#stranger things mixtape | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

Text

all mixed up

for @steddielovemonth prompt “love is the perfect mixtape’

rated t | 940 words | cw: brief mention of recreational drug use | tags: friends to lovers, getting together, love confessions, fluff

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

The silence in the car was stifling.

It was hot. Like, entirely too hot.

Steve was about five seconds away from taking his shirt off and dealing with Robin’s rolled eyes when Eddie, surprisingly, beat him to it.

The windows were down, but the radio was off, and sweat was dripping from every pore of their bodies onto the sticky leather seats of Steve’s car.

Eddie’s shirt was sitting on the seat next to him, and one of his hands was gathering his hair up so he could get some wind on his neck, not that the wind was any real help.

“What if we just all go to Robin’s?” Eddie asked when they were only a block away from her house. “Soak up some cool air.”

“Her parents are home,” Steve said for the fifth time.

“I don’t see the issue.”

“They think you were targeting me as the next victim,” Robin shook her head. “I don’t know how many times I’ve explained to them-“

“Fine!” Eddie said, too hot to bother listening or trying to argue. “But I swear we’re getting the AC in this car fixed tomorrow.”

“Oh, do you suddenly have $140?” Steve was met with silence. “Thought so.”

When Robin got out of the car, she slipped $20 into Steve’s hand. “For gas or AC, whatever.”

It was the first time Eddie had ever seen her give Steve any form of payment for rides, and probably the last going off of the way Steve’s entire face went from mildly uncomfortable to physical pain.

Eddie moved to the passenger seat and buckled up.

That was the biggest rule in Steve’s car: everyone wore seatbelts unless they were being chased by Upside Down creatures.

Steve backed out of the driveway once Robin was inside, and once again tried to flip the AC on.

Nothing.

“Why did this have to happen right before the hottest part of the year?” Eddie groaned.

“Just lucky,” Steve shrugged.

He should’ve taken his shirt off when he was in Robin’s driveway.

He pretended not to be distracted by the sweat glistening on Eddie’s chest, his skin flush pink from the heat. Steve pretended to not notice his newest tattoo, a nail bat that could have been identical to Steve’s real one under his bed.

“Oh!” Eddie suddenly said, nearly making Steve slam on the brakes or steer off the road. Maybe both.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot,” Eddie started to say as he reached through the backpack he had on the floor at his feet. “I made a…ah-ha!”

He held up a small rectangle, beaming over at Steve, who was too focused on driving to really see what he was holding.

“Uh. What is it?” He asked.

“It’s a mixtape! You were complaining about the kids stealing all your tapes and I thought I could make one for you,” Eddie opened the cassette case and shoved the tape in the tape deck. “I fit as much of what I knew you had on here, but there are limits to my magic so-“

“You seriously made me a mixtape of a bunch of pop songs?” Steve rolled to a stop at a stop sign, finally able to properly look over at Eddie.

He was pulling a lock of hair into his mouth, nervously looking back at Steve like he was unsure he’d done the right thing, like this was a test he hadn’t studied for and had a big chance of failing.

“I mean, I did throw in one of my favorite songs halfway to shake things up,” Eddie said nervously.

“You recorded fucking Blondie on a tape for me?” Steve asked incredulously.

“One song is Blondie, but-“

“And Tears for Fears?” Steve was still stopped in the road.

Eddie glanced behind them, ignoring the squeak of his slick skin rubbing against the seat. No cars, thankfully.

“Yeah, they’re on there.”

Steve put the car in park.

“Steve, you’re in the road, you can’t-“

“Shut up!” Steve turned completely towards Eddie, his face serious. “You made me a mixtape.”

“Yes and now I’m regretting mentioning it while you were driving.” Duran, Duran started playing and Steve let out a small gasp. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Do you remember when you told me that music was your love language? We were high and you said that you would give the person you love a mixtape to show you cared about them?”

He did say that. It was well over a month ago, when he and Steve had been sitting on his roof smoking, when Eddie had almost told him then how much he loved him. He’d held back, but barely.

“I…yeah, I remember.”

“And you made me a mixtape.”

“I did.”

“Eddie…”

“Steve…”

“Is this you telling me you love me?”

It wasn’t. Not intentionally. Not really.

But as expected, Steve saw through him, had a memory like a steel trap despite how many times he’d had his lights knocked out.

“You love me.”

Eddie was desperate to touch him, but the reminder of how hot it was, how much sweat was dripping off of him made him pause.

“When we get to your house, I’ll tell you.”

“What? Why not now?” Steve pouted.

Eddie fell harder.

“Because if I kiss you in this car, I’ll be mad about suffering in the heat longer. You have a house with AC and a cold shower." Eddie poked Steve's bottom lip back in. "I can show you if you hurry."

Steve took the car out of park and hit the gas, his perfect mixtape playing on the radio and Eddie laughing in the passenger seat.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is the perfect mixtape #friends to lovers #getting together #love confessions #fluff

320 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 3 months

Text

Devotion in the Way We Sway

Rating: General CW: Brief reference to sex, but nothing is shown and it's very vague Tags: Established Relationship, Jazz Music as a Plot Device, Slow Dancing, Love Confessions, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is the perfect mixtape."

💕—————💕

He found it while cleaning up the coffee table one evening.

The night had been long and lively. Their friends sharing the space, passing around boxes of pizza, huddled in close, watching a movie and cuddling. There were card games and charades. Raucous laughter. God, there was so much laughter, Steve hadn’t heard anything more delightful. It was chilly beyond the front door, but in the couple hours they were together, everybody’s chests were warm.

And yet, it had to end. Steve gave everybody extensive goodbyes. A warm hand on a shoulder or a tight embrace. Little teasing remark there, something sentimental and on the verge of tears here. Then, he retired back to the living room, garbage bag in hand, tossing what he thought needed to be thrown out.

Beer cans. Soda, half drank. Couple loose Redvine straws. Some sticky globs of slightly melted Junior Mints. The pizza boxes, of course. Bags from breadsticks. Red Solo cups.

But as he passed by the coffee table, bag still in hand, aiming for the front door and down his porch steps and over to the garbage bin at the end of the driveway—there was a little shiny, plastic thing sitting on the surface. He picked it up, recognizing it straight away as a cassette case. And pocketed it. He’ll take a look back upstairs.

And he nearly forgot about it until it clattered to his bedroom carpet, a soft thud. He picked it up once more, twirling it between his fingers. There wasn’t an album card. It was one of those covers for a homemade mixtape, Steve’s known plenty of those placards. Usually, they’d have some sort of name written in sloppy Sharpie. Something like: To My Love, or, For My Sweetheart.

This one didn’t. Which he thought was odd. But further investigation revealed a little scratchy line of text: S Jazz Comp (1).

He recognized it as Eddie’s handwriting. Though, it was still a rather unusual thing. It’s jazz, first of all. And, sure, Eddie’s a music guy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s also into jazz or contemporary or funk or whatever. He’s typically rock or nothing kinda guy.

So, of course Steve is curious beyond comprehension. He drifts back down the stairs, pajamas on, freshly showered. And stands in front of his parents’ sound system. He pops the tape in, gently spins the volume dial. Stands back from the speakers, plops down onto the carpet, and waits for the sound to hit his ears.

The first voices, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, flit to his ears. It’s their rendition of “Cheek to Cheek”. He knows this, he’s heard it before. In fact, he’d told Eddie about it. About the first school dance he’d gone to, barely twelve years old, dressed up in a little suit and tie, but no date. He’d been a wallflower. A sorry cup of sticky, all too sweet punch in his grip. Scuffing his shoes against the waxed gymnasium floor, eyes wandering the crowds of other school kids, all of them smiling softly, twirling in each other’s arms, them laughing. He didn’t like being alone. But the music was enough to satisfy him. He swayed where he stood, eyes pierced to the swirl of his juice. It danced with him. It was romantic, nearly. He was satisfied, he still went home happier than when he arrived.

Eddie promised after the story was told, “We’ll dance to it. I’ll find a way to get that song, and we’ll dance to it.” He brushed his palm over the side of Steve’s head, humming something familiar in his chest, and had easily lulled Steve to sleep. All their promises seem to be made in the dark of each other’s bedrooms, right before they drift away, right when they’re the most vulnerable they can possibly be outside of having sex. He preens at the thought that Eddie remembered. They’ve only been together for a handful of months, and he remembered.

The next song starts. Etta James’, “A Sunday Kind of Love”.

Now, this one was just in passing. They walked past a record store on a day trip in Indianapolis. Seems like their day trips always land there. Steve heard the song playing from the entrance of the store. Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in him, but he was immediately drawn to it. To the soft instrumental. Etta’s crooning, beautiful as a lake voice. He prevented himself from going in, from buying the song for himself. Prevented his innate urge to sway on the spots. Just patted Eddie on the shoulder, as much contact that wouldn’t be considered suspicious, and told, “I wish we could dance right now.” And kept on walking, leaving Eddie rooted to the spot outside the record shop.

Okay, so the ’S’ on the title of this tape is beginning to make sense. They’re songs that Eddie’s gathered because of Steve. They’re Steve songs. They’re jazz Steve songs.

He wants to cry. Wants to roll around on the floor. Kinda wants to do a few laps around his house.

Just as he gets up to do so, to expel some of the manic energy that’s overcome him, a knock sounds on the door. He doesn’t bother turning the tape off. There’s an easy excuse: “Oh, just going through my mom’s record collection.” But finds that he doesn’t need to explain himself, at least not completely, it’s Eddie on his porch stoop.

The door opens wider, letting Eddie slip through without words. Yet, when it clicks softly back into place and Steve turns around, Eddie is just standing in the foyer. Standing, hands fluttering at his sides, eyes soft and wide, mouth slightly agape. He stutters, “You—You, uh, you found the tape?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I was cleaning up. It was on the coffee table. Got curious.” He steps into Eddie’s space. Leaving barely a few inches between them. “I didn’t think you remembered,” he whispers.

Eddie guffaws. “You think I wouldn’t?” He asks, wounded. “Think I wouldn’t remember all the times you told me you just wanted to dance? Baby, that hurts,” he states. It’s not genuine hurt, Steve knows this, but it stings a little all the same.

Song switching again—“P.S. I Love You” by Billie Holiday—Steve sways a little closer. “Maybe instead of remembering, we could…actually do some dancing?” He offers, hand already inching to Eddie’s right shoulder blade. He’s not the best at asking people to dance with him, he gets a little awkward, a little clammy. But his sentiments are the same.

His face must be doing something funny, something wonderful. Eddie looks at him in gentle adoration, eyes glistening, relaxed smile. A hand lands on his right side. Fingers rubbing slightly over Steve’s t-shirt. And, for a moment, Steve realizes he must be especially goofy. In his baby blue plaid pajama pants, barefoot against the carpet, a ratty Hawkins High P.E. t-shirt. Hair soft and free of product. In comparison to Eddie’s frizzy hair and his dark blue jeans, a flannel thrown over a black undershirt, his scuffed Reeboks.

The contrast shouldn’t make Steve weak in the knees, but he finds himself collapsing into Eddie’s careful embrace easy enough. They step in tandem. Knees nearly knocking each other. Their free hands grasping to one another, Steve’s arm wrapped under Eddie’s armpit, Eddie’s hand still soft on his waist.

Eddie positively glows in the pale amber light of the foyer. Smile soft, still. He’s all soft. He’s gentle and quiet and wonderful. He’s leaning a little bit closer, whispering against the shell of Steve’s ear, “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

Steve lolls his head into Eddie’s left shoulder. He chuckles. “Never danced before,” he admits shyly. “I skipped prom, y’know?”

“Really? Figured you’d do it at least once,” Eddie breathes. He sets his own head against Steve’s. Leaning into one another.

Shaking his head, Steve states, “I’m a bad dancer. It’s my least charming attribute.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Eddie chuckles. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.” He goes quiet for a little bit. Melting into the dance, relaxing against Steve just as Steve relaxes against Eddie. They’re boneless to one another. “What d’ya think of the tape?” He hesitantly asks.

“I like it so far,” Steve answers.

And then they go quiet again. Really letting the music drench their skin. He’s content in the moment. Drawn into Eddie’s embrace. If you had asked Steve of several years ago about his future, he’d probably say something stupid like working for his dad. Maybe getting married to a girl, settling down. As if he isn’t freshly twenty. But, he likes the—favors the—detour his path took. Eddie Munson is a hopeless romantic, much to his surprise. He’s warm and gentle when he wants to be. His fingers know how to soothe the aches in Steve’s coiled tight soul. Brushing his skin with his fingertips, squeezing his waist. Humming in Steve’s close ear.

The song shifts. This time, it’s “I Love My Baby” by Nina Simone. Yet, instead of her voice through the speakers, it’s Eddie’s slightly rough, deep voice. His low timber, as if he recorded this laying in bed, middle of the night. As if he sang into his tape recorder between nightmares, trying to find the come down. As if he sang because all he could think about, as Steve likes to think about, the warm embrace they share.

Eddie tenses slightly in Steve’s hold. But Steve only squeezes in tighter. Shifting his head against Eddie’s shoulder, kissing the joint through the flannel. He sighs, “You must really like me.”

“Hm?” Eddie squeak-hums.

“You must really like me,” Steve reiterates. “Y’know, to sing for me?” He sighs again. “Must love me.” There’s only an ounce of insecurity to his voice.

But Eddie susses it out. Because of course he does. Because some days, when Steve gets too deep in his own conscious, Eddie knows him better. “Yeah, baby, I really do. Love you, I mean,” he whispers. They sway for a few beats more. Before, abruptly, Eddie states, “I used to hate the idea of marriage.”

“What?” Steve finds himself laughing out. Out of nerves, mostly. Out of humor from the extreme change in subject. “What are you—“

“My parents, their marriage sucked,” Eddie speeds through. His voice only a hushed thing. Almost tiptoeing, pulling apart Steve’s brain to see if what he’s saying is okay. It is, of course it is, but Steve fills with sadness still. “It sucked. They were awful together. But I—Despite that, some days I think marriage is nice.”

Steve presses his cheek against Eddie’s. His rough stubble scratching Steve’s freshly shaven jawline. “Why’s that?” He finds himself breathing. “Feel like that would be your nightmare,” he explains a little, “the conformity of it, or whatever.”

Eddie chuckles lightly. “You’re right a little bit. Maybe I don’t like the idea of spending too much money on basically just the paper to admit my love. But…With the right person, I could be convinced.” He turns his head, pecking Steve’s cheek. Resting back into their swaying hold, he whispers, “With you, I’m convinced.”

He can’t help it, the tears that sting the corners of his eyes. The lump that he has to swallow past in his throat. He clears around it, croaking, “Really?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah,” he easily whispers. “If we could, right now, I’d marry you in a fucking heartbeat, Stevie. It’s—“ He laughs at himself. His little condescending, self-deprecating one. One that crumbles Steve a little every time he does it. “It’s stupid early for that kinda thing, I know that,” he breathes. “I know that, but I—God, Steve. With you, something’s different. You feel like…You’re love personified, I don’t know.

“Am I fucking everything up? Please—Actually, don’t tell me. Just dance.”

With every fiber in Steve’s body, he wishes they could meld souls or something. He can’t get any closer in this hold, there’s no more places to be pressed, but if he could reach out and massage Eddie’s soul, he would. By God, he would.

He sniffles something wet and that’s when Eddie pulls away. But before he can ask anything, Steve is setting both of his hands on Eddie’s cheeks, pulling him in. Pulling him in close, enough that when their lips meet, his nose plunges into Eddie’s skin, popping it, smashing it into oblivion. He kisses with fervor, yet holding him gently. He may break with the sentiment.

Eddie’s own hands come up, one over Steve’s right, the other caressing the back of his head. He responds, he always responds. But when he pulls away, “You’re crying,” he utters, “Baby, why—You’re crying.”

“Happy tears,” Steve chokes, “Eddie, god, they’re so fucking happy.”

In return, Eddie can only smile. He pecks the tip of Steve’s nose. His thumb sweeps over Steve’s skin. His right hand tangles into his hair. “I want everything with you,” he whispers, “I want it all, sweetheart. You make me so fucking happy.”

Later, when they’re tangled in bed—sweat drenched, cooling on the sheet, passionate with hickeys to show for it—Eddie holds Steve to his torso. Laying him over the length of it. Their hearts rabbit against each other. A hand runs soothingly over Steve’s back. Another scratches at his scalp. “The mixtape,” he starts. “What’d you really think of it?” The insecurity is gone from his voice. Lost somewhere between the last dance and clothes being peeled.

Steve’s fingers sketch the outline of Eddie’s scars. He sighs in contentment. “It’s perfect,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.” And he kisses Eddie’s chest, his pulse hot and fast over Steve’s lips. “At Last”, Etta once more, flitters from downstairs.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 8 #the perfect mixtape #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #jazz as a plot device lmao

156 notes · View notes

livsmessydoodles · 2 years

Text

sorry cant stop thinking about will getting vecna'd

5K notes · View notes

squirrelcatisnotcat · 1 year

Text

Ronance Mixtape (8/20/22)

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #ronance #robin x nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #mixtape

503 notes · View notes

yudol-skorbi · 2 years

Text

just assume that every vampire steddy thing i do was somehow inspired by that one fanfic i mentioned

#steddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson's vampire mixtape #art #fanart #sketch

2K notes · View notes

redbelles · 2 years

Photo

Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me, ooh

CHRISSY APPRECIATION DAY ↳ hellcheer edition ♡

2K notes · View notes

medusapelagia · 29 days

Text

Second Chances Mixtape

I have joined custody of the boys with @maikaartwork… but I missed having a pic of little Steve so I commissioned one!

This is a scene from the second chapter of my fic that I was deeply in love with and Morgan did such a wonderful job that I couldn't wait to share it!

It's so detailed and I love it so much!

Please meet: Eddie, little Steve, and Rocket!

Read it on AO3

#stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #medusapelagia #medusapelagia fanfic #maika art work #my fanfic #Steve Harrington #stranger things fanfic #Second Chances Mixtape #steddie #eddie munson

65 notes · View notes

frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 11 months

Text

i'm outta my head over you (Pt. 2)

Prologue (Pt. 1) | On AO3 here: i'm outta my head over you | the playlist

Pt 2 to my @steddie-week 2023 entry! this is really the 'first day' entry, but pt. 1 is the prologue :P

today's prompt is: pining

Eddie takes his time after Robin leaves. Finishing the cigarette she made him put out and doing his best to focus on the tune he was expirimenting with on his acoustic before he was interrupted. The curiosity gets the best of him though (of course) and he sets his guitar back down, picking up the papers Robin had handed to him.

He starts to read what he had (correctly) thought was a tracklist.

'Heartbeat? Okay, so it's a sappy love playlist.' He thinks to himself. "The hell's that got to do with me?" he asks aloud to no one.

There's a slightly lighter colored scrawl of "Dustin doctor FRIDAY at 3" written into the top margin of this scanned page, like someone had used a different color pen than the rest of the book, and continuing on--

Oh fuck.

Oh shit.

Eddie reads the first sentence, and he suddenly feels like he's going into cardiac arrest.

---------------

Looking back, Steve counts himself insanely lucky that it was Nancy he was dating when he first really noticed Eddie Munson.

Of course, he’d noticed the older boy before, it was hard not to, but the first time he really looked at him, really saw him…he wanted to throw up.

He was actually really pretty. Wait, can a guy be pretty? It doesn’t matter. Eddie is.

His hair is dark and curly, some curls licking down his face and swirling over his cheekbones, some curling up behind his ears. If it was straight, his hair would definitely look like an overgrown bowlcut. Fuck, it looked soft.

Eddie’s a year above him, a Senior, so it kind of makes sense that he’s a bit broader than Steve is..wait, is he? Or is it just that vest he’s wearing, making him look bigger…

His eyes are dark, brows furrowed, lips yanked back in a snarl–oh yeah, he was in the middle of telling someone off. That’s what called Steve’s attention to him.

“Steve? Are you okay?”

He wrenches his eyes from the side of Eddie’s face to look down at Nancy. He locks eyes with her and was when he noticed how hard his heart was beating.

That, and the fact her eyes were the wrong color.

‘Wrong color?? The hell? They’re blue, they’ve always been blue.’

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine Nance.” Steve looks back up at Eddie. “He’s kinda scary isn’t he. Should I do something?”

“Steve–”

He doesn’t wait for her answer, and approaches Eddie and whoever it is that earned his tirade.

Steve pushes through the gathered crowd, right next to Eddie’s victim. “What’s happening here, guys?” Steve’s snarky ‘King Steve’ smile appears easily on his face, then he notices who he came in next to. “Tommy? What’re you doing man?”

“Oh you know, the usual.” Tommy’s grin makes Steve sick to his stomach. He looks away, down to the empty plastic fountain pop in his hand.

“The usual, huh?” Steve scoffs, turning to Eddie.

Mistake. Mistake!

Eddie’s dark eyes lock with his and Steve feels weak in the knees ‘ What the hell?? ’

“Welcome to the show, my liege!” Eddie bows low, and Steve sees the short kid that was hiding behind him. Must be a freshman, huge, panicked eyes stare at him under a mass of poofy curly hair (lighter than Eddie’s). An oversized red plaid flannel is resting on his shoulders, and a large dark stain coats his shirt beneath. Ah.

Eddie straightens, and the little freshman is obscured again. That’s when he realizes the denim vest Eddie is wearing is all he’s wearing above the waist. Steve’s stomach twists pleasantly at the sight of Eddie’s pale skin. ‘ What. The. Fuck. Don’t turn red, look away, look away!! ’

Steve locks eyes with Eddie once again, and it’s not much better. Fuck, those eyes…

What the hell is happening to him?? His heart’s beating like crazy. He glances over, and Nancy and her ginger friend with the glasses are watching, twin looks of panic and disgust on their faces.

“Munson here was just introducing me to one of our new little friends!” Tommy’s tone makes Steve’s stomach twist unpleasantly.

“Really Tommy, a freshman? How cliché can you get? Leave the kid alone, man.”

“Really Dude?” Tommy mocks, “What’s it to you? That girl’s making you slip, man.”

It’s not entirely false; it is true that Nancy’s made it easier to get out from behind his King Steve self more often than not, but there was always a part of him that wanted to be better.

Steve just shrugs. “No more messing with the freshmen, Tommy. Show’s over, assholes, get out of here!” he yells over the crowd as he turns his back on his friend’s(?) sputtering face. Facing Eddie again, he asks, “Sorry, Munson, your friend okay?”

Ugh. Even he cringes inwardly at how insincere that sounded. How’d that come out so wrong?

Eddie just gives him a look, and shakes his head, “C’mon Gareth,” he wraps a long arm around the kid behind him while still shielding him from view. “Our benevolent ruler has allowed us to leave unharmed; let’s abscond before he changes his mind.” Eddie shoots Steve another glare over his shoulder and disappears into the dispersing crowd of students.

Nancy and her friend stay behind. Barb. Her name is Barb.

Barb says something to Nancy, and when she nods in return, Barb leaves for her next class.

Nancy moves to step up to his side again, but he’s whirled around and Tommy’s in his face.

“What the fuck is your deal, Harrington?”

Steve shoves him back, “I already fuckin’ told you. Leave the freshmen alone.”

It’s not a lot, he knows Tommy’s going to over-correct and start berating the sophomore class relentlessly, but that kid looked so scared.. Fuck, he’s a coward.

“You’re going soft, Harrington.” Tommy shoulder checks him as he walks past him and past Nancy, who gives him a wide berth.

“Sorry, Nance.” he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

She levels him with a look. “What was with you and that senior?”

“Nothing, nothing!” he holds his hands up in surrender.

The look on her face says she doesn’t believe him.

Not that much longer after that, she knows he wasn’t telling the truth. After getting beaten up by Jonathan Byers, Barb going missing from his backyard, almost dying…his whole world being turned upside-down (hah), he deserves to tell someone the truth about his not crush on Eddie Munson…

He asks her “Munson’s pretty right? I mean, for a guy.”

“Do you think he’s pretty, Steve?” she asks in lieu of a response, soft tone and smile letting him know he’s okay to talk to her about it.

His stomach twists, he wants to throw up. He still really likes Nancy, still likes girls, why does he feel all gooey about a guy ? About Eddie ?

“I don’t know, Steve.” She says. Oh shit, he said that out loud. “But it’s okay that you do, you know. I won’t see you any differently.”

The knot in his stomach loosens slightly.

She looks down at her hands where they’re folded in her lap. “It’d be hypocritical of me if I did.”

Steve hugs her then. They stay together, they’re just fine…until they’re not.

They drift apart after that. They hang on for a while, they do care for each other afterall, but everything falls apart at that damn Halloween party.

Steve doesn’t blame her, not fully. Especially when he’s been not so subtly mooning after someone else (Nancy smiles knowingly at him every time she catches him staring at Eddie across the hall or across the cafeteria), and especially not after as much as she’s had to drink.

She’s right to call their relationship bullshit, even if it stings, because it kinda was. Him pining hopelessly after some guy, but still desperately trying to hold onto what he thinks he needs to do while doing so.

Trying to hold onto the future that he’s expected to have. A wife, a house with a picket fence, two kids. All that.

Nancy starts dating Jonathan, and Steve’s happy for them, really, but even he doesn’t know how okay he actually is until he’s jumped in Reefer Rick’s boathouse.

There’s a forearm across his chest, an elbow digging into his right shoulder, a hip pressed to his own, another face only inches away, and he’s head over fucking heels.

Those dark eyes that haunted him in the halls of Hawkins High are suddenly so close he can see just how rich a brown they really are, even around the sheer panic in their forefront.

The dark curls that Steve wanted to wrap around his fingers three years ago are longer, more full, down to Eddie’s shoulders now, though dirty and matted in some places from his time on the run.

If there wasn’t a broken glass bottle pressed to his neck right now, he’d be fully tempted to just plant one on the other man. Instead, Steve stays perfectly still, echoing anything Dustin says that might get the sharp glass away from his jugular.

Eddie’s eventually convinced to let Steve go, but somehow keeps hold of his heart. Metaphorically wrenching it from Steve’s chest and tucking it away into an inner pocket of his leather jacket.

‘This is the literal worst time for this shit, Harrington, pull yourself together.’ Steve chides himself as he catches his breath. ‘Save him. Get him out of this first, THEN you can worry about your feelings for him.’

Awesome, great plan.

---------------

Ok.

Yep.

This is a thing that is happening to him today.

The tape in his hand, the messy scrawled notes that were so lovingly delivered to him, were made by Steve "The Hair" Harrington about him, Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

He must've died back there in the upside down. This is not real.

How has Steve been pining for him for that long? Especially if that first entry is true, all the way back when now-about-to-go-into-Senior-year Gareth had just started at Hawkins High??

Eddie stops himself from reading the rest of Steve's (Steve's!!) handwriting to dash inside to the phone. The rest of this deserves to be read with the tape playing anyway.

First things first: "Robin! Birdie, Buckley, best woman in the world!" he yells, vibrating where he stands with the phone against his ear.

"Munson. To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asks, infuriatingly nonchalant.

"You know damn well why I'm calling. This is Steve's tape?" He's only slightly embarrassed by the anxious squeak that comes out of him when he says Steve's name.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Robin says, then promptly hangs up on him.

Part 3!

yes, i did in fact use my own handwriting as steve's :o)

#steddie #steddieweek2023 #steddie week 2023 #steve harrington #eddie munson #pining #mixtape #songfic #(kinda)#st #st fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #robin buckley #noelle writes

264 notes · View notes

ahhrenata · 1 year

Text

#he’s listening to Eddie’s mixtapes #or maybe eddie recorded himself playing some of Steve’s favorite songs #idk they’re cute #lol #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things art #Ross lynch showing up on my Pinterest dash was inspiring really #xuserann #crop top steve

661 notes · View notes

musicalchaos07 · 20 days

Text

Personally I think my most toxic fandom trait (that's reinforced by the moots) is that the second you refer to him as Jon I stop reading. Idk who that man is. Certainly not my beloved Jonathan Byers.

#i cannot break the habit #I'm so sorry #but not really #the boy does not go by Jon #and like the FUNNIEST part to me is CANONICALLY he has mixtapes that say J's mix #so like IF ANYTHING the nickname is J #... anyways new hc he tried to nickname himself J the first summer he worked at the Hawk bc all of coworkers were older #amd he wanted to look cool #(fucking loser)#<- affectionate #Jonathan is not immune to wanting to look cool when being introduced to the psychedelic furs for the first time #anyways I'm RAMBLING #jonathan byers #stranger things

36 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 1 year

Note

ohgodohgodohgod track 8 with eddie? something with him being like not totally subby but definitely leaning that way with his whimpering and begging etc etc?

Double Feature

Track 8: Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones - Give me a character and a NSFW prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

LOVE LOVE LOVE KINDA SUBBY EDDIE!! Hope I did this request justice, bestie!

📼✨ mixtape milestone ✨📼

Warnings: 18+ only!! Minors dni 😡, grinding, kinda subby eddie, kinda domme reader, language, eddie is NEEDY, and that's all I can think of! Let me know what y'all think my loves!

Eddie's trying to remember the name of the movie.

He's seen it before—a couple of times—something about some babysitters and a pair of tits and a guy with a knife. The tits were the real draw for about half of his watches, back before he at least looked old enough for the guy at the gas station to have plausible deniability when he sold Eddie dirty magazines.

But he's not thinking about dirty magazines. He's not thinking about babysitters or guys with knives or the name of this fucking movie his seen at least twenty times. All he can think about is the way your lips feel against his neck.

And, okay, Eddie put on a scary movie so you'd get all close to him. Of course. He's not a fucking idiot. But he was hoping for some minor-league shit—like your face smushed in his shoulder when the dead guy flopped out of the closet so he could sneak his arm around you and play the big, brave boyfriend type—and you're gunning for the world series.

Kissing so softly with all these barely-there touches. Fingers floating over his ribs, making quiet little moaning noises in his ear. The shift of your hips against his thigh and the way that skirt you're wearing rides up up up, showing off all that pretty skin you've been hiding.

You're gonna have him creaming in his jeans.

Eddie swallows against the trace of your mouth, clearing his throat a little, but his voice still breaks.

"Hey, it's- it's weird that they just like had a mask, you know, at a random hardware store. Do they really carry shit like that?"

You hum—not an answer to his question—pressing a wet kiss to his jaw, tongue between your lips. Hands wandering around his belt and your body warm enough to burn and . . . and your knee just brushes against the zipper of his jeans and the raging hard-on he's been trying to pray away for the last hour.

"Jesus," he whispers under his breath, "you gotta- you gotta stop doing that, baby."

“Why?”

There’s too much false innocence in your voice, breathy and quiet. It just makes him feel like more of a perv. Like the skirt and low-cut top weren't doing enough work in that department.

Eddie groans. “You gonna make me say it?”

Your lips part into a smile against the base of his throat. “I’d like it if you did.”

Fuck that. Of course he will, though.

“I can’t cum in my pants," Eddie admits through gritted teeth and burning cheeks, "I still gotta walk you home." You laugh a little when you pull back, eyes shining and unreadable. Eddie joins in, so obviously nervous for whatever you'll do next. Maybe that was too honest.

Nope. That's not it. Your palm comes down to cup his crotch, and you lean in to his chest until the pressure of your hand pulls a needy grunt from him that Eddie can't keep trapped behind his lips.

"Maybe I don't want to go home, Eddie."

God, it's got him seconds away from bursting—your tits smooshed against his chest and your nipples stiff enough he can feel them through your shirt—but it's the way you say his name that has him breathing so heavy. Has the sticky, wet patch on his boxers growing damp enough you can feel it through his jeans when you brush at the head of his cock with your thumb.

"You- you don't wanna go home?"

He's lagging, body way too attuned to your touch, and it's reduced his conversation skills to zero.

"Nope," you laugh. And then you're on him.

Eddie lets out a wild sound—an honest-to-god moan, loud enough for the neighbors to hear through their shitty tin walls—when your hand comes to cup under his jaw, a little forceful, your thumb digging into his jugular with bite. You press his head back, your lips hovering just out of reach.

He struggles to taste them from behind your hold, full of the same whiny moans he'd poured into his pillow every time he'd tugged at his dick thinking about a moment like this one.

Although he never imagined you on top. And he never thought he'd like it this much.

Eddie swallows, adam's apple jumping under the press of your palm. You gotta feel the way he wants you, the way he shakes like a chihuahua on speed with how bad he needs you to touch him, but he'll use his words.

"Please, baby."

Eddie catches a sliver of a smile on your face before you're kissing him, hot and wet and open-mouthed, your thumb tracing lines over his flushed neck and your hips pressing him into the cushions, rocking with these sharp thrusts that swallow his cock beneath your warm pussy and soft thighs.

It's nothing like the other times you kissed, but Eddie had initiated most of those—soft, silly things on your porch, or leaning over the console in his van. He never thought you'd want something like this. He never would have guessed that you were starving for him, too.

Eddie's hands grip tighter at your hips, keeping you close, pressing a hot, heavy palm against your back and tugging hard at the fabric.

"Fuck, baby," Eddie mumbles against your lips, "gonna, fuck— don't, don't wanna-"

He tries to keep you still, but he can't get a grip, hands totally useless while you grind down on him, merciless. Eddie gulps, wide-eyed and panicked as your tongue traces his jawline, puffy lips pressing softly against his.

"For me?"

Shit. Fuck. You've got him totally pussy-whipped already and he hasn't even seen it, got his dick obeying you like it's yours while he pumps load after load into his sticky, soaked boxers.

He cums loud and hard, muscles spasming and toes curling and your name on his lips. He'd be totally mortified, if you didn't look so fucking pleased.

Eddie's cock throbs uncomfortably, trapped in too-tight denim, his chest pounding, t-shirt damp and so sticky you might be able to see his heart beating if you looked close enough. And you still look like a goddess, perched over him, bracing yourself with your hands at his waist.

The room grows dark, and quiet. The credits are rolling. Eddie comes down to earth, catches his breath. Pets a hot hand over your thigh.

You rest against his chest, fingers twining with his. Eddie'll never get over the way your thumb strokes over the back of his rings.

"So . . . you wanna watch another one?"

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #my writing #requests #starlightsearches mixtape milestone 📼

213 notes · View notes