxicating cloud that fills your senses. You trail the small creases, the cracks and chips, wanting nothing more than to smooth them over with your own lips. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering as you lean forward and steal a chaste kiss.
Eddie pulls back, staring at you like you're crazy, and your face heats with embarrassment. "I-" He stutters, "You- You have a boyfriend." His eyes search your face, catching on your lips as your teeth tugs anxiously at the bottom one.
"I know- I know that. I just-" You stare into his warm brown eyes, wishing you could drown in their depths for just a moment—just to know what it feels like.
"Please," You whisper.
God, how could he say no to you? He knows this will only hurt him more; that you'll go right back to Steve like nothing ever happened, maybe stop being his friend in the process.
But right now, as you look into his eyes wantonly, he simply cannot stop himself as he chases the ecstatic feeling of your lips against his.
You're breathless as he kisses you, your heart racing, your hands shaking as you bring them to his face. The trace down his jaw until they reach the back of his neck, pulling the hair at the nape as you crawl into his lap.
You need him closer. You've never wanted anyone like this, with this much intensity. You savor the feeling of his body against yours, the rough pads of his fingers as they slide up and down your waist beneath your shirt, the warm, wet feeling of his tongue inside your mouth.
You moan into each other as though you've been aching for this, your bodies begging to cross the threshold, and allow yourselves the pleasure you long for.
The trailer door opens, and the moment is cut short. You scramble off of his lap, your hand over your racing heart as you breath heavily.
Eddie stares at your glossed lips, the delicious red color smudged like he'd dreamed.
"Boy," Wayne's voice nearly echoes through the trailer, "What have I told you about smokin' inside?"
Eddie attempts to reply, but his voice cracks, prompting him to clear his throat. "Sorry, Wayne," He calls out, "It won't happen again."
His eyes remain fixed on you as you stare dazedly at the wall across the room. He says your name softly, turning your gaze toward him, your eyes wide.
"I'm a horrible person," You whisper to yourself. Tears well in your eyes as you bring a shaky hand to your mouth, pressing your fingers to your lips.
"I-" Your breath catches as you scramble to your feet, "Oh God, I have to go."
Eddie stands with you, reaching out to halt your movements, but his fingers merely graze your arm as you make a quick escape. You pass Wayne on the way out, dodging his knowing gaze.
The old man watches as the door slams behind you, followed by the panting breaths of his young nephew as he rushes to follow. Wayne steps in the boy's path.
"Let up, boy." He pushes Eddie back with a hand on his chest.
And other days you feel the sharp pang of jealousy.
Eddie watches with a sorrowful gaze as you press your lips to Steve's cheek. The same lips he finally tasted those many days ago; the ones he can't seem to forget as he lays in his bed every night.
He's never felt so stupid in his damn life.
"Hey, man," He can barely hear Gareth's muffled words as his ears begin to ring. He watches your lips from those three awful, beautiful words he wished to hear for himself: 'I love you.'
His world comes crumbling down as he stands, watching in shock as you hug tighter to Steve's large frame. He mumbles something in your ear that Eddie knows can only be reciprocation—who wouldn't love you?
Eddie turns away, if only to spare what little is left of his aching, broken heart, ignoring the confused look his friend sends his way.
Love means that, despite knowing you can never have them...
And across the hall, pressed against Steve's sage green sweater, you turn your head to glance at the boy: your best friend. Your eyebrows saddle as you watch a disheartened Eddie retreat. Deep down you wonder what could've been if you had only grown the courage to tell Eddie how you felt all these years.
But as Steve presses a hand into your hair, holding you tight against him, you know the blame is not solely yours. You know that you deserve to be held and loved; that you deserve to be cherished openly and honestly.
You know that, despite all those feelings you once shared—and may still hold—you can't spend your whole life waiting for something that may never be.
So, you look up at your boyfriend's face, send him a loving smile, and press your face further into his neck. You allow yourself to get lost in the moment, and finally, feel truly and wholly loved.
You'll spend every day hoping they feel cherished.
if you liked this, please consider commenting/reblogging!! it really helps my morale!!
please feel free to leave a request! i'm always in need of new ideas
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: intentional cruelty hurts, but accidental heartbreaks are agony
chapter warnings: fluff, minor angst, this one's short (sorry), make outs (you can tell i've never made out with anyone lmaoo), a lil suggestive, i didn't wanna write out the movie lol, steve's broke but his parents are rich, lmk if i missed anything!
wc: 885... yikes (next chapter will be better!!)
a/n: i completely forgot to post last week, so you get two this week (the next will be out later this week)! this one, just like last, is more of a filler but, hey, we're getting some progress at least. (if i'm being completely honest this was meant to be part of chapter two bit it didn't feel right so i waited).
chapter two | chapter four
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
#7 - Build a pillow fort
After stopping by Family Video to pick up the tape, Steve now pulls into his parents’ driveway, putting the car in park as you gape at the size of the building.
“Here we are,” He mumbles as he unbuckles his seat belt, pausing to look at your frozen frame. “Is there a problem?” He asks, confused.
“You never told me you were rich.” You stare at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.
He sighs, “That’s because I’m not. My parents are. They’re just out of town for the month, so I figured we could watch it here.” He scratches the back of his neck, waiting for the judgment to come. But it never does.
Instead, you send him a giddy grin as you exit the car, running around the front to meet him at his side just as he opens the door. “I’ve never been inside a mansion before,” You practically squeal.
He smiles at your joy as he reaches under the doormat for the key. He opens the door, pressing it in to hold it open for you. You curtsy for him, prancing into the foyer, with your remaining popcorn and drink in hand.
“I need to use the restroom real quick. Go ahead and put the tape in.” You nod absentmindedly, your eyes wandering around the vast space.
He snickers as he heads for the bathroom, shaking his head in silent amusement.
When he enters the T.V. room, he finds you fidgeting on the couch, paper crinkling in your grasp.
“What do you have there?” He asks, wiping his dampened hands on his sweater. Your head perks up.
“I have a request,” You start, unfolding the paper.
“Shoot.”
“Well, since this room is so huge, and there are so many cushions in here, I was hoping we could cross off another item from my list. I completely get it if you don’t want to mess the place up–I mean, I don’t want to upset your parents, but--”
Steve stands in the doorway, confused, “Where are you going with this?”
“Can we build a pillow fort?”
There’s something in the way you stand there in the middle of the large room, hands fidgeting in front of you with a hopeful glimmer in your eye, that makes you look like a small child. He can’t help but give in to your every request.
“Okay,” He nods, his lips pulling up into an adoring smile.
You practically giggle as you begin pulling the cushions off the couch.
With Steve’s help, you finish creating a space just in front of the television for the two of you to watch the movie. You lie in the middle of the large fort, staring at the blanket ceiling with glee.
“Scoot over,” Steve says as he squeezes in next to you once he presses play, and you roll over dramatically.
You scramble back up beside Steve as the movie begins. You rest your head against his shoulder, hand slipping into his.
“Thank you for this,” You whisper, watching the screen.
Steve turns his gaze to you, smiling at your tired features. “Of course,” He mumbles back, “Believe it or not, I enjoy spending time with you.”
You look into his eyes, and for a moment, time stops. His breath slows as your gaze flicks down to his lips. His head feels fuzzy as you lean in slowly, as though giving him time to back out. Your lips press to his gently, and his heart stops beating for a mere moment before it thuds against his chest rapidly. He closes his eyes, reaching up to cup your face, his hands shaky from the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.
You hum softly into the kiss, scooting closer to him. He can feel the warmth of you as you climb into his lap, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He opens them slightly, letting you in with a low moan. You move the attention of your lips to his jaw and neck, and his eyebrows pinch as you begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to his pulse point. He lets out a sigh, his head falling back as his hands roam your body.
You trail back up to his lips and pull away with a timid grin. You lick your lips, clearing your throat as you slide off his lap. “Sorry, I just-” You breathe, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
Steve stares at you with utter awe as you return to your spot beside him, leaving him aching for your touch. He looks dazedly at the T.V. again, urging his body to calm down.
The movie comes to an end, and you shrug, “I suppose it wasn’t all that bad.”
Steve watches you as you begin dismantling the fort.
“What, uh…” He starts after a while, “What was that?”
You pause, your eyes locked on the pillow in your hand. “It was,” You think for a moment, “I’m sorry. It was a temporary lapse in my judgment. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” You resume putting the room back together.
Steve stares for a while longer, and for a moment, he swears he can feel his heart chipping away as he allows the rejection to settle over him. “Right,” He mumbles, disheartened.
a lapse in judgement or a moment longed for?
heyyyyy.... sooooooo.... uhhhh..... i know, i know... I was supposed to post a chapter last week, and now this chapter is basically a blurb, but i promise we're getting somewhere!!
y'all know that curse that people on ao3 have where everything goes wrong in their lives once they start posting? well that's kinda been happening for me since i started this series but i'm back at it, i swear!!
𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: self-indulgent, probably really bad, not edited, honestly didnt know how to end it, talks about self-worth, fluff
𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.5k
𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠:
this is fully, 100% self-indulgent
i was gonna stop writing this halfway through but decided to finish it
enjoy my emotional baggage <3
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The sun is far too hot for spring. The clouds are few and sparse. You look up at the sky and huff at the light shining brightly in your eyes. You look down at your book again, cursing the giant star for turning your pages a bright white, and silently suffer as you wish you had remembered your sunglasses. You sigh and close your book defeatedly, the corner of the page snagging and folding slightly. Just as you feel this day couldn't get any worse, you look up to find your friend and her boyfriend walking toward you from the cafeteria.
"Hey," Your friend says as she sits across from you. You remember a time when she'd sit beside you as you laughed at something your shared English teacher did, but now your seat is taken by the person forced into your circle. You smile back, squinting through the blinding rays. You pick up your headphones from their spot resting on your shoulders and place them over your ears, pressing play on your walkman as your friend's boyfriend begins droning on about his awesome life and awesome spots game and whatnot, holding your friend far too close to be appropriate for school.
You shield your book with your body, hoping to block the words enough to read them. Every day has been like this since the school year started; like an insufferable cycle that started with your lack of contact with your only friend over the summer. Whilst you were wasting away in your room, barely holding yourself together, your friend started dating the boy she hated the year prior. And on top of that, she only told you when you all went to the campus before school started to pick up your schedules; they had been dating for over a month already.
You look at the ground, your book still open to the same page it had been on thirty minutes ago and your mind wanders. You know this is your fault; if you had made more friends, if you were more likable, if you had kept in touch, if, if, if. The bell rings and you stand robotically. It's become a habit, leaving the moment that deafening sound echoes throughout the school. The sweet relief of leaving the bleachers, of leaving the space that makes you feel like you're worthless or unimportant.
When you pass people you know from class, they wave politely and you put on that same fake smile you've mastered. You stop at your locker and that smile falls, the vandalized metal acting as a shield for your pain. You open your backpack and switch out your textbooks as you do every day before heading to your next and final class. Head down, feet moving rhythmically; left, right, left, right. You stop at your math classroom and close your eyes as you fall into your seat at the back of the class.
The bell rings again a few minutes later and your eyes snap open as your teacher begins class. The seats around you are mostly empty with half the class deciding they'd rather fail than come to this mental health death sentence. You don't blame them, really, but your grades are already bad as it is, and your mom has been riding your ass on fixing them, and if you fail this semester, you won't get the credits you need to leave this heaping pile of shit that is high school, that is your life, that is everything you are in this place.
Your mind goes numb as you put your pencil to your paper and begin copying the equations the teacher wrote. "Shit, sorry," You head from the front of the class and your eyes flick up to find a mess of curls flying through the doorway, "Sorry I'm late. I was all the way across the school when the bell rang." The teacher looks down his nose at the person and sighs as he takes the late slip from their hand, "Go to your seat, Mr. Munson. And watch your language in my class, or that'll be another detention." The boy nods with an apologetic crooked grin and you watch as he walks to the back of the class. He glances at you and you quickly look back to the board, ignoring the shuffling sounds beside you as he sits in the empty seat next to you.
"I'm Eddie," The boy whispers loudly as he leans closer, his eyes trained on you. You look away from the board and turn your head, eyes nearly crossing as you find his face inches from yours. He pulls back with that intoxicating smile and he looks to the front of the class, twirling his pen absentmindedly. You mumble your name and he hums as he looks back at you, "Didn't catch that," He says and you clear your throat as you spot the teacher eyeing you. You look down at your notes and wait a few seconds before repeating, a little louder this time. He--Eddie--repeats it, as though testing it out on his lips, and you watch as his mouth moves to shape each letter, your stomach doing flips with every syllable.
He leans over to glance at your notes, copying them down messily as he attempts to catch up with whatever he missed in the minutes he was late. "Mr. Munson, I suggest you keep your eyes on the board. You've already failed this class once, would you like a repeat of last year?" You frown and will yourself to speak up, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before saying, "I was just lending him my notes since he was late." The teacher hums, "Well, then, I would prefer if you'd do so on your own time." He continues with the lesson and you continue writing your notes, now adding as much detail and instruction as you can possibly manage, trying your best to ignore the looks you receive from the class, as well as the boy beside you.
The bell rings again an hour later and you jump slightly as your papers fall out of your folder; the cardstock has nearly disintegrated after years of putting it through the works. "Shit," You mumble as you bend down to pick them up, praying to whatever deity will listen that you don't start crying in front of everybody. You find yourself accompanied on the floor and you look up through your unshed tears. "Here," Eddie says as he hands you a stack of crumpled papers. You thank him quietly and take the worksheets from his calloused hands, your fingers brushing his, sending a chill down your spine.
"If you need those notes," You say after shoving your things into your backpack, "I would lend them to you." He smiles, "I don't think notes are gonna help me much at this point, but thanks for the offer." Silence falls over you as you walk through the halls toward the exit of the school until you finally break it, "I could help you," You mumble, "If you're struggling. I don't have the best grades to prove it, but I understand the concepts." "That'd be great," His grin reaches his eyes and it lights up the room, and, deep down, you wonder what it feels like to smile for real, despite having felt it at some point. He continues, "I have my club on Tuesday nights, but I'm free every other day after school. Or if you want, we could work in the library at lunch?" You nod almost too quickly at the opportunity to spend lunches anywhere but the bleachers. "I can do lunch," You reply and his grin widens, "Great, do you wanna start tomorrow?" You nod in response as you look down at the ground, watching as your feet move left, right, left, right, left, right.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Eddie waves as he walks in the direction of his van; the brown vehicle sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the slew of Mustangs and BMWs. You wave back just as he turns and your hand drops in time with your faint smile as you begin your walk home.
-
"Hey," Eddie calls out, gaining a dirty look from the librarian. You're cheeks grow hot as you wave and sit beside him. You look down at the stacked textbooks and notebooks and you frown, "I'm sorry," You say, "I didn't mean to keep you waiting." He shakes his head, "No, no, no, I got here early. Figured I could catch up on some work for other classes while I waited. So far I've finished half of one assignment in the last hour, but progress is progress." You exhale through your nose amusedly as you take a seat beside him. "Did you skip class?" "Nah," He replies, "I have a free period. They only make you retake Gym so many times," He leans in close, "I'm not exactly the most athletic person if you hadn't noticed." "I hadn't," You say under your breath, gaze glued to his lips before you turn your head away just as his lips twitch with a small smile.
You talk him through a few formulas and help him work through some problems before the bell cuts you off with a deafening shriek. "Whelp," Eddie sighs, "That's time. This was fun-- which is something I never thought I'd say about math," He snickers at his own words and you smile fondly at his expression. "I had fun too," You smile at your shoes as you walk side-by-side to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow? We have a test, right? Maybe you could tutor me again during lunch so I'm prepared." You agree before you part ways, your smile finally reaching your eyes in a way that feels foreign yet so, so right.
-
"Hey," Eddie calls out just like yesterday, and, just like yesterday, the librarian sends him a dirty look, although it has softened just a smidge. "How was your day?" The boy asks and you reply with a simple 'good'. He groans, "That's not an answer, sweetheart." "It was, though," You reply, shrugging. "Tell me about it," He prompts, "Did you do anything fun? Did everyone absolutely suck like they always do in this prison?" You laugh, "It was just kinda boring." "'Was', So it's not anymore?" Your eyes lock with his and your smile remains as you shake your head, "Not in the slightest." "You flatter me, really."
With your chairs scooted just barely closer than yesterday, you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the feeling of his arm brushing yours.
"That's just about as much as I know," You finally say with another thirty minutes before the bell, "If you fail, we both fail." "Maybe it'll be more fun with you." You smile bashfully as you close your textbook. "You should hang out at my table at lunch. It's usually just for club members, but we could make an exception." You freeze. Your body immediately goes to decline, your head shaking involuntarily. "I don't want to intrude," You sputter as you watch his face fall in disappointment.
You do this to every good thing; ruin it. You wash away any good, wipe away the smiles of those around you with your presence. You're a hazard, a threat to any joy in a person. You don't deserve this happiness if all you do is ruin it for others, if all you do is ruin everything.
Eddie shakes his head in protest, "You wouldn't be intruding. I want you there. I'm sure the others would like you." His breathtaking smile graces your soul once again and your thoughts fade into nothing but giddiness as your gaze locks onto his lips. "Okay," You hear yourself whisper before you can register what that means for you, for Eddie and his friends, for your friend--if she could still be called that. Eddie's smile grows again and your worries disappear as a twin smile forms on your own face.
The bell cuts off the force that seemed to be pulling you closer to the boy before you and you clear your throat as you pack up your things. Your hand brushes his as you walk to Math class, the two of you are both immensely unprepared for the test, but none of that matters.
After you turn in the test to the front, you sit down next to Eddie and he quickly scribbles something down on a torn piece of paper.
'want to go a ride home after school?'
You look up at his anxious smile and nod as you hand the paper back, the word 'yes' written beneath his own sloppy writing. He takes it back before the teacher yells at the class, "There will be no passing of notes during a test." You and Eddie share a look, hiding your laugh behind your hand as you await the bell.
-
"I know it's a little unconventional, but she gets the job done," Eddie says as he taps on the dented metal on the side of his van after helping you into the passenger seat. "Thanks for driving me," You say as you pull the seatbelt across your body. "No problem, sweetheart," You want to kiss him senseless whenever he calls you that. Your heart races and your palms go sweaty, and if you weren't in high school, you'd fear it were a heart attack with the way your heart skips a beat.
You tell him your address and lean against your hand with your arm resting on the center console. "Do you wanna make a small detour?" Eddie asks after a quiet moment. You shrug, "Sure, where to?" "I thought we could stop at this one place near Lover's Lake." Your eyebrows furrow, "You mean the town hookup spot?" You ask and he nearly chokes as he finds his words, "No, I--" He clears his throat, "It's a small beach just outside the trailer park." You hum, "Never been." "I found it when I was younger. Never seen anyone there when I go, so I don't think many people know about it."
He stops at the next stop sign and turns to you, awaiting your answer before he continues. You look into his eyes, nodding as you smile softly, and he skips the turn to your neighborhood as he keeps straight. He drives for a few minutes more before turning into a narrow path that was definitely not made for cars. You now understand the scratches in the paint.
"We're here," He says as he stops the car and you look at the water run over the pebble-filled sand through the windshield. You smile at the peaceful view and look to your left to speak when you're cut off with lips pressing to yours, a hand resting on your cheek. You close your eyes and lean into the kiss, smiling softly and you silently reassure yourself that you won't ruin this; not when you have him to distract you from your faults with one lopsided smile.
𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: a stranger dms you about the love of your life
𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of suicide, heavy mentions of death, mentions of cutting, depressed!eddie, reader thinks its their fault
𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 919 (basically a blurb)
𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠: please please please read the warnings. based on this instagram reel.
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Laughter rings throughout the house. Love fills your heart as you watch your little girls play with their dolls--likely plotting the end of the world together. You take a sip from your mug as your phone lights up.
Instagram
Notification
You hold up your phone in front of your face to unlock it, frowning at the direct message request.
hello are you y/n y/l/n that lives in the town hawkins?
You quickly send back a message.
Hello
Could I ask why?
They reply within seconds.
do you know someone called eddie munson?
The name nearly makes your breath hitch.
Yes. He was an old friend of mine.
I'm talking ages ago.
Not technically a lie, you think to yourself.
i found a mixtape made by him and i would like to share it with you
You look up at the girls and smile sadly, imagining what could've been as you type out your response.
That would be great!Eddie was my High School lover. I haven't heard that name in years!
i will send the mixtape now
The three dots pop up again, then fall, and then, after another several minutes, they send an audio message. You look again at those girls, who look so much like Eddie you'd think he was their father. You look down at the dimmed screen in your hand and only now realize how long you were staring dazedly at your daughters. You tap the screen before it goes completely dark and stand up, walk to the comfort of your bedroom, and close the door.
You take a deep breath to calm yourself, putting in your earbuds before you press play. You listen to the calming melody, so far from what you remember Eddie's music to sound like that you almost think the person who messaged you was pulling your leg. However, as the lyrics start, and you hear that gravelly voice of the man you never stopped loving, you feel a sense of gratitude to the stranger for letting you hear this after all these years.
"I think of you all the time, now that you're gone." He sings, and a lump begins to form in your throat, your vision suddenly going blurry. You think back to all the memories you made with the love of your life, think of the happy and the sad, the bitter and the sweet, and everything in between. With Eddie, there was no bad. not even during arguments.
"I've been doin' all kinds of drugs to get you out of my mind." a silent tear falls and you cover your mouth to hide in your sobs. You remember this. You remember all the pain he was going through, all while playing it off so you wouldn't see just how much he was hurting. You remember the final fight you had, the one that ended it all. You remember the way he cut you off from his life after you got mad at him for keeping it all bottled up. You know you shouldn't have, that you should've been more understanding, you know it then too, but you were fed up. You were done seeing him hurt, not only from the pains life put him through but from his own pocket knife and the substances he put in his body.
“'Cause I noticed you don't like me no more and it breaks my heart." You want to go back in time; to tell him he's wrong, that you love him with all your heart and just want to see him get better. But you know that you can't, that it's too late, that you'll never be able to hold him again.
"So I'll just drift away and disappear for a while." At that you finally fall to the floor, your body shaking in time with your cries of pain and grief. You can hear the door open and three sets of feet walking into the room. You can feel the large arms that hold you every night wrap around your wilting frame, the smaller ones cuddling into your sides. But none of this does anything to mend the shattered, trapped heart; none of this brings Eddie back.
An hour passes before you notice the mixtape stopped playing that beautiful, sad voice; before you notice the last message the stranger sent.
do you know how i could contact him? i thought i would share it with him as well
Your fingers tremble, tears filling your eyes again.
I'm sorry but Eddie passed away over a decade ago now. He struggled with his mental health severely.
You close your eyes the moment you press send, letting your phone slip from your hands as you let your tears flow. Eddie's smile flashes through your mind; his laugh plays in your ears; you can almost feel the long, messy curls that draped over his face; you can nearly smell the cologne that he only bothered to put on when you came over; you can taste the salty kisses you shared after you caught him in the bathroom with his knife.
You hate yourself every day for letting him shut you out. You want to scream at the world for taking him from you. You're mad at yourself for not being happy with your current life; for not loving your husband completely; for letting your heart belong to the ghost of your past that still haunts you inside. But most of all, you hate that this was all your fault.
was gonna do something with this a while back, idk how to finish it now
This is it. This is how I die.
Screams fill the air, thunder rumbles, and lightning flashes. The ear-rupturing screeching of bats echoes off the rubbled buildings, disrupting the calm of the autumnal town. Debris encircles the town, as though there's some force keeping the destruction out of the neighboring towns--or rather, keeping it in Hawkins. The ground is split open; a portal between worlds.
Blood fills your lungs, dripping from your lips with each wheezing breath. Jagged rocks scrape at your back with every minor movement. You can feel something gripping your shoulders, trying to shake you back to life, but it's far away. You will your body to move, to reach out towards that force, but you can't.
A sad smile plays at your colorless, paling lips as tears escape your eyes, washing away the mud and dust and leaving streaks in their wake. You can feel a hand wipe your cheek, caressing it. You lean into it as much as your body will let you, wincing at the painful, exhausting effort.
"Please." A faint voice says, almost like a whisper amidst the pounding chaos. It's pleading, begging; you can hear the desperation in the sobs that come after.
But you're tired. You're so, very tired.
And so you allow yourself to drift to that sweet, all-consuming slumber. Your head falls limp.
