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retrobutterflies · 29 days
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I was having a really off day yesterday and I spent hours going back through almost 2 YEARS of my liked posts to find Menace 😭 truly my favorite I’ve ever read ❤️
This is so so sweet 😭😭😭 I’m sorry you had a rough day I’m glad it made you feel better :(( I’m here if you ever need a buddy!!
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retrobutterflies · 2 months
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Love love love :)
emma omg omg pushing strands of their hair out of their face with steeb pls and thank u ily forever 🫶🏼
kait!!! omg ilyt this is for u MWAH 🫶🏼
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Your boyfriend is beautiful. His soft hazel eyes, his pretty nose, the most kissable lips, the cute little moles dotting his cheek. Everything about him is just gorgeous. It’s unfair, actually, just how pretty he is. You could stare at him all day long, if he’d let you, but no matter how confident he can be, he still gets shy under your gaze, so you have to be sneaky about it. But sometimes, you just can’t help yourself.
The best time of day — your favorite time of day — is when you wake up before him, warm yellow light spilling in through curtains, and he’s still fast asleep beside you, cheek pressed into his pillow. He always looks so peaceful, so innocent, with his lips parted, his soft, wavy hair falling into his face. He’s perfect.
Scooting in closer to Steve’s sleeping figure, you snuggle into his chest, leaving just enough room to still admire him. From the close angle, you can count each of his long lashes, trace the freckles and moles that dust across his cheeks. A lock of dark hair curls around his ear, another twisting down his neck, disappearing beneath the blanket, even more falling into his face. It’s been a while since he’s had a haircut, and it’s getting long and shaggy.
Fingers tracing down the length of his neck, you twist a soft wave around your pointer finger gently. It wasn’t your intention to wake him up, but he groans softly, nose scrunching up as his eyes flutter open after a moment. You grimace your apology, though he can hardly see with how slowly he’s blinking, eyes still heavy with sleep. Cupping his stubbly cheek in your soft hand, you murmur, “G’morning, Stevie. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Mm,” he manages to grunt in response, not angry or annoyed, just still half-asleep. His body curls towards yours, an arm searching for your waist as his nose pushes into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply, “mornin’.”
“Sleep well?” you ask softly, the hand not on his cheek rubbing a gentle line up the curve of his spine.
“Mhm, good,” he breathes out, lips pursing into a light kiss against your neck. “How ‘bout you, baby?”
“Me too,” you reply, moving in closer than you already are, a leg hitching up over his hip to press your torso to his. You’re both on his pillow now, huddled together on his side of the bed. All of your senses are filled with Steve. His smell, his warmth, his strong arm holding your waist, his heartbeat, his sleepy eyes meeting yours.
A lazy smile tugs at the corners of Steve’s lips as your eyes meet. It’s so soft, it nearly makes you melt into the bedsheets right then and there. Sometimes you’re not sure you deserve the softness. The love that Steve always looks at you with. The utter adoration for you that seeps from him, even in this half-awake state. Your hand slides up his back, tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck, running the soft strands between your fingers. You want him to know just how much you love him, too, but you’re not sure how to say it, not so early in the morning. You hope he can feel it.
It’s quiet for a few minutes as you lay with each other, all soft touches and gentle kisses, quiet whispers as the sun rises further into the sky, spilling bright light into your room. You sigh loudly after a while, knowing you need to get up, and Steve, finally more awake, pulls his face from your neck to really see you. He gives you one of his gorgeous, heart-stopping smiles, and nudges the tip of his nose against yours, “I’ll make ya coffee, honey.”
The long, wispy hair hanging in his face brushes against your forehead, tickling you slightly and causing your eyes to close, nose scrunching up. Giggling, you reach up to push your hands into his hairline, pushing all of it out of his face. He looks a bit silly, but still so handsome. “Mm, yes please.”
He shakes free of your grasp, hair falling into his face once again, an over-dramatic pout gracing his lips, “Okay, well I’m not going to make you any if you’re just going to tease me, baby.”
“Sorry,” you rush to apologize, a smile still tugging at your lips as, this time, you delicately push a few strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear, “‘m sorry. You’re so pretty it hurts, Stevie.”
A soft pink blooms on Steve’s cheeks. His eyes roll, but there’s the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, “Yeah, okay, whatever.”
“I’m serious!” you reply, a deep frown creasing the space between your eyebrows, “Y’so pretty, Stevie. Prettiest boy this side of town, no question.” You sweep more hair back out of his face, pressing little kisses to his nose, his cheeks, the moles dotting his skin, anywhere you can reach.
Steve all but giggles, face scrunching up as he leans into your touch. “Stop,” he says in a way that clearly means keep going, cheeks somehow even pinker as he pushes his face back into the crook of your neck to hide.
You giggle with him, cradling the back of his head as your fingers continue to card through his hair, “My handsome, beautiful, hot boyfriend and his ridiculously soft hair. Love you.”
“You’re just jealous of my hair,” he mumbles into your skin with a loud huff, and you can practically feel the eye roll he’s giving you. “Love you, too, though, pretty girl. Still want that coffee?”
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retrobutterflies · 6 months
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This is stunning I wanna puke. Your writing is perfect!!!!! Love love love love 💕
surrounded by your embrace
summary: when you get drunk at a party, old memories make steve worry. he really doesn't need to because all alcohol does is make you clingy. gn!reader but mentioned to wear sum eyeshadow, no warnings u and steve are just absolute goobers for each other :D wc: 2k
He goes to the bathroom for five minutes.
Five minutes and you manage to make yourself scarce. The corner you had been previously inhabiting, slurping the lip of your red solo cup while talking to some friends, is completely void of you when Steve finds his way back to it.
Your friends are still there, leaned against the wall and chattering amongst themselves. Steve clears his throat to gain their attention.
"Did you see...?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, asking if they'd noticed where you might've wandered off to. You've had quite a few drinks tonight already and Steve's not surprised if it means you've forgotten you're the only one he knows at this party. These are your friends, not his.
One of them points towards the kitchen and he mutters a quiet thank-you, beginning to wind his way through the people to reach the kitchen.
A fraction of unease prickles at the back of his neck. Last time he was a party and his partner ambled off, full of alcohol, it had left a couple memories that cut deep. Steve hasn't ever admitted it aloud to anyone the seeds that Nancy had sowed that night, the little insecurities that had never bothered Steve in the slightest suddenly sprouting up overnight.
Worst is, he can't make himself forget that night. He remembers the spill of red punch on her white shirt vividly. Remembers the sting behind his eyes. Remembers how later on she'd come back in the middle of everything with Jonathan by her side and Steve had just... known.
But you're not Nancy and he knows that. He knows that this is a different party, you're a different person, it's a whole different relationship—
Yet, those insecurities have rooted deep and Steve can feel them shifting painfully inside him as his worries get away from him. Like vines wrapping tight around his ribcage the longer it takes to find you.
You're aren't by the drink station on the kitchen bench and looking out at the sea of people in the living room, you aren't there either. Steve pulls his collar away from his neck, feeling the prickle roll down his skin again. You've gone, something in his head whispers meanly, You've left him and found someone else at this party. Someone without his baggage, someone without his neediness, someone—
Steve scrubs a hand down his face and shoves away his ugly thoughts. None of them are fair to you — you who has been nothing but impossibly and endlessly sweet on him in the one month you and Steve have been dating. He inhales sharply to clear his head and scans the crowd again. Nothing.
Just as he's turning to go bug your friends again, he spots movement out the corner on his eye, someone shuffling about the walk-in pantry. Steve walks closer and peers in. It's you.
Delight and relief bloom together in his chest and he rounds the corner with a shaky smile, leaning up against the door frame. "There you are."
You turn with a little hiccup, clearly startled.
Steve adores how the recognition on your face melts into excitement, steamrolling his anxieties in an instant, and you drop whatever is in your hands and leap for your boyfriend.
"Steve!"
"That's me," He says with a smile, arms opening for you to burrow yourself in. You do so, arms twisting around his middle and face smushing against his chest and he welcomes the warmth of you in his arms. He expects you to move after a minute but you stay put, pressed right up against him, hold only tightening.
"I couldn't find you." You whine.
"You were looking for me in the pantry?"
"Nooooo," The drinks you've had have turned your usual drama up to 11. You dig your face out of his chest and rest your chin against it instead, forcing Steve to look directly down to meet your eyes. "S'just went to get water from th' kitchen 'n' then I saw they have a box of Fruit Roll-Ups."
You say this all as if it's incredibly self-explanatory why you're in the pantry while you're also looking for your boyfriend. Steve looks over your head and spies the spilled box on the ground you were holding just a few moment prior. Lo and behold, half a dozen Fruit Roll-Ups are scattered on the ground.
"Fruit Roll-Ups, Steve." You whisper with more emphasis.
He laughs a little, looking back down at you and thinking how pretty you look tonight. There's this blue crystal-coloured eyeshadow lightly smudged across your eyelids and it glitters beneath the low hanging bulb of the pantry.
"Well, I'm sure you can have one." He nods to gesture behind you. "Melanie won't mind, you're her friend."
Melanie, the party's host, had been tucked up and fast asleep in her bed with a big red bucket by her side when he had opened her door trying to find the bathroom. Steve definitely thinks she won't mind letting you gorge yourself of a single Fruit Roll-Up. Or a couple. Whatever, he won't tell on you.
"You think?"
Steve rubs your back lightly and goads you back towards the snack you're clearly hungry for. Your hands slide out of the hug reluctantly but the moment you turn, you're scuttling over to the treats. Steve chuckles watching you plop yourself down, sitting down on the cold tiles. You're in shorts. Steve can see your goosebumps from here.
He takes a few steps and crouches down, taking a seat next to you, leaning his back up against a beam. You're trying to tear into one of the packets but the moment Steve's back in your view, you're pouting and holding it out to him.
Steve pretends to scoff, taking the packet and opening it easily, but really, he loves that you ask him to do those things. Loves doing little things for you. He offers it back to you and you pluck it from his hands with glee.
He assumes you'll sink your teeth into it but you stare at it for a moment before you surprise him, crawling forward and all bout clambering into his lap.
It's rather inelegant, your drunkenness not helping and you push the heel of your hand just two inches from where it would really hurt, making Steve wince in anticipation. He holds his hands up and out of the way and lets you settle yourself.
A quiet revelation makes something in his chest glows hotly. You're always affectionate, always want to be touching him, but this is another level for you — there's a shyness around PDA that you usually carry that seems to have been shed tonight. Anyone could peer in the pantry and see you curled up in his arms and lap and you seem too enamoured with him to even care.
Steve grins and chides himself for ever being worried earlier.
"Hi." You say, finally situated comfortably. Steve's not sure it is comfortable, sitting sideways in his lap with one leg twisted nearly underneath you and one out in front, sorta curled in, but you seem content enough. He places one hand on the small of your back, the other holding just above your knee.
"Hi there. Comfy now?"
"Very. Can you pass me my roll-up please?"
You've dropped it in your wriggle to get closer to him and its rolled nearly under the shelf Steve's leaning up besides. He leans over and retrieves it, thanks God for the wrapper, and produces it for you.
"A gift." He says, drinking in how your face washes over with delight. With the lights haloing behind your head, your hair frizzy from dancing earlier, he thinks you look like an angel.
"That's right!" You take it from him and pull it close to your chest, attention back on him. "I wanted to give you a kiss, to say thank you."
Steve feels his heart flutter, a stutter in the beats at the utter tenderness of your words. He squeezes your knee and turns his face, holding out his cheek.
"Well, go on then."
You giggle and it's the most dreamy honeyed noise Steve's ever heard. You lean in and plant a big wet kiss on his cheek with a happy hum, pulling back with a mwah!
"Thank you for the kiss, sweetheart." He rubs the hand on your back lightly and you soften at his words completely, pure giddiness running rampant across your features.
Steve soaks it all in, unsure of the last time he knew someone who gave him love so freely. You seem to have endless amounts of it for him. You don't even mind when he's greedy with you.
You finally peel back the wrapper of the Fruit Roll-Up and gobble a bit of it down. You chew and swallow and lean all your weight against him, your shoulder pressing into his. You're close, a couple more inches and the tip of his nose would brush yours. A bashful expression flits across your features.
"I like when you call me sweetheart."
"You do?"
You nod enthusiastically.
"That's good," Steve says, fondness coating each word. " 'Cos I like calling you sweetheart, sweetheart."
It's so cheesy that Steve thinks you shouldn't laugh, but you do because you're wonderful. He grins, his fingers on your knee tightening slightly as you look over him, your eyes crinkled up by your grin. The alcohol makes you brash enough to stare and you look at his face intently for a moment before you huff.
“God!” You drop your head back with a dramatic sigh and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to try contain your giddy grin. It doesn’t work in the slightest. “That look.”
"What? What look?”
You tip your head back up and Steve can read the shyness on your expression, pulling at your eyebrows.
“You know,” You say, a little embarrassed, which is even more adorable on you while drunk. You're flustered over your words, like you know you wouldn't normally have said them if you were sober. “You just get this look sometimes, when you’re looking at me—”
Steve frowns for a moment, minuscule, as he thinks of what face you might be referring to.
“—and your eyes get all intense and- ugh! It still makes nervous when you do it.” You’ve drop your head again, forward this time, to hide your face in his shoulder. You pat your tummy theatrically and then clutch it, voice lowering to a whisper in his ear. “These butterflies are your doing, Harrington.”
Steve laughs, entirely too pleased with himself —he still makes you nervous. Ditto, he thinks. “Is that so?”
"Mmhm." You hum and Steve feels you place a soft kiss on one of the moles on his neck. His breath catches and his heart flip-flops. You wiggle a bit but it's just to try get closer to him, your nose nuzzling against his neck. A tired sigh escapes you.
"You tired? Wanna go home?" He asks.
You nod sluggishly but make no attempt to move. Steve chuckles lightly, his hand still soothing up and down your back gently, not helping in the least he knows. Still, he can't help himself; he wants to ply you with love, with comfort, if he can. You sigh happily.
"N' a minute." You mumble. Your words are slurring the more tired you get. "Just wanna be at a party with my super hot and amazing boyfriend for one more minute. S'okay?"
Steve's heart crumples and he can feel his entire body curl up, his legs sliding up an inch, his hands tensing, all involuntarily reactions to try bring you in closer to him. There is an ache in his very core but it's a lovely ache. Steve feels a burn behind his eyes. He blinks and presses a long kiss to your hairline.
"Yeah, sweetheart," He murmurs into your hair. "That's more than okay with me."
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retrobutterflies · 11 months
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This whole series is perfect. Love love love. I wish I could inject this into my bloodstream!!!
Crossing Lines | S.H x fem!reader
part one | part two | part three
series summary: steve isn’t your biggest fan, so why does he ask you to be his date to a wedding? | enemies to lovers, fake dating
chapter summary: a day at the lake with the Harringtons followed by a night out
content: steve and reader arguing (what’s new), drinking, swearing, these two idiots being in love, she/her pronouns, use of y/n
word count: 3.3k
_
You wake up with a wine-induced headache and you look over to see the spot next to you empty.
Yeah, you and Steve kissed last night, but so what? It didn’t mean anything. It was simply all part of the plan to be a more convincing couple. It would be weird if you guys didn’t share a quick peck every now and then if you were so ‘in love’ like you claimed to be, right?
You quickly shake it off and leave the bedroom to find out where Steve went. You’re half expecting to find a note that says ‘hey that kiss made me wanna flee the country. see you never’
Instead, you see Steve sitting on the front porch in one of the rocking chairs, taking in the scenery.
“Good morning” you say and sit down in the chair next to him. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a nod instead. You refuse to let it be awkward. The weekend has only begun and there’s no way you’re going to let a dumb kiss that meant absolutely nothing make everything weirder than it already is.
“Remember when we kissed last?” you try to lighten the mood. “Do we really have to talk about that? It’s been bugging me all morning”
“Oh, so you’ve been thinking about me all morning, huh?” you tease and he lets out an irritated sigh “do you not know how to be serious about anything?”
“What's there to be serious about? We kissed, for scientific reasons I might add, and it doesn’t have to be weird.” you shrug like it’s no big deal. Except it is a big deal, to Steve, at least. The kiss wasn’t terrible, he might’ve even liked it and he doesn’t want to be dramatic, but that might be the worst thing that’s ever happened. “It is weird though, isn't it?”
“Why? because you liked it?” you ask, expecting him to immediately deny it, but he doesn’t. “Steve? you liked it, didn’t you?” you boast. “No! no, I didn't like it. It was just really stupid and I think it’s insane that you don’t regret it”
“Oh my god, Steve. It was a kiss! You didn’t even hesitate, you practically jumped at the opportunity! then, you initiated the second one!” you proclaim. “Jumped? You were the one making that face!” he argues and you scoff “Face? What face? I was not making a face!” you insist and his eyes roll. “Oh, you so were. You were all like ‘Steve, please kiss me! I’ll even pout my lips and bat my eyelashes at you’” he attempts to make the look that you were allegedly making last night.
“Are you admitting that you think I’m irresistible?” you smirk at him and the triumphant look on his face immediately disappears. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” he says, avoiding an answer to your question. “Yeah, okay, but you still think I’m irresistible” you chaff and he stands up. “You’re about as irresistible as a bed of nails that got set on fire. Now, if you’re done arguing with me, we gotta get ready”
“Ready for what?” you question “There’s a private beach around here and my family wants to go in about an hour” he tells you as you follow him inside. “An hour?! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” you chastise. “Because you were too busy drooling on your pillow this morning and no, you don’t have time to yell at me because you’re gonna need all the time you can get to look decent before we leave���
_
Apart from the human embodiment of stepping on a piece of gum in a new pair of shoes that is Steve Harrington, today was a lovely day. The sun was shining and there was a cool breeze that balanced perfectly with the weather, making the heat more bearable. The beach was nice, too. It was secluded and Steve’s family were the only people here. Now, if only you could find a way to leave Steve stranded that would make this day even better.
“You finally made it! We were starting to worry!” Steve’s mom, Joanne, greets you. “Sorry about that, Steve forgot to tell me about it last night so I got a late start getting ready” you explain.
“That’s Steve for you. Communication and time-management skills shouldn’t go on his resume if he ever decides to get a real job” His dad chimes in and you can’t help but feel a little bad. “Oh, no, he’s usually always great when it comes to that. We just all have our off days” you defend him and Steve gives you a slight smile as a way to thank you.
“Exactly, George, give Steve a break. I know it’s a little early, but I brought some wine if you’d like some, y/n. It is a vacation after all.” Steve’s mom seems to drink a lot of wine, but if you were married to someone as condescending as George, you would too. “I’d love a glass, thank you”
You sit with Joanne on a blanket while Steve goes over to join his cousins. She pours you a hefty glass of wine and you decide she’s your favorite Harrington.
“How are you two enjoying the house? I know it’s a little small, but we wanted you to be close to us” Their definition of ‘small’ is much different than yours. “It’s perfect, thank you, again. Steve and I had our coffee this morning while admiring the view” okay, you didn’t have coffee, you had a little disagreement, but you were still admiring the view.
“Steve seems absolutely smitten with you. I know I have my faults as a mother, but I still have my instincts and they tell me that maybe in a few years we’ll have another wedding to put on our calendars”
“Oh, I um-”
Before you can get a response out, Steve comes out of nowhere and you don’t think you’ve ever been more grateful for his presence. “We've been challenged to a game of chicken. best two outta three, you in?”
“hm, I don’t know. Do you have to be my partner? I would like to win” you tease. “yes, because it’s couple versus couple and you know you can’t win without me. c’mon” he offers his hand to help pull you up off the ground.
When you pull off your bathing suit cover up, Steve knows he should look away. He shouldn’t care that the one-piece you’re wearing in the god awful shade of your signature color, hugs your body perfectly. His eyes definitely shouldn’t briefly flick down to your ass when you bend over to set the coverup on the blanket, but they do.
“Ready?” you ask, pulling him out of whatever weird trance he was just in. “y-yeah. let’s go”
“What did my mom say? you looked a little freaked out back there” he asks once she’s out of earshot. “something about you being just so head over heels for me and how we’re going to be married in a few years” you let out a sigh like it’s something to brush over. “Don’t listen to her, she’s drinking too much wine. Something you guys seem to have in common”
“how else am i supposed to cope with being your lover”
“gross. don’t say that” he whines and you laugh at him as you always do.
“this water is freezing!” you squeal as the water comes to the shore. “hm, really? how freezing?” he asks with a tone that sounds like he has a plan. “that’s a dumb q-” before you can finish your insult, Steve lunges at you and his arms wrap around your waist and he drags you deeper into the water.
“Steve! let me go!” you screech. “if you insist” he replies before dunking you into the water. You get a hold of him and pull him down with you. There’s no way you were going down without a fight.
You both emerge from the cold water, laughing and neither of you have a look of anger on your faces. Which is strange because usually just the sound of each breathing is enough to set either of you off, but you rarely ever see him have fun. It’s kind of nice to see him let loose even if that means being submerged in frigid water.
“If you lovebirds are done, we’re ready to take you down now” his cousin shouts and you both quickly retrieve your touch from one another. “you think you’re gonna be alright with my legs on your shoulders?” you ask him, not meaning for it to intend to sound as dirty as it came out and his cheeks turn pink. “my god, Steve, stop being a perv and squat down. We are not losing this game”
Steve crouches down so you can sit on top of his shoulders. He hands grip your thighs to steady you and you thread your fingers through his hair to keep your balance. He notices that your thighs are soft and smooth. It’s probably from the lotion that you constantly put on ‘cause you smell nice too. He hopes this game is over as soon as possible.
As the ‘battle’ starts, his grip on your thighs tighten, but you don’t have time to focus on the way it’s making you feel when you’re worried about trying to take down the other team.
You win surprisingly fast. Steve was expecting an immediate takedown that resulted in your flying off of his shoulders. Actually, it was more like hoping than expecting. You’re unexpectedly competitive. Steve figured since you’re so sweet and shy (other people’s words, definitely not Steve’s), that you’d go done in a split second, but you stuck to your guns. He’s decently impressed.
“I’m gonna take a walk to dry off. do you wanna join me?” he asks once you’re out of the water. “yeah that sounds nice”
As you walk, your arm wraps around his and he accepts it without question. “I’m gonna say something but don’t let it swell your ego any more than it already is” he starts and you refrain from a sarcastic comment. “I'm having fun with you today and I guess it’s not totally awful that you’re here”
“Should we get you to a hospital? I think there’s a blood-sucking leech in your brain”
“yeah, i think so too” he looks over at you and sees you're already looking at him. The sunshine really does something to his eyes and makes the freckles on his face more noticeable, you could almost connect them like a constellation. Maybe there’s a blood-sucking leech in your brain too.
“I'm having a good time too. Ya know, despite having to constantly be around you” you joke and he chuckles. “well lucky for you, the guys and I are going out to some bar so you’ll have the place to yourself for a while”
“thank god. i’m going to need some time to recover from being nice to you”
“you and me both, y/n. you and me both”
_
With Steve being gone, you had planned a relaxing evening. There was a little general store not far from the house and you’d gotten all the necessities; snacks, a face mask, and some stuff for a bubble bath. You’re about to start a bath when you hear a knock at the door and you pray that Steve isn’t back already.
“Hi!” One of the Harrington wives, Mary, greets you when you open the door. “Hi! Steve isn’t here-”
“Oh, I know. I’m here for you! Are you still getting ready?” She asks when she notices your robe and face mask. “Getting ready for what?” you question. “We’re meeting the guys at the bar! Didn’t Steve tell you?”
“Y-yeah, he did. I just thought it was a pity invite” you lie. “I don’t really have anything to wear for a night out”
“Honey, let me tell you something that I wish someone told me when I first joined this family; never travel without your favorite little black dress when you take a trip with the Harringtons. Especially us young ones. Those boys always go out”
“I don’t have a little black dress. '' You mumble, a little embarrassed. “Lucky for you, I always bring an extra. Here, try it on!” she hands you a dress from her bag along with a pair of black heels to match. Steve is definitely going to make fun of you for this.
You were expecting to feel out of place in this dress, but honestly, you look hot. The dress is a spaghetti strap with a simple square neckline and it’s shorter than what your choice might’ve been, but it’s stunning.
“Oh my gosh, you look incredible! Steve won’t be able to keep his hands off you” she squeals.“I don’t know about that…” you mutter. “Please. I see the way he looks at you and once he sees you in this dress he’s going to lose it”
People keep talking about the way Steve ‘looks’ at you and you’re starting to think they’re just saying it to say it. How can they confuse his looks of dislike and revulsion with love? No wonder Steve thinks his family is crazy
“Alright, I brought us some drinks and they aren’t going to drink themselves. Let’s get to it!”
_
“Hi, boys. Miss us?” Mary announces once you all approach the half-circle booth the boys are sat at. Steve does a double take when he sees you. Not only was he not expecting to see you here, he definitely wasn’t expecting to see you in that dress.
“Hi, Stevie” you say in a sing-song voice. There’s no denying you’re already a little tispy. Your eyes are glassy and you have a loopy grin on your face. “Hi, babe. I thought you were staying in tonight?”
“I was going too but I just missed you. I hope it’s okay I’m here”
“Oh, it’s fine” One of the men interjects. “Steve’s been talking about you all night”
“I have not. They’ve been asking about you and I’ve been answering questions” he explains. “And what have you been saying, Stevie?” you wonder. “He was just telling us-”
“Alright, that’s enough. How about you grab a chair and sit down, yeah?” You look around to try and find an empty chair but with the bar being crowded, there aren’t any available. “Just sit on Steve’s lap! None of us are prudes, clearly” Mary says and you look at Steve with hesitance. “Yeah, that’s fine. Just hop on” hop on? he repeats in his head. He can’t believe he just said that.
You sit on his lap like it’s something you’ve done a million times before. Your arm wraps around his shoulders while his arm wraps around your waist. Once you’re seated comfortably, his hand comes to rest on your thigh, a little too close for comfort. Your breath hitches slightly and you hope Steve didn’t notice. He did notice, and he’s planning on using this against you later.
Steve can’t focus on any of the conversations happening because the only thing on his mind is the fact that he doesn’t entirely hate your closeness. He blames it on the alcohol coursing through his veins. You look rather pretty tonight and you smell so good that it’s more intoxicating than the drink in his glass.
He absentmindedly begins to rub your thigh and you let out a small gasp, causing him to smirk. “Sorry. Just keeping up appearances” he whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s fine” you whisper back.
Except, it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t that his touch was making you uncomfortable, it was the complete opposite and that was the problem. You felt yourself melting into his touch and craving it every time his hand left your thigh so he could take a sip of his drink.
You feel like you should regret not staying back at the house, but you don’t. Not even a little bit.
_
“You have to turn the key to the right, Steeevvvee” you drunkenly whine as Steve tries to unlock the front door. “I am turning it to the right” he whines back, mocking your tone. “That’s the left” you point out. “You try it then” he challenges. “Watch and learn, pretty boy”
The key doesn’t budge. You turn it left, you turn it right and nothin’. “Watch and learn. I’m soooo much smarter than Steve” he mimics you as you drop the key on the porch. “It’s broken! What’re we gonna do?” you pout, standing close enough that your chest is flush with his. “Follow me”
You follow Steve to a window that’s slightly open a little higher up than other windows. “I can’t climb through that window in a dress!” you exclaim. “Well, you can’t lift me, so up ya go”
“That is so sexist”
“I know, I’m the worst, blah blah blah. C’mon, let’go” Steve hooks his hands together for you to use as a step. You grip his shoulders and once you're balanced, you’re able to grab the window frame. “I need more of a boost” you tell him. “This is all the boost I got”
“Then throw me!”
“Are you insane? I’m not gonna throw you!”
“We’ll sleep outside, then”
“I have an idea, but don’t punch me! I’m gonna have to touch your butt” he giggles like a four-year-old when he says ‘butt’, making you giggle too. “Lucky you, then. Try not to bust in your pants, okay”
“You sure are confident when you’re drunk. Okay, on three” Steve counts to three and pushes you as much as he can until you’re able to pull yourself through the window. “I’m in!”
“Yeah, I see that. Go unlock the door” he says and you shake your head. “Oh, no no no. If I had to do this, so do you. It’s fun!”
“Why do you have to make everything difficult?”
“Scared you can’t do it?” you taunt. “What was that you said earlier? Watch and learn?”
Steve starts to climb the house and you can’t help but laugh at how many times he slips. Once he’s almost made it, you grab his hand and pull him into the house causing him to topple you to the ground and throwing you both into a fit of giggles.
“Alright, I admit that was fun” he says, a bit breathless. “I know. I’m full of great ideas”
You both stand up and flop onto the bed. “I’m ready to go to sleeo” Steve says with a yawn and closes his eyes. “Noooo, you can’t sleep in those clothes. That’s so uncomfy”
“I can’t move” he grumbles. You move to stand at the foot of the bed and reach your arms out to him. “Get up. Just grab my hands” he lazily grabs your hands and you let out a groan as you pull him up. “Hey, I’m not that heavy” he laughs. “If you say so”
Neither of you have moved from where you’re standing. Your hands are still holding his and his face is close to yours that you could count his eyelashes. “You look really pretty tonight” he whispers like he’s afraid you’ll hear him. “You don’t have to say that. No one’s around”
“And if I said I wanted to kiss you… what would you say to that?” his hand comes up to cradle your cheek and you lean into his touch.
“I’d say it’s a bad idea” you slightly lean in “I know” he leans in closer.
“We hate each other”
“We do”
“And we really shouldn’t kiss ‘cause I don’t think I’ll be able to stop”
“Okay” His nose brushes yours, but his lips press against your cheek instead. This is the one time you wish he wouldn’t listen to you.
“I wouldn’t be able to stop either” Steve confesses before going to get changed in the bathroom, leaving you to feel more confused than you’ve ever felt.
Fuck.
_
taglist: @nix-rose-q @eternallyvenus @freezaz123 @whisperingwillowxox @buckysmetalhand @clincallyonline17 @x-theolivia @realsuper-dark @eddiesguitarskills @megxplryxb @alicetweven @calmoistorm @impossibelle @k-k0129
(for some reason there were a few blogs that i wasn’t able to tag:( i apologize!)
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retrobutterflies · 11 months
Text
Scrumptious!!! So well written. The fact that he called at 4am hahaha
and they were roommates - s.h.
summary: from the prompt "we hosted a party for our friends last night and somehow we ended up making out and now it’s the next morning and we’re cleaning the apartment together and I can’t stop thinking about it" wc: 1.5k warnings: lots of overthinking and a flustered steve, but that's about it lol a/n: originally requested as a blurb that i got carried away with; i hope you like it!! sorry for the stupid title LOL
my masterlist
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It’s unusually quiet in your apartment for a weekend morning where both you and Steve are home. The radio is on, playing the current pop hits, but it’s not enough to distract you from the distinct lack of conversation. If you wanted, you could probably chalk it up to the headache you were experiencing from your drinking last night, and assume Steve was feeling the same. And you tried, you really did. But you knew that wasn’t the cause of the silence filling your apartment. 
Last night, you and Steve had had all of your friends over to unwind and hang out. There’d been lots of alcohol, and you’d ended up drinking way more than you’d planned to. Your drunk decisions were never your best ones, but you’d really outdone yourself last night. The stupid decision had almost been forgotten until you rolled over in bed to find Steve next to you, his perfect lips parted as he slept soundly. It wasn’t exactly abnormal to wake up next to him, especially after a night of drinking, but nothing had ever happened between the two of you. Until last night. 
You hadn’t done anything more than kiss — albeit quite… passionately — but Steve's one of your best friends, as well as your roommate, and a drunken kiss had the potential to ruin everything. Especially since there’d always been an unspoken tension between you, at least from your perspective, but you’d resolved to ignore it in hopes of it disappearing. Clearly, it hadn’t quite worked. 
After silently panicking, you’d scrambled out of bed and escaped to the kitchen, busying yourself with making breakfast. Steve had stumbled out of your room into the kitchen not long later, but was still half asleep as he poured himself a bowl of cereal, slumped over the counter as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth. Maybe he didn’t remember. 
At the time, you’d told yourself it was probably good if he didn’t remember. But now, as you silently clean the apartment together, you’re not so sure. Would it hurt more if he really didn’t remember the kiss, or if he was just pretending he didn’t? Sure, you’d both been drunk, but it would be a lie to say you’d never considered the possibility, so the thought of it meaning nothing to Steve nearly eats you alive. 
Empty beer bottles and cans clink loudly as you toss them into the garbage bag you’re holding. It’s louder than it needs to be, but you’re trying to focus on cleaning, on the noise; anything to keep your mind from wandering back to Steve and the kiss you’d shared. Because the images of your kiss flash in your mind, of Steve’s hands on your waist, soft lips pressing to yours, do nothing to stop your racing heart. 
You can’t believe he hasn’t said anything, but then again, neither have you. Just the thought of mentioning it makes you flustered, and you’re not sure you can face him without feeling like you’re going to burst into flames, but you have to go back into the kitchen where Steve is washing the dishes that had been left out overnight. 
Steve is humming along to the song playing over the radio when you walk into the kitchen, and only glances up from the dishes for a moment to flash you his perfect smile when the sound of the bag of garbage you’re carrying betrays you. You manage to return the smile — though you’re sure it’s awkward and unconvincing — as you make your way across the kitchen to dump the bag into the bin. He’s still not saying anything, and you’re still not sure how to feel about all of it. Realistically, you know you should really talk about everything that had happened, even if it was just a one-time, drunken make out. You just can’t quite get yourself to do it, though, and chicken out of saying anything as you dart out of the kitchen and up to your room. 
Sitting on the edge of your bed, you grab your phone and dial a number you know by heart. Robin knows both you and Steve better than anyone else; surely she’ll know what you should do. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and finally she picks up with a grumbled, “Hello?”
“Hey, Robs. Did I wake you?” It’s nearly noon, but Robin’s night had been similar to yours — without all of the kissing, of course. 
She huffs, and you can hear rustling from the other side of the phone as she shifts in bed, “Yeah, but it’s fine; need to get up anyway before my mom starts telling me about the dangers of drinking again. Like I drink all the time or something. Anyway, what’s up?”
Suddenly the butterflies are back, fluttering in your chest, as you rub your free hand over your face, “Do you, uh… Do you remember anything that happened last night? I dunno how drunk you were but—“
Robin is quick to cut you off, “If you’re talking about you and Steve sucking face, yeah I remember that.”
You groan in embarrassment, face and chest filling with heat as you whine into the phone, “Jesus, Robin. Do you have to say it like that?”
“Well! That’s what it was! What would you call it?”
“I dunno, anything but that! But that’s not— I called ‘cause… We haven’t talked about it. I don’t know if he even remembers or—“
A scoff cuts you off again and you can practically hear Robin’s eye roll, “Holy shit, can you just talk to each other please? I’m too hungover for this and Steve’s already called me about it.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, at like four in the morning. It was freaking ridiculous. He said he’d talk to you. I think. I don’t really know, I was half asleep.”
Something like hope stirs in you as you thank Robin and apologize again for waking her up before you hang up. A call in the middle of the night could be good or bad, but Robin hadn’t made it sound like it was anything bad. She’s known about your crush on Steve, going so far as to insist that the feeling is almost definitely mutual, but you’ve never had the courage to make a move. You know it’s now or never. 
Opening your door, you run straight into Steve’s chest with a muffled ‘oof!’ His hand is raised, as if he had just been about to knock, but his arm quickly curls around your shoulders to steady you, “Whoa! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
Your own apologies spill out at the same time, “Shit, sorry! I didn’t know you—“
Nervous laughter erupts from both of you, easing some of the awkward silence as Steve takes a step back. He looks a little nervous, with pink cheeks and wide eyes, which is strange for Steve. Lifting a hand, he scratches the nape of his neck for a moment and then murmurs, “I was just— thought we should talk and…” He trails off, eyes darting to the floor and back up to you before he blurts out, “I remember.”
“You do?” is all you can think to ask, sounding much more eager than you want to.
“Y-yeah. I do.”
“Oh,” you breathe out, a ragged sound as your breath catches in your throat. “Is that… is that a good thing?”
Steve laughs, a sound of adoration, as his cheeks flush again, a dark pink underneath his pretty freckles and moles. He lifts a hand, fingers tugging at his messy hair, tongue darting out to lick his lips, “Um. I mean, I think so. If you also think it’s good. Unless you regret it, and in that case, we can totally forget it happened and—“
“Steve,” you say his name quickly to cut him off, the corners of your lips pulling up slightly as he stops mid-sentence. 
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath, and then just go for it, “I don’t regret it at all. I really… I really like you, Steve.”
“Oh. That’s— yeah, that’s good. Can I kiss you again? Since we’re, ya know, less drunk.” 
When you nod, a little dumbstruck, Steve wastes no time in cradling your face in his hands as he steps in closer to you. His hands are warm against your skin, thumbs brushing out over your cheekbones as he gently tilts your face up towards his. His eyes flick to yours for a second, and then he’s kissing you. 
This kiss is more delicate than the one you’d shared last night, though his lips are just as soft as you remember. He tastes less like alcohol this time, thankfully, and more like the fruity pebbles he’d eaten for breakfast, and maybe a hint of his minty toothpaste. You can’t help but melt into him, fingers curling into the worn fabric of his t-shirt to keep him close. 
You accidentally let out a small noise of disappointment when Steve finally pulls back that makes him laugh, the tip of his nose nudging into the softness of your cheek. His lips brush over the corner of yours once more as he murmurs, “Thank god you let me kiss you again. I’d never have survived off of what I remember from last night.” 
“You can kiss me any time you want, Steve.”
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thanks for reading ilysm <3333
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
Note
This ripped my heart out a little ngl :)
“Love is a permanent wound — especially the unrequited kind.”
Dude wtf why would you do that to me
Scenario 15 from the prompt list with Eddie?
Thank you!
honestly this just SCREAMED eddie leaving to pursue his career with corroded coffin. and i could not resist writing angst. thank YOU ♥
[There’s a hole in my heart from when you left—chasing your dreams in another town/country/state/city. I can’t figure out why though. It isn’t until you return and pull me into a hug do I realize that I love you, and I thought I lost you. ]
You're crouched down behind the counter, fighting a pile of papers you've just dropped when someone places a record on top of it. Your heart skips a beat; you didn't even hear anyone come in, although to be honest, you hadn't been paying all that much attention.
You bundle the papers into a hand sloppily and put them aside, a headache for later. You straighten up, already preparing your charming customer service voice.
But it's not needed. There's no use for it because on the counter, before your eyes, lies the newest (and first ever) record of a band called Corroded Coffin — a band that not only you but all of Hawkins knows quite well. And one of the people on the cover is on the other side of the counter, staring at you quietly.
"Hi," says Eddie.
You look at him, very aware that your own mouth is open and yet unable to do anything about it.
The Eddie in front of you is a softer version of the one on the cover, no makeup, no cool rockstar expression. He's two years older than the last time you saw him, but somehow he looks younger, and except for the dark circles under his eyes, he looks healthy enough. He even looks like he's grown a few inches, although that's probably not even possible.
Eddie Munson certainly, undoubtedly, most definitely, shouldn't be here. There's a part of you still doubting he's real, because he's supposed to be on the other side of the world. In a big city, maybe; at a concert with thousands of people watching him, on the cover of a magazine. Far from the small town where he grew up.
Where he had left you behind.
Thoughtfully, Eddie grants you a moment of pure shock where you just stare at him like he's just come back from the dead; it feels like he did, to be honest.
But then the moment is gone and you swallow the lump in your throat, snapping out of the trance.
"Your mom told me you'd be here," Eddie is smiling, but his eyes are apprehensive. It's like he's walking on thin ice, trying to measure your reaction and go from there.
He'd gone to your house. Your mom must have opened the door, overjoyed to see him. You should be happy too, you know you should, but you're not. And when you ask yourself why, all you can find is an old wound reopening, starting to bleed again.
Before you know it, Eddie is running around the counter and pulling you into a tight hug that has you on your toes and steals a whole lot of the air from your lungs.
Two years is a long time. With his arms around you and everything about him invading your senses, you also realize that it's not nearly enough time. Love is a permanent wound — especially the unrequited kind.
"What are you doing here?"
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his arms still around your body. "I missed you," he says, as if that answers everything. Or anything.
"After two years?" you ask, more defensively than you intended to.
Eddie's eyes drop to the floor, arms loosening from around you.
"I've missed you every day. I… wrote to you."
Your silence is an answer. So is the pile of letters still sealed inside a shoebox under your bed at home.
"You never wrote back."
You take a step back and Eddie's arms return to his sides. "No."
"Why?"
Instead of answering, you pick up the record from the counter and return it to the shelf where it belongs. You don't turn around, but you can feel Eddie following you closely.
"You're my best friend," he says suddenly.
"I was your best friend," you correct.
"Y/N."
He touches your elbow and you evade his touch, running a hand through your hair exasperatedly. "Eddie, it's been two years. Two whole years."
"And I've thought of you every single day in these two years."
A low laugh, close to a sigh, escapes you as you shake your head in disbelief. "Eddie-"
"Come with me."
You're sure you must have heard it wrong. "Where?"
"Everywhere. Anywhere. Come with me, with my band when we leave."
My band. Corroded Coffin had slowly shaped itself as it went — some members left, others joined in, and at some point everything fell into place and they finally started to get recognization. They're still not the biggest band in the world, but their popularity has grown enough that a fair amount of money is involved, and you can't see where in all of this you could possibly fit.
It's crazy.
"You're kidding," you say, looking at him in disbelief. "You're not making any sense."
"Why not?"
You shake your head and try to clear your thoughts, walking around the store and rearranging anything out of place. Eddie trails after you insistently — it almost feels like you're both fifteen again.
"The bassist brings his wife with us wherever we go," he says.
You wish you had left all the records and tapes out of place so you could have something to do right now. You pretend to organize a pile of records that is already perfectly in place. "You and I are not married," you say unnecessarily.
Eddie takes the record out of your hand and puts it back in its place.
"Marry me, then."
It astonishes you how he can say those words with such a serious face and yet not mean anything by it.
The way you look at him isn't subtle at all, let alone the amount of time it takes you to remember how to speak again. "That's not funny."
He is grinning, though.
"I know it's not. We did promise to get married if we turned forty and were still single, though, do you remember?"
This seems to have happened in another lifetime.
"I'm not forty," you say stubbornly.
He leans against the wall and watches as you try to find something to keep your hands busy with. "I'd marry you anyways."
The butterflies in your stomach — stupid, stupid butterflies — carry a certain familiarity when they appear. It's weird that Eddie is so observant, so smart, and yet can't see what you so clearly feel every time he says something flirtatious lightly.
"I need to close the store," you say, pushing him gently so you can move past him, although it's still decidedly early, in fact, to close the store. Your parents will understand.
"Sweetheart-"
"No, Eddie, no!" you turn your face to look at him, and that look alone is enough to make him freeze in place. "You don't get to 'sweetheart' me, not after two fucking years, you don't. You have everything, why would you- why did you even come back here?"
Eddie swallows hard. He looks…embarrassed?
"I don't have everything," he says mildly.
"You've moved on with your life and I…" you sigh, defeated, "I'm right where you left me."
For a very long moment, Eddie just looks at you, studying, gauging your reaction.
In the silence, you can hear the cicadas chirping outside, the faint buzz of the neon letters out the front of the store; Still, everything seems to have changed, everything seems different.
Eddie shrugs. "I'm not leaving without you."
"Then you'll be staying in Hawkins for a long, long time," you say quietly. The hole he'd left in your heart two years ago is nowhere near disappearing. You don't want to risk going through it all again.
Eddie takes a deep breath.
"If that's what it takes."
It's a promise.
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
Text
Hey guys we have homework. Please read these they’re gonna be on the exam!! And please give them a little kiss <3
- 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒!
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𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 << >> 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵
𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.
𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠!!!
𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 • 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐
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𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 • @keeryshouse
you’re convinced you hate steve, and that he hates you right back. during your camping trip with friends, you find out just how wrong you’ve been.
𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐞 • @stevebabey
It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.
𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 • @upsidedownwithsteve
"you can be rough, I can take it." mean steve but sweet steve, just smut.
𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 • @msgorillagripcoochie
you come over to family video after a halloween party and steve can't keep his hands off you? idk what this is tbh i was on drugs when i wrote this.
𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 • @hawkins-losers
Steve wants to try something new. Unsurprisingly, it involves two of his favorite things: you and boobies
𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 • @angelulls
you never really understood why the whole of hawkins seemed to fall at steve harringtons feet, you prevented her heart from making any ridiculous jumps years ago, that is of course till the man himself seems to fall to his knees whenever you’re around.
𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 • @chervbs
steve begins to notice a little quirk that you possess only when you’re around him. while he was initially concerned, the reason behind it is sweeter than he could ever guess.
𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞) • @robiin-buckley
Every time Steve gets hurt, you're there to help pick up the pieces; you just weren't expecting him to fall for you in the process.
𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 • @pasukiyo
steve and reader are fuucckkkkeddd upppp, bad writing lol, sex, bad jokes, potty humor lmao
𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 • @lurkymurker
Your good friend Steve has managed to get you a job at Family Video over summer break. The long shifts aren’t so bad when they’re broken up by light-hearted jokes, small talk and coffee though it’s the silence that’ll get you in trouble. (You can hear it in the silence — you are in love.)
𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 • @judeswhore
steve’s been worried you’ve been pulling away because you’ve fallen out of love with him, but little did he know the secret you were trying to hide was something he’d been dreaming about forever
𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 • @farfromharry
You and Steve had terrible luck when it came to dating. It wasn’t until it was pointed out to you, that maybe that was because you were in love with your best friend.
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 • @primroseparker
Physical touch was something you despised, but as always, Steve’s touch was the only exception. When he refuses to believe that you actually hate the whole concept of it, the kids come up with a plan to prove him wrong. 
𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐭 • @djokeeries
a drive-in showing of alien allows for an opportunity that neither steve or the reader are willing to pass by.
𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 • @forourmoons
your grandmother thought you were gonna marry that boy. you have to tell him, drunk and at midnight. a month after your break-up.
𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 • @huntingingoodwill
"let's get married." late night, whispered proposals, steve’s dream of having six daughters and general sappiness
𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 • @handful0fteeth
you’re going on your first date with steve harrington, and hours before he’s due to pick you up your best friend gives you some rather unsavory information.
𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 • @stevebabey
You haven’t seen Steve in a few weeks, barely a couple phone-calls keeping your relationship beating. You assume the worst. Steve does his best to make it up to you.
𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 • @meadowscarlet
with a thrill of forbiddingness, your older brother's best friend, steve, fucks you against the wall while your brother is on the other side of it.
𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 • @appocalipse
half certain your crush on steve harrington is in the past, you return to hawkins to attend your friends' graduation. however, an impulsive shared kiss later, things get a little out of hand and you realize you might be lying to yourself...
𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 • @chervbs
you’re in love with your best friend, steve. steve is in love with you. you would think it’s simple, right? well, according to steve, you would be wrong.
𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 • @ahsokaismyqueen
Ever since Prom, Steve and you had been growing closer to crossing that line from friendship to something more. During a hot summer day, a little more of that line gets crossed. 
𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 • @retrobutterflies
Steve runs his girlfriend a bath when she decides to walk through the rain to come see him. And he thinks she's crazy and stupid and undoubtedly endearing.
𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? • @persage
It's a rainy night when Steve Harrington knocks on your door for help. This time, however, it has nothing to do with the upside down and its monsters but that doesn't make things any easier.
𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 • @harringtown
steve & reader are cuddlin’ on the couch and feelings are revealed (aka Steve gets his hair played with w a dash of friends to lovers) 
𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 • @kurtie4life96
Reader is pissed when she sees Steve "flirting" with another girl at one of his house parties. How will he handle it?
𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 • @mentalpolaroids
Reader and Steve spend a Friday night “babysitting” and they all end up falling asleep in the living room, only, nobody can get any sleep because Steve is snoring incredibly loud... Except for reader, who's completely used to it 
𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 • @idkmanijustwannawrite
steve visits you the next morning after you got far too drunk at his party, and feelings are shared.
𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 • @djokeeries
after seeing a customer flirt with you, steve is less than confident. he decides to make sure you know what you two are.
𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 • @munsonsreputation
sometimes it's the little things that matter the most and make your heart melt. you and steve are no different...these are six times that the small acts of affection made your love for each other grow.
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𝐩𝐬 • 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.
𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘺. 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪’𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 :)
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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Cute Aggression | s.h.
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Steve Harrington x Female!Reader
Summary: Steve runs his girlfriend a bath when she decides to walk through the rain to come see him. And he thinks she's crazy and stupid and undoubtedly endearing.
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: Pure Fluff, Established Relationship, Nudity but super tame, Steve likes boobs
A/N: There's nothing more gut wrenchingly cute than two people sharing a bath.
"You're soaked." 
A shiver accompanied your quirking smile, tilting your head sheepishly at the unimpressed look of your boyfriend. You could only imagine what you looked like: matted down hair, clothes sticking to you like plastic wrap, any remnants of makeup probably a watercolor blur around your eyes. Your shoes had made uncomfortable squelching noises as you dodged puddles up to Steve's front door and your mind flashed to the indecisive moment before leaving your house where you mistakenly, stupidly, figured you wouldn't need your umbrella.
"Most people answer the door with a 'hello'."
He looked cozy and warm in the doorway. His soft waves were curving in different directions like he had been lying down a moment ago and your eyes lingered on his plaid pajama pants cuffed at the bottoms exposing mismatching socks. He ignored your sarcastic retort with a roll of his eyes and reached out a hand to latch onto the darkened fabric of your sleeve. 
"Why are you soaked?" he asked. His dark eyes found yours in the low glow of his porch light and you hoped for a fleeting moment that you didn't have panda eyes from smudged mascara. 
"Because it's raining," you replied. He huffed, stepping forward into the slight misting, tugging you towards him. Both hands engulfed your forearms then moved quickly up to your shoulders.
"Smartass," he narrowed his eyes at you. "Why are you out in the rain?"
"Because I wanted to come see you." He huffed at you again though a smile was pulling softly at the corners of his mouth. 
"Have you ever heard of a phone? Cool device that lets you call me from the comfort of your own home?" 
"Do you not want me here?" He stepped even closer until he was nearly pressed up against you.
"I absolutely did not say that," he grumbled, arms encircling like vines until he was wrapping you in his warmth. You smiled into his shirt, your own arms snaking around his back and pulling him in close until you were flush together. "You could've called and I would've given you a ride like a normal person."
"It wasn't raining when I first left," you defended yourself. You could feel the moisture from your shirt seeping into his and though you felt bad about ruining his AC/DC shirt that you'd stolen a thousand times, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away from his warmth.
"Yeah and you still live like two miles away. And it's nearly dark." His chest rumbled as he spoke, his voice growing lower. He inclined his head down towards you and you tilted your chin upwards to meet his gaze. Though framed by furrowed brows, his eyes were rich and warm. The brown of his irises matched the cinnamon specks of freckles that danced across the bridge of his nose and you could see the hazy swirling of sleepiness between dark lashes.
"It's a nice walk," you said, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. 
"You live to torment me," he replied. His lips met yours then, quieting your laugh in a kiss. You sighed, pleased to finally be receiving his affection. Your eyes were still closed when he pulled away but he leaned in to press a few kisses to your cheeks and a final one to your forehead, lips like a candle against your frozen skin.
"C'mon. Let's get you inside before you freeze," he mumbled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, words muffled on wet hair.
You shuffled in, door swinging shut behind you shutting out the biting cold of the autumn air. Your shoes were ditched and your jacket was being peeled off by Steve before he was pushing you upstairs. You winced as your soaking socks sunk into the runner at the top of the steps. Your shirt felt like it was suctioned to your skin and your jeans felt like they weighed ten pounds. 
"I can't believe you walked here," Steve grumbled again, sighing at you as he steered you towards his room, one hand guiding you from the small of your back and the other moving wet hair strands away from your neck. "You're psychotic."
"If you keep being mean to me I'm gonna leave," you quipped back though you were smiling as you crossed the threshold of his bedroom, hardwood turning to plush carpet. 
"I'm not being mean," he said, stepping besides you. He turned to face you, head tilting as his eyes found yours. "Being mean is if I said you looked like a drowned raccoon."
"Steve!" you exclaimed, hand flying to slap him lightly on the arm.
"But I didn't say that," he stated, stepping closer. A coy smile appeared on his lips and you wanted to glower at him. But he looked so pretty under the low light of his lamp that you settled on a weak frown.
"You just did," you said incredulously, arms crossing and lips forming an endearing frown that had Steve's grin widening.
"No I was saying that I could've said that. But I didn't."
"Right so instead you called me psychotic," you shot back. His eyes flickered to your lower lip pushing out in a pout and he found himself cooing at you.
"Aww, bubs," his palms enveloped your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over the plush of your cheek bones. "That's because you are."
You scoffed indignantly and he let out a gleeful laugh at your annoyance. He squeezed your cheeks, leaning in close until he could press a few smiling kisses to your lips. You wanted to whine at him, push him away and pretend you were upset but you were weak willed and Steve was intoxicating. His lips were plush and smooth, warming up your chill bitten lips until they were plump and swollen. He tasted like mint and he smelled like faded cologne and cinnamon sticks. 
"'M gonna run you a bath, okay? Your skin feels like ice," he murmured against your lips, pressing a few more kisses as his hands trailed from your cheeks down your neck. You didn't realize how cold you were until his heated palms pressed against the skin of your neck and felt like fire. 
You nodded and he stole a few more pecks before he was heading into the ensuite. The light flickered on and you heard the water start, a low plopping sound until it settled as you imagined the tub filling. Your gaze trailed around the room as you stood still unmoving in the same spot as if your shaking limbs had crystallized in place. He had a bookshelf on the far wall that seemed to have more knick knacks on it than actual books. His desk was littered with cassette tapes missing cases, dull pencils atop forgotten scribbled reminders, and your broken Walkman unscrewed and open that Steve claimed he was going to fix. 
Your frozen knees ached a little as you forced yourself to move, taking a few steps towards his ever-open closet to pick up the random piles of clothes that seemed to be permanent decor pieces. You dropped them in his hamper and then moved to his unmade bed so you could pull the comforter back up and smooth out the wrinkles. You eyed the pile of polaroids that had their designated place next to his lamp and felt your chest warm at how you seemed to appear in every single one of them.
You heard Steve call your name and cast a final lingering look at the photo of Steve with his arm slung around you before finding your way into the bathroom. He was crouched in front of the sink, sifting through the product graveyard that you called his cabinet.
"What are you looking for?" you asked, leaning yourself up against the doorway. He was squinting his eyes into the abyss of the cabinet, hand pushing through what you could only assume was an array of long forgotten toiletries.
"That bottle of makeup remover. I swear you left it here. It's like bright pink how could I possible not see it," he was glaring into the wooden shelves as if the bottle itself was trying to hide from his gaze.
"Makeup remover. Right," you grumbled though your lips seemed to be permanently up-ticked in Steve's presence, "because I look like a drowned raccoon."
"You said it not me," he quipped and you gasped in faux indignation, moving your socked foot to jab into his side. He yelped, pulling back from his crouched position in front of the cabinet to give you a look though his smirk was deepening, making small dimples appear on his ever-tan cheeks.
"No you said it," you huffed. He let out a deep chuckle, standing up and turning towards you with the bright pink bottle in his hand. "You could've at least gone with a panda or something."
"Sloth was actually my second choice," he said. He let out a delighted squeal as you leapt forward, pout deepening and hand held high to enact your revenge. He dodged you easily enough, moving quickly to grab hold of your wrists, makeup remover discarded to the sink. He pulled you in close, towering slightly as he held your wrists firm. He grinned at you as you glared, eyes flickering down to your lower lip jutted out and he couldn't stop himself from stealing a kiss, quick and fast.
"You're being so mean," you whined though felt your self leaning towards him, hoping he'd kiss you again. 
"I'm not," he argued, "You're the most beautiful raccoon I've ever seen."
He laughed at your defiant groan of his name. He swooped in again, quieting your protests against silken lips and your resolve died quickly on your tongue. You wanted to be angry but he took a step closer and deepened the kiss so that all you could do was let out a contented sigh. He let go of one of your wrists to move his hand to the back of your neck. His palm warmed goosebump painted skin and his thumb and forefinger gently massaged the tired tendons of your neck, easing the tension from your spine.
When your brain felt like TV static, he was pulling away with flushed cheeks and an endeared grin. His eyes trailed around the contours of your face, following the swoops and valleys of your cheekbones and cupid's bow. Your eyes fluttered open and he couldn't understand how even with mascara smudged like two gnarly black eyes and hair frizzy and tangled beyond belief, you still stole his breath away.
"If you compare me to another animal–" He kissed you again and then again, deciding he wasn't quite done, pulling you back deeper into your love drunk state. His arms moved around the curve of your waist, tugging you in so you were ruining his shirt once more. His cologne was all encompassing, your head was foggy, and you felt any more witty comments puffing out like matches.
When his kisses started trailing from your lips to the curve of your jaw, he finally zeroed in on how cold your skin felt and what he was supposed to be doing before you and your siren-like beauty distracted him. He hummed low and deep against your throat, nipping at the skin with his canines like he was pulling you from your haze.
"Will you let me get you ready? Or are you gonna keep distracting me?" he murmured, lips still dragging lightly against your pulse point.
You could only hum back, hands gripping tight to the cotton of his shirt so he couldn't pull away. He chuckled again, giving a few more love bites soothed with pillowy kisses. Then he was tugging you back towards the sink so he could soak a cotton pad in makeup remover and take off the evidence of your battle with the rain.
You kept your eyes shut, leaning against his chest, hip touching the counter as he smoothed the cotton pad over your eyes. He was gentle and slow, nicer than you were to your own skin. Every few moments he would lean in and peck your lips making a smile tug at the corners but you kept your eyes shut, savoring the moment and his caring touches.
When he was done, he was pulling away making your eyes flutter open. He turned around to turn off the faucet, hand touching the water quickly to test the temperature. Then he was turning back, stepping close to you again with warm honey eyes and a soft smile.
"Alright, up," he ordered, hands moving to grip the rim of your shirt. He lifted the soaked material up and over your head. You felt his eyes linger on your satin bra as you undid the button of your jeans with shaking hands. 
"You just wanna see me naked," you commented, smirking as you pulled down your jeans until they crumbled in a heap on the floor.
"I just want to make sure my girlfriend doesn't freeze to death. And you're turning me into a villain?" he questioned.
"Are you denying it?" you asked, pausing your hands mid movement as they gripped the clasp of your bra. He blinked at you, eyes hovering down then to your halted movements.
"Okay now you're being mean to me," he replied, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes grew darker.
"I was just clarifying," you said, smile deepening before deciding to end his torment. 
Though he had seen you naked countless times, Steve couldn't help feel like an excited school boy every time. He wasn't sure if you knew just how much power you wielded over him. You could have him on his knees at even the promise of looking at you. He took a step closer and your breath hitched as you watch his hand reach out. His hand was burning as he touched your skin, palm cupping your tit and thumb swiping over your hardened nipple.
"See," he murmured, free hand snaking around your back, smoothing up the dip in your spine, trailing chills in its wake. "You're freezing."
You hummed in agreement and he leaned down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your collar bone. His hand squeezed and his thumb swiped again and you jumped at the sensation, feeling heat and want creep up your back. He dragged his lips back up towards your neck, ghosting over your throat as his hand continued its affection.
"C'mon," was all he said before he was tugging you towards the bath. 
Steve was quick to rid himself of his clothes at your goading pulls of his shirt, dropping in careless piles on the tiled floor along with the rest of yours. He sunk into the water first, letting out a hiss through pearly teeth as he lowered into the steaming water. Then he was grabbing for you, helping you in to sit in front of him.
"It's hot, Steve," you said, hissing just the same, wanting to pull away because the water felt like lava against your icy skin.
"I know. I know. Easy," he said, hands holding above the dip in your waist, firm but gentle, guiding you down so your back was resting against his chest. "Good job. Better?"
You nodded, soaking in his praise with a hum. The water soon turned to welcomed heat and you felt your body melting into the tub, molding yourself against the broad expanse of Steve's torso. He dipped his hand in the water, cupping it slightly so he could bring some of it onto your head. He smoothed back the hair from your forehead, letting the warm water trickle over your ears and down the back of your neck. You hummed again, eyes fluttering shut and brain turning gooey as his left arm moved to encircle over your stomach, pulling you flush against him.
He used his free hand to move away the hair stuck to your neck, draping it over one shoulder so the left side of your neck was exposed to him. You leaned your head back, resting it against his shoulder, letting his lips find the smooth silk of your neck to leave warm, molten kisses to the warming skin. His left hand trailed upwards, following the curve of your love handle to settle again on your chest and his other hand followed suit until you were sinking in deeper, further against Steve and his brandishing kisses and affectionate hands.
His lips trailed from your neck to your shoulder. They lingered near the line of water, dragging lightly over your skin until his affection turned to cute aggression and he nipped at the skin poking out from the water. You squirmed against him and he nipped again before kissing away the sting at your quiet protest.
"You know you can't eat me, Steve," you mumbled, voice slurred in comfort and pleasure.
"I know," he replied, words muffled against your skin, nipping again and tightening his grip on you when you squirmed again. "But I can try."
"Just admit you're obsessed with me," you responded and he could hear the smile in your voice.
"Says the girl who walked in a hurricane to come see me," he quipped back.
"It's just rain. You're dramatic," you mumbled, too content to argue further.
"And you're obsessed with me," he concluded, littering a dozen and a half more kisses to your skin until he was biting again and you were turning to protest and he was catching your lips against his to dilute your annoyance into the ever present love haze that was Steve.
Link to my masterlist :)
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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Love love love love love !!!! The descriptions of the physical touch are so good I could feel them. This writing is beautiful and amazing 💕
keep my hand in yours
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a/n: im so sorry for the wait anon, pls forgive me and accept some super fluffy fluff in apology <3
requested by anonymous
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: steve & reader are cuddlin’ on the couch and feelings are revealed (aka Steve gets his hair played with w a dash of friends to lovers) 
word count: 1.8k
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Steve doesn’t have a clue what’s happening on the tv screen.
He was the one who picked this movie, and he was pretty excited to see it, actually, but then, you settled in on the couch closer to him than you have in five years of friendship, close enough that your knee pressed into Steve’s thigh.
And it was all over.
Keep reading
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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If you’ve sent me a request I just wanted to let you know I’m working on it!! I haven’t replied to them yet because I’m keeping them so I don’t forget while I work through them but you guys are really cute and have really good ideas!!!
Also happy almost Halloween 🎃 :)
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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you kept popping up on my feed, and i reluctantly decided to read your work one day(not that there's anything wrong with your writing, i just have the attention span of a pebble), so i've been catching up on your work, and i gotta say i should've read it the first time around. you're truly amazing and i hope that you come back and write more💛
Hahaha you are me. My attention span is dismal and sometimes I have to mentally prepare if a fic is longer than like 3k. But thank you for your kind words :)) I promise I’m writing and will post soon!
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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you have this seemingly effortless way of writing vulnerability which i love
🥺 this is so kind. I think a lot of us struggle with mental health issues and reading about it sometimes helps to feel not so alone
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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you’re a great writer! i hope soy stick to it
Thank you sm :)) absolutely will I just need to finish what I start lol. I need to convince myself that I can post shorter things but I’m insane
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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I love this format I love this writing I love everything about this. This was so so good enemies to lovers chefs kiss 💕💕💕🥺🥺🥺
nine facts, one lie
summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.
Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]
[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny
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Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington. 
It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington. 
From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.
Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.
Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained. 
Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity. 
Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask. 
You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.
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retrobutterflies · 1 year
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Rainbow Lights | e.m.
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Eddie Munson x Female!Reader
Summary: A bad trip at your local bar has you seeking out Eddie Munson for help. And he'll be damned if he can't make you feel better.
Word Count: 5k
Warnings: Drinking, Drug Use, Slight Angst, Hurt Comfort
A/N: Drugs are bad because D.A.R.E. told me so xoxo
Your head was spinning. The cold glass in your hand suddenly felt five times heavier and you felt your grip slipping. Your eyes stared down, blinking heavily as the image of your rum and coke suddenly turned into three. You stumbled forward, feeling the world sway around you. The loud blaring of the music made your head pound and the flashing of the overhead lasers disoriented you enough to have you stumble again until the drink from your hand shattered to the floor creating a dangerous puddle of liquor and glass.
You were not okay. Each step felt like a thousand pounds and you could barely keep your eyes open at the dizzying atmosphere. You desperately needed to find the bathroom. You had gone once before, your friend making a beeline for it the minute you stepped foot in the bar. And now, with a head full of tar and mouth scorched like the surface of the sun, you staggered your way in what you hoped was the right direction.
It felt like a millennia before you burst through the doors into the painful fluorescent lighting of the women's room. Shaking hands gripped the steel door of a stall, pulling yourself inside and fumbling with the latch. You dropped to your knees, hands clutching the rim of the toilet, too far gone to worry about the cleanliness. You blinked away a wave of moisture in your water line, wracking your brain to recall the blank expanse of time before dropping your drink.
Your friend's face flashed in your mind. A back room. A small plastic baggy. Something that looked like a miniature postage stamp nestled inside. A cold dread sunk into your stomach at the memory of taking it from her, putting it in your mouth, and letting it dissolve on your tongue at her encouragement. She took one too, at the insistence of her boyfriend. And so did a few others. You didn't want to be the only one who didn't. You didn't want to ruin the fun.
You squeezed your eyes shut, a few tears leaking through and leaned forward with your mouth open. 
Please. Please. Please. You repeated it like mantra, trying to visualize the bile moving up your throat. You had to get whatever it was out of your system. A small thought in the back of your head figured it might've been too late, whatever was affecting you already running its course but you needed something to focus on otherwise you were scared you would faint. You weren't sure how long you sat there. The coolness of the porcelain toilet the unlikely saving grace keeping you grounded as you begged the universe to let you puke.
You hoped someone was looking for you. You didn't even remember the last time you had seen your friends. A good chunk of time before dropping your glass was missing like it had been wiped away on a dry erase board. But you had to have been gone for a while at this point. Surely someone would have noticed.
A few people came and went from the bathroom, either chatting up a storm or releasing their demons into the stalls next to you. You coughed a few times and tried to touch the back of your throat but all you got was gagging. Knees shook as you pulled yourself up slowly from the ground. You made your way to the sink, latching onto the counter tightly fearing you could fall if you weren't careful.
The cold water running on your hands felt nice at first until a sudden chill ran down your spine. Suddenly you were freezing. Your hands started shaking and you quickly fumbled with the tap to turn on the hot water, struggling as the world swayed in front of you. You pumped an ungodly amount of soap onto your palms and weakly rubbed your hands together as if it would clean away your intoxication. And when your hands were raw and stinging from the steaming water, you shut it off.
The thought of going back into the loud, stifling, dizzying bar made you feel nauseous but you knew you desperately needed help. If you couldn't find your friends you at least needed to find a bouncer or bartender or someone who could help. You nearly hit a girl with the swing of the door and she shot you a nasty glare as she passed you but your attention was focused on the swarming crowd of the dance floor.
Through squinted eyes, you could see a band performing on stage, wincing every time the base made the speakers hum loudly. People were bumping into you, pushing you back and forth until you couldn't even remember what direction you had come from. You were feeling helpless, eyes pricking and breath quickening into what was probably an oncoming panic attack. You couldn't see any of your friends and at this point you didn't even know where the bar was to flag down a bartender. You felt like you were going to suffocate.
And then you saw him. His crazy hair was frizzier than usual, thick from the humidity of the room. He was tall and imposing and you nearly cried at the sight of him. He was someone you knew and someone who could help. With a new found ferocity, you pushed your way towards him, counting your breaths to focus yourself. You tried to call his name but he definitely couldn't hear you over the pounding music. But as if your stars were finally aligning, his gazed swept across the room until it landed on you.
You weren't able to focus on his expression being as there were three versions of him spinning in your line of sight. It had been years since you'd last seen him that a part of you was worried he wouldn't recognize you but then he took a step forward.
"Y/N?" He had to yell your name for you to hear him. You were shoved from behind into him, hands gripping onto his forearms as his hands grabbed your elbows to steady you.
"E-Ed-die. I-I'm not o-okay," your teeth were chattering despite the sweltering heat of the crowded room. You weren't sure if he heard you but by the concerned expression on his face and his tightening grip he seemed to understand something wasn't right.
He pulled you closer, arm wrapping around your back so he could steer you away from the crowd. He pulled you towards a back room where the volume was muted to a comfortable level and the amount of lingering people was minimal.
"Hey, what happened? Are you alright?" he asked, staring down at you with wide eyes. You were sure you looked like death, mascara smudged, sweat beading on your forehead, chin wobbling.
"E-Eddie-ie, I th-think s-something–" you could barely get your words out, the stuttering a combination of your chattering teeth and panicky breaths.
"Hey, hey, woah, it's alright. Take a deep breath," he soothed. Despite not having seen each other since high school, he smoothed his hand over the crown of your head like you were close. It made your heart squeeze at the sudden affection.
"How much have you had to drink?" he asked. You were sure his tone would've been humorous had you not looked so distraught. You shook your head, eyes squeezing shut as a few tears fought their way through your lashes.
"I-I d-didn't–I had . . . only one. I-I'm not–" you felt like you were close to hyperventilating. His hands found yours and his thumbs rubbed over the backs of them.
"You only had one drink?" he questioned, eyebrow quirking as he scanned your face, bending his knees and ducking his head to see you clearer. You felt your lip wobble. You needed him to understand.
"I t-took something e-else. I d-don't k-know," you managed to say as the image of him started to distort from the tears pooling in your waterline.
"Something else?" he prompted. Desperation clawed at your throat. The colored lights strung up on the wall were blending together, creating a blurred fresco of reds and blues. "Did you smoke something?"
His voice was soothing and kind and you tried to focus on its low timbre to stay grounded but the lights around you began to morph like they were bleeding into the air and you started to feel like your heart rate was matching the pounding base of the music. 
"It was a s-stamp," was what you managed to get out. He was lost and his grip on your hands tightened marginally as he tried to understand what you meant.
He leaned in closer, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Eyes flickering frantically around your face, he took in your bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils, the sheen of sweat on your forehead, and your shallow breaths. His hand softly cradled your chin as he lifted your head higher, unconsciously swiping away the stray tears that leaked down your cheeks.
"A stamp?" he questioned. "That's what it was called?" 
He wracked his brain for a possible answer. Rick kept him stocked with a wide assortment of party drugs to sell whenever he went out and he had sold some of his stash tonight but was drawing a blank at your explanation. 
"N-no, it was s-small. A stamp. S-square–" ragged breaths caught you mid sentence and Eddie felt the creeping feeling of dread settle deep in his chest. 
"Can you remember what it was called?" he asked, trying to keep his tone calm. 
"I d-don't know, I d-don't k-know," you squeezed your eyes shut, tears relentlessly poking through, trying to pull at even the hint of a memory.
"Okay, okay, it's okay," he soothed, hand moving to brush over your hairline, smoothing down flyaways, thumb tracing the softness of your temple. 
"Okay, sweetheart, listen to me. We're gonna go to the back office and get the med kit. Then we're gonna have to go to the bathroom so you can puke it out," he explained. His voice was soft and reassuring contrary to his furrowed brows and blazing gaze.
"I tried. I tried. I couldn't–" you let out a choked sob, leaning in closer to him as your knees shook. You barely registered the term of endearment, the name flowing off his tongue like it was a familiar nickname he had for you.
"It's okay. It's okay. The medicine will help but you gotta try again," he soothed, stroking back your hair again.
So you nodded, letting him cover you in his arms as he maneuvered you to the office and then to the bathroom again. A group of girls gave him wide-eyed stares as you passed them to the handicap stall, letting the door swing shut with a slam. Murmured voices and clicking heels followed them as they made their leave.
He sat you down, hands firm as he made sure you weren't going to topple over. Then he snapped open the first-aid kit, rummaging through it quickly until he found what he was looking for. He used his teeth to rip open the paper, tapping the wide circle tablets into his palm.
"Okay, sweetheart, I need you to take two of these. They're gonna help you get this out of your system," he explained.
In any normal circumstance, the sight of Eddie Munson crouched next to you in front of a toilet would make you question reality. But having him here, hand stroking down your back as he tipped the pills into your shaking palm felt like the most natural thing in the world. You couldn't imagine anyone in his place. Even though it had been years since you had last seen him.
As you swallowed the pills, your hand reached out to grab his free one. He took it without hesitation, the warmth calming you slightly. The hand that was rubbing lines up and down your back made chills creep up your neck and you hoped he never stopped the movement.
"Did you take anything else?" he asked softly after a moment of silence. Your eyes shut again as the tears swelled and shook your head piteously. 
"No, I-I don't know. I don't t-think so. I don't–I c-can't remember much," you confessed. His hand halted for a moment before continuing its path up and down the smooth cotton of your shirt. You held his other hand between both of yours, craving any form of touch to soothe you.
"Okay. It's okay." His jaw clenched and unclenched as his gaze focused on the side of your face. "Are you here with anyone?"
"My friends. Don't know where t-they are. It's b-been a w-while," you mumbled, hiccuping from your continuous tears. The hand from your back moved away to gently swipe away the stray tears, thumb gliding under your eyes to collect the specks of mascara that freckled your skin.
"We'll find them. Don't worry," he assured you, wiping the smudges from your mascara on the dark denim of his thigh before moving his hand back to continue stroking down your spine.
The room was spinning. You kept your eyes shut to avoid seeing the toilet morph and distort. Every time someone opened the door you winced at the noise. Your chattering teeth seemed to echo in your brain and you wanted nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare.
"Do you know where you got it from? Did you buy it from someone?" he asked, voice low and hesitant. 
He watched your face screw up in a grimace, eyes still shut tight as you leaned over the porcelain. For a fleeting moment he worried something he had sold was what was causing you to have a bad trip. But he wracked his brain to remember what he had sold and it was mostly cheap strains of weed and some Adderall. However, guilt still managed to weave itself around his throat like a collar, shocking him every time you winced.
"My friend. I t-think her b-boyfriend got it," you mumbled, grimacing again and wishing you hadn't been so naive. You could feel his stare on the side of your face. You could feel his concern and worry. You could imagine the look of judgement he must be wearing. How stupid he must think you were. 
After what felt like hours, an uncomfortable churning in your stomach had you sitting up straighter, hands moving up to hold the side of the toilet seat. As if this was a well practiced routine, Eddie gathered your hair back to hold at the base of your neck as you leaned over the bowl to spew the remnants of your stomach content. It lasted a while until you were dry heaving straight bile. The muscles in your stomach ached from contracting so much and your teeth were still chattering though the room wasn't spinning anymore.
Eddie handed you wads of toilet paper which you used to clean your face, dumping them into the bowl and pulling at the handle to flush away the evidence.
"Feeling any better?" he asked. You were waiting for the moment where the shame of Eddie seeing you in such a vulnerable state would sink in but as you turned to meet his warm and kind eyes you didn't think it would.
"A little." Your voice was raspy and your throat was raw. He grimaced at you, hand reaching out to smooth back your hair, a gesture that was becoming all too familiar to you.
"Let's get you to the sink," he said, arms going around you to lift you from the floor. Though your vision was clearer now, your legs seemed to be even shakier. He seemed to notice, his grip on you tightening as he unlatched the door and guided you to the sink.
You scrubbed your hands under burning water before thoroughly rinsing your mouth through. You nearly teared up again at the sight of Eddie handing you a mini bottle of mouth wash that some angel had decided needed to be included in a first aid kit. By the time you were clean and refreshed, face splashed with cool water for good measure, you felt exhausted.
As you dried your hands on a paper towel, you turned to look at Eddie. He was leaning up against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and eyes stormy as he chewed on his lower lip. Tossing the paper towel into the trash had him snapping out of his stupor.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. You had never seen him look so frazzled. You had known Eddie since elementary school and had a brief, fleeting friendship in middle school until hormones and puberty made talking to the opposite gender awkward and terrifying. Once high school hit you were closer to acquaintances, sharing a few knowing glances in the halls and friendly words when you shared classes together and on rare occasions he would give you a lift home refusing any attempts from you to pay him back. But once you graduated you had disappeared from each others lives like two leaves falling from the same tree but landing on two opposite sides of the street.
But here you were, seeing him for the first time since you graduated, puking your guts out in front of him and crying. It was quite a reunion. And he looked concerned and worried and scared. The shame you thought may not come suddenly reared its ugly head, burning hot in your stomach. And the ever-present panic starting flooding your senses again making your breaths turn harsh and uneven.
"I'm sorry," you said instead of answering his question. The tears you'd hoped would've run dry by now collecting in your lashes again. He pushed off from the wall, coming closer so he could re-attach his hand to your back, fingertips tracing comforting circles in an attempt to soothe you. He leaned forward, trying to catch your eyes but they were focused on the floor because looking at him made your guilt increase tenfold.
"Hey," his voice was soft as if speaking any louder would make you burst. "What are you saying sorry for?"
"Because I'm ruining your night and I just puked in front of you and I should've been more careful–" 
"No, no, stop," he said. He hesitated for a moment. He wanted to reach out and touch your cheek, smooth away your panic with the pads of his thumbs. You took another shuttering, watery breath and he was moving on autopilot, palm touching your cheek, cool rings meeting heated skin.
"You did nothing wrong. You were having a scary trip," he said. His tone was firm and his eyes were holding yours hostage with their intensity. He slowly swiped his thumb under your eye, collecting the moisture that made your eyes sparkle up at him. "It happens. It's okay."
"But I'm ruining your night–" you repeated, feeling your chin wobble. His grip tightened and he brushed your hair back, warmth spreading over your hairline. He stepped closer and you could smell his cologne and weed and beer and a scent that was distinctly Eddie that you didn't even realize you had catalogued in your brain.
"You're not. Stop saying that," he was frowning at you now, your words pinpricking his heart at each syllable. He could tell you were panicking and he wasn't sure if it was whatever drug was still in your system or a culmination of your fear from the situation but your face was turning into a portrait of anguish and he felt desperate to soothe you.
"I'm sorry." Your eyes sparkled and glistened and pulled at Eddie's heartstrings like a puppet. "I'm so-I'm sorry."
"Sweetheart, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. Take a deep breath. You're alright," his voice was even softer, brows furrowing as his hand brushed down the side of your face to settle on your neck. He could feel your pulse beating fast beneath his palm and he brushed his thumb in small circles as if to alleviate your rising anxiety.
"Sorry," you choked, another hiccup following and a ragged breath following that. Your hands found purchase, though hesitantly, on his abdomen, fingers gripping the soft cotton of his worn T-shirt.
He blinked at you before letting out a quiet, snuff of a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Are you apologizing for apologizing?" He quirked his head at you and the way his eyes glinted and his dimples slowly formed to frame his cheeks had your heart clenching.
"I . . ." you trailed off. You felt like your voice got stolen as you struggled to steady your breaths. Eddie's eyes pin-balled back and forth between yours, brown irises a mixture of concern and fear and something you couldn't place. He breathed in deeply and when you didn't catch on he did it again until you understood he wanted you to follow. And soon enough with long inhales of oxygen soaking into your lungs you felt yourself come down from the peak, nerves soothing until the anxiety was only a shallow presence.
"You're alright," he hummed.
His hand moved from your neck to brush the other side of your head, curling stray hairs back around your ear, fingers tracing the baby hairs along your hairline as he repeated his words. It was like an unseen barrier had been broken and now he was treating you like someone precious to him instead of a glorified ex-classmate. But the way his eyes trailed over your face, tracing your features and softening made you hope he never stopped because your skin tingled in the wake of his fingertips and the anxiety that had been bubbling in your stomach was slowly disintegrating into a sweet sickly goo.
"Do you remember Mr. Michaelson's class senior year?" he asked, voice rumbling after a few heart beats of silence. You rubbed the fabric of his shirt between your fingertips, brows pulling together as you tried to follow his train of thought.
"You sat behind me and I don't know how it started but you used to give me these braids and everyday I'd walk out of there looking like I'd just left sleep-away camp."
He let out a chuckle, eyes squinting down at you as his fingers trailed down your neck, dancing over your throat until they found a piece of hair. He twirled it over his pointer finger, wrapping it then letting it loose and wrapping it again. You felt your breath hitch, hands tightening into fists, his shirt destined to be wrinkled from your grasp. You could tell he was trying to distract you, placate your mind so your body could calm.
"They were these little tiny braids that took me forever to take out when I got home. And my friends clowned me relentlessly for them, surprised that I even let someone touch my hair. But," his eyes found yours shining up at him, stealing his breath for a moment as his fingers paused, "I didn't have the heart to tell you to stop."
You thought back, the memory pooling into your mind like a cracked dam. The way you would tug his hair lightly, braid the bottom pieces, micro braids that made him look like a warrior. And he would grumble at you with faux annoyance, soft tone and tugging smile letting you know it wasn't genuine. You weren't sure where this memory had been hiding but you realized you might've had a chest of memories dedicated to Eddie in the depths of your mind.
"Why not?" Your voice was quiet and uneven but he took it as a good sign that you were forming clear words.
"Because–" he hesitated, tongue moving to swipe his lower lip, "–Because you weren't scared of me. You laughed at my jokes and you asked me how my day was going."
The corner of his mouth quirked up, a memory flashing behind his eyes, eyelids weighted as his gaze transfixed you. 
"And you were the only person who would pair up with me to do any assignments." He let out a soft, bittersweet laugh that emanated low in his chest. "I used to wonder why you didn't get annoyed by that. I mean, I was pretty hopeless in that class."
You felt your heart constrict at the painful reminder that Eddie did not have the best experience in school. And you remember arguing with kids that would feed the rumor mill and say nasty things about him. You couldn't even imagine what he must've been going through even before Chrissy Cunningham's death let alone after. High school was a lonely, devastating place that played cruel games on those deemed outsiders.
"You treated me like a normal person and not the psycho drug dealer that was accused of murder," he paused again, lightly tugging the strand of hair between his fingers, "and honestly the thought of saying no to you was kinda incomprehensible."
The way you stared at him, mouth slightly parted and cheeks warm with what he could only describe as stars in your eyes had his chest clenching painfully. You had always been pretty. He couldn't count the amount of times he'd caught himself staring at you in the cafeteria, at your locker, giggling with your friends during free period or loitering around the parking lot waiting for a ride. He knew you were pretty. But it had taken him a while to realize that his lingering stares meant something a little more.
"You were kinda, like, one of the only good things about high school." His admission had your heart stuttering. There were a few beats of silence before you managed to speak.
"You were nice," you finally said, voice raspy and uneven. "And funny. I liked talking to you."
Closer up and without the world spinning you could finally make out the dark brown of his irises. "And I liked your hair," you added.
He let out a snuff of a laugh, eyes crinkling as he peered down at you. 
"Yeah?"
A soft smile worked its way onto your lips as you nodded. "Yeah."
"Even now without your braids?" he asked, shaking his head a little to let his curls bounce around. Your smile grew as you watched him.
"I can give you more if you want," you replied. He grinned at you. 
If he moved in only a few more inches he could press his lips to yours and pull you closer like he had imagined all those years ago. He could admit that he had dreaded graduating for the sole purpose of not knowing when he would get to see you again. He could finally ask if you'd let him take you out without his reputation or social status holding him back.
He cut off his runaway thoughts. You still had visible lines on your face from your tears, eyes red and skin puffy. He could feel you shaking still, leaning onto him like you'd tumble to the ground without his support. Your strand of hair fell from his fingers, his smile waning, and slowly, reluctantly he was pulling away as if his sudden illuminating words had broken the bubble you had created. Your face suddenly felt cold without his calloused hands tracing your features. He took a half step back, hands now carefully on your upper arms and with a noticeably more guarded expression.
"How are you feeling?" His voice was softer again. 
You took a steady breath and nodded. Though your vision was clear now and you didn't feel like puking again, your body felt weak and exhausted. Shame and guilt wove a tight blanket in your stomach and you felt stuck in between more rushed apologies or never showing your face in public again.
"I'm okay," is what you settled on. He surveyed you for a moment longer before nodding.
"I think we should probably go find your friends." 
You nodded back, pinpricks of dread poking at your ribs at the thought of facing the disorienting bar again. The thought of combing through the crowd, squinting through the flashing lights and permanent haze of smoke to find your friends probably still tripping out on whatever godforsaken drug you had taken made you wilt. Eddie caught your eyes again.
"Or," he started, eyes moving between yours as a crease formed between his. His thumbs swirled softly on the cotton of your biceps. "Maybe I should just take you home?"
The suggestion lingered in the air for a moment before you were nodding, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter.
"Please," it was small and quiet but all he needed to hear before he was stepping closer again to run his hand down your back.
"I can pay you back. I have some cash at home–"
"No way–"
"Eddie–"
"No chance. You think I'd make you pay me for a ride? It's on my way home," he lied, shaking his head at you as you furrowed your brows.
"But–" you fought to gather your thoughts, mind turning murky as you focused on the soothing pattern his hand was making on your back. "I'm cutting your night short."
"I was gonna leave anyway," he lied again and his eyes zeroed in on the small pout forming on your lips.
You shook your head, narrowing your eyes up at him but they had little fight behind them.
"You've never let me repay you for a ride," you commented, remembering the handful of times he drove you home from school, claiming just as he was now that it was on his way when you knew it wasn't.
"And I never will," he replied, a grin crawling over his features. Your disgruntled expression softened until a smile of your own was fighting its way onto your lips. 
"Thank you, Eddie," you said. 
"You don't have to thank me either," he said and you wanted to scoff.
"Well, what can I do?"
His eyes glinted at you, hand slipping from your back to rest at the curve of your elbow. An expression flashed across his face for a second before he hid it behind a well practiced smirk.
"Let me take you out."
You blinked at him and he blinked back. You both seemed to be caught off guard by his words but before he could cover them up with a weak joke you were nodding at him.
"That sounds fair," you supplied with an even tone though your cheeks felt like they were on fire and his hands on you were scalding you through your thin shirt.
"Yeah?" he breathed, surprise mixing with poorly concealed delight.
"Yeah. But I'm driving," you retorted and he let out a laugh.
"Then that's not me taking you out," he countered.
"Then I guess I'm taking you out," you stated and he laughed again, eyes crinkling and grip tightening. You remembered the sound, something else that had been tucked away in the Eddie chest in your brain and you made a mental note to sift through it later as his hand found the small of your back to guide you through the rainbow storm of lights to the familiar warmth of his van that smelled like cigarettes and pinewood and cologne and something that was distinctly Eddie.
Taglist: @eateraa, @feminist-mina-harker, @eddie-my-lovex, @samlealea
Link to my masterlist :)
667 notes · View notes
retrobutterflies · 2 years
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You ever read something so cute it makes you want to die :)
Also the writing in this is so smooth and pretty it scratches an itch in the back of my brain lmao
Lazy On You
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3k] prompt: "I'm just getting comfy." Cute boyfriend Steve, fall in Hawkins, horror movies and cuddles. Pure fluff. “You promised you’d watch this with me,” your boyfriend grumbled, voice trying to sound huffy but you could hear the affection there, warm underneath. 
“I am!” You lied, wiggling further underneath the comforter that smelled like Steve, all mint and cedar, leftover aftershave and boy. “I’m so invested.”
Steve snorted, looking down at you from where he was propped against his headboard, remote in one hand, his other arm wrapped around your side and pulling you into him. 
“Liar.”
It was already turning dark outside despite it only being six o’clock, fall settling over Hawkins quicker than summer had left, leaves turning the streets into an orange and brown walk way, the skies gloomier, the rain more frequent. Storefronts held pumpkins and the bakery on Main had the permanent smell of cinnamon, hot chocolate and spice floating from its doors. 
But god, it was cold. 
Everything had turned into woollen jumpers, knitted hats, too long scarves and more than one pair of socks underneath your boots. You accepted more lifts from Steve, happier in the front seat of the BMW than you were walking through puddles to get to and from town and you pressed yourself into the warmth your boyfriend provided and any given opportunity. 
The kids said it was gross, Robin rolled her eyes but Steve adored the way you sought him out amongst the crowd of your friends, face pushed into the crook of his neck as you snuck your hands up the front of his sweater, cold fingertips pressing into the warm skin. 
Work had dragged by, the bookstore quiet for the majority of your shift because no one wanted to go out into the rain. The skies had been heavy all day, a dark navy that looked ready to burst, and just after lunch, the heavens opened. It made the store seem smaller, the lights flickering from the wild wind outside and you sought comfort and warmth in the smell of old books and the countless cups of tea you made yourself. 
Steve had picked you up at five, watching you through the car window as you wrestled with the key in the door, desperate to clamber into the BMW and warm yourself with a kiss. He gave you one eagerly, lips pushed to yours, parting with a sigh, barely wincing at the press of your cold nose on his cheek. 
He’d patted the bag at your feet, stocked full of sweets and chips, the newly released video of The Return of the Living Dead, glaring from your from its case. 
“We finally got it in,” he’d told you happily, “ready for a movie night, babe?”
You’d agreed readily, smile on your lips and your head tilted and pushed into the seat of the car, happy to finally be with Steve after what seemed like such a long day. You’d had this night planned for a week or two, Steve giddy with the news that some new horrors were coming into store in time for Halloween and he’d bought all your favourite treats. 
You’d waited all day for one of his sweaters, gummy bears and kisses that tasted like sour patch kids and red vines. 
You just didn’t expect to be so tired. 
The day turned to evening and Steve’s bed was so warm, sleep was pulling you further into his pillows, the movie the only thing lighting the room. There was a soft buzz of static from the screen and Steve was a solid comfort pressed beside you. 
You’d shared a pizza before you slipped up to Steve’s room, murmuring a goodnight to his parents who were home for once, watching their own movie in the living room. Steve had kissed away your quiet giggles as helped you out of your jeans, your shirt replaced for one of his own, too big and hanging over your bare thighs. 
So you really couldn’t help it when you slid further down the mattress, head turning from the TV, body lazy as you curled into your boyfriend instead. 
“You can’t watch it if you’ve got your face smooshed into me,” Steve commented mildly. “You alright down there?”
You hummed a response, content to push your face into Steve’s side, your arm thrown over his lap, your head resting almost on his lap now. His hand found your hair, pushing the stray locks away from your forehead and you groaned at the feel of it, body turning to mush and your lips pressing a grateful kiss to the middle of his palm as it ghosted over your cheekbone. 
“M’jus’ gettin’ comfy,” you told him, and Steve grinned ‘cause he could tell by your voice you were getting more tired, your tone a little lower than normal, words slurring together. 
“Is that so?” The boy's eyes were still on the screen, entranced by the bodies that were starting to come back to life, gruesome noises filling the room. “You sleepy, babe?”
You nodded, eyes closed and hand pushing up Steve’s shirt, fingers sliding over the muscles that created bumps and dips over his stomach. They tensed at your touch and you smiled, more happy noises slipping from your lips. 
“You’re cute,” he murmured, the hand that was carding through your hair slipping to graze over the side of your face, thumb tracing over the highs of your cheekbone before skating across your lip. 
Another kiss, pressed to the pad of it, another smile, another happy hum. 
You tangled your legs with Steve’s as the zombie attacked on screen, the horror scenes making his walls glow red and it wasn’t long until Steve shuffled even closer, fingers trailing across the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. 
“You sure you’re comfy like that sweetheart?” Steve asked softly, cause your cheek was squished into his ribs, head not even on a pillow anymore. 
You wiggled and lifted yourself, bones feeling heavy with sleep and you barely opened your eyes as you clambered to your hands and knees. You were clumsy as you moved, bare legs dragging over Steve’s until you were between his, warmth encasing you. 
You sighed happily as you lay back down, head resting on his abdomen, stretched out on your tummy and your arms wrapped around his waist. You felt his stomach move underneath your cheek as he laughed quietly, his hand coming back up to smooth over your hair. 
“Better?” He asked and even though you weren’t looking, eyes still closed and lashes fluttering against his shirt, you could hear the smile there, voice fond. 
“Mhmm,” was all you could manage, and when Steve pulled the duvet up over your shoulders, you let the sound of rain against the window lull you to sleep. 
You weren’t awake when the movie ended, the room fading into black as the credits rolled and the colours seeped away. You didn’t hear the click of the remote, the zap of the screen switching off, the crackle of static it left behind. 
You didn’t hear the rain that still hit the window, a tap, tap, tap that went throughout the night. You barely shifted when Steve moved, touch gentle on you as he manoeuvred himself out from under you, hands grabbing his shirt to pull it over his head. You didn’t move when he curled back down beside you, his own eyes pulling heavy and his arms encasing you. 
Your head found its way back into his chest, nose pushed into his sternum like it belonged there, lips parted with soft breathing and your hand pushed itself into his hair, making it wilder than it needed to be. 
Steve was sure you were still asleep when he pushed a kiss to your cheek, when he murmured a soft “love you,” into the top of your head before his own hit the pillow, but he grinned when he heard you say it back, voice thick with sleep and unbearably cute. 
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retrobutterflies · 2 years
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Pining Eddie encouraging reader to go on dates because he just wants her to be happy 😫😩 and pining reader not seeing his hints. This is so fucking cute
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All I Ever Wanted Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.8K Tags: Best friends to lovers, minor hurt/comfort, half-joking marriage proposals, VERY BRIEF fatphobic comment and general bad-date-behavior, really stupidly soft fluff, pet names instead of y/n.
Summary: Eddie has always been your best friend, the person you'd much rather spend your time with than going out on dates, but he swears he never wants to get married and likes to play the wingman for you, so you've come to terms with the fact that things will always just be platonic between you...or will they?
[AO3]
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As the man in front of you chews his steak, open mouthed, and over-explains the American football scoring system you can’t stop your mind from wandering. Your fork pokes at your risotto absent-mindedly as you give your date a blank nod. Before this date, you were confident that a touchdown was worth six points, but the tone with which he’s speaking to you has you doubting yourself on a subject you honestly couldn’t care less about. 
Another nod and a soft “mhm,” prompts him to continue, however, so you figure you have another five to ten minutes of daydreaming before he decides to ask you another rhetorical question and speak over your answer.
Your date drones on, and you can’t help but wonder what you would be doing if you turned down this dinner to hang out with your best friend (like you originally wanted to). 
Sure, you shouldn’t be thinking about another man when you’re on a date, but Eddie Munson isn’t just some other man. He never has been. From the moment you joined Hellfire club in your freshman year, the man has been nothing less than a best friend to you. Even now, well into your twenties, he’s the only constant in your life. Dates come and go, but you’ll always have Eddie. 
Of course, you’ve always wondered if there could be something more there. After all, not a day goes by that you don’t speak. 
There’s a level of comfort between you two that you don’t think you’ve ever experienced even within your long term relationships. Hands that always seem to find each other, whispers passed across the small expanse of a shared bed during movie nights that went on for just a little too long. His shoulder felt like the comfiest pillow whenever you sat next to him on the couch, and he swears up and down that nobody is allowed to touch his hair, but he’s always begging you to braid it for him. Smiles passed over cocktail glasses and beer bottles after his band plays a show, his hand on your knee when he accompanies you to the latest play you’ve been dying to see. Every outing with your best friend feels more like a date than the last…but then he urges you to accept the drinks from strangers at the bar and convinces you to go on dates when other people ask, which is how you ended up here. Plus, he’s vehemently anti-marriage and laughs whenever you bring up your dream wedding, claiming he never wants to be tied down, so you know even if you did try to pursue something more than friendship with him, it wouldn’t lead anywhere.
Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Yeah, you think as a bit of mashed potato flies from your date’s mouth, landing on the rim of your glass, you’d take a lifetime of platonic dates with Eddie over this any day. Even if platonic is all it will ever be.  
You manage to make it through dinner with a forced pleasant smile and a neck ache from nodding so much, but politely decline dessert in hopes to get out of the restaurant as soon as possible. 
“Atta girl,” the creep actually snorts, nose turned up and eyes pointed at your backside as you stand to leave. You also notice that the amount of cash he threw on the table would only account for a $0.47 tip on a nearly $30 bill, but that’s hardly relevant as he finishes his comment. “Gotta keep it tight, right? The chocolate cake really isn’t worth the risk.” 
His hand on your lower back feels slimy as he guides you out of the restaurant and you bite your tongue to hold back a venomous reply. 
When you stop in front of your car, you’re thanking every deity possible that you decided to meet him here rather than accepting his offer to drive you. The air is tense, thick with humidity and the impending horror that is the kiss he surely feels entitled to, but before he gets too close your hand flies out between you, stopping him in his tracks with an awkward grin. Reluctantly, he shakes your hand, still leaning in and hoping he might still get at least a little bit lucky. His smarmy smile raises the hair on the back of your neck when he promises to call you. 
You severely hope that he doesn’t. 
It isn’t until you take your keys out of the ignition ten minutes later that you realize in your skeeved out haze, your auto-pilot has brought you to Eddie’s driveway rather than your apartment complex. 
The lights inside are out, but a faint blue television glow in the living room window tells you that he’s home and more than likely awake. With a huff, you kick off your heels and throw them into the back seat, more interested in braving the rocks in the driveway than going another minute wearing the damn things, and make your way to the front door. You let yourself in with your spare key, but announce your arrival with a boisterous shout so you don’t startle him. 
“Hey! Just me!” You call, hanging your purse off of the barstool nearest the door and shedding your jacket. 
There’s a muffled greeting from the couch, and you look up to find Eddie waving and smiling around a mouthful of popcorn. After an exaggerated swallow, he repeats, “wasn’t expecting you tonight.” 
“Yeah,” you say with another dramatic huff, padding down the length of the trailer to his bedroom. He watches with amusement as you strut around his home as if it were your own, never once does he stop you, though. Already digging in his dresser drawers, you call out to him, “can I borrow some pajamas? I need to get out of these damn pantyhose.” 
His only response is a gentle laugh and a soft, “‘Course, doll.” 
There’s an electronic fizzle from beyond the door, and the blue light goes dark, followed soon enough by a light rapping of Eddie’s knuckles against the door left slightly ajar. You’ve just pulled on your favorite tee shirt of his (a threadbare tour shirt from Ozzy Osbourne’s Ultimate Sin concert, the tickets were his present from you for finally graduating) and a clean pair of boxers, so you wrench open the door to find him leaning casually on the frame, innocent smile fixed on his face. 
“Wanna talk about it?” He asks. 
Of course, he doesn’t really want to listen to you talk about your date. He never does, though he’d never admit it to you, but he’s gotten used to this particular kind of torture, and he’d rather hear you huff about the bad ones than gush about the good ones anyway. 
A heavy sigh hangs in the air between you, and you shrug as you flop ungracefully onto his bed, scooting higher to rest your feet on the headboard and flinging your arms out beside you haphazardly. The mattress dips beside you as Eddie lays down as well, head next to yours, feet dangling off the foot of the bed. His hair tickles at your ear where it fans out beside him, and you giggle as you reach up to tuck it away, turning your head to face him as best you can. 
“I don’t know,” you sigh one more time, “there isn’t much to say that couldn’t be said about the last one.”
“Did this one at least remember his wallet?” He asks, a bite in his tone that he usually reserves only for the men who treat you poorly.
You hum, hand still tangled in his hair. “Yeah, but the poor waitress deserved a much better tip than he gave her so I couldn’t leave without slipping a fiver on the table.” 
“You’re a saint, sweetheart.” He chides with a sole, warm ‘hmph’ of a laugh.
“Yeah well,” your own laugh is bitter, “he practically grabbed her ass and called mine too fat in the same breath, so I felt like I owed her something to apologize for his behavior.” 
“You’re fucking kidding me.” 
For all the anger in his words, his voice is soft. The air between you crackles with warmth, comfort. Eddie turns to face you, reaching up to hold onto your wrist as you continue to play with his hair thoughtlessly. His thumb strokes at the soft skin he finds there, warm brown eyes searching your own as you continue. 
“I wish.” You don’t want to admit what comes next, but the words flow on their own, damning you before you could even try to stop them. “...You know, I sometimes wonder why I even bother with these men when here you are, being absolutely perfect.” 
He beams with pride, eyes wrinkling at the corners like they always do when you catch him off guard with a compliment. He looks like sunshine and it makes your heart ache. 
“Well, I try my best.” The silence in his pause is familiar, not uncomfortable, both of you teetering on the edge of a giggle that you won’t fully let out. After another beat, he groans dramatically as he sits up, using his feet for momentum to stand fully. You watch as he stands in front of the mirror on his dresser and piles his hair atop his head, pulling a scrunched sort of face as he can’t get it to sit just right. “Anyway, you deserve it, you know.” He says, making eye contact with you in the reflection. “The best, that is.” 
You roll your eyes and sit up, scooting to the end of the bed and patting the spot in front of you. “Come here, before you make it worse.” 
He manages a sheepish smile and sits cross legged on the floor in front of you. As you finger comb out the tangles in his hair, slowly, and with quite a bit of resistance, you keep ranting, foolishly. You don’t notice that he preens at your touch, that he’s practically melting under your ministrations. He swears he’ll be a puddle of a man before you’re finished with the braid you’re working on, too focused on your playing in his hair that he zones out for a moment until your hands come to a stop, tying off the braid and patting his shoulders with one final, pathetic mumble. 
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just not meant to ever get married.” 
Eddie’s heart cracks along with the crack in your voice. 
He laughs, not maliciously, but dry and in disbelief, and he turns in place. Kneeling now, he wraps his arms around your waist and scratches absent-mindedly at your lower back. Eyebrows knit together with concern as he studies your face and realizes, while a little misguided, you’re serious. Eddie wants to argue, he wants to explain at great lengths how very untrue that is, how you’re still young and you’ll still find your person and that maybe you’ve already met your person and maybe he’s right here already on his knees in front of you…
…but all that comes out is a harsh, hissed, “fuck that.” 
Something unidentifiable in his eyes – hurt, maybe? – claws at your chest, constricting your heart in the same way that his arms squeeze your sides. 
Suddenly, eye contact with your best friend becomes the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. Your eyes drop to where your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the tiniest shake to your head that you aren’t even sure he could detect. 
“Hey,” he says, voice tight but stern. Hands splay open on your back, and he ducks lower to meet your gaze. “Look at me.” 
Down the line, if anyone were to ask Eddie what made him say what he says next, he wouldn’t have a straight answer. Maybe it’s the tears pooling in your eyes that he desperately wants to stop from falling, or the way you reach out to hold his cheek when your eyes meet again. Maybe it’s the sick churning in his stomach, an uneasy, uncomfortable sort of feeling that he thinks might only go away if he tells you how he feels. Maybe some combination of the three. 
Whatever it is that makes him say it doesn’t matter, because he says it, and he says it with all the confidence in the world. 
“Shit, I’ll marry you,” he says softly, “just say the word.” 
A laugh bubbles from your lips, a tinny, wet little giggle, but it stops the tears from falling and it’s music to Eddie’s ears. You clear your throat, heart swelling at his words, and laugh again. 
At first you aren’t sure how to take the comment. Though his words are ripe with sincerity, it's clearly a joke. It has to be. He’s just trying to make you feel better. 
You wrinkle your nose and stroke his rosy cheekbone with your thumb, letting out another laugh. “What,” you say, dropping your hand to rest on his shoulder. “You wanna make one of those marriage pacts?” 
“Mariage what?” 
Eyes rolling, you squeeze his shoulder before scooting back up the bed to lay down. “You know,” you chuckle, working your way under the covers while Eddie stands to turn off the light. “If neither of us are married – which I know you won’t be – in ten years, we’ll marry each other.
“Nah,” he brushes off casually. The way he lands on the mattress beside you makes your whole body bounce and you giggle, he must have launched himself from the doorway to land like that. He props himself up on his elbow, one hand on his own cheek and the other reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, if that’s what you want. But I’d marry you tomorrow. Shit,” this time when he laughs, you can hear the nervous energy behind it. Your eyes search his face for any hint of a joke or tease, but all you find are deep, sincere eyes and a wrinkle between his worried brow. “I’d take you to the courthouse tonight in my Ozzy tee shirt if they were open.” 
“Eddie,” you scoff, pushing his shoulder playfully, but hiding your blush behind the covers. You’re not about to let yourself get excited, not yet, you’re still positive he’s just trying to cheer you up. “You hate the concept of marriage.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips, smile widening, “but I love you.” 
You roll your eyes, certain at this point he must be messing with you. “I love you too, weirdo, but I’ll be fine. You don’t have to pity-marry me.” 
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, falling to his back with almost manic laughter and scrubs his hands down his face. “You’re ridiculous.” 
“What!?” You ask incredulously, propping yourself up so now you’re the one leaning over him, fixing him with a squint and another shake of your head. 
He peers up at you through soft lashes, those damn round eyes roaming your face as he contemplates how much he wants to admit. There’s another rosy hint to his cheeks, and a darker one to the tips of his ears exposed by his pulled back hair. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to palm his cheek again. 
Your breath is shallow as you wait for his response, replaying the conversation over and over in your head and trying to piece it together. You fear he can hear your heart beating in your chest as it hammers against your ribs, but if he can he doesn’t show it. He only shows his own nerves, the pinch between his brows and stuttering breath.
Shit– is he really as nervous as he seems? Is this conversation really headed where you think? 
“I just –” he shakes his head, tearing his eyes from your face in lieu of looking at the ceiling. Eye contact seems to be hard for the both of you, now. “I just told you that I love you and that I would fuckin’ marry you tomorrow, and you think it was just pity. Sweetheart, you may be a little dense sometimes but I know you’re not stupid.” 
“Well, I-” 
“Don’t argue with me,” he sits up, elbows to his knees and looks over his shoulder at you. You think it’s an attempt to hide the way he blushes further, but his ears give him away as always. “Listen. Use the brain in that pretty little head, come on, up.” He reaches out his hand for yours and pulls you up to sit beside him when you take it. You instinctively hug your legs to your chest for some sort of comfort and rest your cheek on your knee, looking at him. He smiles gently and mirrors you, both of you laughing when he trips up trying to cross his ankles. He’s a little too tall to be pulling this position but he’s determined. 
You’re both still hanging on the edge of giggles when he speaks up again. “Do you realize how much I just love this?” He asks, nudging your shoulder with his own. “I may not like – or even fully understand why or you have to bring the government into a relationship, but if it means I get to spend the rest of my life doing stupid shit with you, or doing nothing at all with you…doing everything with you? Sign me up.” 
“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie,” you admit, smiling and hiding your face in your knees, suddenly shy. “You don’t have to marry me just to keep me around.”
Again he mumbles, “maybe not.” A slow smile spreads on his cheeks as he reaches out to cradle your cheek in his hand, turning your face back toward him so you could no longer hide from his affection. Your cheeks burn, a hot mix of your flushed skin and this new, suddenly more intimate way of Eddie touching you. It doesn’t feel quite as platonic as it used to. “But I don’t want you to just stick around.” He’s the one to look away, just briefly, at his admission. Like saying it out loud was just too much pressure. With a stroke of his thumb over your bottom lip, he locks back on your eyes. “Don’t wanna send you off on dates with creeps and pick up the pieces after, or smile and nod when someone wants to buy you a drink when we’re out together. I wanna take you on dates and make sure they’re damn good from the get-go…I want to call you mine.” 
You lean into his touch, grinning from ear to ear. “How come you never said anything before?” 
“I didn’t think I had to,” he laughs suddenly, throwing his hands up in self defense. You’d never admit it out loud, but you already miss the warmth of his palm when they drop back into his lap. “I thought I was pretty obvious, always takin’ you out on date-like-outings and telling you how stunning you look and…I dunno, I thought I’ve been flirting with you for quite some time now.” 
There’s no stopping the giggle that you let out in response, “Eddie, you flirt with everyone.” 
“Fair point.” 
Reaching out, you take his hand and fold it between both of yours, staring at them while you think over your next response. “So then…why did you encourage me to go on so many dates? Play the wingman? Even when I told you all I wanted to do was hang out with you?” 
His skin flushes crimson, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” 
Despite the way your chest tightens at his words and the way they leave you breathless, you can’t help but reply, “you dumbass.” He’s taken aback by your words but you’re both laughing still, “I’m happy with you.” 
“Well don’t we make an odd, oblivious couple.” 
There’s a beat of comfortable silence between you, and then it happens the way everything does between you and Eddie: naturally. One moment you’re laughing about how blind you’ve both been, and the next his lips are on yours. He kisses you slow, lazy, and without urgency, like he has all the time in the world to show you how he feels, his lips working yours open while you hold onto a fistful of his shirt. 
This kiss is the perfect punctuation to a conversation that neither of you were prepared for. It’s the start to something new, but it feels so right that it hardly feels like the start of anything, like this is how it’s always been. 
When he first breaks the kiss, you’re immediately drawn back to him, almost magnetically. The second you take a shaky breath, inhaling his familiar scent and lingering smoke in the air, you pull him back in by the collar to return his kiss fervently, deeper than the last. Without breaking your embrace, Eddie guides you down onto the bed and hovers over you, swallowing your sigh when he grips your waist tightly. His lips are softer than you’d imagined, but heavenly velvety against yours, and you can’t stop yourself from taking his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging with a coy smile. 
He hums, holding your face in place and peppering you with a few, smaller, chaste pecks before dropping a single kiss to the tip of your nose and then your forehead. 
There’s a twinkle in his eye when he asks, “so are we gettin’ married tomorrow, or what?” 
“Hmm,” your fingernails scratch at the nape of his neck gently as you dramatically  ponder his proposal and his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “How about I start as your girlfriend for a little bit? And then maybe save marriage for…the third date.” You giggle, and you pause, the sincerity of your next comment choking you up before it even leaves your lips. “I love you, too, Eds. I just realized I never said it back, not really.” 
There’s a rumble of laughter in his chest where your head now rests, “yeah, you deserve that big dream wedding, anyway. None of that courthouse shit. When it comes time, you’re getting the works.” Another kiss dropped to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there and fingers drawing little circles in the skin of your shoulder. “But that takes time to plan, so…third date it is.”
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