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💝

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛.ೃ࿔

𝑡𝑜 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓-𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑚

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

It's humid. So impossibly humid. Your lungs can barely find air.

You're waiting patiently in your car as the rain batters down on your poor windshield. It's almost impossible to hear the tune that plays over the radio; the lyrics are lost in the drowning sound of raindrops, but the bass is still slightly detectable.

The parking lot of the Family Video was empty and boring except for the bright neon sign at the front of the building. It was date night, a rare occasion reserved for the summer, but the night was looking bleak. You weren't really in the mood for a full dinner date in your soggy state, clothes absolutely soaked through from your twenty second bolt to the car.

You truthfully didn't mind the rain; you didn't even really mind the humidity either. It was like a warm, wet hug. The thick air mixed with cool drizzle reminded you of late, rainy nights on family trips to the beach.

This summer had been particularly unpredictable for weather, but you much preferred the cool rain over the scorching sun.

The second the raindrops meet the sweltering concrete, they begin to evaporate, leaving a comforting mist swirling around your car.

The next thing you know, the driver's side door swings open, letting in a cacophony of pittering and pattering from outside. You slide over hastily to the passenger seat so he can take your spot.

You can't help but smile when you see him.

Steve is completely soaked, more so than you, and his uniform is a little crumpled and tattered in places. Upon closer inspection in the dark, you faintly catch the glint of little droplets falling from the locks hanging at the front of his face, dripping all over the steering wheel.

His face has a slight sheen from the rain, and he just looks so pretty it's almost impossible to look away. He moves so pleasingly, a little clumsy, but still pleasing. He's breathtaking like this; comfortable, natural Steve. You've always loved to watch him when he thought no one was looking.

The first thing he does before even starting up the car is lean over to grab your face with a wet hand, giving you a quick, chaste kiss. He misses your lips slightly, planting one right at the corner of your mouth instead. It's sweet habit he’s adopted. You can feel your cheeks heating up slightly at his brazenness before he turns his attention back to the ignition and turning on the air, probably in hopes of drying out his clothes.

You're taken aback. Not from the kiss, Steve always insists on kissing you as much as possible in private. You're taken aback by someone so painfully beautiful wanting to kiss you.

You always thought you were just average. Boringly average. Not particularly pretty or witty. Not too interesting or too boring. Just, average. You hated your simplicity.

So it kind of shocks you every time you remember you're with him. With Steve. It’s like a little surprise present each time you look over at him. A small gift you were given.

After fumbling with the vents for a few minutes, he peaks back over at you, doing a slight double take at your baffled expression.

"What's with the face?" he gives you a puzzled stare, still adjusting the vents towards his dripping clothes. "Not happy to see me?"

You don't seem to actually hear him; you're still too focused on the small raindrop rolling down the front strand of hair, following its trajectory down to the seat below. It was stupid. So stupid how his hair could still look good in the rain and humidity. He would be happy to hear that.

"Yoohoo?" he gives a light whistle, rapping a knuckle gently against your forehead. "Anybody home?"

"Huh?" you ask, finally popping out of your train of thought to meet his gaze.

Steve's heart always skips a beat when you look at him like this. Eyes wide and full of astonishment. Astonishment at what, he never knew. Your hair was still slightly damp from the rain, with a little bit of frizz shooting out at strange places from the unwavering humidity. Your lips were still wet, as well as your clothes, but you looked beautiful. Like, really fucking beautiful. You always looked stunning dressed up for a night out or for heading off to work, but something about your casual state late at night always made his chest ache. You had this undeniable natural beauty, especially at night, that he never could seem to get over.

That's why he always loved when you picked him up after a late shift at work. You're really only apart for a few hours, but the anticipation of seeing you at night would be almost painful.

You always arrive just on time - never too early, never too late. You'd pull up with the music faint, your window rolled down to greet him, typically with one of his over-sized t-shirts on. He'd tried buying you one of your own, but you insisted on his. He would always stop a few inches from your car, arms crossed over his chest, signature smirk on his lips, before he'd lean down to rest his forearms on the window frame. He usually gives some stupid line. "’Sup, hot stuff?" or "New in town?" are some of his favorites. You always have a quip at the ready. ("In your dreams, pretty boy" usually does the trick) He leans in slowly for a light kiss, staring at your lips the entire time. He barely even pulls away, your lips still brushing, and he'll whisper against you "miss me?" with you replying "a little," your face heating up. Another kiss, a little needier this time, before you pull away completely. Steve always chases after your lips as you slide into the passenger seat to let him drive.

You two never kissed too often in public, but on these late nights when the parking lot was empty, Steve just couldn't stop himself. Something about seeing you in his clothes, waiting for him.

But this night was different. Tonight it was still raining, pouring now, and you hadn't opened the windows for him. You didn't have the the windows rolled down or a quip at the ready. You looked... dazed actually. Like you didn't exactly know what was going on.

Tonight you were bundled up to protect from the rain. You layered a few of his shirts: a long-sleeve stripped shirt beneath a preppy collared tee, all covered by his grey jacket, collar upturned. You stuck with a pair of shorts and flip flops, which also were soaked through, and you looked... confused.

“Yeah, sorry. What’d I miss?“ you ask, still frozen in place.

“You're lookin' at me like I'm crazy.” He stops and reaches his thumb up between your eyebrows, rubbing at the crease that has formed there. "Relax. You're gettin’ wrinkles," he mumbles as you drop your confused look. "What's up?" he asks quietly, still rubbing circles into your forehead, concern now taking over his face.

"Nothing," you utter back, nudging his hand away to turn forward in your seat, avoiding his gaze. You start to fiddle with the edges of your jacket, hopelessly ignoring Steve's burning stare.

"Oh... ‘Nothing,’" he mimics you, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You roll your eyes, still finding your jacket awfully interesting.

"Well, perfect. Cause you seem 100% fine. Tooootally a-ok. Not a care in the world," he teases, slowly leaning down to try and catch your gaze.

You peak up at him then, giving in knowing that if you don't spill eventually, he'll just keep bringing it up all night.

“It’s just that-“ You turn to face him, but the words start to die on your lips upon seeing him. He’s turned fully towards you, his right leg bent onto the seat, one arm resting on the steering wheel and the other holding the back of your headrest. His hair was slowly starting to dry now; it looks kind of wild, shooting up in all directions, but it still makes your heart skip a beat or two. His brow is furrowed up, waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong. You look down to your hands, trying to remember what you were going to say.

“It’s just-“ You fiddle with your fingers, a nervous habit. One Steve knew well.

He abruptly reached his hand out to hold yours, making your eyes snap back up to his.

“Hey,” his face was much softer now, no traces of teasing. He could be so sincere when he wanted. “Hey... What’s wrong? Can you tell me?”

You hated this. You hated not being able to voice the thoughts that were racing through your head. Your nerves very rarely got to you, but when they did, it was nearly impossible to speak your mind. Steve's always been extra patient with that.

Though not amazing with his own feelings, he was still one of the best listeners you've ever met. So patient and supportive. And caring. So caring. It made you mad sometimes, when he was like this. You don’t even know why. Maybe you never thought you deserved treatment this gentle. It always made you feel even more guilty. A burden.

You sigh, letting your nerves give way to annoyance.

“It’s just that you’re always so… nice. To me. You’re always so nice.” You pull your hand out from his, opting to cross your arms exasperatedly instead.

Steve’s confusion only grew.

“I’m… too nice to you? You're not making any sense.”

“I don’t know, you’re patient and you’re kind and you help me through things… It’s annoying.” You knew you sounded crazy, but you couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, Steve usually took the brunt of your frustration. Not that he minds too much.

“So- So, what?” he shifts now, looking out the windshield, almost as if he was searching for some answers. “I should be mean to you? Be an asshole? Is that what you want-“

“No no, god, Steve, no. Obviously I don’t want that-“

“Alright so what then, I- I- I can’t help you through things, I can’t be sweet with you?” he was flustered now, waving his hands about endearingly and stuttering over his words, talking a mile a minute. He was adorable. And it only made you angrier.

“Ugh, no, Steve-“

“Because I'm always gonna be nice to you, I'm sorry, I can't help it! But I don't want to be this big sap and freak you out-“

“Steve-“

“And I obviously want to be nice to you, you’re my girlfriend-“

“Steven-“

“But now you’re pissed and I feel bad for pushing it, I just wanted to make sure you were ok-“

“Harrington-“

"I mean, if you don’t want me to be nice to you, well- Well, I don’t think I can actually do that-“

“Steve! God, you're too good for me!"

He instantly quiets at your outburst, breathing heavily from his ranting. The look he gives you nearly breaks you.

“What?” His voice is so soft, you can barely hear him. Somehow, he was able to look even more confused, and a little hurt.

“It’s just that you’re always helping me through things and taking time to get to know me and, I don’t know, sticking around? Like, I'm complicated and you’re always trying to figure me out. You want to take care of me. It's weird.” You give him a look but he doesn’t really seem to be following. A sigh leaves your lips and you look down to your hands to steel yourself before meeting his gaze once again. “You're amazing. The greatest guy I know. You’re- You’re funny and handsome and sweet and- And you’re like the perfect guy. The perfect boyfriend. And it’s intimidating.” You're eyes darted everywhere - your hands, the center console - anywhere to avoid Steve’s desperate gaze as you reveal all the insecurities you’ve been fighting ever since the start of your relationship. “It’s like… I’ll never be enough. I’ve never… No one’s ever wanted me before and it’s weird because the first guy I get is… well perfect. And it does make sense to me. Like, you could have anyone in Hawkins. There are at least ten girls I can list right now that are better than me in a twenty mile radius. You have chicks fawning all over you. I mean you’re ‘the King’ and I'm just, I don’t know, average? And it feels like I'm with you on accident. Like some fluke thing that plopped into my lap that I don't deserve. Any day now you're gonna wake up or run into someone better on the street and leave me. And I wouldn’t even blame you cause it’s like, why be with me when you could have someone infinitely better. God, but that’s the thing, you would be so goddamn sweet about it too - letting me down easy, wanting to stay friends - all that. Or worse, you wouldn't leave me at all out of pity. Because you're that guy. The gentleman that actually cares about the girl's feelings.

“And when you comfort me or console me, you have this stupid habit of always knowing what to say. It makes me feel even more inferior. And the worst part is that’s it’s not even your fault. It's me. It’s my abysmal self-worth that fucking ruins everything.”

You finally risk a look at him now. His face was set, listening to you intently. It seemed like he was waiting for you to finish fully.

You start again.

“I try so hard. So hard to be enough. And you just do it effortlessly and I'm stuck trying to keep up….” You look down to your hands finally in defeat. “I know it's childish and selfish and shallow and insecure, but it’s what I feel. I hate that I feel this way. I hate it. I love being with you, more than anything, but…. But it hurts me. It hurts sometimes to be with you. Every time I'm with you, I'm confused. You picked me and it makes no sense. I can’t figure it out.”

The car was silent for a little while. All you could hear were Steve’s feather light breathes and the rain tapping against the car.

Slight tears began to form in your eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. More of frustration. Frustration for feeling like this, for making Steve put up with you, for putting him through this. Frustration from having to say it out loud.

With the silence still deafening, you thought now was as good a time as any to leave. Your hand started to reach for the door handle. Might as well make this as painless as possible.

“I'm just gonna walk home-“ you started pushing the door open and preparing yourself for the rain, just as Steve reached across the seat, pulling the door closed himself. His hand gripped on to yours at the handle and you could feel his breath at the nape of your neck. It sounded uneven, laced with sadness or anger, but you didn’t want to turn around and find out which.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Just… Stay here. With me.”

He, too, sounded defeated. You took a shaky breath and let go of the door, dropping your hands back into your lap. You were quickly starting to regret your confession.

Steve said your name quietly, hoping to catch your attention. When you refused, you could feel his hand pull your chin towards him. You reached up quickly to wipe your tears in an effort to spare whatever dignity you had left.

“Hon…” he was looking at you with the saddest eyes. “Tell me you haven’t been feeling like this the whole time…”

You looked down as much as you could in his grasp, shame and embarrassment washing over you.

“God,” he let out a humorless laugh and put both hands on the steering wheel, staring out the front window. “It’s funny… Cause I’ve been feeling the same way about you.”

You were not expecting that. Thinking you must have misheard him, you shoot him an incredulous expression. He was still looking out the window, obviously speechless himself.

“I couldn't believe it, honestly. When you agreed to a date with me.” He couldn’t face you; he instead opted for running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. “I could barely work up the courage to ask you. Shit, Robin had to push me to do it. But I never thought you’d actually say yes... But then you did.” He looked to you timidly. A slight chuckle slipped from him as he rubbed a hand over his face in humorous disbelief. “Christ, I was so nervous for that first date. Robs teased me for days afterwards for how long it took me to get ready… Didn’t matter though.” He took on the most enamored expression, as if he was reliving the memory. “You showed up. The most beautiful I’d ever seen you.”

Your face heated up again, looking down at your hands bashfully.

“I was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans,” you say, trying to justify yourself.

“Exactly! Exactly…” he looked at you wistfully, surprised you still didn’t get it, but not annoyed in the slightest. “You didn’t have to try. You’re just… you. You didn’t have to spend hours in the mirror getting ready… because you were already perfect.”

You laughed at his earnestness, still wiping some stray tears from your eyes.

“No, no, I’m serious,” he looked at you with an urgent expression, reaching his hands out to you, accentuating his point. “It’s like you said. You do it effortlessly and I'm just trying to keep up…”

He looked as if the gears were turning in his head, scrambling to put together the words.

“You’re perfect... You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re beautiful and easygoing and creative and- fuck, I just love being around you. I like who I am when I'm with you... But like you said, it’s intimidating. You’d never judge me of course, I know that, it’s just that… I want to be a better person, for you.”

He laughs again, still dumbstruck.

“Out of all the guys- All the guys in Hawkins- You chose me first. Hell, I don’t care if you’ve been with a hundred people, or- Or none, I just can’t believe you chose to spend even a fraction of your time with me.” He looks at you again with a dopey smile. “I mean seriously. Babe, I haven’t been ‘the King’ of Hawkins in a long time. I work at FV and I hang out with a bunch of dorks who play D&D. My name is Steve for fuck’s sake. What’s more average than that?”

A laugh ripples through you as you finally realize that it didn’t matter what anybody thought. You both may be average… but to each other, you were everything.

Gently, oh so gently, Steve scooted closer to you. Slowly, a warm hand finds purchase on side of your neck. You sniffle at his softness and give him a reassuring smile to combat the concern still evident on his face. He raised a brow at you, giving your neck a slight squeeze, a wordless “you ok?”

“I’m good,” you say with a soft smile, eyes still slightly red from crying, but you were feeling much better.

Steve's heart melts at that, a mixture of pride and love welling up inside him.

“You’re good,” he confirms warmly, pulling you in closer and planting a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. "But you gotta tell me.” He pulled away and looked at you then, really looked at you. “I know it’s hard. God, I can barely do it, but you gotta tell me next time when somethin’s up. You gotta let me help you. I wanna help you. These insecurities you’re feeling, everyone's had 'em at one point or another. You aren’t alone, I promise you that."

He was giving you his fatherly tone he took with the kids, but his eyes looked so sweet. You nod and he gives a small one in return before pulling you back in tightly, his chin resting atop your head. You could hear a sigh of relief leave him, and you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same. Slowly, your breathing started to sync with his, and you swore you could fall asleep right then and there.

You both just took a moment. A moment to hold each other, to relish in the comfort of one another. It was like a small weight had been lifted off the both of you.

“‘Kay,” Steve said, throat tight as he released you from his grasp. You could have sworn you saw him swipe away a stray tear in the dark, but it was so quick you could have imagined it. “Let’s get you home.”

steve who constantly tells his girl she's distracting him, when he's working and asks her to come over to family video, she'll be there, just as he asked, and he'll tell her she's not helping, that her being there is distracting him because she looks too kissable and he can't kiss her and work at the same time, she's a distraction when he's trying to get out of bed in the morning too, when he needs to get up and start the day but she just look so soft and feels so warm in his arms, she makes it so hard for him to leave her, to join the outside world

she'll come downstairs, all sleepy, barley awake to steve making breakfast and he'll tell her all about how she can't keep doing this, doing what? looking so pretty in the mornings, you're going to make me late. but stevie- oh okay, you win lets go back to bed. he tells her on the phone when there apart that she's stopping him from sleeping, he tells her in the car that he can't keep his eyes on the road if she keeps sitting there doing nothing, its silly and sweet, and he takes there little inside jokes very seriously but she knows steve loves her being his distraction

he loves kissing her at work and forgetting all about the customers coming through the door, he loves when she calls him late at night just because she misses his voice, he loves the whiny voice she does when she wants him to stay in bed for five more minutes, he loves having her sitting in his passenger seat, and he really loves when she plays with his hair as he drives, he loves getting distracted by her, he claims it's all her fault, that she's just too pretty, too sweet to ignore, but steve also admits happily that he's a weaker man when it comes to her, he'd be late to everything if it meant just one extra hug from his girl <3

Kiss prompt #9 with Eddie? Por favor?

anything for you. ♥

#9: "I think I deserve a kiss."

Eddie is charming your mother. You can tell even from this distance, sitting on the small step in front of your porch while you watch them.

He's been squatting with a some sort of screwdriver near that lawnmower for about 10 minutes, poking it, tightening screws, taking out parts of it you can't even name.

His hands are dirty with what you suppose it's oil, but he doesn't seem to care. He's so focused that he brings the back of his hand to his face and leaves a stain on his cheek without even realizing it.

You smile.

He looks up from time to time, to sneak a glance your way or when your mother talks to him, and then the two of them laugh amicably. After a few more moments, Eddie straightens up the lawnmower and turns it on, demonstrating that, as if by magic, it now works. Your mom thanks Eddie politely, then says something that makes him, you realize, look embarrassed as he stands up, wiping his hands on a grey cloth.

Embarrassed, Eddie? It's an unusual occurrence, to say the least.

It doesn't last long.

She says something else to him, insists. Eddie vehemently denies with small smile. You wonder if she's offering him money.

Eddie, very helpful, turns the mower off and puts it back in the garage.

Your mom touches your shoulder affectionately when she passes you on her way back inside the house, offering a smile that you're not sure you understand. Maybe it's best to not even try to understand.

Eddie comes right behind her, looking very pleased with himself.

The step is too small for two people, but he sits down next to you anyway, his knee lightly bumping yours. "I think I just won your mother over," he announces, and it's probably true; that lawnmower had been abandoned in your garage for the past few months, all but useless. He'll sure be in your mother's good graces for a long time.

"And why would you need to win her over?"

He bumps your shoulder with his. "Oh, you know, for when we decide to get married."

Eddie has no filter. You shouldn't even get flustered by this kind of comment at this point.

You laugh without looking at him, although you sound a little more nervous than you'd like. "So fixing a lawnmower is worth my hand in marriage?" you ask in mock seriousness.

"No, but it's a start. Don't you think I deserve, say…" he puts a strand of hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing your temple. "…a kiss? I think I deserve a kiss. Sounds fair enough, doesn't it?"

Now you have no choice but to look at him. This space really is too small for two people, and the proximity between is slowly melting away what little common sense you have left.

"You can ask her," you chuckle, pointing to the front door despite knowing that, of course, Eddie wasn't talking about your mother, "but I think my dad won't like the idea, you know."

Eddie grins when you look away. He can read you like a book.

"Don't be mean, sweetheart."

"You're the one being mean."

He leans closer, and you can feel his breath on your cheek, the tip of his nose almost touching the side of your face, hoping you turn to look at him too. "Me? I'm just trying to make things clear." He pauses, and you can practically hear him thinking. "Maybe I should try a different approach."

You tilt your head, curious. "Like what?"

"Like..." Eddie hesitates for a moment, gathering his courage, "…you could go out with me."

You blink.

"Don't look so surprised," he says quickly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can do dates. Fancy dinner, movies, the whole shebang. Just give me a chance."

You can't help but laugh, turning your head to look into his eyes. It's true, at first glance, he's not exactly the most romantic person you know, with his tattoos, his love for heavy metal and his old van that always smells like cheap cologne, cigarettes and leather. But none of that matters, because you can't deny that there's something there between the two of you, something that you've been forcing yourself to ignore for far too long.

The oil stain is still right there, on his cheek. Without thinking too much, you reach up and rub it off slowly with the pad of your thumb. "I don't need fancy," you murmur, because it's true. You don't care about the glitz and the glamor, not when it comes to Eddie.

His breath hitches when you touch him, like he's not used to anyone being this gentle with him, like he's forgotten what it feels like.

You can feel the warmth of his skin through your fingers, the rough stubble of his beard prickling your palm. You wonder if he knows how soft you've become around him, how easily you let him affect you.

"Really?" he whispers, eyes wide and unblinking, as if he's afraid he's imagining this.

You nod, still rubbing his cheek even though the stain is already long gone. You can feel him relaxing into the touch, leaning into you just a little more. It's like he's been waiting for this, for someone to finally see past the tough exterior he shows the world and find the tender, vulnerable boy underneath.

Eddie grins, leaning closer, his voice lowering to a husky murmur. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

[join my 3k followers celebration! ♥]

I had this idea about eddie dating reader who is obsessed with pop boy bands! tysmm

i'm so obsessed with this idea bless you anon — the town freak tries to impress the local cool girl and, in true eddie munson fashion, it doesn't go as quite expected (friends to lovers, fluff, shameless it reference, 1.1k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie stands across the counter at Family Video and lays a collection of cassettes on top of it. 

Steve blinks once at the tapes, then twice up at him. “…What is this?” he wonders, visibly dumbfounded.

“Do you interrogate every customer that comes in here?” the wild-haired boy quips, digging into the pockets of his leather jacket for some wadded-up bills. “Just scan it.”

“New Kids on the Block? New Edition?” Steve announces as he bags each plastic case. His chiseled features twist in confusion. “Who are you, and what did you do with Eddie Munson?”

“It’s not for me, dingus.”

“First of all, don’t call me that. And second of all, who the hell is it for then?”

“Someone. No one,” Eddie mumbles, shrugging and shifting his weight on his feet, doing a terrible job of hiding his sudden sheepishness. “Don’t worry about it.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “A girl?”

“…Maybe.”

“A pretty girl?”

Eddie scoffs an unamusing laugh. “Sure. If that’s the only way your pea brain knows how to describe someone as… uncanny, and demonic, and fascinating as she is.”

Steve’s brows pinch in a subtle horror. He’s not sure what most of those words mean, but they don’t really sound like compliments. He just shrugs and decides not to press it any further. “…Okay.”

“She’s just into this stuff, okay?” Eddie confesses, gesticulating wildly with his ringed hands. “And I wanna like the things that she likes— Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s very, very bad,” Steve answers without thinking twice. He passes him the plastic bag full of tapes with a sympathetic glint in his eye. “’Cause that means you’re in love.”

————— 

Eddie stands outside the arcade in wait for you. He knows you always come to The Palace on Fridays — right before the school day ends, so you have a couple hours of peace before the snotty middle schoolers run you out with their post-P.E. stench.

He wears a set of headphones over his untamed curls and a walkman clipped to his jeans. It plays a pop song he’s only ever heard on the car radio. Steve’s radio, specifically. He’s heard you hum it a time or two, and it’s the only time he’s ever been able to stand it — as if he needed another reason to prove Steve right. 

He was head over heels, disgustingly, wretchedly, completely, utterly, and totally in love with you.

Propped against the driver’s side door of his van, he exhales smoke from his lungs and sees you walking down the sidewalk. 

Your pink tights swish at the knees while your plaid skirt, in a grass green color, flutters around your thighs. Your sweater’s bright blue, and the only thing halfway matching the rest of your outfit is the bright emerald dinosaur pictured on the front of it.

You beam at the sight of him. “Teddy? What are you doing here?”

“I’d guess the same thing you’re doing here, sweetheart,” he quips, playing cool as he snuffs out his cigarette with the heel of his worn sneaker.

“Normally, you’re busy on Fridays… I’m starting to feel like you’re stalking me.”

Eddie’s deep brown eyes narrow, twinkling with dark chocolate. “And how would you know that I’m busy on Fridays?” he teases, tilting his wild head to his shoulder.

You shrug, faltering for a blink of a moment. “Corroded Coffin always performs on Fridays. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, maybe just you and the… four other drunks that happento come to the Hideout on Fridays,” he jokes with a boyish laugh.

“Touché,” you concede, smiling wider. “Whatcha listening to?”

You reach out for him, taking the headphones from his ears like you always do. You place them over your own head and expect to hear something loud and heavy — that’s what you usually catch him listening to, anyway. A wide smile blooms on your lips when a familiar song fills your ears.

“New Kids on the Block?” you wonder with a scrunched nose, voice distant with disbelief.

Eddie had been expecting this. He’d spent ten minutes praying this exact moment would happen, but he stumbles over himself about it anyway. “Yeah. Uh, Family Video— They’re selling tapes and stuff now— To keep from going out of business, I guess,” he stammers, laughing awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck. “So, I don’t know. I guess, I thought I’d—”

“Buy it for yourself?” you finish for him, with a knowing grin on your petaled mouth. “And then try to impress me by waiting outside the arcade I go to every Friday? Even though you’re usually busy practicing?”

You see right through him with little effort. Mostly because you’re one and the same — hopelessly in love and tripping over yourselves with it.

Eddie nods, then laughs. “Yeah, actually. That’s— That’s the half of it, yeah.”

Your smile quietens when you slip the headphones back over his head, fingers brushing his curls and palms grazing his flushed cheeks. “Maybe we can go together sometime?” you offer and step back from him again. “I can show you where they kept the real music. You know, make sure they got the right stuff to listen to.”

His chest swells. He almost forgets to breathe. 

He never, in a million years, would’ve expected his first unofficial date with you to be at Family Video, of all places — but he’s grateful for it nonetheless. He figures he could go just about anywhere and be happy as long as he could look over and see you standing right beside him.

Eddie nods until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Sure. Yeah. That sounds— That sounds good.”

“I’ll call you when I’m free,” you tease and walk on by him. 

You’re always free. He knows that. You’re always everywhere and nowhere all at once. Even now, standing right in front of him, you’ll disappear like you’d never been there at all. You just like to keep him guessing, really, and he knows that, too. It’s why he melts for you so easy.

“Okay,” he nods, rapid and utterly dumb.

“I’ll see you soon. Maybe.”

He watches you meander towards the entrance of the arcade. Words start to bubble in his throat. They spill out before his brain can decide whether or not to actually say them. “Please don’t go girl,” he blurts while the lyrics of the same song croon in his ears.

You spin around and blink wordlessly at him. You don’t look confused, but you don’t look impressed either. Eddie can’t gauge the emotion on your face, and he falters.

“That’s the... That’s the name of… of one of their songs,” he stammers.

He blinks, and you’re beaming again. A golden laugh spills from your lips, like honey and summer and sunshine. “I know, Teddy,” you grin — voice as warm and as fond as your glittering gaze. 

He grieves when you turn away again, walking into the arcade without looking back at him once.

Eddie doesn’t breathe again until you’re gone, forgets how to until you’re done clouding his vision.

You’ll be the death of him yet.

Sooooo sweet 🥹

Always There - Steve Harrington

Summary

w/c 3.9k

a/n based off of this song that drops me to my knees every time I listen to it. Lyrics are out of order, ignore it ♡

Request

You’ve been waiting for your lover, what you’ll discover, is she’s always there.

Long were the nights you once thought about Steve.

Seven and knee scrapes, you’d been there with a GI Joe bandage. Twelve and arguing parents, you’d been there with your palms, warm over his ears.

It was natural with him, always had been.

Fourteen and his first girlfriend, you’d been there with open arms during their break up. Though, he didn’t seem to mind she’d left him for Jack Thompson, a stumpy boy a year older than them. Like he anticipated it, like he knew it was coming. It’d always bewildered you that he wasn’t upset his first girlfriend was stolen from him, but he had you he’d said, and that was enough for him.

16 and Nancy wheeler, you’d stub the toe of your shoe into the ground when she came along, and pretend she didn’t get to you the way she did.

Steve with her was a lump in your throat, but what were you to do? He loved her, he told you, It was different than the other girls. You couldn’t inadvertently scare her off with your silence, or push her away with darting glares in the halls. She loved him too. Or, so he’d thought.

Steve didn’t know why it felt like he was forcing himself to love Nancy. It stressed him, weighing down on his tight chest when he’d thought about the way she proclaimed them bullshit. Like he was just some fling, some distraction.

Not her distraction. His.

“Bullshit.” Nancy had slurred. “We’re bullshit.”

And Steve wondered why it was you he wanted to reach for in the moment. He knew you’d be there to wipe the cold water of Nancy’s indifference from his face.

His body ached as you held him that night under silly confetti sheets he’d bought you. The same sheets you’d brought to your new apartment. Pent up stress leaving his body in guttural sobs, It embarrassed him, pushed him further into your own aching chest. You didn’t mind, preening from the attention he’s been lackluster with.

You toe at his hip now, under the roof of an apartment you two call your own. Thinking about it makes you a nostalgic Steve calls you silly for, so you sit quiet as he grabs your socked foot, thumb pressing into the soft middle. “Foot message?”

20 and grown up, you feel like he’s been taking care of you more lately.

He drops your foot. “You wish.”

You smile, all the cheek he loves, but he doesn’t look away from the blindingly bright TV. Your shoulders drop, wishing you’d catch him looking at you the way you looked at him.

Twenty felt nice on him. Twenty warmed his skin and broadened his shoulders. It was shown in the way his arms filled the sleeves of his crew necks, the way he carried himself with a new lightness.

You’d always known he’d look good grown up, and twenty was grown up when you were sixteen. Taxes and rent, grocery shopping and working a job, you’d always known it’d be Steve you’d do those arduous adult tasks with. You just hoped it’d be as his girlfriend, not his roommate.

It ached the 14 year old inside of you. Roommate wasn’t the best adjective for what you were, but it worked. He was your best friend, your diary, your Steve. Not your roommate. He hated it, correcting everyone in a 20 mile radius when they called you that.

Movie night with your roommate?

best friend

It’s only fair when you decide to push his buttons a little. The lack of attention eats you, and you know he doesn’t like to talk about his dates to you. “How was Carrie?”

“Hm?”

“Carrie?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out heavily. “She was fine.”

You nod slowly, though it still isn’t received, like the smile you had plastered on just for him 2 minutes ago.

He seems tired, though usually he’s able to muster a knock it off.

“There’ll be a second date?” You don’t know why you seek out this answer.

“Um,” his head lolls against the couch, turning to look at you. “No,” his head shakes, “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Your eyes squint. “Why not?”

His laugh is exasperated. “I don’t know, sweet thing.” Heat crawls up your neck, embarrassed at his unexpected attention. “Why are we playing 20 questions?”

“Sorry.” You murmur, drawing your knees up. Defensive, but he doesn’t mind.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs back, smile lilting his voice playfully. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes pop up to his. He’s grateful to make contact with them. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Cause we’re playing interrogate Steve.”

“I said sorry.” There’s a loose thread of the couch in between your fingers. You tie it anxiously.

“You didn’t need to.” He teases.

“I know.” You tease back, lighthearted. Just loud enough to hear, just quiet enough that you don’t have to use your voice, you’re scared he’ll hear the choke in your throat.

The couch below you crinkles as Steve turns back to his tv, and you’re embarrassed. So embarrassed.

He doesn’t know this, of course, but it still gnaws that he could see through your interrogation. As he’d put it.

“Y/N.” His voice is quiet.

The TV still plays, background noise though you pretend to pay attention.

“Hm?” You feign attention, or a lack thereof.

His hand drops from the couch cushion to your knee, squeezing concernedly. “Are you okay?”

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he knows more than you’d think.

“Yes, Steve,” There’s a weak laugh that makes him frown. “Are we playing interrogate Y/N now?”

“No,” he drags out, gently. “you just seem.. sad?”

You nod. “Thank you.”

“No,” he says again, a little more stressed. “I just mean- shit, I can tell you want to cry.” his chest hurts. “Did I do something?”

Your head shakes, words failing you.

He’s upset now. Not at you, of course, but at himself for being the reason you weren’t able to talk.

“M’sorry.” His head shakes, dismissing his earlier question. “Please don’t be upset with me, just.. tell me when you’re ready.”

You nod, knowing that he‘s still watching, though he’s turned back to Full House.

Something about him noticing your upset doesn’t sit right with you. He’s known you since you were 5, of course he can tell when you want to cry. Of course he notices the freckle next to your eye and the birthmark on your hip. Don’t all friends?

Your stomach stumbles and you get up, tripping to get to your small bedroom before Steve sees the tears. You and him had a small budget apartment shopping, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.

You’re grateful when Steve seemingly doesn’t follow, though he stands behind the door petrified. He’s the reason you’re hiding away, he’s the reason he can hear racketing sobs, and he doesn’t know what he did.

He thinks for a moment, that you must know what he’s been thinking lately.

—

Stay while in your slumber, tumble under, and never wake.

Family video is cold without you.

Steve doesn’t think there was ever a Family Video shift he didn’t work with you, and your vanishment has completely left him an absence of a boy.

Not that you quit or anything drastic like that.

Called in sick, is what Robin had said, and when Steve didn’t believe her, he’d had no choice but to tell the nosy girl what had happened the night before.

She’d sympathized with him like a good friend should, but that didn’t mean she agreed with him. She sometimes wish he had more interesting drama. He’d make a better coworker best friend.

“I mean, how do you think she feels, Steve?”

They sit on the floor of Family video behind the counter. Besides the establishment being empty of you, it was also devoid of customers, like your light drew them in. And they weren’t going to stand a ten hour shift if they hadn’t needed to.

His attention catches, looking up from the boxes Robin hands him to snap shut and throw in a crate. “What?”

She, unlike Steve, doesn’t look up, focused on the repetitious task of opening movie boxes, and stamping their return. “She’s your best friend of, what, 15 years?”

He doesn’t understand where she’s getting at, eyebrows scrunched in pure confusion. So what? “What does that have to do with this?”

Robin heaves a sigh, letting the stamp clunk down onto the hardwood loudly. If she notices Steve cringe, she makes no attempt to apologize. “I’m sure it gets tiring watching you go on date after date.”

“I do not go on ‘date after date.’” His pointed glare fails to cut through Robin.

“How many boyfriends has she had, Steve?”

On a normal day these questions would be tolerated. Today, they are not. “I don’t see what you’re getting at, Robin.”

She sighs again, more exasperated than before. His heart trips meanly at his friend being frustrated with him. “It hurts her feelings, Steve.” His head turns, Robin marches on. “I mean, she’s the only constant girl in your life, besides me, and you haven’t made a move!”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” His head shakes. “I just don’t want to lose her.”

“Did you want to lose me when you told me you loved me in the Starcourt toilets?”

Won't you tell her that you love her? And you'll hug her, most every day.

“I did not tell you I loved you.” His eyes roll. “Besides, I tell her I love her.”

Robin nods encouragingly. “That’s great, but is it the same way you told me you loved me?”

Steve loves Robin. It’s a deep twisting love that Steve is not ashamed to admit to anyone who asks, but even he knows that’s not the same love he holds for you. It’s different. Your his person. He feels a little sick.

“I think you should see sense, Steve.” Robin shrugs.

His hand runs over his eyes. “Thanks, Robs.”

“You’re welcome.” She chirps. “I just miss her here is all.”

Steve let’s his first smile of the day slip. “Is all.” He mimics

She laughs louder than him. “Shut up and finish your pile, you’re slowing me down.”

—

Walk a while in her summer, she is the drummer, of your beating heart.

Summer days are so much better when your best friend isn’t acting weird.

Weird is harsh.

The sun beating down heavily, your warm foggy head lays in Robins lap. Her fingers work through your hair, untangling tiny knots your brush didn’t glide through this morning. It’s nice. You breathe through your nose softly.

“Getting sleepy?” Robin murmurs, quiet in contrast to the shrieks of happy teenagers fifty feet away.

“No,” you huff, adjusting comfortably on her thigh, “just bored.”

“Hear that.” She nods, though only Steve can see. They’d wanted an outside day, wanted to skate and run and work themselves in the heat of the sun. Who was Steve to say no to that?

The blanket a languid tangle of teenage young adult limbs, he stares at the notable gap between your thigh and his. It’s raging and wide as the Mississippi River. He can’t stand it.

“What’s for dinner?” Robin asks into the air, but you know it’s not directed towards you.

“I don’t know,” Steve yanks a blade of grass from the ground. It’s soft between his fingers as his thumb glides against the smooth surface. He chucks it at Robin. “Ask the children’s mothers.”

She sniffs out as it hits her nose, he grimaces as she gently pulls it from where it’s landed in your hair. “Come on, you’re not gonna feed them?”

“What kind of dad are you, Steve?” You murmur into Robin’s thigh, tickling her softly.

He watches you, eyes still closed, reach out and flick his knee. It’s the first time you’ve directly touched him this entire evening. It sets off something awful in his chest.

“I mean- shit you know we gotta pay the electric,” His head shakes. “Can’t exactly afford Happy Meals for six.”

You sigh, ignoring Robin’s displeased mumble as you sit up. “I already paid electric, Steve.”

He doesn’t understand, tugging the brim of his cap down confusedly. Love will keep us together, it reads. Robin teased him for it, but he knew it was your favorite. “But we usually split that?”

“Just wanted to get ahead of things,” you shrug, not quite making eye contact. “figured you’d have some extra money for things like this.”

He hates the sincerity in your voice, eyeing your fingers as they tug the hem of his shorts absentmindedly. “You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You shrug again, dropping your head back into Robin’s warm lap. “Wanted to.”

His head thumps with heat, or longing. He can’t tell them apart, covering his cool eyes from the heat of the sun with his hat. If it helps, he’ll know which the problem was.

Lucas is the first one to come running hungry. His nimble fingers punch a yellow straw into his capri sun, sucking greedily. Robin swats his hand when it overflows onto sticky fingers, mumbling something about the blanket. He doesn’t mind, tossing it into the grass.

“I’m hungry.”

“Hi, hungry.” You smile, though you don’t look up from your resting spot. Robin snorts at the unfunny joke, Steve cringes.

“Is she okay?”

“Just warm.” You nod, peeking at him. His visor covers the run from his eyes protectively, your eyes glint in a tease you won’t let slip. “We’re getting food soon.”

“Food?” Max drops to the blanket, kicking Lucas in the ribs softly, teasingly.

“We’re getting Happy Meals.” You affirm, reaching up to pull her thick red hair from her sweaty neck. Mike displeases.

“We’re not kids anymore.”

“You love the apple slices.” Wills elbow knocks Mikes.

“I could go for a Happy Meal.” Dustin disagrees with Mike. Max hums something of an agreement.

“Dollar menu.” Steve corrects, fighting off the petulant whines of 16 year olds in his ears. He’ll be buying you something pretty.

—

Don't you try to push or shove her, Find another, Or she'll walk away

The days following slow Steve down. Mentally and physically.

He doesn’t want to get up for work, doesn’t want to be ignored by you, to get a small smile for something that usually gets him your shining laugh.

You paid the electric in full so he could pocket some cash. He’d called the company that night to double check.

Not that he didn’t trust the veracious words from your mouth, it just startled him. You didn’t have to do that. You shouldn’t have done that. You’re a team, teams talk about these things.

He can’t help but feel that he’s the reason you haven’t talked to him.

You go grocery shopping and he could be sick. You buy for the both of you. Your fruit, his protein powder. Your snacks, your snacks x2 so Steve can share without feeling guilty. It’s a low punch to the gut.

It kills him that you do these things. These little things that splay your love embarrassingly on a table. You remember he doesn’t like Dawn dish soap and get Meyers instead. What is love if not attention? He doesn’t deserve it.

So he makes it up to you.

He does the dishes while your away, cleans the kitchen and stocks your coffee pods when they run low. Tiny acts he hopes won’t go unnoticed by you.

Though, this new act is not so tiny.

Creasing in the palm of his hand, the rough material of a tote bag handle squeezes. It’s warm, and slightly wet, from the warmth of his nervous hand. Is this too much? He’d got the prettiest bunch there, wrapping it in brown crinkle paper, cause no girl wants flowers in plastic Nancy had told him once.

He’s grateful to the teenage memory of her. A mental note to thank her.

Standing in front of your closed wood door, he can hear the loud music of the vinyl Robin had gotten you for Christmas last year. A thoughtful present, really, though you had to buy a record player to use it. You’d made Steve promise to never tell her, accepting the gift in a warm hug. She’d seemed really pleased.

“She's a woman in a dream, one that makes you fall in love”

He knocks, low enough to play it off if you don’t hear. But you do, of course you do.

There’s a soft shuffle. A click and a sputter of a record player dying down, a bed being situation on, and then a “Yes?”

He breathes out, turning the knob. It’s cold, and the gold paint chips off every so often, but it’s in your apartment that you and Steve pay for with your grown up jobs. If you could call family video that.

He can’t make himself walk in, leaving against the doorframe anxiously with his arms over his chest. It was supposed to be natural with you, you were his person. So why’d this feel so awful.

“I got you something.” He chokes out.

“You did?” Your eyes peak down at the brown paper crinkling out the tote bag. The sight of Steve Harrington with a tote bag. Where is your Polaroid?

Padding into your room cautiously, he pulls the flowers out gently. They’re rough around the edges, you can’t deny. Cleaned and snipped, you can see the spots he hadn’t meant to knick, and the way the paper dents in places it shouldn’t. “Still your favorite?” He hands them to you, still so gently.

“Yes,” you whisper, shocked beyond repair. “And the brown paper.”

“Eh,” he scratches his neck sheepishly. “Nance once told me girls didn’t like plastic wrapped flowers. I hope it’s not too fancy schmancy”

“I love any flowers.” Your honest voice mumbles. He almost doesn’t hear you as you look up to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” He nods. He opens his mouth to say something, closing it silently. Your amused smile rings around his head.

“Yes?”

His fingers twitch. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You choke a swallow. “What are you talking about?”

“The dates.”

“The dates?” The space between your eyebrows crease like the paper in your hands. “Those never made me uncomfortable.”

“I just-“ He breathes out, dejected. “Never?”

Your brain sputters. “Did you want them to?”

“No?” He panics. “No, no!” His head shakes furiously. “Just, Robin said-“

He’s cut off by your loud laugh. “That was your first mistake.”

His head cocks.

“Taking advice from her.” You give with a shrug. He coughs, startled.

“Yeah,” he nods, serious, definite. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I mean, I love her, but this is the girl that had a crush on a Nashville wannabe for three years.”

He huffs a laugh that’s not all there. “Still don’t see what she saw in her.” His head shakes.

You squint, his dejected limpness detected quickly by your roaming eyes. “A voice only a mother could love.” You beg a laugh from him.

His shoulder shakes and his eyes flick to the posters covering the off white of your walls.

“Ok,” he breathes, patting his hip. “well I’ll get out of your hair.” He nods to himself. “Just wanted to give those to you.”

“Thank you, Stevie.”

The nickname pinches him and it hurts. He nods to you this time. “Anytime, bug.”

Ouch.

Crestfallen as a kicked puppy, he heads for the door. The sight stomps your heart.

Your weak voice stops him. “They never made me uncomfortable, but maybe a little jealous?”

He turns. “What?”

“I mean-“ your head tilts to the side, slowly shrugging. “It wasn’t fun hearing about Cass,”

“Carrie.”

“Carrie, and the other girls.” You pause. “Even if you never gave me the details.”

You tread a line of no return. Steve kicks you forward.

“But jealous?” He whispers.

You shrug, sheepish. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Your esophagus closes, no longer letting you swallow without a fight. That hurt. “Yeah,” you repeat. “Oh.”

The silence is deafening. Wow, you think.

You bring your fingers up to scrub tired eyes. They burn from your lack of sleep and the tears that threaten to front. “Maybe let’s just forget this?” Your shoulders deflate and he hates the crack in the end of the sentence.

“What?”

“Your ‘oh’ said a lot,” you breathe out self consciously. “So let’s just drop it before we can’t take back our words.”

Before we can’t take back our words.

“But I want that.” Steve frowns. “I want to not take it back.” He’s scared of tightness in his chest.

You pause. “Oh.”

He smiles. “Yeah,” he copies you. “Oh.”

It’s quiet after that. The whirring fan above you clicking with each turn. What do you say to that? This boy, the object of your affection for god knows how long, reciprocates your love.

“Wow.”

He laughs, his eyes squinting. “Right?”

“What wouldn’t you be able to take back?” You push lightly, daring a look at him. His hair mussed, his shirt wrinkled, you know he’s lost as much sleep over this as you.

“That-“ he starts slowly “That I’ve been into you since I was 14.”

You sit in quiet apprehension. The corners of his mouth ache from the smile he can’t wipe away.

“That I date to find a girl who compares to you,” His head tilts. “and they don’t.”

“We’re so stupid.”

“Just a little.” He grabs your arms gently and pulls you up to stand under him. The way he looks down at you kills the butterflies in your stomach and replaces them with something stronger. He tucks hair behind your ear, admiring. “You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever met, even when I don’t deserve it.”

You paw at his chest. “Stop.” You murmur.

He shakes his head. “You tolerate me to an extent I don’t understand, but I’m grateful.”

“I don’t tolerate you, idiot.” Your lips bend down. “I like you.”

He agrees quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment with his insecurity. “You know, before I talked to Robin I thought you were upset because you could read my mind?”

Your head shakes, amusedly disbelieved. “I take back what i said earlier, going to Robin for advice was amazing.”

“Shut up,” he pushes you back without letting go. “I thought you were hearing how much I wanted to kiss you.”

Your nose scrunches. “That’s so silly.”

“So silly.” He agrees, swaying you forward and backwards. “Is it silly that I want to kiss you now?”

“No,” you whisper. “I already knew that,” your face is stony faux seriousness. “I read your mind.”

He snorts, bending down to press his lips to your own. It’s soft and slow. His lips are smooth and if you didn’t know him like you do, you wouldn’t know he’s been using aquaphor since he was 18.

He pulls back gently and kisses you again quicker. “You’re so soft.” His fingers itch to slide from your waist and pull you in by your belt loops.

“Your chapstick.” You murmur, dazed.

“That shit is $9,” You know his annoyance isn’t real. “I need you to write me a check for what you owe me.”

“Can I pay you back in kisses?”

He pauses. “One kiss is .50 cents.” His eyes close, dramatizing his seriousness. “I need 18 kisses on the lips now.”

On the lips. You laugh at his wording. “I think we can make that work.”

She is what our love is made of.

Three moods when I see my favorite artists/writers