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paceypeternathanslawyer · 2 years

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It never fails to make me so happy seeing how Steve Urkel found so much love in the Winslow family.

First with Estelle. Mother Winslow can always be counted upon to defend Steve and shower affection on him. She takes on a grandmotherly role with him.

Secondly Richie Crawford. Richie was approximately 3 years old when he started calling Steve Urkel, Uncle Steve. He started this with 0 prompting or encouragement whatsoever. In fact, there were quite a few times when people would annoyedly say “he’s not your uncle” and despite this Richie continued to call him Uncle Steve.

Thirdly the relationship between Steve and Laura is so moving for me. I really feel like they were the best versions of themselves around each other. I feel like Stefan brought an immaturity out of Laura. For instance, that time that Laura was dating Stefan and Maxine started dating Laura’s ex, Curtis. Laura got in a jealous cat fight with Maxine when she didn’t even want Curtis anymore. She had chosen Stefan. Steve brings out a more gentle side and a more vulnerable side. At the beginning, Laura hates Steve... you know the classic enemies to lovers trope.... but then Steve and Laura start working together at the beginning of S2 first at Leroys and then subsequently Rachel’s Place and through working together they became friends. Laura can clown on Steve but you best believe if other people mistreat or act like a bad friend to Steve, she will come after you. And Laura comes to appreciate his sense of humor, goofiness, intelligence, and loyalty. I would say that Laura starts to fall in love and be attracted to Steve in the beginning of S7 when Steve starts to live with the Winslows. You see that change in how Laura views Steve start in “The Naked And The Nerdy” episode and certainly you see it in the “Dream Date” episode. You don’t kiss someone like Laura kissed Steve if you aren’t attracted to them... you just don’t. And Steve starts to become a better person and i’m not just talking about the clothes he wears. He sharpens his selfless and sacrificial love skills with Laura. He learns to back off and give her space when need be over time. He loves Laura but he will do anything for her even if it comes with great emotional pain to himself at times. Like when he wanted to take her to the dance but she said that she only wanted to go with Ted. Steve helped get the date even though it pained him greatly because at the end of the day he wanted Laura to be happy.

Even Steve and Eddie’s relationship makes great strides. Just seeing Eddie start to hang out with Steve, get comfortable and chill around Steve and not be ashamed to be seen with him means so much to me. Eddie isn’t a very physically or even verbally affectionate person with his guy friends but you do see in small ways his friendship with Steve progress in a consistent and moving way.

The only Steve relationship that stays pretty stagnant is the one with Carl. There’s always these sweet moments at the end of episodes that feel so false and disingenuous because Carl may be sweet to Steve and see his perspective but then nothing ever changes. They will hug and the next episode Carl will continue to be an asshole to Steve. He also knows the way in which Steve’s parents abuse him and he has no sympathy for Steve. He could be a great influence and father figure in Steve’s life... maybe even help him be less clumsy but instead he piles more crap on Steve. Steve’s abuse is so interesting to me because if a character went through all this in a drama then it would be a soap opera and Steve’s parents would be imprisoned and at the very least Steve would be taken out of that home by Child Protective Services. But because this a comedy show and they don’t actually show these events (only talk about them) then we’re supposed to laugh?!?! Well, it isn’t funny. Steve’s parents legit use him as a projectile to break a pinata on Steve’s birthday. He said that he spent his birthday in an ambulance. Carl hears this (as a police officer btw) and let’s it pass and then later in that episode has a heart to heart with Steve where he seemingly makes excuses for Steve’s parents.... saying shit like “oh parents are just hard on their kids, i’m sure they’re proud of you.” I mean, Carl, did you not listen to what Steve said?!?! This is so far beyond a parent who simply have high expectations of their children. They are fucking abusive!! And that’s just one of 100s of abusive and horrible things the Urkel parents did. They were invited to Steve’s wedding to Laura which is one of the most exciting moments in your child’s life and they said they couldn’t come because an episode of their favorite show was coming on that day. Once his parents moved to Milwaukee when he was a small child, they took new identities to hide from Steve. One time Steve called his mom and she pretended that she didn’t know who he was. All these things are portrayed as funny because of how outlandish they are but it’s still abuse and it should be seen as that. Carl knows all these things and also Steve has legit saved Carl’s life multiple times and yet Carl still treats him like shit.

It’s 2022, it’s time that we call what Steve Urkel went through abuse. With all that in mind, seeing Steve find love and happiness with most of the Winslow family is so well deserved. Estelle is like a grandmother, Richie is like a nephew, Eddie is a great friend, and Laura is his wife and the love of his life.

Most of Steve’s relatives hate him and pay him money to stay away from them. Uncle Cecil, Uncle Ernie, Aunt Oona, and Myrtle Urkel at least are nice to Steve so that’s good I guess. Steve’s classmates all bully him, a lot of his teachers hate him and only because he’s clumsy and nerdy. I can’t emphasize this enough... because he’s CLUMSY AND NERDY. The boy is a sweetheart, so smart, so kind, nice, and funny and yet so many people hate him because he’s different.

Going back to the positive relationships in Steve’s life... it warms my heart how he also finds love and acceptance from his polka community. The episode “Polkapalooza” is one of my favorites because not only does Laura tell Steve that she loves him for the first time but we also see him being absolutely adored by the people in the greater Chicago area polka community. You can see why as a child, he gravitated towards polka. Because as a child no one loved him so to have that community of like minded and kind people was something that was greatly needed and wanted.

Now Steve is married to Laura and they have little Urkel children and are living happily ever after. He has Eddie, Greta, Maxine, and Waldo as his close friends and I even like to think that Carl and Harriette came around and treat him with love and respect now. He also became rich and successful... probably famous for some amazing invention and when his parents came crawling back, trying to reap the benefits then he kicked their sorry asses to the curb.

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tvseriescentral · 2 years

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Laura being a friend/supporting/loving Steve Urkel (Part 40/?)

AKA Laura’s journey of love for Steve in somewhat chronological order

#family matters #steve and laura #staura #laura winslow #steve urkel #kellie shanygne williams #jaleel white #laura supporting and loving steve #eddie winslow

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lunaticcosm0s · 1 year

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***meanwhile in the background***

S02E19 | more beef?

Malcolm is terrified as he expects Kevin Puri to come round the corner...

...and is obviously relieved when seeing Eddie Winslow instead.

Wonder what happened between them?!

prev - [1st] - next

[all episodes] (chronological for desktop only) | mobile

[season 01] | [character sheet] | [a year in the life of]

#malcolm landgraab #eddie winslow #kevin puri #ayitlobarb #ts4 80s 90s retro simblr #gameplay #lunaticcosm0s #ayitlobarbs02

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randomgurl2326 · 8 months

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Listen Here Bucko’s…

I have notice the SEVERE lack of Harlan Coven’s Shelter fics on this app(and many others) and it has to stop.

I mean come on people; Ema Winslow!?!?!? Arthur Spoon Spindell!?!?!?!? Even fucking Troy for gods’ sake!!

I will be supplying fics for this fandom, but we need more people to write for this show. PLEASE IT HAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL!!!

Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk (^��•^)

——Abigale

p.s. I’m proud of you for making it through another day my little chalupa muah. All of you are strong and capable, never forget that💚💜

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spw-art · 18 days

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we’ve all heard of blorbo from my shows. it’s time for blorbo from my music.

#ziggy stardust #the showman #alice cooper #steven alice cooper #the nightmare #welcome to my nightmare #eddie the head #the clairvoyant #Iron Maiden #winslow leach #phantom of the paradise

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stuckasmain · 2 years

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Two connections

Absolutely on a kick, you all know that by now. Anyways I made two connections I just find funny between some of my fav horrors

“Never meet your heros”

Fright Night(1985) - hero turns out to be a massive whimp, however becomes a best friend in the end.

Trick or treat (1986) - starts out as best friends but it turns out your hero is filled with murderous rage

Faust strikes again-

Phantom of the paradise (1974) - quite literally text. Both mention and being written about as well as the plot being a very clear nod.

Trick or treat (1986)- mentioned/quoted directly in the opening but never fully brought up in the film. However it’s implied that Sammi owes his soul and perhaps others…

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amywritesthings · 2 years

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Meet Me At The Usual

gif credit @ gwinammie

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 5K

Summary: It's sophomore year Winter Formal, and things get a little messy with your secret friendship (and secret crush) with the Freak of Hawkins High.

Warnings: Language, Fluff & Angst, Secret Friendship, Unresolved Crushes, School Dances, Yearning, First Kiss, Eddie Munson in a Suit

A/N: Enjoy my self-indulgent, cavity-inducing story of Eddie Munson having a massive crush on you and not knowing how to be chill about it. I love writing this man. Prequel to Where Shadows Meet Shapes.

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW

“I wanted to ask you to the dance tonight,” you croak before you can chicken out.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, readjusting his all-too-aloof demeanor in order to protect the brief, crackled surprise underneath.

“Little ol’ me? I thought it was supposed to be the other way: guys ask girls, yada yada—”

“You were never going to ask me.”

His chin juts back, face scrunching in offense. “That isn’t true.”

Meet Me At The Usual

Winter Formal is such a bitch.

The stretching hallways are littered with snowflake decorations and paper icicles. Disdain crawls up the back of your neck at how feral the entire student body of Hawkins High has become in a matter of days.

Giggling hopefuls line the rows of lockers, telepathically begging every person that passes to be asked — as someone’s desired date, as someone who is wanted —

(As someone who isn’t a loser.)

If memory serves you right, your Freshman year’s Winter Formal was an absolute mess. Not only did you rip your dress, but Tommy Winslow — a date you didn’t know how to turn down — acted like such a sleaze that half of your night was spent hiding in busy corners, wishing you could leave before the gymnasium clock struck ten.

You can’t imagine Sophomore year will be any less awful.

The one thing, however, that is different this year are the surprise several requests to accompany someone as their date to this seasonal event. Flowers from a football player, outright being asked by a basketball starter — the list continues to grow as Friday inches closer.

(Since when did people care about you? Is it because you’re leading the class by grades and grades alone?)

The only tolerable thing about this Tuesday afternoon has been finding a messily folded note hidden in the crevice of your locker:

Meet me at the usual ? - E

‘The Usual’, as cliché as it can be, being under the bleachers.

Rather than spending lunch with the other honors students, you slide past the front doors and round the rectangular edges of the crimson brick building until you see it — in the distance, a silhouette of someone already waiting under the metal beams holding benches afloat.

The closer you get, the more prominent his wild, curly hair becomes.

“Someone has to teach you how to fold better,” you greet, stepping over a metal bar in order to join the other person under the privacy of the football stadium.

Eddie Munson stands with his arms raised, palms flush against a higher beam you cannot reach as he watches your arrival with amusement. “I didn’t have much time to write it, my dear fair maiden. It was kind of a last-minute idea.”

“Like all of your ideas?”

“Hey,” he holds up a finger, matter-of-fact. “Hellfire’s run like a tight ship. Nothing in that game is by chance or accident — except the roll of the dice, but some would say the numbers are fate.”

“I’ll take your word for it, seeing as I’ve yet to witness this illusive club.”

“It’s exclusive,” Eddie quips, slapping an indistinguishable beat into the metal support beam above, “and illusive. Next game’s on Friday and they have no fucking idea what gnarly dungeon they’re about to get into.”

“Friday?” Frowning, you situate yourself in a lean along a pillar. “But Friday is the—”

“Winter Formal,” Eddie interrupts. “Exactly.”

“So you’re not going?”

Eddie’s brow quirks. “Why, are you?”

“Everyone at school goes every year.”

“I don’t, and I didn’t last year. None of the Hellfire Club goes. We’re not particularly interested in being gawked at more than we already are.” A slow but certain smirk crawls to his lips. “Hope you’re not going with Tommy Winslow this year.”

“Tommy?” you grimace. “Absolutely fucking not.”

The smirk disappears off of his lips, now open-mouthed in shock.

“Doth the lady sweareth?”

Your expression falters to an outright disappointed frown. “Are you serious? You’re going to give me shit for swearing, out of everyone?”

His hands detach from the metal to lift high in surrender, unable to stop the laughter billowing from his lungs.

“Hey, cool it. It wasn’t a jab. I think it’s hot when you curse, alright?”

So hot that he’s never made a move.

An entire year of knowing Eddie Munson, and he’s never tried to any of the Junior usuals — when you stop by to watch 21 Jump Street, he never attempts the classic yawn while simultaneously putting an arm over your shoulders, instead opting to respectfully sit side-by-side; he never flips crumpled paper into the cleavage of your lower t-shirts; he never asks you out to dinner or to come by his trailer for anything beyond a smoke and jam sesh, ending with him walking you to your beat-up Nissan before your mother’s stern curfew.

Nothing.

(He doesn’t actually find your swearing — or you, for that matter — hot.)

“Jusssayin’, do it more often,” he adds.

“Shut up,” you scoff, scooping your arms to fold tightly against your chest.

Eddie does — if only for a second.

“So did anyone ask?”

“Ask what?”

“You — out — to Winter Formal?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, I just thought by now you’d have a date or whatever.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s you,” he says.

“It’s me?” you repeat.

“Yeah, Lady Hawkins, the…” He sighs, smacking the beam lightly once more. “...projected Valedictorian of your class, the star of the fucking whole show, the cream in everyone’s coffee. By now, at least a dozen unworthy jocks have probably asked.”

Your eyes narrow with subtle amusement. “Do I detect jealousy?”

“Roll for perception,” he replies instead, evoking an inside joke for a means of a truce.

(I don’t want to answer — or, in most cases, you already know the answer.)

Warmth floods your system as your smile spreads to a wildfire grin. You lean your temple against the bleacher pillar structures, watching him fondly.

How Eddie Munson ended up in your life the way he has, you truly cannot — and don’t quite care to — remember. A happenstance note on a desk led to an overabundance of chicken scratch handwriting in your locker, eventually rolling into this:

Meeting in shadows, in spaces, times where no one can see.

Because if anyone found out the two of you were an odd couple of thieves, thick yet so very thin in discretion, then that would be the end of ‘Lady Hawkins’ reputation.

(Your parents would never let you out of the house again.)

“...I turned them all down.”

It’s the truth. Every last offer, shot down with a polite no.

Eddie’s expression shifts, albeit unreadable as he drops his chin, allowing dark curls to cover most of his face. “Good. I mean — not good, but they didn’t deserve you anyway.”

“And who does?”

“No one in Hawkins, that’s for fucking sure.”

Laughter bubbles in your lungs as he ducks under the support beam, nearing as his ring-clad fists bump together.

“Just skip it.”

A beat passes. You huff with confusion.

“Skip what?”

“The dance.” He leans in, waggling his brows. “Wanna smoke at my place instead?”

Your brows slide high to your hairline. “Will you get dressed up?”

His browline falls. “Dressed up? What, in… Zeppelin over Poison, or some shit?”

“No!” you correct with a playful roll of your eyes. “No, Eddie Munson, a suit.”

Eddie’s playfulness falters, childish excitement dissipating as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his denim jeans. Sniffing at nothing in particular, his attention drops to the dirt bunching at his scuffed, duct-taped boots.

“...nah, don’t own any of that kind of stuff. My uncle’s got a funeral suit, but that hasn’t been dry cleaned in six-something years.”

Oh.

You take a step forward, reaching for his arm but ultimately failing to make contact. Your hand falls lamely to your side. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” he interrupts, softer this time. “You never do. Not sure how you don’t, but you always mean shit in the best possible way.” He lifts his chin, nose scrunched. “A little irritating, if you ask me.”

“I’ll do my best to tone down my Snow White approach to life just for you.”

Eddie opens his mouth to quip back, but the 5-minute warning bell echoes from the Hawkins High building.

“That’s your cue,” he suggests instead, pushing the tip of your tennis sneaker with his boot. “Don’t drink the punch at Formal.”

“And don’t kill your party in the dungeon crawl,” you sing-song as you walk backwards, careful not to trip over the metal bar on the ground as you depart for your next class.

“I can’t make any promises!” he shouts after you, staying behind.

. . . . . . . .

You’re the only person without a date at your Honors Geometry table.

One empty chair sits beside you as the other two couples laugh, spilling liquor from a flask to complete their punch cups. Mary Meeks and Rachel Smith gossip about every dress that passes by. Darren Jones and Justin Waters talk about the only thing they’re interested in — football, the season, the upcoming drafts for the future — ruining their formal attire with their letterhead jackets.

Every so often, the conversation bounces to you and you answer, disinterested but feigning excitement, before it’s right back to sitting between the four of them.

You sit, ignored. You stand by the punch table, ignored. You find a spot by the corner where Mary can fish out her cigarettes she snuck into the dance, ignored.

This is miserable.

(This feels so empty.)

Friends by association, it only occurs to you how little you have in common with these birds of a feather flocking together.

And you’re pretty sure you caught a passive aggressive comment about the chiffon, pastel pink dress and painfully tight high heels you’re wearing.

(Not by choice, but by your mother’s insistence.)

Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe it would’ve been better to smoke at his trailer. Maybe you should have stayed home.

Maybe you should have asked if you could sit in on the—

“Not like that Shitfire Club.”

Your ears perk at the insult, broken from your trance as Justin puffs his chest out of his letterhead jacket from the chorus of laughter he elicits.

“They give me the creeps,” Mary replies, pulling her sparkling shawl closer around her shoulders. “Do they ever bathe?”

“I think they all sit in their mom’s basements and jerk off to geriatric porn.” Rachel’s unlit cigarette dangles daintily from its index-middle finger sandwich. “Probably together.”

“The Freak’s orchestrated demonic orgies, I just know it,” Mary agrees with a disturbed nod.

The Freak.

Eddie.

“Or they jerk each other off,” supplies Darren, snorting at his own crude joke as he passes his flask to Justin.

“Hope I don’t see any of those fucking nerds tonight,” Justin prematurely warns, rubbing his nose with the knuckle of his thumb. “Because if I do, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, Justin?”

Mary and Rachel turn first with different degrees of confusion when your question cracks the bubble of their conversation. Justin steps out of his place to peer around the girls’ dresses, making direct eye contact while you lean against the painted concrete wall.

You can almost hear Eddie’s slowed, cautious voice in the back of your head: don’t provoke them. You’ll just put a target on your back like the rest of us.

Too late.

Your temper gets the best of you.

“You can barely catch a football in the off-season, so how are you supposed to land a punch?” you inquire, bending at the hips to push yourself from the wall.

The girls’ jaws drop in unison. Darren mumbles a prolonged ‘yooo’ under his breath, caught off guard, but not as disarmed as Justin. His face grows a shade of salmon pink, blotchy and unpleasant.

“You stickin’ up for the Freak or something?”

You breeze past the accusation to shoulder-check Rachel, clipping in your heels to snatch your silver clutch from the communal table.

“No amount of cologne will mask the fact that you? Probably haven’t showered since the last Championship — the one you lost for our team, if I remember correctly, so if I were you?”

You offer a pointed stare at Justin, unblinking, unmoving; mousey persona be damned.

“I’d stop picking on people for their alleged shortcomings when yours have been displayed on our home field scoreboard. And go fuck yourself.”

The last part, you regret only a little. While swearing was never in your public wheelhouse, you feel the need to drive home their cruelty with your own.

It seems to work by the way Mary steps clear out of your way, calling you a raging bitch under her breath.

You don’t care.

You just need to get out of here.

Stalking to find the library — will he be angry if you show up unannounced in the middle of the game? — your heels click down the linoleum hallways half-dimmed in the night.

Finding the library door closed, you stop in your tracks and push against the metal mechanism to… darkness. Total black.

No one’s here.

No one speaks, no one laughs, no one tosses a unit of dice.

“Eddie?” you call out, voice echoing in the vastness. No one calls back.

It’s stupid to go to his trailer.

He may be out with the rest of the club.

He may be busy, like how you’re supposed to be busy instead of dropping into your father’s Nissan to depart from the school event and run straight to the trailer park.

Except you floor it out of the Hawkins High parking lot anyway and within fifteen minutes, find yourself pulling up to a trailer you’ve visited on several hushed occasions to catch the latest flick under the guise of studying with a classmate.

Behind the window shades, a soft orange hue emits.

Someone’s there.

The car door slams shut as you hike the pastel pink skirt high to your knees. Avoiding the uncut weeds licking at your bare ankles, you manage to avoid sinking too far into the soft dirt leading up to Eddie’s trailer.

He’s going to think you’re insane — if he’s even home.

It takes a beat or two to muster the courage to knock; first slowly, two knuckle-taps that barely put a dent in the door. No response leads you to grow a spine, pounding three times with the butt of your fist.

Your body tenses when the door wildly swings open, startled and annoyed.

“The fuck are you knocking so—”

“—Oh.”

Both voices cease to exist among the chorus of crickets in the grass when Eddie Munson stands in his trailer living room in a black jacket and a white dress shirt, half-unbuttoned.

The black ink on his pectorals coils along the material, peeking out as he stills at the door frame. His hair must have just dried, because the curls are light. Springy. Soft.

The vocals of Black Sabbath croon softly in the distance, echoing to your ears.

Before you can stop yourself, your gaze crawls down his body — the black slacks are a little loose and a tiny bit wrinkled, and his toes flex and relax under black socks.

“Ho-ly shit,” he finally murmurs under his breath as if trapped under a spell.

Locking eyes once more, you clear your throat and shift from one painful high heel to another, all-too aware of just how pink this dress is in a sea of black.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Why are you… here?” Eddie asks in high-pitched confusion, taking a step to survey the trailer park outside of his trailer. Whether he’s checking to make sure no one else is here or to see if someone is watching, you aren’t sure.

“You weren’t in the library,” you supply, dropping your skirt to cross your arms into your body.

“Why would you check the library? I thought you were supposed to be at the dance — I mean, I thought you said you were with friends?”

“Because you said that’s where you play, right? The library?” you ask, bouncing on your toes for the kinetic warmth. “It’s freezing.”

“What happened to the dance?”

“Change of plans. Fuck the dance.” His chin juts back in shock of the vulgarity of your declaration. “We’re smoking at your house, so can I come in before I become a chiffon icicle?”

It takes a second, but the smile crawls onto Eddie Munson’s lips as he bows to you, open-shirt dropping with gravity. His ring-clad hand sweeps a grandiose entrance to his humble abode, stepping aside so you can enter.

You gladly take the offer, kicking your heels into the living room before your bare feet touch the threaded carpet. The relief is instantaneous.

(No need to pretend here. No need for reputation bullshit.)

“What made you change your mind?” You hear him ask as he gently closes the door behind you, locking it. His back presses into the metal, hands supporting his lower back.

“Roll for perception,” you answer cheekily. He huffs in amusement, unconvinced.

“If you don’t think I’ll abandon you right here to get my lucky set of dice, then you are sadly mistaken.” Eddie nods his tilted chin towards the hallway leading to the bedroom at the end of the trailer. “You’re on my home turf now, angel.”

The pet name purrs on the tip of his tongue like velvet. A playful warning, nothing more.

“You would have rolled a natural 20 anyway.”

“Damn right I would.”

Pushing himself from the door, he navigates to the middle of the living room and reaches gently for either of your elbows. Your hands remain tucked into your sides, the chill lingering. Eddie looks at you, really looks at you, with seeking concern.

He won’t ask what’s wrong.

He won’t veto the perception check.

Just like how you’re too afraid to ask about the funeral suit, so you don’t.

“What happened to the dungeon crawl?” you bring up instead to fill in the gaps between Ozzy Osborne’s singing and the blaring guitar solo.

“Ended early,” he murmurs. “Babysitting emergencies cut the crawl short.”

“That’s a shame.”

“So is wearing this dress in my house when you’re supposed to be with your friends.”

The roll of your eyes happens before you can stop it, and Eddie follows the movement like a magnet — his rings clang as he reaches between you, angling your chin to bring your gaze back to him.

“Sidebar with me.”

“Ed—”

“Sidebar, or so help me, I will make us dance to Sabbath.”

“Dance?” you blurt with absurdity, before reaching for his free hand at his side.

Calling his bluff is easy — no amount of alcohol or weed will make Eddie Munson want to sway to the power ballads blaring from his bedroom.

He doesn’t have time to retract from the way you cup his hand, bringing your conjoined arms up and into position. He belly laughs a beat later, head thrown back with abandon.

“You’re such a freak, I’m so serious.”

Freak.

Although he means it playfully, your smile gradually begins to disappear. When he drops back to a neutral gaze, however, he notices immediately.

You don’t need him to push.

“They’re shitty people, Ed,” you blurt, closing your eyes with regret. “Really… awful, nasty people that I’m supposed to be friends with, have classes with, spend my time with — all because, what? It’s good for my life plan?”

No need to roll for perception anymore.

You continue to squeeze your eyes shut as you admit your complicity. And to your surprise, your arm moves — in time with the slowing guitar, where you feel the cautious hover of his hand at your waist before he commits to touching the silky fabric of your dress.

“Some people say yeah, it’s perfect for your life plan. I believe the corporate man would consider it networking ,” Eddie provides, low in a murmur, as he leads the sway.

“It’s bullshit.”

“Everything is bullshit if you think about it, but a little birdie once told me that some of it’s necessary, so…”

“But what if I don’t want that?”

Eddie freezes at that hypothetical question, allowing the song to play out for the next to begin. You feel a nudge, his hand pushing into your waist twice, and you silently oblige to look at him.

You’re met with those puppy-dog eyes, expectant and sad and forgiving all the same.

“You’re not saying something,” he begins, taking a sharp breath before you can open your mouth to protest. “I mean — you’re saying a lot to me right now, but you’re not actually saying what it is you wanna say.”

As your shoulders deflate in defeat, he shimmies his shoulders in the hopes of lightening the mood.

“You know whatever is said here, I won’t repeat. I won’t tell a soul.”

He’s said this plenty of times over the past year. No one talks to the Freak. No one looks his way beyond a scowl. Whatever is said this trailer, to him and him alone, will die here, because no one asks Eddie Munson to spill his guts.

“I wanted to ask you to the dance tonight,” you croak before you can chicken out.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, readjusting his all-too-aloof demeanor in order to protect the brief, crackled surprise underneath.

“Little ol’ me? I thought it was supposed to be the other way: guys ask girls, yada yada—”

“You were never going to ask me.”

His chin juts back, face scrunching in offense. “That isn’t true.”

“You hate formals.”

“I do.”

“And you had Hellfire Club tonight.”

“Well, okay, that isn’t why I didn’t—”

“No?”

“No! No, Hellfire Club can get moved, I’m the GM.”

“So you would have gone, then, if I had asked?”

Eddie lets go of your joined hands to run through his clean curls.

“We can’t… talk about this. Not now, man.”

You move a fraction of an inch closer, pushing forward. “Would you? Or would you have asked me? If I were a different person, would you have ask—”

“Do you think I’m wearing my uncle’s fucking suit for the laughs?” he interrupts with a hint of exasperation, removing himself from you completely to take a semi-circle around the small living room. “Christ, dude, look at me. Look at what I’m wearing.”

You stay perfectly still as the knot forms heavily in your throat. Eddie doesn’t look at you as he paces back and forth, out of breath from the emotion in his voice.

“You think I wanted to be mocked mercilessly as I waltz in, totally stag, at a place where no one wants me to be? I cut the Hellfire Club dungeon crawl early because I wanted to see you. I was going for you.”

Despite yourself, you croak one shaky syllable.

“Me?”

Eddie finally, finally, looks directly into your eyes from where he stands.

“Why are you always so fucking surprised?”

It’s said with exhaustion, a year in the making, as you look him over in a new light. Eddie fidgets in the much-too-large jacket, the frame hanging off his gangly limbs, as he assesses and reassesses your reaction.

“What the hell are we doing here, man?” He holds up a palm before you can speak. “Please don’t placate me just ‘cus you tolerate me. I don’t think I can take that.”

“Tolerate you?”

“Yeah, tolerate,” Eddie repeats. “We hang out under bleachers because lunch is a fucking snooze. You come over to fake-study so we can watch whatever that sitcom is that you love so much. We slip notes back and forth—”

“You sent me the first note!” you interrupt in a desperation from his negative spiral.

“—like we’re, I don’t know, as cozy as Chrissy fucking Cunningham and Jason Carver. And yeah, I did send the first note, because I think you’re great and—”

“I told Justin Waters to go fuck himself.”

The words you should have led with when he first opened his front door now spill hastily out on the floor between you, creating a divide. Eddie’s eyes, already wide with panicked truth, grow to be the size of saucers from the implication — and the wonder of what you could possibly mean.

The crease in his brow ceases to exist, head tilting an inch: go on.

You do.

“I was at the Winter Formal and I was standing with Mary, Rachel, Darren and Justin fucking Waters and they were talking about a bunch of stuff I didn’t care about. Like, loads of stuff, but I was so bored and I was spaced thinking about how your game was going, but then they brought — they brought up the Hellfire Club.”

Eddie’s face drops.

“They started talking shit, completely out of their asses, and I am so sick of people constantly making you out to be a bad fucking person when they’re the bad people.”

And so are you, for never speaking up sooner.

“So I told him to go fuck himself — for talking shit about you, about the Hellfire Club, about anyone who isn’t on the stupid football team that he’s dragged down since he joined because he’s so awful at playing—”

“Stop,” he warns, but it’s nothing beyond a whisper.

You don’t hear.

“And I wanted you to be there. I — wanted — to ask — you. And I get there’s this… stigma? Or whatever, about us hanging out. I get that my parents may say something.”

The curly-haired boy is a certain shade of pale, almost translucent. “I’m serious, stop.”

“The entire school will have something to say because all they do is work on their stupid life plans,” you continue from the momentum of the relief lifting off your chest.

He takes a step forward as if he’ll cross the room to you, but quickly halts in his journey.

“You gotta stop right now, or I might kiss you.”

It’s a confession that cuts through like electricity. From the crown of your head the current surges, awakening every vein in your body to the here and now.

Eddie looks wrecked — there’s a glassy tint to his eye, defeated from this impromptu argument and even less anticipated honesty session. Black Sabbath’s album has completed its run time, enveloping the trailer in pure, excruciating silence.

Too afraid to speak, your lips part with a million questions you won’t ask.

Eddie Munson, dressed in a suit for the Winter Formal, wants to kiss you.

“No one stands up for me.” Your own vision blurs as he clarifies the sudden desire, ashamed at the way he sounds so lost. “I’m just — it’s not something that happens with Eddie the Freak, you know? And it — I don’t know if I should be pissed at you for putting a target on your back or what, but—”

“Eddie.”

You want to scream. You want to run to him. You want to ignore the sudden flame blooming in your lower belly, but you can’t.

“I don’t wanna mess this up,” he says, voice cracking. “You’re the best part of my fucking day, dude, and I’m—”

Screw this.

“Then let me mess it up.”

Your interruption knocks the wind clear from his lungs as your bare feet take off to a determined stride towards him without an ounce of hesitation.

Reaching for the back of his head, you rise on your toes to press a gentle kiss to the center of his lips. At first Eddie doesn’t react, entire body taught under the button-down shirt and slacks. Both of his hands are fists, white as death in contrast to the dark metal of his row of rings.

When you pull away with budding concern that yeah, perhaps you have finally messed this up and the admittance of wanting to kiss you was only just an exaggeration, Eddie shakes his head as if he’s entranced in a dream.

Then his hand finds the back of your neck, curling around it, before crashing his lips against yours with yearning desperation.

You make a noise of surprise against his mouth, but melt into the gesture. Both of your hands find his face, pulling him impossibly closer, as his trembling hand at your neck keeps you in place. He tastes like fresh mouthwash, the scent of woodsy cologne and a hint of weed — it’s all completely Eddie.

His tongue licks at your lower lip, and you’re sure this is how you die.

Your lips part to test the water, meeting his tongue with curious want. He groans as if the action alone could ruin him, his free hand lightly cupping the side of your face before detaching himself from you to find a purchase of air.

“Holy shit,” he breathes in short puffs, eyes still closed.

You lower your hands, only for him to quickly drop his own to catch them. His thumb runs along your soft skin, relishing in the moment, before dark eyes finally connect with yours.

“Hey.”

The greeting is shy, small.

“Hey,” you murmur back, a bewildered laugh caught in bubbles at the back of your throat.

Eddie’s brow furrows, caught between euphoria and reality. “Did that just—”

“Happen?” you finish, and he nods furiously. “I think so.”

“Not how I expected my night to go,” he admits, still trying to find his breath. “I thought I’d be rolling up to that dance to see you — fuck, I don’t know, dancing with someone else and then I’d feel extra shitty—”

“I only thought about you the entire time, so, I don’t think that was in the cards,” you admit sheepishly, dropping to full height from your toes.

Eddie looks to the ceiling as if he’s about to pray to an unchosen deity before the smile bursts against his lips. Elated. At ease.

It’s beautiful.

“You, uh, you still wanna stay to smoke and watch movies or something or did I just… I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, so I’m going to need you to make the decisions here, doll.”

You laugh, tugging playfully at the hem of his suit jacket.

He really dressed in this thing for you.

Nothing feels real, but it sure feels right.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

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teddyeyeseddie · 9 months

Text

So Now What

2am, Who Do You Love?

older!steve X reader X older!eddie (no cheating, no steddie)

masterlist Warnings: college student Steve, smut, p in v, oral (fem rec), loss of virginity, age gap 20/30, talk of masturbation, alcohol consumption, size kink if you squint (a/n: don't get too comfy with Steve ladies and gentlemen! n e ways thank you @lofaewrites for being my lovely beta, love you forever honey!!)

Now playing:

You make it to an older BMW, it’s pretty and well taken care of. Steve rushes in front of you, opening your door before you can get to it and ushers you inside. He returns to the other side of the car and slides in the driver’s seat.

The ride to his apartment is easy. The conversation flows nicely on the short drive, it naturally stopping as he pulls up to his building. The two of you get out of the car, Steve rounding the front in order to lead you inside. You make it up a few flights of stairs, finally making it to his door. He lets you in, flicking on the lights behind you. A small gray cat runs up to you, passing through your feet as he purrs.

“That’s Winslow,” he says with a smile, picking him up and petting his scruff

“He’s cute..” you respond as you extend your arm to pet him.

Steve sets down the cat before ushering you into the living room of his apartment. It’s nice, definitely on the expensive side.

“I uh- never asked.. What do you do for a living?” you question as you take a seat on the lavish couch before you.

“M’ a writer,” he says as he opens his cabinets looking for wine glasses.

“A writer?”

He nods his head, ducking into the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine.

“Y’ know the pen name S. Hawkins?” he questions with a small grin.

“No way,” you state bluntly.

“In the flesh, honey,”

You squeal, rushing to the kitchen to squeeze him into a hug. You let the excitement wear off as you make your way back to the couch with your glass of wine. You have so many questions reeling through your mind it made you lightheaded.

“So- You’re S. Hawkins, like the best writer out there right now, and you’re in California taking college classes for what reason now?” you question, confusion still reeling in your mind.

“I never finished school?” he states, a hint of embarrassment lacing his words. You nod your head, waiting for him to continue.

“And s’ a goal of mine to finish, so I came here.”

You smile at him, inching closer to him as he continues to talk.

“I just- have this little list of odds and ends I want to do and finishing college is one of them,” he takes a sip of his wine, placing the glass on the coffee table before him. He sits back on the couch and kicks his feet up on the table.

“You’ll have to tell me about this list,” You say with a coy smile.

“I can tell you one thing I’ve achieved since meeting you,” he turns to face you, a dopey smile on his face as he inches closer.

“-and what would that be?” You scoot even closer, your faces inches apart.

“Meet a pretty girl. Kinda hit that one out of the park,” he bites his lip, chewing at the skin as he waits for your reply.

“You never needed my help, did you?” you question with a smile.

He shakes his head, hand coming to brush some hair out of your face.

“Kiss me you idiot,” and he does.

He leans forward, trapping your lips with his, a small smile forming as he does so. It’s slow, he’s almost methodical as he kisses you, each movement having a purpose. He finally pulls away, a nervous giggle releasing from you as you look up at him. The minute you look into his eyes, the mood changes.

His hands are on your hips, pulling you into his lap. He pulls your head closer to his own, kissing you harshly. His tongue explores the inside of your mouth, teeth click together as the two of you fight for dominance.

You pull away, looking down at him as his hands find the hem of your university sweater. He tugs upwards, the fabric riding up your body, exposing your torso and finally your bra. It’s dingy and old, nothing too extravagant. You shrink in on yourself when you realize you aren’t prepared for this moment, it starts to overwhelm you and Steve takes notice.

“Hey pretty girl, what’s going on?” the pad of his thumb rubs at your hip, worried eyes looking up at you.

“Steve I- I’ve never?” It’s your turn to be embarrassed. The half revelation makes your cheeks burn bright red.

Steve’s eyes widen, the hand on your hip tightening its grip.

“Shit, honey. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you, fuck this is so fucked up isn’t it?” you shake your head quickly, hands coming to rest on his chest as you try and calm him down.

“No no no no, it’s not fucked up. I like you. You just happen to be 10 years older than me, who cares. I’m not embarrassed to be with someone older than me, I’m embarrassed I’m a twenty-year-old virgin.” you ramble off, eyes avoiding Steve’s as you do so.

Hands come to cup both sides of your face, forcing you to look at Steve. There’s an endearing smile on his face that makes your heart swoon.

“Honey, I don’t care if you had endless partners before me. You could be on either end of the spectrum and I'd still fantasize about being with you.” He pulls you in for another kiss, it's quick and sweet.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he looks to you for permission to go. You give him a small nod and climb off of him. He makes his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He is in there for several minutes. You’re able to finish your glass of wine and even start on Steve’s. As you’re about to take another sip, the door clicks open. Steve walks back into the living room and approaches the couch. He extends his arm to you, leading you back to his bedroom.

You smile at the sight before you, there’s several candles lit and a record is crackling on the turntable. The bed is made and fluffy pillows are scattered about.

“If you still wanna-” you cut him off with a kiss, you pull away and nod feverishly.

With that, he leads you to the bed. He backs you up to it, the back of your knees hit the bed causing you to sit. He pushes you backwards, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying them down your legs.

He kisses at both your hip bones and looks up at you as his fingers snake into the side of your panties. You give him a shy nod and raise your hips to allow him to take off the offending garment.

He kisses your ankle once he removes them completely from your body. He spreads your legs further as you try to shut him out from your center, shy that you haven't shaved in a few weeks. He shakes his head and looks back up at you.

“None of that, think it’s so pretty like this,” He parts your folds, leaning forward to lick a gentle strip upwards. The new feeling has your toes curling. You’ve given head before, but never been on the receiving end. His stubble rubs at the inside of your thighs, his tongue coming to meet your aching clit. He draws lazy circles around it, testing the waters before he dives all the way in.

You mewl at the feeling, the teasing proximity to where you need him most driving you up the wall. He pulls away just as you think he is going to pay attention to your clit.

“You ever touch yourself?” he questions as he brings his fingers to your hole, stroking up and down through your slick.

You can only offer a nod, the feeling of him being so close to inside you driving you wild.

“You ever cum?” he inserts a finger at this point, you only offer a shrug to his question.

“Well tonight, I’m gonna make you cum like this m’kay?” Steve begins to pump his finger in and out, stopping every once and a while to rub at the spongy spot inside you.

“M’ gonna get you off using my fingers and mouth, then if you want to we can go further…”

He leans back in before you can respond to him, his mouth attaches to your clit, suckinly on it harshly. His finger inside of you picks up the pace, after a few moments Steve pulls away from your pussy.

“Gonna add another finger, m’kay?”

“O-Okay,” you stutter as you await the burn that will accompany it.

He adds a second finger and it burns in all the right ways. You whine as he wiggles the extra digit in, back arching off the bed as it settles in perfectly beside the other.

“Taking me so good, gonna take my cock so good honey,” he dives back into your pussy, tongue drawing quick tight circles on your clit. He stays like this for what feels like forever. Three fingers now pumping in and out of you, alternating between licking and suckling on your clit. You feel white hot, the coil in your belly building with every second that passes, every drag of his tongue, every pump of his fingers.

You see stars when you cum, eyes screwing shut and hands gripping sheets. Your legs squeeze around Steve’s head, his tongue continuing to work you through your orgasm.

He finally pulls away, hand coming to wipe at his mouth. You whine at the loss, hands reaching out for Steve. He settles in beside you, hands snaking down to play with your pussy. He strokes up and down your folds slowly, soft mewls coming from your mouth.

You turn your head to face him. He smiles down at you, capturing your lips in a quick kiss.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he questions, hand still rubbing up and down your center.

“You. Fucking me.” You breathe out slowly.

“Not gonna be much of a fucking sweetheart. Wanna go slow and make you see how enamored I am with you,”

He ushers you to the middle of the mattress before getting off the bed. He strips out of his clothes, cock bobbing as he takes off his underwear. He's big and you’re not quite sure how it's supposed to fit.

“S’ kinda big, honey. Gonna go easy on you and take care of that pretty pussy m’kay?” you moan at his confidence. The fact he’s big and he knows makes you impossibly wetter.

He settles between your legs, cock tapping at your clit and pushing through your folds. The tip catches your hole and you gasp at the small intrusion.

“S’ okay honey,” he strokes at your hip before pushing in further, “You okay?” he questions as he stills halfway inside your pussy. You nod your head, grabbing his biceps and readying yourself for the further stretch.

He pushes in all the way, eyes studying the way your face twists once he’s balls deep inside you. He gives you a second before testing the waters as he pulls out slightly before fucking back in. He punches a small moan out of you, cock nudging the little spot inside you that makes your head spin.

“M’ gonna go a little faster now ok?” You nod your head, moaning loudly when the stretch starts to morph into something different. Steve’s fingers were lovely but having his cock in you makes you feel so full.

He fucks you like this for a while, the drag of his cock inside you rewiring your brain as you lay there. He draws moan after moan out of you as his thick cock nudges at your cervix, begging to paint the inside of you.

He stops right as you're at the edge of your second orgasm, a long whine leaving your lips as he gets off the bed. He grabs your ankle, pulling you to the edge and ushering you to get on your knees. You do as you're instructed and get on your knees in front of him, spreading your legs in order to present your pussy to him.

You feel him guide the tip to your hole, pushing in slowly. You moan the loudest you have, the new angle hitting a spot he had yet to reach.

“Play with yourself,” he grunts. You guide your hand to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves.

He fucks you with purpose, each slow thrust sending you into euphoria. You feel the same coil building in your belly, Steve’s cock and the pressure on your clit sending you towards the edge. You begin to rub yourself faster, moans becoming louder as you near your release.

“M’ gonna come,” you state, Steve chuckling as he picks up the pace a little bit, he’s still moving slowly but the change of pace has your toes curling.

“Come on honey, come for me. I’m right there okay?” you nod dumbly. After several more thrusts you’ve reached your peak, loud moans filling the room as you ride out your release. Steve is groaning above you, his thrusts becoming erratic and out of rhythm. He finally buries himself to the hilt and comes deep inside you. He stays inside you for a moment, pulling out once his dick begins to soften. You drop to your belly before rolling over, Steve’s cum and your release dribbling out of your spent pussy.

“M gonna clean you up really quick, okay?” he says, backing up from the bed and towards the bathroom. He flashes you a quick smile before ducking through the threshold. You hear water running and moments later Steve reappears with a cloth to clean you up. He wipes at your center, making sure to collect as much cum as he can.

“There you go, now let's get you to the bathroom. Don’t wanna UTI,” he states seriously causing you to giggle. You reach your hand out to him, his clasping around yours, helping you out of the bed. You’re wobbly on your feet, the two orgasms leaving your legs like jelly. He helps steady you, hand holding yours tightly as you regain some strength.

You walk slowly, finally reaching the toilet and sitting down. It feels oddly domestic as you sit on the toilet. You watch Steve take his contacts out, limp cock swinging between his legs. You sit there for a minute watching him with an endeared look on your face. He gives himself a look in the mirror, fixing his hair before he retreats to the bedroom. He comes back moments later with a pair of boxers and a t- shirt in his hand.

“Got these for you, figured you’d want something comfortable to sleep in,” you smile at his words, shocked that he wanted you to stay the night after what had just happened.

“You want me to stay the night?” you question. Steve gives you a confused look, head cocking to the side.

“Yeah? Thought the whole “I fantasize about you” statement was pretty clear. I’m like head over heels for you,” he states matter-of-factly.

You take the clothes from him, finishing your business before standing up and changing. Steve sits on the edge of the bathtub, still naked, watching you.

You smile at him in the mirror as you pull the boxers up your legs. You pull the t-shirt over your head, turning to face him.

“Ready for bed?” You question. He nods his head following you back out into the bedroom, plopping down on the bed. Steve slips on his boxers before climbing into bed beside you.

“M’ really glad you decided to come back to college,” you say before giving him a sweet kiss.

“And I’m really glad chicks are into older guys,”

taglist<;3: @micheledawn1975 @hideoutside @lma1986 @amira0303 @sagelittleplace

#Steve x reader #Steve x you #Steve x y/n #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington fanficton #Steve Harrington series #Steve Harrington chapter #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington smut #Steve smut #Steve fluff #Steve angst #teddy eyes writes 🧚🏻‍♂️✨

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