Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
Series Masterlist | Chapter One - Love Stinks
Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham
Summary: Hanging out with Robin and Steve is bringing out more revelations than you're ready to handle.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern AU, canon divergence, language, friends to lovers, mutual pining, love triangle (?), angst, yearning, idiots in love, she falls first – he falls harder, AFAB reader, eventual smut, maybe a little bit of codependency, underage drinking, drug use, there is no Chrissy hate (she is a plot device), reader has a nickname, no y/n
Word Count: 6509
A/N: We’re suspending our disbelief here folks. Eddie will only do 2 senior years and I’ve fiddled around with his age. Before fluff and smut there must be angst.
You wake up with a crick in your neck and a pounding behind your eyes. After marathoning The Fast and the Furious franchise up through Tokyo Drift (Steve’s favorite), eating your body weight in crab rangoons, and downing your fair share of screwdrivers, the three of you had passed out in the living room.
Robin had made her way to the floor sometime in the middle of the night and is now sprawled in a heap of blankets at your feet. You and Steve have migrated to opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled in the middle. You’re sweltering under your shared afghan, Steve throwing off heat like a furnace, and your mouth is dry as the Sahara.
“Ugh,” a moan emanates from the heap of blankets.
“You ok, Birdie?” you ask in a voice that sounds like gravel.
“That’s a definitive no. How about you?”
“I’ve felt better.”
“What time is it?”
Without getting up, you stretch your arm down to the floor searching for your purse. You finally find it and pull out your phone. You squint against the too-bright light, “It’s eight AM.”
“Will you two shut up and go back to sleep?” Steve mumbles into his pillow.
A pillow flies through the air and connects with Steve’s head.
“Ow! What was that for?” he asks, sitting up and throwing off the afghan.
“For being a dingus, dingus!”
You want to laugh at their antics, but your head is killing you. There definitely was not enough water consumed in between the drinks.
“I need an ibuprofen,” Steve mumbles. He stretches and attempts to crack his neck. His hair is sticking up at all angles. It’s kind of adorable.
“Ditto,” comes a response from the heap of blankets.
You sit up and fight the wave of nausea that comes with it, “I’ll grab some.”
“Bless you,” Robin says as she finally sits up.
With a strength you didn’t know you possessed, you haul yourself up from the couch and hobble your way around the island into the kitchen proper. You grab the ibuprofen and decide to start a pot of coffee while you’re at it. Copious amounts of caffeine is the only thing that’s going to get you out of the house this morning.
“What’s on the agenda for the day?” you ask the living room at large while you fiddle with the coffee pot.
“I need food,” is Robin’s immediate answer.
A big greasy breakfast sounds like the answer to all of your prayers and quite possibly the worst thing you could imagine all wrapped in one. It’s never failed to cure a hangover, though.
“Benny’s?” you ask as the coffee starts to percolate.
“Benny’s sounds amazing. I need pancakes to soak up all the vodka sloshing around in my stomach.”
“Jesus, don’t remind me,” Steve says with a groan. You see him place a hand over his stomach, “We drank the whole bottle.”
“You were the bartender,” Robin reminds him, “And Jesus you like a heavy pour.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
Robin chooses not to respond and simply shrugs her shoulders at him. You chuckle.
“Who wants coffee?” you ask as you grab the creamer from the fridge.
Both of them raise their hands and you pull three mugs down from the shelf. Robin prefers hers black, Steve likes his so sweet you could get cavities, and you just want a glug of creamer. You appreciate doing something you don’t have to think about. Your brain is still cloaked in vodka, and stringing together thoughts beyond what you’re doing at the current second is beyond you. You pour coffee by rote and fix everyone’s to their preference.
You stuff the ibuprofen in your pocket and bring it and the coffee around to the couch and sit everything down on the coffee table. Robin manages to scoot herself closer to the table, a blanket pulled over her so you can only see her face. Steve is positioned upright, but with his elbows to his knees, hands running through his hair roughly.
“I’m never drinking again,” Steve mumbles into his palms.
You reach over and pat his back, pulling the ibuprofen from your pocket and giving it a shake, you motion to the coffee on the table, “Sure you’re not, Stevie.”
You pass out the medication as everyone grabs their coffee. After downing a few pills and taking a few sips, you all sit in silence for a moment, trying to acclimate to the morning.
You hadn’t had to endure any deep talks about your confession last night, but you knew that a further interrogation from Robin was imminent. She’s not one to let anything sit and fester. You’re just glad she hasn’t launched into it first thing.
“So,” Steve begins finally as he sits his coffee down on the table, “the plan for the day is breakfast first, then we’re going to the Starcourt. You two can do some back to school shopping, I can mourn my youth. Dustin messaged me something the other day about the kids going to the arcade, maybe we can go and kick their asses in air hockey?”
“Just what I love, spending a Saturday with Harrington and his brood,” Robin grumbles to you, hands wrapped around her mug.
“Hey! Dustin’s been at camp all summer. So sue me if I’ve missed the kid.”
“I think it’s sweet that you’ve missed your friend,” you tell him, “It’ll be nice to see them.”
“See?” Steve begins, glaring at Robin, “I’m sweet.”
“Keep telling yourself that, dingus.”
“Well, since we’re going out into the wild today, I’m definitely going to need a shower,” you say and receive grunts of agreement from your friends, “I smell like crab rangoons and sadness.”
“How about this? I’m going to head home to take a shower. I can drop Robin off on the way. I’ll swing back by and get her. Meet at the diner at ten?”
He looks at Robin and she nods her ascent, “Sounds good to me.”
You give him a thumbs up as you take a long pull from your mug, “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see ya there.”
“Need any help cleaning up before we leave?” Robin asks as she untangles herself from the blanket.
“Nah. I don’t expect my mom to be home anytime soon, and surprisingly, we didn’t make a huge mess. You two go get ready and I’ll see you soon.”
Robin peers down at you with a knowing look as you walk them to the door, “Don’t think I’ve let you off the hook. We’re going to talk later.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get a move on.”
You say your goodbyes and Robin and Steve head out to meet you later. You’re grateful for the time alone.
You haven’t had any time to really process what happened. Robin and Steve made sure you went straight from sad to sloshed. Now that you’re standing in your living room alone, it hits you that you made a real big fucking change to your life last night.
Even though Eddie doesn’t return your romantic feelings, you’ve let the cat out of the bag and all your exchanges going forth are going to be seen in a new light. Is he going to worry every time that you brush his shoulder that it’s some sort of untoward gesture? Is he going to think that every time you compliment him that you’re trying to flirt?
It’s never been like that with him. You have never been affectionate or complimentary simply because you have feelings for him. All of your interactions are genuine. Eddie is genuinely your best friend – you just happen to also want to kiss him.
You shake your head and move out of the entryway up the steps to your room. It’s not going to do any good to think about it right now. If you do, you’re just going to worry yourself to death. There’s already a growing pit in your stomach when you think about how other people are going to react if and when they find out what you’ve confessed.
Robin and Steve already knew your plan, and they’d of course been integral in pushing you to do it. But the kids (with maybe the exception of Max, who you’re sure has you figured out), Eddie’s friends in Corroded Coffin, Uncle Wayne – when they hear about it, you’re going to be well and truly mortified.
And you hate it. You hate that admitting your feelings for someone you care about – someone you love – and not having them returned in the way you want makes you feel that way. You wish you could own your decision and just be proud that you were brave enough to do it. But you feel like a damn coward.
Love is vulnerable. It’s not something you’ve felt for many people. And it’s something that has been returned even less often.
You’ve never known your father, you know nothing except that you share the same last name. There’s no love lost between you and the giver of half of your DNA. He’d walked out on you and your mom when you were too young to even remember his face. It was the classic “going to the store for milk” scenario in which he fucked off to god knows where and left your mom stuck with an infant and a mortgage. So while you never loved him because you never really had the chance, he was the first integral figure of your life that shaped your ability to love.
Then there is your mother. You like to think she means well – that she loves you and is simply unequipped to adequately deal with the hormonal woman-child you are becoming when she has no partner to help her – but she basically leaves you to your own devices, dropping by whenever she feels like it to grab a change of clothing or whatnot in between staying with whatever boyfriend or going on whatever work trip. Sometimes she’ll stay for a couple of consecutive weeks and ask you how school’s been and if you’re keeping your grades up. She transfers money into your account for food and clothes, and she makes sure the bills are paid. But you’ve been mostly raising yourself for the past few years. You love her and you're pretty sure she loves you, but she’s just never there.
The loss of the man that should’ve been her partner in raising you, then the loss of her best friend who had become her partner in raising you, has shaped her into someone who likes to keep people at arm’s length, including her child. You’re pretty sure a therapist would have a field day with the situation.
Uncle Wayne is honestly your greatest parental influence, and the love you feel for him is infinite. He checks in on you, makes sure you’re fed and watered, but the poor man has been on his own with Eddie for years and you can’t put the pressure on him to take the emotional load of a teenage girl with no relation to him when he’s got a teenage nephew who already relies on him.
You know he would if you were ever open about it. If you went to him and told him how adrift you felt without your mom or a father around, he'd swoop in and do everything in his power to be your knight in shining armor. But there’s no way you are ever going to put that burden on him.
It’s why you’ve always relied on Eddie so much. If you have a problem and can’t fix it yourself, he’s always your number one. If someone tries to bully you, Eddie’s wrath and cutting words descend on them like a storm. If you need an oil change, Eddie’s got you covered. If you want someone to stay the night because you’re so tired of being alone, Eddie’s right there with a smile and an adventure. The two of you have been filling the gaps of absent parents and worn out uncles since you’ve known each other.
You’re starting to come to the creeping realization that Eddie’s not always going to be there for you in the ways he’s been before, and it creates a hollow space in your chest.
You’re planning on going to Indiana University Bloomington next year with Robin as long as you’re both accepted. He’ll be staying in Hawkins. He already has a mechanic job lined up as long as he graduates this time. You’ll be living two separate lives with only the occasional visit and cell phones to bridge the gap. Then, one day, he’s going to find a partner that will need his time and attention, and you’re not going to be able to simply call him to come over and watch a movie or fix your car or go on an adventure.
It’s daunting and scary. It’s almost breathtaking when you let your mind wander to having to be vulnerable to someone else who doesn’t know how you’ve become who you are – who hasn’t been there for the tears of disappointment after disappointment.
But you’re not going to let yourself think about that anymore for the time being. You’re going to take a shower, get dressed, and meet Robin and Steve at Benny’s. It’s one thing to have a pity party when there are other people around. It’s another thing to have a pity party solo and let yourself spiral into what could inevitably become you crying on the floor of your bedroom.
So you do just that and pull into the parking lot right as you see Robin and Steve hop out of his car. They greet you with a wave as you park, get out, and head toward them.
“God, I’m starving!” Robin exclaims as she pulls you into a hug.
“Well, let’s get you fed, Birdie,” you reply as the two of you walk in the diner arm and arm, Steve leading your way.
As a kid with an absent parent, you spent your fair share of time in Benny’s Burgers until you learned to cook for yourself. Worn vinyl seats, an old jukebox that hasn’t been updated since the mid nineties, the smell of hot grease and coffee, it brings a smile to your face every time you’re there. Benny catches your eye from the kitchen window and gives you a small wave which you return. He’s always said you're his favorite customer.
Robin finds a booth and slides into one side, Steve on the other. You slide in next to Steve as Robin passes out menus.
“I’ve got breakfast,” you tell them as you look over the selections, “You two came in clutch last night, so it’s my treat.”
“No way am I letting you pay for my breakfast,” Steve says, turning to you and shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“Because a gentleman never lets a lady pay.”
A laugh escapes your mouth before you can stop it, but Steve seems serious.
“You may be a gentleman, Stevie, but I am no lady. Don’t you think that’s a bit old-fashioned? Besides, you make Robin pay all the time.”
He takes the menu from your hand and looks you up and down as much as he can when you’re sitting in a diner booth, “You are definitely a lady, sweetheart. And I think our generation could use a little more old-fashioned gentlemen. I’m paying, and I’m getting yours too, Buckley.”
Robin just smiles at the exchange between the two of you. You’re still pondering his use of sweetheart.
“Can I have my menu back, at least?” you ask and hold out your hand, palm up. He just places the menus in their holder behind the condiments. You put your hand back in your lap.
“Why? You get the same thing every time.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“Eggs over medium, bacon, and hashbrowns.”
Even though it is what you order every time, you’re surprised Steve has it memorized.
“It’s because I prefer –”
Steve cuts you off, “Savory, not sweet. I know.”
He gives you a cocky grin and you can’t help but smile back.
“Are you savant with people’s food orders or something?”
“No, I just happen to know how to listen.”
“You gonna be all gentlemanly and order for us too, Harrington?” Robin asks with a wry grin.
“Whatever my ladies desire,” he says as he exaggeratedly stretches his arms, his left landing across your shoulders. He uses it to pull you in closer to him, so close you can see every freckle on his face, “You gonna let me pay for your breakfast, sweetheart?”
“I guess so, Stevie.”
You do the blush thing again, but choose to ignore it.
The waitress picks the perfect time to stop by your table. She takes your drink and food orders and scurries back to the kitchen while you will your body to stop fucking blushing at Steve Harrington. It’s kinda hard though when he still hasn’t moved his arm from your shoulder.
“So I think I’ve come up with the perfect game plan,” Robin begins, surprisingly deciding she’s not going to mention the shoulder thing or the blush thing at the moment.
You both look at her expectantly.
“Shoes first. I’m working with a budget and I definitely need a new pair of Chucks. Can’t get them if I blow all of my money on jeans first. Then, clothes. Accessories if we must. Vickie’s going to meet us by the way,” she gives Steve a pointed look staring down her nose at him, “And I promise, Harrington, that we’ll stop at the arcade to see your newly-returned-from-camp child.”
“Benevolent as ever, Robs,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Sounds good to me. I need a little bit of everything.” Shopping isn’t anything you’re ever going to not agree to.
The waitress drops your drinks off and the three of you continue your idle chatter. Meanwhile, Steve’s arm never quite leaves your shoulder. It’s quite comforting so you don’t mention anything, and neither does Robin even though she keeps covertly glancing at it.
“How are you feeling about everything this morning?” she asks.
“Fine, I guess. I’ve been thinking about things…”
“That sounds ominous. What kind of things?”
“I’ve just come to the realization that Eddie and I are getting older. I’ll be going off to college next year, and he’s not going to be there. And maybe I’m a little too dependent on him. There’s not a lot I don’t do that doesn’t either involve him, or hell, even revolve around him. I should probably, you know, start learning how to be good with myself without him being my buffer.”
Robin nods, “I think that’s a noble pursuit. Do you have any ideas?”
You bring your elbows up on the table, propping your chin atop your hands. Steve’s arm slides off your shoulders and down your back before it settles next to you. You decide not to analyze the missing warmth.
“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe you two could help with that. I mean, we hang out,” you motion a hand around the table at them, “but I know that I’ve blown you both off because Eddie has had some wild idea and insisted I join him. I need you guys to keep me honest about this. And I’m not trying to transfer my dependency from him to you, but I’m not trying to be some friendless hermit.”
“I’m more than happy to have more of your time,” Robin tells you, “but you’re acting like you think he’s going to abandon you.”
“I don’t think he’s going to abandon me, but you and I are heading to college next year, and eventually he’s going to find a girlfriend or something and she’s going to take priority. I don’t want to be the schmuck who’s left hanging because I let Eddie become the center of my universe.”
“I guess that’s fair,” Robin says with a contemplative look down at her coffee mug.
“What I’m trying to get at is maybe I need a new hobby or something. I need to start nurturing my other friendships more.”
“Have you thought about auditioning for the choir at school? Mr. Wade was moaning about losing half of his singers at the last marching band practice. I’ve heard you sing. You’re pretty good.”
You think about it for a second. Singing is something you’ve never done seriously. Your experience is limited to singing along with the radio, showing out at Corroded Coffin shows and helping Eddie write songs. You can sight read music, though, which you’re sure is a step up from a lot of the other people in choir.
“That’s not a bad idea. It could look good on my transcripts, too.”
“Like you need to worry about transcripts.”
“Maybe not, but I do need to worry about scholarships.”
“Touché.”
“I didn’t know you could sing,” Steve interjects.
“I mean, I can carry a tune. Don’t go thinking I’m Tammy Thompson or anything.”
That elicits a laugh from them both.
“There’s no need to be modest among friends, Sunny,” Robin says with a tilt of her head as the waitress comes back with your food, “You have a beautiful voice.”
Your meal is placed in front of you and your stomach grumbles. For the most part, the headache portion of your hangover is gone, but the churning slosh of vodka remains and can only be defeated with Benny’s greasy breakfast.
“I will take your compliment with a smile and suggest we move on to more interesting topics.”
Robin nods as she spreads butter over her pancakes, “Let’s talk about Steve.”
Steve stops with a fork halfway to his mouth, “What about Steve?”
“How’s your love life?” she asks with raised eyebrow and a smile.
“Sunny said interesting topics. My love life is boring.”
“Didn’t you just go on a date with that Hannah girl the other night?”
“Yeah, and it was far from interesting.”
“Please, do tell.”
Steve shakes his head, but acquiesces, letting his fork fall to his plate with a clatter, “She was texting her ex the whole night.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because she showed me! She was giving him a minute by minute play by play of our entire date. I guess she was trying to make him jealous or something. She texted him every time I so much as held the door open for her.”
“Poor Steve,” you mutter around a mouthful of food.
“Poor Hannah if her ex couldn’t even hold open a door for her,” is Robin’s reply.
Steve picks his fork back up and starts on his waffles, “I walked her to the door when I dropped her off and she kinda stood there like she was waiting for a kiss. She had her phone in her hand…I think she was going to try and get a picture or something.”
“Stevie, where do you find these girls?”
It’s a serious question. Steve is a great guy. You’ve always wondered why he’s had such a hard time finding a girl worth his while. He’s handsome, loyal, and a good friend. He should have ladies lined up out the door.
“Fucking dating apps. I hate them.”
You give him a gentle pat on the back, “The great King Steve resorting to dating apps. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Don’t mock me. It’s hard out there. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good hook up as much as the next guy, but since when did people stop wanting to be in relationships? Is it too much to ask to find a decent girl you can have a conversation with and make out with in one go?”
Robin seems to think about it for a second before she replies, “I’ve only been in a relationship with Vickie. I got lucky. She puts up with all of my idiosyncrasies and I adore her. She’s a goddess among women.”
“And you?” Steve looks at you expectantly. You hope he doesn’t want any relationship advice, because you have none to share.
“I’ve never been in a relationship,” you tell him with a shrug of your shoulders, “I think being ‘freak’ adjacent cut down my prospects. And let’s be honest, it’s Hawkins, it’s not like I have a lot of them to begin with.”
“Never, like, never?” Steve asks in disbelief.
“Not a one.”
“Have you, I don’t know, kissed anyone before?” he dares to ask, both eyebrows reaching toward his hairline.
Your face flushes as both Robin and Steve stare at you, waiting for an answer. All you can do is shake your head.
“I refuse to believe that,” Steve says with a scoff.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Stevie. I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve never held hands with a guy that’s not Eddie. My roster is completely blank.”
“Well, I know what we’re doing with our senior year,” Robin says with finality.
You don’t know if you like the sound of that, “Um, what are we doing exactly?”
“We’re gonna get you kissed.”
You sputter on your drink as you go to take a sip, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“It’s absolutely necessary. You’re not going off to college having never been kissed.”
“Steve, talk some sense into your friend,” you tell him, pointing a finger at Robin while you mop up the mess you made with your drink.
“No can do, Sunny. I agree with Robin on this one.”
“I’m not gonna go just kiss some random guy,” you say as you take your final bite and lean back against the vinyl.
“No one said it had to be some random guy,” Robin tells you as she pushes her empty plate toward the middle of the table, “We’ll find you someone super hot.”
“And nice,” Steve adds, “We’ll make sure he’s nice, too.”
“Let me think about it.”
Steve catches the eye of the waitress, letting her know that he wants the check. Then he turns to look at you earnestly.
“We’re gonna find you a nice, hot guy to kiss, hell, maybe even go on a few dates. There’s nothing to think about. Just let us do all the work.”
You look at Robin and she just gives you a reassuring smile, “Right now though, we’re going shopping.”
True to his word, Steve pays for breakfast and then you’re all headed toward your vehicles to go to the Starcourt. They wave goodbye and yell for you to meet them at the food court entrance.
As you drive, you keep running the end of the conversation with Robin and Steve over and over in your head. You’ve never really thought about kissing anyone other than Eddie. You’re a little surprised that the prospect of them finding you someone to kiss doesn’t immediately fill you with apprehension.
You would never admit it out loud, but you figured that your first kiss would always be with Eddie, even if it wasn’t a “real” kiss. Like maybe you would ask him to help you practice or something. That whole romance novel, teen movie cliche. Now, it feels a little empowering that you’re going on a hunt to find the perfect person to help you break the metaphorical seal.
Even though you still feel the pang of embarrassment when you let yourself think about it too hard, it seems as if telling Eddie the truth has opened other avenues for you to explore. You definitely wouldn’t be headed to the mall with Robin and Steve if you’d stayed at Eddie’s for a movie last night – you probably wouldn’t even be up yet. The day would’ve been filled with helping Eddie work on his return campaign for the upcoming school year or working on another guitar solo he wanted to perfect.
Now, as laughable and solidly “teenage girl” as it is, you’re planning on how to get kissed and how to spend as much of your mom’s money as you can on clothes.
You pull into a spot next to Robin and Steve and you all head in through the food court. You’re immediately assaulted with the conflicting smells of cinnamon buns and Chinese food. Fortunately, Benny’s breakfast has worked its magic and you don’t instantly want to hurl.
“Lead us, my queen,” you tell Robin with a hand outstretched toward the stores.
Robin grabs your hand and you spend the next couple of hours dragging Steve from store to store. He’s a good sport about it. You and Robin try on outfit after outfit, Steve judging them on a scale from 1 to 10 as you hop in and out of changing rooms. He only makes you blush once.
You come out of your dressing room wearing a soft, cotton sundress. It’s not really something you’d normally wear, but you love the color and Robin had shoved it in your hands, insisting that you try it on. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you thought it looked good. It highlights your figure and will be something nice to wear while the August heat is still blazing down.
Steve gasps when he notices you, but he quickly tries to hide it with a cough. He stares for a second, saying nothing, but his eyes roam up and down your body. He swallows heavily as he finally makes eye contact.
“How does it look?”
“Um, nice – y-yeah, it’s great,” Steve sputters.
Robin peaks her head out of her own dressing room. She gives you an appreciative look.
“I told you you had to try it on.”
“You should get that one,” Steve tells you in almost a whisper as he averts his eyes.
The sundress is added to the purchases you make that day.
You make a pit stop back at the food court for giant pretzels before the three of you head to the arcade. Steve has already confirmed via text that the kids are there, and when you arrive, they’re waiting at the entrance, Dustin in front.
Steve and Dustin greet each other with hugs having not seen each other for most of the summer. You find it to be adorable while Robin laughs and rolls her eyes. She still laments that she inherited kids along with her friendship with Steve. You love it.
Dustin is the smartest person you’ve ever met, and he loves to let people know it. He’s one of the kids you know best because of his additional relationship with Eddie. They are two peas in a pod when it comes to anything D&D.
Max is slowly becoming one of your ride-or-dies next to Robin. She’s so tenacious, and much like Robin, she can also read you like a book. You never have to wonder where you stand with her.
You’ve gotten to know Lucas mostly through Max, but you love that he loves her, and that’s enough for you. He’ll be playing basketball during the upcoming school year, and you’re in pep band, so you'll see more of him at the games.
Mike is mostly sarcasm and snark, which you appreciate. Not a lot of bullshit with that kid. Much like Max, you always know where you stand with him.
Eleven is quiet, almost secretive in nature, but when she speaks, the kids listen. You admire her for that.
And you’ve always had a soft spot for Will. He has always been so quiet and reserved. He doesn’t like to take up a lot of space. He tends to leave that to the bigger personalities of the group. He reminds you a lot of yourself, and you just want to give the kid a damn hug.
Everyone is chatting and catching up when Dustin looks over to you.
“Where’s Eddie?”
You’re not surprised that he asks you. The two of you are usually always together.
“I don’t know. We didn’t hang last night.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t hang last night? It’s Friday. Movie night.”
Dustin has been a frequent casualty to your movie nights with Eddie. He learned quickly that he is persona non grata on Friday nights. Eddie takes the tradition seriously.
“I was with Robin and Steve last night.”
Dustin gives you a look like you’re speaking a foreign language. Max, who is the only one so far that has been paying attention to your conversation with Dustin, steps between you two.
“Oh my god, did you tell him?” Max asks.
Dammit. She’d been listening in to your conversations with Robin and Steve.
“Huh?” you ask, your face suddenly flaming with heat.
You’re having a serious inability to act casual – trying to go for nonchalant, but you fear the high pitch of your voice and the widening of your eyes has given you away.
Max clocks your expression. You can’t get anything past her. It’s one of the things you love most about her, but right now you wish she could be a tad bit stupider.
“Oh my god, you told him.”
“Told who what?” Dustin asks. The poor boy is so confused.
You turn to Robin and Steve and give them a look that hopefully conveys that you have no idea what to do and you want them to intercede. Neither one of them seems to comprehend.
“She told Eddie that she likes him,” Max tells the curly-haired boy.
“No shit she likes him. They’re best friends.”
“No you idiot. She told him that she like likes him.”
For a second, Dustin is speechless, which hardly ever happens. His jaw drops open and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the very first time.
“But Eddie likes Chrissy.”
At that moment, it’s like a bomb drops in the middle of the mall but you’re the only one who caught shrapnel. It feels like you’ve been dealt a physical blow. The world stops for a split second and you can’t breathe.
“Chrissy Cunningham?”
Robin and Steve quickly catch on to the severity of the conversation by that change in your tone. They both move closer to you.
“Oh shit, you didn’t know?” Dustin questions.
“No Henderson, I didn’t know,” it comes out a little harsher than you intend, but you really can’t help it, “If I’d’ve known that I could have saved myself the humiliation of confessing my feelings to my best friend.”
“Oh shit.”
“You said that already.”
Hands at your sides, your thumbs hitch themselves over your pointer fingers and you press down to crack the knuckles. The pop isn’t as satisfying as you hoped it would be.
Eddie has a crush on Chrissy and he’s never said a word about it.
“He’s never said anything about her,” is all you can say.
You look around at everyone gathered, they’ve all stopped what they were doing to listen in. And they all have that part sad, part pitying look on their faces. Everyone except Dustin apparently, knows that you have feelings for Eddie, and now they also know that he is interested Chrissy fucking Cunningham.
You couldn’t be more surprised if you tried. Eddie has mentioned people he’s found attractive before – celebrities, the odd schoolmate, random people you ran across on your adventures – and Chrissy Cunningham is not that type. Not at all.
But it’s not even so much the fact that it’s the head cheerleader of Hawkins High that he’s crushing on, it’s the fact that he’s never said a word about it. You have not had one inkling that Eddie has been intent on Chrissy.
Not to portray yourself as a complete coward, but you know that you would’ve never said anything to Eddie about how you felt if you knew that there was someone else already taking up that space. Especially someone like Chrissy, someone who is seemingly your complete opposite.
She’s popular, bubbly, and sweet. And if her last boyfriend is anything to go by, she has shit taste in men. She walks through the halls with a smile on her face for everyone. She’s never snarky. She’s a shoo in for Homecoming Queen. You don’t know anything about her home life, but you do know Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham are still together, and you’ve seen them browse the entertainment store where you work, holding hands.
How are you supposed to compare to Chrissy Cunningham?
“Oh shit,” Dustin mutters again.
“Getting a little repetitive there, Henderson,” Robin says as she comes up to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. She asks where only you can hear, “You okay?”
You nod a little stiffly, “I’m fine, but I think I’m gonna go home.”
One thing you’re not going to do is have a breakdown in front of the kids. They’re all still staring at you, gauging your reaction, but you’ve gone static. Your body is just buzzing with an odd type of energy, like a current is running underneath your skin.
“Do you want me to take you home?” Steve asks, coming up on the other side of Robin.
You look up at him and shake your head, “No. I’m good. Thanks for today.”
He grasps your forearm and gives it a little squeeze, “Anytime, Sunny. Let me know when you get home?”
“Yeah, call us if you need us. We can always come over again tonight.”
“N-no, that’s okay. I think I need some alone time.”
“I think that’s the last thing you need.”
“Not now, Robin,” Steve tells her with a stern look.
Robin lets you go reluctantly, and you make sure you have all of your bags. You thank Robin and Steve again and say your goodbyes to the kids and start walking to your car, barely feeling your feet touch the ground.
You throw your stuff in the backseat and slam the door a little too hard.
Eddie has liked Chrissy for god knows how long and hasn’t said anything to you.
It’s a real “what the fuck” moment.
The two of you have shared everything with each other. God damn, you even shared with him that you have feelings for him and he said nothing about Chrissy. You’re sure that if Dustin knows, you’re sure that Gareth and Jeff know, too.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, you drive home in tears because of Eddie Munson.
You don’t even know what you’re going to say to him when you decide to call him. Or maybe you shouldn’t call him. You should text him. It’s always been easier for you to get your thoughts across when you text. And he definitely won’t know you’ve been crying if you stick to text.
“What is my life?” you mutter to your steering wheel as you pull into your driveway.
Now, you’re just tired and you want to be alone. You don’t want to talk about anything. You don’t want to analyze anything. You’re going to get in your bed and take a nap and forget about Eddie Munson for a few hours.
Notes: I feel like I've reverted back to my teenage years when I write this story. Let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged. I will more than likely post the next two chapters I already have written some time tonight or in the morning. Thank you for reading!
|| desc- what they do for you on your birthday !!!!
val speaks- it’s my bday! so this is very self indulgent☺️ if it’s coincidentally your birthday too have the best day! n if it’s not just pretend xo
sigh feeling 19 and misaligned rn!
word count: 8.5k
joe keery
you wake up slowly, the kind of soft, unhurried waking that only happens when there’s nowhere to be and nothing pressing waiting for you. the air feels different here, lighter somehow, warm even in the early morning and for a second you forget where you are.
joe had flown you to italy for the week. he was here to shoot a movie once and the minute he landed he knew he wanted to come back here with you so why not bring you for your birthday?
then you feel it, an arm draped over your waist, familiar and steady, pulling you just a little closer whenever you shift.
and then his lips.
they’re warm and barely there at first, brushing against your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth like he’s testing if you’re awake. when you stir, he smiles against your skin and presses a few more deliberate kisses across your face, uncoordinated and soft, like he can’t decide where to land.
you let out a quiet laugh, still half asleep, turning your head so your nose bumps into his. “joe…”
“good morning” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, but there’s this quiet excitement under it.
you open your eyes properly then, and he’s already looking at you, hair a mess, eyes soft, that small, crooked smile that always feels like it’s just for you.
“happy birthday, baby” he says, like it’s something he’s been holding in all morning.
your chest tightens a little at the way he says it. you lean in, kissing him once, twice, slow and warm. “thank you.”
“i love you” he adds, almost immediately, like it’s just part of the sentence.
“i love you too.”
for a moment neither of you moves. it’s just quiet, the soft light coming through the shutters, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on your hip while you stay tucked into him. then, suddenly, he pulls back.
“wait- don’t move” he says, already halfway out of bed.
you blink at him, amused. “what are you doing?”
“just- stay there” he insists, grabbing something from his bag, then something else, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.
you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him with a small smile. “you’re being weird.”
“i’m being prepared” he shoots back, though he’s clearly a little flustered. then he turns back to you, holding a small bundle of things, and for a second he just stands there, like he’s trying to figure out how to start.
it’s.. kind of endearing.
“okay,” he exhales, sitting back down on the bed. “so. presents.”
“joe-” you start, already shaking your head, but he cuts you off.
“nope. let me do this. please.”
you hold up your hands in surrender, smiling. “okay, okay.”
he hands you the smallest box first.
it’s simple, but wrapped neatly, like he actually took the time to do it himself instead of just handing it to you in a bag. you peel it open carefully, glancing up at him once. he’s watching you way too closely, like your reaction matters more than anything.
inside is a ring.
you pause for a second, then pick it up. it’s delicate, a soft pinky ring with his initial on it, small but clear.
“joe…” your voice comes out quieter than you expected.
“wait,” he says quickly, already pulling something from his own hand. “i got one too.”
you look up, and he’s holding his hand out, on his pinky is a matching ring, but with your initial instead.
“i just-” he lets out a small breath, suddenly a little shy. “you always do that thing, you know? with the pinky promises. like it’s… serious to you. so i thought-” he shrugs, a little helplessly. “we could have one that’s, like… permanent. like a forever pinky promise or whatever.”
for a second, you don’t say anything.
your throat feels tight, your eyes stinging just slightly as you look between the ring in your hand and the one on his finger.
“that’s… really-” you stop, laughing softly because you can’t quite get the words out. “that’s really sweet.”
“yeah?” he asks, watching you carefully.
you nod, slipping it onto your pinky. it fits perfectly.
“yeah,” you say again, softer. “it’s perfect.”
the smile that spreads across his face is immediate, wide and relieved and so genuine it makes your chest ache a little.
“okay, good,” he says, like he’s been holding his breath. “good.”
he leans in, kissing you again. slow this time, a little deeper, his hand coming up to cradle your face.
“happy birthday” he murmurs against your lips.
you laugh softly. “you already said that.”
“i’ll say it again.”
he hands you the next few things after that. small painting kits, the kind you’ve pointed out before but never actually bought. you raise an eyebrow at him.
“really?”
“what?” he shrugs. “you like them.”
“i’m terrible at them.”
“that’s not the point,” he says immediately. “you like doing them. and for the record, everything you make is… objectively great.”
you snort. “objectively?”
“yeah,” he nods seriously. “award-worthy, even.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.
there are a couple of shirts too, ones you’d mentioned offhand weeks ago, and a small bouquet of flowers he must have picked up the day before.
“and,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “there’s more stuff. back home.”
you stare at him. “joe.”
“what?” he grins. “i didn’t bring everything with me.”
“this is already too much.”
“no, it’s not” he says easily. “it’s your birthday.”
you shake your head, but there’s no real protest behind it. “this is perfect.”
his expression softens at that, something quieter settling in. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
-
the day unfolds slowly, like it’s stretching itself out just for you.
you get dressed without any rush, his attention constantly drifting back to you, pausing mid-conversation just to look at you, like he keeps getting distracted.
“what?” you ask at one point, catching him staring.
“nothing,” he says, but he’s smiling. “you just- look really good.”
“i just put on a t-shirt.”
“yeah,” he nods. “and you look really good in it.”
it doesn’t stop there.
breakfast is long and easy, the kind where you talk about everything and nothing. half-finished stories, random thoughts, little jokes that don’t make sense to anyone else. he keeps reaching across the table, touching your hand, your wrist, like he needs to stay connected.
after, you walk through the town, no real plan in mind. the streets are warm, the buildings glowing softly in the sunlight, and every now and then he lifts his camera.
“stop moving” he says, already focusing.
“i’m literally just walking.”
“yeah, and you look- hold on-” click. “there. perfect.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”
“i’m right” he corrects, lowering the camera just long enough to grin at you.
shopping is chaos, but in the best way. every time you pause for even a second, he notices.
“you like that?” he asks casually.
“it’s cute,” you admit, already stepping away. “but i don’t need-”
“we’re getting it.”
“joe-”
“it’s my special girl’s special day,” he says, already handing it to the cashier. “give me a break.”
you groan, but you’re laughing, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself.
by the time you head back to the airbnb to drop everything off, your hands are full and your heart somehow even fuller.
-
dinner is different.
quieter, softer, a little more dressed up. you catch him looking at you again when you step out, and this time he doesn’t even try to hide it.
“what?” you ask, smoothing your outfit self-consciously.
he just shakes his head, stepping closer. “you’re… yeah. you’re unreal.”
the restaurant is beautiful, the kind of place that feels almost too pretty to be real, and the night outside is warm, the air buzzing softly with distant conversation and music.
after, you walk again, past monuments lit up against the dark, quiet streets that feel like they belong to just the two of you.
he takes more photos. of you laughing, of you not looking, of you just existing.
“you’re gonna run out of film” you tease.
“worth it” he says without hesitation.
-
by the time you’re back in bed, everything feels soft again.
you’re tucked into him like you were that morning, his arms around you, his face buried briefly in your shoulder before he pulls back slightly.
he’s quiet for a second.
“hey” he says, a little hesitant.
“yeah?”
“was today… okay?”
you blink at him. “okay?”
“yeah. like- i don’t know. i just, i wanted it to be good.”
you prop yourself up slightly, looking at him properly. “joe.”
he watches you, a little unsure.
“today was perfect,” you say, gently but firmly. “like- actually perfect.”
his shoulders drop just a little, relief washing over his face as a smile spreads slowly.
“yeah?”
“yeah,” you nod. “one of my favourite birthdays.”
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning in to kiss you, slow, lingering, like he’s savoring it.
“good,” he murmurs. then, softer, “i really hoped so.”
he reaches up, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin.
“we’ve got more stuff planned this week, though” he adds, a hint of excitement creeping back in.
you groan, rolling your eyes. “of course we do.”
he grins. “what? i’m not done.”
“you’re impossible.”
“and you love me.”
you huff out a small laugh, settling back into him. “unfortunately.”
he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“happy birthday" he whispers again.
this time, you just smile, closing your eyes as you sink into him, warm and steady and entirely yours.
steve harrington
you wake up to chaos.
“mom! mom- wake up!”
“shh- no, don’t jump yet-”
“can we jump now?”
and then, too late.
two small bodies launch onto the bed at the same time, one landing somewhere near your legs, the other climbing straight onto your stomach with absolutely no hesitation. you let out a surprised laugh, eyes still half closed as you instinctively reach out to steady them.
“okay, okay-i’m up, i’m up” you mumble, already smiling.
“happy birthday!!” they both shout at once, voices overlapping, way too loud for this early but impossible to be annoyed at.
you finally open your eyes properly and there they are, your son practically bouncing in place, your daughter already trying to shove something into your hands.
and behind them, steve.
he’s standing in the doorway for a second, tray in hand, just watching. there’s this soft, almost disbelieving look on his face, like this, right here, is everything he’s ever wanted and he still hasn’t quite gotten used to it.
then he walks over, setting the tray carefully on the bed.
“easy, easy” he says, laughing under his breath as he sits beside you. “let her breathe first.”
“but it’s her birthday!” your daughter insists.
“i’m aware,” he says, glancing at you, eyes softening immediately. “i’ve been aware.”
you smile at him, reaching out to touch his arm briefly. “good morning.”
“happy birthday” he says, quieter now, leaning in to kiss you properly.
it’s quick because the kids are right there, but it still lingers just enough to mean something.
then the moment is gone again because your son is already grabbing a card.
“open this one first!”
breakfast ends up being less about eating and more about everything else. the four of you piled into the bed, plates half-forgotten as the kids hand you their cards. messy handwriting, too many stickers, drawings that don’t quite make sense but mean everything anyway.
you laugh, you thank them, you kiss their heads.
steve watches the whole thing like he’s memorising it.
there are little presents too. perfumes, moisturisers, things they clearly picked out with way too much enthusiasm. you make a show of loving every single one, and they beam at you like they’ve just nailed it.
at some point, your daughter curls up against your side, your son sprawls across the end of the bed, and steve shifts closer behind you, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist.
it’s warm. easy. full.
and for a second, everything just settles.
-
getting ready takes longer than it should, mostly because the kids keep coming back in to “check on you,” which really just means interrupting.
by the time you’re finally dressed, steve’s already in the room, leaning against the doorframe like he’s been waiting.
his eyes flick over you once, and then again, slower this time.
“what?” you ask, a little amused.
he pushes himself off the wall, walking over until he’s right behind you. his hands settle on your hips, then slide around your waist as he pulls you back against him.
“nothing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “you just look… really good.”
you huff a small laugh. “it’s just a dress.”
“yeah,” he says easily. “and you look really good in it.”
he says it like it’s obvious. like it always is.
“happy birthday” he adds again, softer this time, his chin resting briefly on your shoulder.
“you’ve said that like five times already.”
“i’m gonna keep saying it.”
you turn your head slightly, just enough to kiss him. “thank you.”
“love you” he says immediately.
“love you too.”
-
dropping the kids off is… a process.
there’s hugs, last-minute reminders, your daughter insisting on one more kiss, your son pretending he doesn’t care but still hovering close.
your parents wave you off eventually, laughing, promising everything will be fine. and then it’s just the two of you.
the car feels quieter. different.
steve glances over at you as he starts driving, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to rest on your knee.
“okay,” he says. “weekend officially starts now.”
you smile. “yeah? what’s first?”
he grins. “second breakfast.”
you raise an eyebrow. “we literally just ate.”
“doesn’t matter.”
it’s ice cream, of course it is. you don’t even question it when he pulls up, just laugh as you unbuckle your seatbelt.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“you love it” he shoots back.
and he’s right.
there’s something about it, something that still feels a little like the beginning. like late nights and cheap uniforms and him leaning over the counter trying to make you laugh.
he watches you take the first bite, like he’s waiting for your reaction.
“good?” he asks.
“obviously.”
“yeah,” he nods, satisfied. “thought so.”
-
shopping is a lot, not in a bad way, just in a very steve way. you pause for half a second in front of something and he’s already clocked it.
“you like that?”
“it’s nice, but i don’t need-”
“we’re getting it.”
“steve-”
“it’s your birthday,” he says, like that explains everything. “don’t argue with me today.”
you roll your eyes, but there’s no real resistance behind it.
he just wants to take care of you, and you let him.
-
by the time you get back home, your arms are full, your cheeks ache from smiling, and steve still somehow looks like he’s not done.
“okay,” he says, setting everything down. “now- actual presents.”
“steve…”
“nope,” he cuts you off, already reaching for a bag. “sit.”
you laugh, but you do it.
the first thing is a stack of books.
you blink at him. “you remembered all of these?”
“you talked about them,” he shrugs. “i listen.”
“sometimes” you tease.
“all the tim,” he corrects.
next you pull out the bra and just stare at him. he’s already grinning.
“really?” you ask, trying not to laugh.
“what?” he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “it’s my favourite color.”
“of course it is.”
“and it’ll look good on you” he adds, like it’s obvious.
you shake your head, but you’re smiling.
then comes the necklace.
you don’t realise what it is at first, just that it’s delicate, simple. but when you turn it over your breath catches.
one side, in slightly uneven engraving, clearly his handwriting, 'i love you'. the other, two tiny thumbprints, pressed into the metal, shaped into a heart.
for a second, everything goes quiet.
“steve…” your voice is barely there.
“yeah” he says softly, watching you.
your eyes sting before you can stop it.
“hey-” he’s already moving closer. “hey, c’mere.”
you don’t even think about it. you lean into him, and he wraps his arms around you, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, wherever he can reach.
“you okay?” he murmurs.
you nod against him, laughing a little through it. “yeah. it’s just- this is… a lot.”
“good a lot?” he asks.
you pull back just enough to look at him. “perfect a lot.”
his grin comes back instantly, wide and a little proud.
“okay,” he says. “good.”
then-
“there’s one more.”
a camera.
you stare at it, then at him. “steve-”
“you’ve been talking about it forever,” he says. “and you’re always taking pictures anyway, so- figured you should have a good one.”
you don’t even try to argue this time.
you just climb into his lap, hands on his face as you kiss him properly, slow and full and a little overwhelming.
“thank you,” you murmur against his lips. “for everything.”
he laughs softly, arms tightening around you. “yeah, yeah- i’m great, i know.”
“shut up” you mumble, kissing him again.
“you love me.”
“unfortunately.”
he grins into the kiss.
-
his card is last.
you open it slower this time, already a little emotional.
inside, his handwriting again, messy, a little uneven, but so him.
happy birthday. thank you for making my life complete, for giving me everything i ever wanted, for making me the happiest, luckiest guy in the world. i love you.
you blink a few times, but it doesn’t really help.
“you’re trying to make me cry today, aren’t you?” you say, voice soft.
“maybe” he admits.
you look up at him. “it’s working.”
he smiles, softer now. “good.”
-
dinner ends up being exactly what you’d expect.
you order in, of course you do, but steve disappears for a bit while you’re waiting, and when you step outside-
the backyard is lit up.
soft string lights draped overhead, a blanket spread out, pillows thrown around like he didn’t overthink it too much but still cared enough to make it feel right.
you look back at him. “steve…”
he shrugs, suddenly a little shy again. “figured it’d be nice.”
“it’s more than nice.”
he watches you sit down, then joins you, pulling you into his side almost immediately.
you eat there, under the lights, under the quiet sky, your legs tangled together, his arm warm around your shoulders.
at some point, you stop talking.
you just sit there.
together.
“you happy?” he asks after a while, voice low.
you lean into him a little more. “yeah.”
he presses a kiss to your hair. “good.”
“this is perfect” you add.
he smiles against you, not saying anything for a second.
then, quietly, “you deserve it.”
gator tillman
you wake to the quiet first, not the kind that feels empty, but the kind that hums like something’s already started without you. the other side of the bed is cold, sheets tugged loose, and for a second you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling, listening.
then you hear it, muffled cursing from downstairs. cabinets opening, something clattering, a low “shit-” under his breath.
it makes you smile before you even sit up.
you pull on one of his shirts, sleeves swallowing your hands, and pad your way down the stairs, still half-dreaming. the house smells faintly sweet, like fruit and something toasted just a little too long.
he doesn’t hear you at first. he’s at the counter, back to you, shoulders tense like he’s squaring up to a fight instead of… whatever’s in front of him. there’s a bowl on the table. a knife abandoned halfway through something. a carton of yoghurt left open.
“gator?”
he startles. actually startles. shoulders jump, head snapping toward you like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. for a second there’s that familiar guarded look but it melts quick when he sees you.
a small, crooked smile replaces it.
“hey” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself.
his eyes flick to the table and he points at the bowl, a little sheepish, a little annoyed at himself. “kinda fucked up, but i tried, babygirl.” he huffs a quiet breath. “happy birthday.”
the bowl is messy. yoghurt piled uneven, fruit cut in chunks that are definitely too big, a drizzle of honey that’s pooled more than spread. it’s not pretty.
it’s perfect.
you grin so wide it almost hurts and cross the room before he can say anything else, wrapping your arms around him. he stiffens for half a heartbeat but then he folds into it, arms coming around you, firm and grounding.
he smells like soap and sleep and a little bit like toast.
“thank you” you mumble into his shirt.
he shrugs like it’s nothing, but his hand lingers at the back of your head just a second longer than usual before he pulls away. “yea, well.”
you sit together at the table, knees brushing. you eat your yoghurt, and he picks at his toast like it personally offended him. his free hand finds your thigh without thinking, resting there, thumb tracing absent little patterns.
you start rambling about the dream you had, something strange and disjointed about horses and a road that didn’t end, and he listens. really listens. doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t tease. just nods sometimes, eyes on you, like every word matters.
it still surprises you, sometimes.
“took the day off,” he says after a while, like it’s an afterthought. his thumb presses a little firmer against your leg. “so. it’s all… ‘bout you today.”
you glance at him, catching the way he avoids your eyes, like he’s bracing for you to think it’s stupid.
it warms something deep in your chest.
when you first met him, this version of gator didn’t exist. back then, he wouldn’t have slowed down for anyone, wouldn’t have even considered it. everything was sharp edges and forward motion, no space for softness, no room for anything that didn’t fit the path laid out for him.
now he’s here, making uneven yoghurt bowls and taking days off work.
you reach over, squeezing his hand. “sounds perfect.”
he grunts, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
-
the walk is quiet in that easy way, boots crunching over dirt, the air crisp and clean. he keeps close, not hovering, just there. steady. the kind of presence you can lean into without thinking.
you head out toward the back fields, where the neighbor’s horses graze. he knows you like them. you’d mentioned it once, offhand, and he’d remembered.
of course he had.
you stop by the fence, watching them for a while. one of them wanders closer, curious, and you reach out, letting it sniff your hand before brushing your fingers along its nose.
“you’re gonna try takin’ one home one day” he says, arms folded over the fence.
“don’t tempt me.”
he snorts.
by the time you turn back, your legs are already starting to feel it. you make it halfway before slowing, breath hitching just a little.
he notices immediately.
“c’mere.”
you don’t even argue. you step closer and he crouches slightly, hands hooking under your thighs as you climb onto his back. he stands easy, like you weigh nothing, adjusting his grip.
“comfortable?” he asks.
“very.”
he hums, starting forward again, pace steady. you rest your chin against his shoulder, watching the world pass in slow, gentle motion.
it doesn’t last.
because he gets bored.
you feel it before he says anything, the shift in him, the way his posture changes, like he’s winding up.
“hold on” he mutters.
“gator-”
too late.
he breaks into a run.
you yelp, then laugh, arms tightening around his shoulders as he takes off across the field like an idiot, boots pounding, breath coming sharp but controlled.
“what are you doing?” you’re laughing so hard it’s hard to get the words out.
“provin’ to ya,” he shoots back, voice rough with amusement, “that i’m still strong as shit.”
you roll your eyes against his shoulder, laughing again. “you’re ridiculous-”
“yeah?” he grins, even if you can’t see it. “you love it.”
you do.
by the time he slows, both of you are breathless, laughing, the kind of lightness that sticks with you long after it’s over.
-
the truck ride is quieter, sun warming the windows, the hum of the engine steady beneath you. he hands you one of the sandwiches he made, messy, uneven, and glances over like he’s bracing for judgment.
you take a bite, it’s actually good.
you raise an eyebrow at him. “look at you.”
he scoffs, looking back at the road. “don’t make a thing outta it.”
he drives you out farther than usual, to a hillside that overlooks open land stretching out in soft waves. he parks, hops out, and moves around to the back without a word.
by the time you join him, he’s already spread a blanket out in the truck bed, smoothing it down with rough hands.
you climb up, settling beside him, legs tucked under, shoulders brushing. you eat, talk in bits and pieces, fall into quiet without it feeling awkward.
after a while, he shifts, mutters something under his breath, and hops down.
you watch him go around to the front, rummaging for a second before he comes back holding a small bundle of flowers, your favourites, and a little bag.
he doesn’t make a big deal of it. just holds them out, a little stiff. “yeah. uh.”
you take them carefully, something soft catching in your throat.
“gator…”
he shrugs, already looking away. “ain’t- don’t.. yeah.”
you don’t let him brush it off. you lean forward, wrap your arms around him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“thank you.”
he huffs, but his hand comes up to the back of your neck, holding you there just for a second. “yeah.”
he’s trying not to smile.
he fails, a little.
-
back home, you set the flowers in a vase, watching them settle into place like they belong there. like he does.
the shower turns into a shared thing without discussion. steam fills the space, water running warm over both of you. you use the new soaps, lathering them into your skin, into his.
he grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t move away when you press closer, doesn’t pull back when you rest your forehead briefly against his shoulder.
if anything, he leans in just a little.
by evening, you’re curled up on the sofa, the day settling into something slow and quiet. your feet are in his lap, his big hands wrapped around them, thumbs pressing into the arches with surprising care.
you laugh, trying to pull away. “what are you doing?”
“hold still” he mutters, though there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth.
he keeps going, working out the tension like it’s just another thing he’s decided to do for you, no hesitation. you shake your head, still smiling.
“you’re weird.”
he scoffs softly, but when his eyes lift to yours, the smirk fades into something softer. something real.
“happy birthda,” he says again, quieter this time.
you soften right back. “thank you, gator. i had the best day.”
he nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear. like it settles something in him.
then, because he is who he is, he leans down and presses a quick, almost absent kiss to your foot.
you stare at him. “you did not-”
he snorts, grabbing your ankle before you can pull away, and then he’s leaning forward again, hand sliding up to your jaw, pulling you into a proper kiss this time.
warm. steady. certain.
he's not soft with anyone else but with you, he doesn’t hold back.
keys mckey
the morning starts slow and warm, the kind of soft, golden quiet that feels like it was made just for the two of you. sunlight spills through the curtains in thin, sleepy streaks, catching on the edges of the room and settling gently across the bed. you’re half awake when you feel him shift beside you, the familiar weight of him pressing closer, an arm slipping around your waist like it belongs there, like it always has.
keys isn’t exactly graceful in the mornings. he’s all soft edges and quiet murmurs, hair a mess, but the way he looks at you, sleepy, fond, like you’re the first good thing he's ever seen, makes your chest ache in the best way.
“happy birthday” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder.
you hum, smiling into the pillow, turning just enough to meet him. “you remembered.”
he huffs softly, like that’s ridiculous, like there was never a world where he wouldn’t. “of course i did.”
what follows is slow and unhurried. soft kisses that linger, the kind that don’t rush anywhere. his hand traces lazy patterns along your arm, your side, your back, like he’s memorising you all over again. you stay tangled together for longer than you mean to, wrapped in blankets and warmth and him, until the day starts pressing in around the edges.
eventually, though, he shifts again, this time with purpose.
“okay” he says, a little more awake now, though there’s a hint of nervous energy under it. “i have something.”
you squint at him, propping yourself up on one elbow. “something?”
he nods quickly, already pushing himself up, running a hand through his hair in that distracted way he does when he’s thinking too many things at once. “yeah. uh- don’t get up yet, i mean, well, actually, get up, but- just- come with me.”
you laugh softly, sitting up. “you’re being weird.”
“i’m always weird,” he mutters, but there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth, something a little shy, a little excited. “just- trust me?”
you do. you always do.
now you’re standing just outside his office, still a little drowsy, still wrapped in that soft, lingering feeling from the morning. he hesitates at the door like he’s second guessing himself, fingers hovering over the handle before he finally pushes it open.
“okay,” he says, stepping aside for you. “go sit.”
you blink. “your chair?”
he nods, suddenly very intent on not looking directly at you. “yeah. just- sit there.”
you raise an eyebrow, but you do it anyway, crossing the room and settling into his chair.
he moves quickly after that, slipping behind you, hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders like he wants to steady you but isn’t sure if he should. the computer screen flickers to life as he wakes it up, fingers tapping nervously against the desk.
“so,” he starts, then stops, then tries again. “i’ve been working on something. for a while.”
you glance back at him, he looks nervous. more nervous than you’ve ever seen him about something like this, it makes your chest tighten a little.
“keys,” you say softly, “what is it?”
he exhales, then finally meets your eyes. there’s something bright there, something hopeful. “just look.”
he clicks, and the screen changes.
at first, it looks like a simple game environment. unfinished, clearly still in development, but alive in that particular way his work always is. soft lighting, a small, cozy space carved into a larger world. your eyes scan over it, taking in the details, the way everything feels intentional, personal.
and then you notice.
“…is that-”
“yeah,” he says quickly, almost tripping over the word. “it’s- it’s yours. i mean, not yours, but- it’s for you.”
you lean closer, heart starting to beat a little faster.
it’s a corner of the game, your corner. small, tucked away, but detailed in ways that make it feel like home. there are little references everywhere, things you’ve mentioned offhand, things you love, things he’s remembered. and then you see them.
two characters.
one of them is unmistakably him, slightly exaggerated, a little softer, animated in that endearing, slightly awkward way that feels so keys. and the other-
“…that’s me” you whisper.
he nods, watching you carefully. “yeah. i- uh. i tried to get it right.”
it’s not perfect, it’s not meant to be, but it’s you. softly stylised, animated with these small, thoughtful details that make your chest ache. the way the character moves, the tiny expressions, the way it interacts with his, it’s all so carefully done.
he clicks again, and the characters move, little looping animations. the two of you walking together. sitting side by side. your character leaning into his.
it’s simple.
it’s everything.
“i made it so it’s just… there,” he says quietly. “like- no quests, no objectives. just us. a place you can go to.”
you don’t realise you’re tearing up until your vision blurs.
“keys” you breathe.
he shifts, suddenly unsure again. “i mean, it’s not finished or anything, i just, i wanted to show you, and i thought- i don’t know, it’s probably dumb-”
you cut him off by turning in the chair and pulling him down into a kiss.
it’s not delicate. it’s not hesitant. it’s full and warm and immediate, your hands coming up to frame his face as he makes a surprised sound against your lips before melting into it.
when you pull back, he looks a little dazed.
“i love it,” you say, voice soft but certain. “i love it so much.”
something in his expression shifts, relief, pride, something softer underneath it. he smiles, small at first, then wider, like he can’t quite help it.
“yeah?” he asks.
you nod, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “yeah.”
he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes soft. “…good.”
there’s a beat of quiet between you, warm and full.
and then, “i’m not done” he adds.
you laugh softly, shaking your head. “of course you’re not.”
that makes him grin, a little more confident now. “okay, but- this part, this part is different.”
he turns back to the computer, opening a browser. your curiosity spikes immediately.
“what did you do?”
“just wait.”
a website loads. it’s simple at first glance, but you can already tell it’s been built from the ground up, by him, for you.
“it’s a quiz,” he says, almost sheepish. “a custom one.”
you look at him, then back at the screen. “a quiz?”
“yeah, but not like a normal one,” he adds quickly. “just click around.”
you do.
the first question pops up. something silly, something only the two of you would understand. you laugh immediately, covering your mouth as you read it aloud.
“oh my god, you did not.”
he shrugs, trying and failing to hide his smile. “answer it.”
you click an option and instead of a generic response, it opens into something else. a photo. a memory. a little caption in his words.
you freeze.
“…keys.”
“keep going” he says softly.
you do.
each question unfolds into something more. inside jokes, moments you’d almost forgotten, things he clearly hasn’t. photos of the two of you, little notes tucked into the corners, fragments of your shared history stitched together in this strange, beautiful, interactive way.
it’s playful. it’s thoughtful. it’s so deeply, unmistakably him.
by the time you reach the end, your chest feels full to the point of bursting.
the final screen loads slowly.
happy birthday.
there’s a pause.
i love you.
you stare at it for a long moment, your vision blurring again.
“keys…”
he’s watching you carefully, that same nervous hope from earlier creeping back in. “i know it’s kind of overkill, i just- i wanted to make something you could, you know, keep.”
you stand suddenly, turning to him, and he barely has time to react before you’re wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into another kiss, softer this time, but just as full.
when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his.
“can you send me the link?” you ask quietly.
he blinks. “the link?”
“to the website,” you say, smiling. “i want to go back to it. whenever i want.”
for a second, he just stares at you.
and then he lights up.
it’s not subtle. it’s not contained. it’s this open, unguarded expression. pride and love and something almost disbelieving, like he can’t quite believe how much this means to you.
“yeah,” he says quickly. “yeah, of course i can.”
he looks at you like you’ve just given him something, instead of the other way around. like he got it right.
you reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, smiling softly.
“best birthday ever” you murmur.
and the way he looks at you then, warm, a little awed, completely in love.
it’s something you wish you could capture, keep, return to whenever you wanted.
but maybe you don’t need to.
maybe you already have it.
travis meacham
he showed up earlier than you expected.
you hadn’t even finished making coffee yet when there was a knock. quick, uneven, like he forgot halfway through how knocking was supposed to work. you already knew it was him. nobody else knocked like that.
when you opened the door, travis was mid-sentence.
“-i swear it just came out of nowhere, like full wingspan, massive thing, i don’t even know what kind of bird it was but it looked pissed, like properly offended that i was on the road at the same time as it-”
he stepped inside as he talked, shrugging off his jacket, eyes everywhere but on you. he was animated, hands moving, voice a little too fast, like his thoughts were tripping over each other trying to get out first.
“-and i thought, okay, this is it, this is how it ends, taken out by some mutant pigeon-”
and then he looked at you.
really looked.
it stopped him mid-thought. like someone had cut the wire.
you were smiling, soft, sleepy, a little amused, and for a second he just… stared. then he huffed under his breath, shook his head like he was trying to reset himself, and stepped forward, pulling you into him.
“happy birthday, sweets.”
his voice dropped when he said it, quieter, warmer. his arms wrapped around you tight, one hand coming up to the back of your head, holding you there for just a second longer than necessary.
you could feel his heartbeat, fast, but steadying.
when he pulled back, he didn’t go far. just enough to reach into his jacket pocket.
“right- okay, so, i got you something,” he said, already starting to ramble again as he pulled out a small box, a little scuffed at the edges like he’d been carrying it around all morning. “and before you say anything, i know it’s a bit- well, you’ll see, but i thought it made sense because you always, like, you’ve got all those little things, you know? the trinkets and bits you keep everywhere, and you actually use them, which i don’t understand but i respect-”
you opened it.
inside was a small, intricate silver keychain, tiny, delicate charms hanging off it. little tools, a miniature compass, a fold-out blade no bigger than your fingernail, all detailed and slightly worn like it had history.
you blinked. “oh?”
he lit up immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.
“yeah- see, okay, so, you remember that shop? on our first date? the one with the weird window display? like antiques but not really antiques-”
you did.
“this was in there,” he went on, words picking up speed. “and you stopped for like- i don’t know, a full minute, which is a long time for you, by the way, and you didn’t say anything but you kept looking at it, and i thought, right, that’s a thing. that’s a thing she’d actually use. and then i saw it again the other day and, well. yeah.”
he shrugged, suddenly a little unsure.
“figured it might come in handy. you know. eventually. statistically speaking.”
you didn’t let him spiral any further.
you leaned in, kissed him, quick, soft, cutting right through the noise.
when you pulled back, you were smiling wider.
“thank you, baby.”
he blinked, like he’d forgotten what he was saying entirely, then gave a small, crooked grin.
“yeah. yeah, okay. good.”
he cleared his throat and reached into his jacket again.
“also- card. which i did write in, properly, before you accuse me of anything.”
you took it, already noticing the way his handwriting crowded the inside, messy, uneven, like he’d had too much to say and not enough space to say it neatly.
you read it slowly.
it wasn’t polished. not even close. words scratched out, sentences crammed into margins, a few lines slanted where he’d clearly run out of room.
but it was him.
about how you were “his angel” (with angel underlined three times, like he’d argued with himself about writing it and then committed anyway). about how he’d “do just about anything” for you, no hesitation. how proud he was of you, for things you didn’t even think he noticed.
it made your chest ache a little.
your eyes stung before you could stop it. you didn’t say anything right away, he noticed, of course. he always did.
his arm came around you again, pulling you into his side, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. he pressed a small kiss there, absentminded, like it was second nature.
“don’t cry,” he muttered, softer now. “it’s not- i mean, it’s good crying, i assume, but still-”
and then, without missing a beat,
“you know, the woman at the card shop, completely unrelated, but she told me this whole story about this dog she’s getting? like full life plan for the dog, i swear it had a better schedule than i do-”
you laughed into his chest.
of course he did.
he kept going, describing the dog in unnecessary detail, mimicking the woman’s voice badly, getting distracted halfway through to comment on the shop layout.
you could’ve listened forever.
a lot of people didn’t. a lot of people got tired of it, of him, the constant motion of his thoughts spilling out. you never did.
you leaned into him, smiling, letting his words wash over you like background music.
after a while, he shifted slightly.
“oh- also, before i forget,” he said, like it had just occurred to him. “i fixed your radio. it was the wiring, by the way, not whatever you thought it was. and your camera, had to take it apart, which was risky, but it’s fine now. and i sorted that basket of clothes you kept ignoring. and, yeah. other stuff. probably.”
you looked up at him, smiling in that quiet, fond way that always made him falter for a second.
he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.
“what? it needed doing.”
eventually, miraculously, he went quiet.
just for a second.
then his expression shifted again, like he remembered something important.
“right. okay. last thing—actual plan for today,” he said, pulling out two slightly crumpled tickets. “outdoor cinema. tonight. figured… you’d like it.”
you did, of course you did.
the rest of the day blurred in that easy, comfortable way it always did with him.
he cooked, properly, for once, which he reminded you of at least twice. you visited your parents, where he was oddly polite but still managed to go off on a tangent about garden tools with your dad.
by the time evening rolled around, you were both a little tired, a little full, and very much still wrapped up in each other.
you stopped for snacks on the way, completely unnecessary amounts of them. most of it terrible. all of it perfect.
at the cinema, you didn’t even bother pretending you’d watch the film properly.
you stayed in the car, curled up together, sharing food, talking over half the dialogue.
at one point, mid-sentence, you realised he’d gone quiet.
you looked up, he was already looking at you. not distracted. not halfway somewhere else in his head. just watching you.
there was something softer in his expression. something a little stunned. like he still couldn’t quite believe it, like he’d spent so long assuming people would get tired of him and then you didn’t. you were still there.
his girl.
you nudged him lightly. “what?”
he blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in to kiss you, slow this time, unhurried.
when he pulled back, he stayed close.
“sorry,” he murmured. “wasn’t- i mean, it’s not exactly… big. today. but-”
you shook your head, smiling against him.
“it was amazing. thank you, t.”
he studied your face for a second, like he was checking you meant it then he smiled and pulled you closer.
kurt kunkle
he’d text you earlier that morning, something simple and a little awkward, like “hey!! come over today? i have something planned. it’s not a stream thing. promise.” which immediately made you suspicious, because kurt never did anything off camera if he could help it.
so when you showed up, you were half-expecting a tripod set up somewhere, a ring light, maybe even a “birthday special” title waiting to go live.
but when he opened the door, it was just him.
no camera. no setup. just kurt, standing there in one of his own hoodies, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it too much, smiling in that nervous, lopsided way he always did.
and that alone made you smile.
“hey- hi. you, uh… you look really good” he said quickly, stepping aside to let you in, like he forgot that was the more important part.
the apartment smelled faintly sweet, like syrup, and when you walked into the kitchen you saw why. on the table sat a plate of pancakes, stacked a little unevenly, with a wobbly smiley face drawn in syrup that looked like it had taken a lot of effort and still didn’t quite cooperate.
next to it was a gift bag.
with a unicorn on it.
you couldn’t help it, you laughed, soft and surprised, and when you turned back to him he looked both embarrassed and hopeful at the same time.
“they didn’t have- i mean, they had other bags, but this one was… like, brighter? and i thought you’d- yeah” he rambled, rubbing the back of his neck.
before you could say anything, he stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, a little too tight, like he’d been waiting to do it all day. he pressed a quick, messy kiss to your lips right after, a little off-angle, a little rushed.
“happy birthday, baby. i love you.”
“i love you too” you murmured, still smiling, and you could feel the way he relaxed just a little at that.
he nudged the gift bag toward you like he couldn’t wait any longer. “okay- open it”
inside was, of course, his merch.
but it was in your favourite colour, neatly folded like he’d actually tried, and tucked under it was a gift card to your favourite restaurant, the one you’d mentioned once, casually, weeks ago.
you looked up at him, a little softer this time.
“you remembered.”
“yeah, well… i- i write stuff down” he admitted quickly, like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it clearly was.
you leaned forward and kissed him, slower this time, deliberate. he made a small surprised sound against your lips before kissing you back just as messily as before, hands unsure but eager where they settled on your waist.
“thank you” you whispered.
he ducked his head a little, smiling.
the two of you sat down and shared the pancakes, and he watched you take the first bite like it was some kind of final exam.
“they’re good” you said, laughing a little.
“really?” his eyes lit up immediately. “okay, good, because the first batch was, like, really bad.”
after a while, he nudged the shirt toward you. “you should try it on. just to- like, see if it fits. for quality control.”
you rolled your eyes, but stood anyway, slipping it on over what you were wearing.
it fit perfectly.
when you turned back to him, he froze for a second, then very obviously tried to act normal and failed.
you laughed.
“kurt.”
“i- i’m normal. this is a normal reaction. it’s, yeah,” he said, smiling nervously, looking anywhere but directly at you.
you stepped closer, bumping your shoulder into his. “you’re so weird.”
“you like it” he shot back, a little more confident now.
“i do.”
later, he took you out.
he insisted on going into town first, and before you even knew where you were heading, he was pulling you toward a photo booth like it was the most important stop of the day.
“it’s- it’s a thing. couples do this” he said, already digging for coins.
inside the cramped booth, he got even more awkward, trying to figure out where to put his hands, how to smile, glancing at the camera like it might judge him.
the pictures came out slightly chaotic. one of you laughing, one where he blinked, one where he was clearly mid-sentence.
and the last one, he kissed you. soft, quick, but real. he stared at that strip for a second longer than the others, then, of course, took a picture of it on his phone.
you didn’t even have to ask.
“don’t” you warned lightly.
he was already typing.
“too lat,” he said, showing you the post: My worlds birthday 😍
you groaned, but you were smiling.
-
the park was quieter.
he’d set up a small picnic, nothing overly fancy, but thoughtful. your favourite snacks, a blanket, drinks he knew you liked.
“you said you liked this. picnics. so… i did one” he explained, like it needed justification.
it didn’t.
you sat together, talking, eating, the afternoon stretching easy and warm around you. at some point, he reached into his bag again, a little more hesitant this time.
“okay, this one- this one’s like… i don’t know if it’s too much or-”
he pulled out a small charm bracelet.
your expression softened immediately.
“kurt…”
“i did a bunch of pr stuff to afford it,” he rushed to explain. “like, extra. more than usual. i saw something like it on your pinterest and i wanted to get you something, something special.”
that hit harder than anything else he’d done that day. you wrapped your arms around him without thinking, hugging him tight.
“it’s perfect.”
he let out a small breath against your shoulder, like he’d been holding it.
later, he leaned back against a tree, and you settled in front of him, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you.
he kept pressing small kisses to your cheek, your temple, your jaw, soft, absent-minded, like he couldn’t help it.
for once, he wasn’t talking.
he’d actually made the whole day about you and he’d done it right.
“as a reward,” you said eventually, tilting your head back slightly to look at him, “i’ll join your stream later.”
he blinked. “what? baby, it’s your birthday. you don’t have to do anything for me.”
“i want to,” you said simply. “we can play minecraft.”
his expression softened in a way you didn’t see often.
“are you sure?”
“i’m sure.”
you paused, then added, “if you also play animal crossing with me.”
he laughed softly, almost breathless. “yes. baby, anything.”
then, like he couldn’t help himself, “i’m also- i’m saving up for the new tomodachi thing? so we can stream that. i think people would really-”
you just smiled, letting his voice fade into the background as you sank back into him, warm and steady and real.
Sorry the first two aren’t scanned I got lazy and just wanted to post this asap so I don’t forget about it
Dear people, today I offer you some fem Beatles, tomorrow? Hopefully the finished version of the third drawing (maybe if I write it down I’ll actually color it)
HERE is this little comic i made it is quite dumb (i still love it tho) but i got the idea from the meme/trend where someone goes under tooth surgery and then when they wake up their friend or lover was actually the one to donate teeth
also the idea came to me after seeing this picture... 💀
The Beatles in foundation and winged eyeliner, late 1962
“Ted Taylor first told us how use make-up. We were playing the Embassy Cinema at Peterborough […]. It was Ted that said, ‘You looked a little pale out there, lads. You should use make-up.’ We asked him how. He said, ‘There’s this pancake stuff, Leichner 27. You can get it from the chemist. Take a little pad and rub it on; it gives you a tan. And put a black line around your eyes and lips.’ We said, ‘That’s a bit dodgy, isn’t it?’ He said, ‘Believe me, they will never see it, and you’ll look good.’
Right afterwards we were being photographed for a poster for Blackpool. They had been bootlegging posters, which meant we were obviously getting quite popular, and the poster company said we should do an official one. So they did four squares – one of us in each square. And you can see the black line around our eyes. We never lived it down!”
izzy806
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