#Here’s how this means Eddie’s alive and he and will are about to be best friends forever:

[loveinhawkins]

”How do you do it?” Eddie asks.

The question slips out far too late at night, anxiety thrumming in his chest—he’s not escaped the feeling ever since the boathouse, when he simply couldn’t sleep, felt like a fox just waiting for hound dogs to get his scent, ready to run—

Steve doesn’t need him to explain further, as if he can somehow hear a whole lot of what Eddie’s not saying: like when he picked up the phone an hour ago and hadn’t even let Eddie tie himself in knots, had just said, so easily, “I’ll come get you,” like it wasn’t a huge inconvenience, like he’d been the one to call Eddie instead.

He’s considering Eddie from where he lies in bed, leaning on his elbow, and he’s still got the covers off pointedly—and that’s a big thing, Eddie thinks, a big thing he doesn’t know what to do with, because they’ve not talked, not really, not got much beyond the dizzying relief of still being alive.

But even fraught with profound lack of sleep, Eddie doesn’t think he’s misreading the look in Steve’s eyes.

I know, those eyes say, illuminated by the warm light of the bedside lamp. It’s okay, there’s no rush. I’m right here.

Eddie’s never seen that kind of look before. Not towards him.

“Sometimes Robin sleeps over,” Steve says thoughtfully. “And sometimes the kids are around, and they’re so annoying and I get, like, three hours, tops.” He says it with all the fondness in the world. “And sometimes I’m alone, and it’s fine.”

“What about the other times?” Eddie can’t help but whisper.

If it were a reasonable hour maybe he wouldn’t dare to ask at all, but exhaustion’s worn down the filter in his head—at this point it’s practically see-through.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, they’re shit,” he says with such honesty that Eddie nearly asks it again, how do you do it?

“But then it’s, like, a new day,” Steve says slowly, like he’s carefully weighing up what to say, “and I can… drive.” The pause tells Eddie he means go to someone. “Or, like… call, if it’s really bad.”

Hey, I’m glad you called, man, Steve had said when Eddie got into his car earlier, like they were just going to the movies or something normal—like Eddie wasn’t shaking, forehead pressed against the passenger window.

Eddie feels his throat close up a little. Tries to sniff as quietly as possible.

“Eddie,” Steve says patiently. He moves back in the bed. Gives Eddie space. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps the lamp on which helps; this isn’t the boathouse, Eddie thinks, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his body. Even that feels like a miracle.

He’s just resigning himself to lying there, staring up at the ceiling so at least Steve can get some rest, when Steve turns and catches his eye, still wide awake.

“Tell me about The Lord of the Rings,” Steve says.

The tightness in Eddie’s chest loosens; he laughs in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Eddie turns so he’s facing Steve properly, attempts a casual shrug, knowing already that it’ll be too rigid. “I don’t know, man. We, uh. We kinda lived through Mordor already.”

His hand twists in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had…

Steve’s hand reaches across, eases Eddie’s grip on the sheets, like he’s saying, neither did I. Just give it a shot.

“The shire, then,” Steve says.

Eddie smiles. “Steve Harrington,” he says, suddenly finding enough lightness to tease; he’s missed it. “Are you asking me for a bedtime story?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “We’re just gonna lie here and talk.”

And they do.

Steve asks questions which works out for the best—Eddie can’t quite remember the last time he read the books. To tell the truth, anything that happened before March often has a kind of fog over it.

He’s sure he’s dropped at least a couple of plot points somewhere along the way, but Steve never once complains that he’s not making sense, just gently prompts Eddie until… until…

“Mm, I know what you’re doing,” Eddie mumbles through a yawn that catches him unawares.

“Oh, do you now?” Steve says, sounding smug. God, Eddie loves him. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. His eyelids are heavy. “Um.” He yawns again. “Where… where was I?”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Steve says. It sounds like he’s smiling—Eddie would check, but it’s suddenly impossible to keep his eyes open.

It’s okay, he thinks hazily, melting into sleep without even thinking about it. He can ask Steve in the morning.

There’s no rush.

#on struggling with the aftermath #the trust in falling asleep in front of someone ❤️ #this may have a second part #a lil anxiety soothing stuff ❤️ #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Imagine pretty boy Steve trapped in a mirror for his vanity.

Except he grows as a person so much that his sole purpose becomes boosting self-esteem of everyone looking into the mirror (unless they're being an asshole in which case, bye any semblance of personal worth).

"Looking great, Dustin, go and get them! Oh wait, move your tie slightly to the left, that's it, good job buddy, go go go!"

"Seriously Robin, there's no way your lady isn't all over you the moment you step in that restaurant. Did you wear smudge-proof lipstick? Time to test it."

"No, Nance, it's not weird to ask your ex-boyfriend if you look presentable, I mean, who else is better qualified? Good choice of dress for the interview, you're going to ace it."

"El, it doesn't matter how long your hair is. Yeah, it was so pretty, but it will grow back. But you know what else? You have gorgeous eyes, a wonderful smile and the way you say "mouth-breather" is everything. As long as you have that smile you'll be the prettiest girl around, so don't you dare worry about it."

"Mike, stop looking like someone stepped in your birthday cake, you're a handsome young man and Will is going to love the new haircut. If I'm wrong, feel free to come back and spread mustard all over my frame, but I've yet to be wrong. Yeah, you're a bit of an asshole too, now go and get your boy!"

"Joyce, you're as beautiful as always, but from what I know about Hopper, he'd think you're the most beautiful person alive if you were wearing a potato sack. But this dress is perfect and you look so happy. I wish you all the best on your date!"

"Yeah Jason, looks aren't the issue here...nothing I can do to help you all the ugly stuff on the inside buddy. Sure, smash the mirror if you want - good luck by the way, it's fucking cursed for a reason - but that won't make the truth hurt less, huh?"

And then Eddie accidentally steps in front of him and Steve has never seen anyone so unaware of his own beauty. And Eddie seems to be the only one apart from Robin who realizes how lonely he sometimes gets so he often takes Steve with him no matter where he goes (the big van is handy) and Steve makes sure to shower him with compliments, gradually finding exactly the right doses and right words to make Eddie understand how special he is, how radiant his smile looks, how he's so animated when he talks about things he loves-

And on the day when Eddie looks into the mirror and finally sees himself just as Steve sees him, the mirror cracks and Steve falls out, disoriented and kind of terrified, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-?!

But Eddie just smiles at him and hugs him, the first human touch in such a long time it makes Steve tear up. "Finally!" exclaims Eddie and pulls him even closer. "No shame at all Stevie, but that frame was fucking heavy!"

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie au #stranger things #stranger things au

[rogueddie]

Nancys torn shirt was a poor excuse for a bandage and Steve should have changed it as soon as they got out of the Upside Down. He should have cleaned it, best he could, and rewrapped his sides in clean bandages.

But he didn't do that. He'd forgotten all about his injuries as soon as Nancys eyes rolled back in her head.

It didn't feel important after that. They had stopped hurting during the bike ride to Eddies. If the cloth tied around his waist wasn't covered in dry blood and rubbing uncomfortably against his skin anytime he moved, he would have forgotten all about the bites.

After losing Max... and Eddie... he couldn't bring himself to care. He was still on his feet. He still felt fine. He mostly felt guilty, still high on the adrenaline that always comes with a fight with the Upside Down.

It was Robin who told a nurse that Steve was also injured and needed seeing.

But the bites were... good. They were easy to clean and no where near as deep as Steve remembers them being.

"You're lucky here," the nurse told him. "You need to keep wounds clean, no matter how small. If these got infected, you could be in big trouble."

It was only a week later that he started to feel it. And he knew he should tell the others. Robin, Nancy, Will, anyone. He knows the signs. He knows what it could mean.

He feels cold.

There's a buzzing building in the back of his head.

The portals cutting through the town call to him.

He's hungry.

"I just don't feel well," he lies. "I'll sleep it off, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

He can hear Robin frowning through the phone. It almost makes him ache, knowing how much it must be upsetting her that he's drawing back.

"I'm sure," he says. "I'll call you, the second I feel better."

"Not good enough, Harrington. I want a call every single day, I don't care if you're too sick to talk. Breathe at me or something."

"I'll try." Another lie.

"I miss you, Stevie."

"Miss you too, Bobbie. So much."

He hangs up, and immediately wishes he hadn't.

There's a crack at the bottom of his pool. He can feel exactly where it leads and, without Robins voice in his ear tethering him, he can't think of a reason not to.

It's too tempting. Too easy.

Crawling into the Upside Down, all he feels is relief. It's like he can finally breathe again. The spores make his lungs finally feel clear.

"Wh- Steve?!" Someone yelps.

Sat at the edge of his pool, legs dangling off the edge and covered in blood-

"Eddie?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" He says, sliding down into the pool. The vines move to help him. "You gotta go back, man, you can't be here."

"You're alive?"

"Not really, but that's not important. Harrington, you have to leave. Whatever this hive shit wants you for, it's not good."

"Hive? What?"

"Yeah, the... Jesus, dude, what did you think was drawing you in here?"

"I don't know... I didn't really... I couldn't..."

"Hey, Steve, snap-"

Eddie steps forward, trying to scare Steve back by getting in his face, but he freezes mid sentence when they're barely a step apart.

Before Steve can ask, Eddie is pulling his head to the side by his hair, nose almost pressed to his neck. Sniffing him.

"What the hell?" Steve chokes out, once Eddie draws back.

He doesn't step back though, one hand still clutching his jacket and the other resting on the side of his neck. He looks scared.

"They weren't drawing you in. They were calling you home."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #unfinished

[appocalipse]

hello ♥ i'd like to request faded photograph + antique lock and key set with steve. maybe after what happened in s4 with steve and nancy and all that r decides to leave hawkins because she's sure he still loves nancy and she wants to move on? and if you want it could have a happy ending with one of those super cute love confessions ♥♥♥

ahhhh this is so steve! ♥ (also this is my version where eddie and max are alive and fine and hawkins is safe again)

visit amy's flea market ♥

"I need to tell you something."

Steve is not sure he likes the tone of your voice. It's somber, serious. His gut clenches, and for a brief moment, he scares himself with the thought that something might be wrong with you, something he might not be able to help with. 

And it's raining outside, for God's sake. It's never good news on a rainy day like this, is it?

"Everything... everything is fine?"

"Yeah. Yes, everything is...fine." 

You smile, but Steve notices it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

You look at him as if the words are stuck in your throat, as if they're heavy and you desperately want to get rid of them. 

Finally, you clear your throat. 

"I'm leaving."

Steve feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. "What?"

"I'm leaving. Hawkins, I mean. Tomorrow."

You shrug, as if you're not sure what else to do with your arms, and then you turn around and Steve can't even attempt to read your expressions anymore. 

He knows you've been thinking about college and your future, but he thought... well, he thought you'd stay. You'd told him months ago that you were actually planning to stay. And now...

Steve clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. And because he's sure this can't be happening, he double-checks, "For...for good?"

"Yeah. For good."

The silence between you feels like a living thing, thick and suffocating. Steve can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He wants to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. He's not sure if he's in shock or if he's just too stunned to form words.

"Why?" The question finally escapes him. "Why are you leaving?"

You turn back to him, and for a moment, Steve thinks he sees a glimmer of something in your eyes. Is it... sadness? Regret?

"I...I'm not sure, I guess," you say. "Just...why not?"

The words sound pathetic even to your own ears, but you can't help it. It's not like you don't love this place, this town, your friends... Steve. You do. You love it all.

Too much.

And it's different now. Hawkins is safe. The kids are safe. You're out of excuses to stay and get your heart broken a little further. It feels like it's time to move on, to leave behind the shadow of the Upside Down, to stop waiting for something to happen.

But Steve looks at you like you're making the biggest mistake of your life, and then he says the last words you'd expect him to say right now. "You want to leave and you don't even know why?"

It's not anger in his voice, but it's close. It's desperation and fear and a kind of raw pain that you'd expect to see in the eyes of someone who's just been told they have a terminal illness or something.

"I just..." you stammer, feeling the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. "I have to."

Steve shakes his head, looking as if he's trying to will you to stay. "You don't have to."

"Yes I do! In a way that you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!"

You're angry now, and a little hurt. All of your other friends supported your decision; Eddie, the kids. Nancy. And out of all of them, Steve is your best friend. Shouldn't he understand most of all?

"It's not that easy! You don't understand what it's like here! I can't...I can't just stay!"

Steve takes a step back, clearly hurt. "What do you mean I don't understand?"

"I mean..." You trail off, feeling helpless. 

What are you supposed to do? Tell him how you are such a coward you cannot stand to see him and Nancy find their way back to each other? 

"...doesn't matter," you murmur. "Doesn't matter. You'll be fine, okay? You have... everyone."

The words taste bitter in your mouth, and you can tell they're not sitting well with Steve. He looks at you like you've just slapped him, and you feel a pang of guilt. But what else can you do? You can't tell him the truth. You can't tell him that you're leaving because you're terrified of never getting over your stupid feelings for him, of watching him and Nancy falling in love with each other all over again.

You can't tell him that every time you think about it, you feel like you're drowning.

"Look," you say, forcing a smile, "it's not like I'm never coming back or anything. I'll...I'll visit. And...and I'll...call."

Steve doesn't return your smile. He just looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if he's trying to find something. Something that you've been keeping hidden. And then he shakes his head, and a small, sad smile finally tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You know what?" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe...maybe I should come with you."

You look at him, stunned. You hadn't even considered the possibility. Steve...leaving Hawkins? With you? It's a strange, surreal thought, and...no. Absolutely not. 

That would totally ruin your plan. 

"What?"

"Yeah," Steve says, surprising you again. "I mean...why not? It's not like I've got anything keeping me here. And maybe...maybe it'd be good for me to get away. You know? See something new, do something different."

He looks at you, hope in his eyes. And for a moment, you almost consider it. Almost. Because it's so much easier saying yes to Steve than saying no. You could be together, away from all the memories and the reminders of everything you've been through...but you'd still be just friends. 

He'd be with you everyday, and that's the last thing you need. 

You can't stand the thought of watching him find someone else, fall in love, and live happily ever after. Of course, you want him to have all of those things; you just don't want to watch.

Steve seems to sense your hesitation, his hope fading. 

"You don't want me in your life," it's not a question. 

You panic.

"No! I mean...I do, I..." You can feel the words tumbling out of you before you even realize what you're saying. "You just..."

"Is that why you want me to stay here? Just so you don't have to deal with me anymore?"

"No!" You shake your head violently. "Of course not! That's not it at all!"

But the words feel hollow, even to you. Because in some twisted, secret part of your mind, that's exactly how you feel. You want him to stay here, where it's safe, where he can't get close to you, where he can't hurt you. You know it's selfish, but you can't help it.

Steve's expression softens, and he takes a step closer. "Be honest with me."

You make an effort not to move.

"I'm sorry," you manage to say, your voice barely audible. "I don't want you to come with me, but it's not because...I just...I don't think it's a good idea. It'd be better for you to stay here, where you belong. You deserve...you deserve to be happy. Your life is here, your job...she is here."

"She?"

"Nance."

Steve's face twists into a bitter grimace. "What does Nancy have to do with anything?"

"I just mean...well, c'mon, she was your first love, and you still love her, it's clear, a-and now she's single again-"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on a second here," Steve says, his voice suddenly raised. "Nancy? You think I'm still in love with Nancy? You're kidding, right?"

You blink, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. But Steve has always been…protective of his feelings, refusing to really understand them. You had seen how he and Nance looked at each other when no one was around, how he would light up whenever she was near...even when you were in the Upside Down, fighting for your lives, Steve's eyes would sometimes drift towards Nancy, his expression softening. 

It's obvious to you.

"Forget it," you say. "It's none of my business, I just...I want you to be happy."

"I am happy," Steve says, his voice low. "I'm happy with you here."

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. You want to say something, to apologize or explain or reassure...but you can't find the words, and with the way Steve is looking at you now, you're not even sure what it is you want to say anymore.

"Steve," you murmur in a small, quiet voice, your heart feeling like it's tearing in two.

He takes another step closer, and you feel your heart start to race. He cups your face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm, and leans in until his breath is warm against your lips. "Don't go anywhere," he asks.

Right this moment, you're not entirely sure you'd be able to if you tried.

Your feelings are confused enough. Being this close doesn't help. 

"Steve," his name rolling off your tongue is somewhere between a plea and a warning as you look up into his eyes, chest heaving. You tell yourself you want to pull away, that you simply can't find the strength.

"You really think that?" he whispers. "You really think I'm still in love with her?"

His hands are still cupping your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his lips part, and he slowly leans in, closer, until his nose is almost touching yours. 

You fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt, trying to will yourself not to give in to this, to not feel this way, to not want this. "Please don't," you manage to choke out. "Don't do this."

His lips brush against yours, soft and hesitant. "Don't do what?" he whispers against your mouth. "Don't love you?"

"Steve." Desperation. Feels like the world is spinning out of control.

He pulls back, eyes searching yours. "What do you want me to do?"

Your throat feels tight. "Don't do this," you manage to whisper. "Don't choose me because you think I'm a consolation prize."

He frowns, confusion flitting across his features. "What are you talking about?"

You swallow hard, feeling the tears burning at the back of your eyes. "I don't want you to do this just because you don't want me to leave, or because you're lonely, or-"

Steve cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. "I know that's not true, and you know that's not true," he says, his voice soft. "But if it's what you need to hear..." 

He kisses you properly this time.

It's the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl, your heart skip a beat, and your stomach flip-flop. It's the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless, and a little dizzy, and more than a little bit in love.  It's the kind of kiss that tells you, without a single word being spoken, that you are wanted, and cherished, and loved.

"Do you feel like a consolation prize when I do this?" he whispers against your lips. And he kisses you again, slowly, his weight pressing you against the wall. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his muscles beneath your fingertips. "Or when I do this?"

He trails his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of tiny kisses behind. You sigh, arching into him, and he chuckles softly. 

"Steve..."

"Or this?"

He pulls back slightly, cupping your face with his hands, looking into your eyes as he trails his thumbs across your cheekbones. The softness of his touch catches you off guard. His gaze is intense, searching, and you feel like maybe he can see something there that no one else ever could. 

"Do you really feel like a consolation prize?" Steve gently brushes his nose against yours. He smiles. "Because if you do..." He leans in, lips parting just enough for his breath to tease across your skin. "...I'll prove you wrong."

"Actually," you smile, feeling the warmth spread from your chest up to your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his neck. "I think I might need some more... convincing."

Steve grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, then." He leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. "I guess that's what I'll have to do."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble #🏷️ amy's flea market #amy's flea market

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Into You

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You've been pining for your brother's best friend for a while. When he stops over and no one else is home, you decide it's time to finally make a move.

18+ Only

“Hey princess Harrington. Where’s your brother?”

You pulled your sunglasses down, resting them on the tip of your nose, to find your favorite metalhead grinning at you. Still rocking jeans even though it was ninety degrees because he couldn’t tarnish that image he’d worked so hard to build. The gray tee he was wearing was fitted, the material thin, not leaving much to the imagination. He was filling that shirt out, even with his lean frame, that slim waist. It was as if the shirt was just a thin mask hiding everything you’d fantasized of so many nights while alone in your bed, fingers buried deep within you, whimpering his name into your pillow. 

Eddie Munson had been tormenting your thoughts for the past three years, ever since he’d become friends with your brother, Steve. You’d been away at college and when you came home to find this long-haired, doe-eyed, rockstar in denim and leather standing in your parents house, looking entirely out of place, an insistent pulsing had begun between your legs that had yet to cease. 

It was like a fire was kindled inside of you, a fire that only burned brighter with each interaction, until it was a raging inferno that threatened to consume you. You would do anything to be close to him. You craved him like a goddamn drug. Every part of you ached with it. The mix of longing and desire that had been torturing you for years was making you insane and maybe, given this opportunity, it was finally time to do something about it. 

You leaned back on the pool lounger, raising one arm above your head, flashing him a smile. You were glad you’d decided to wear your little red bikini today instead of that horrid tropical print one piece your mom had bought for you. You didn’t miss how his eyes roamed from your head to your little purple painted toenails. 

“He’s not here,” you told him. “In fact, nobody’s here but me for the whole day. I’m all by me lonesome.”

“Oh poor you,” Eddie mused, his tongue slipping between his teeth to run over his bottom lip. “I am sure you’re hating having this big ass house all to yourself.”

“I’m quite good at keeping myself amused. But, there is something I can’t do all by myself.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” His head tilted to the side, lips curving up on one side with amusement.

“I can’t get the suntan lotion on my back,” you pouted. “Do you think you could help me out? I mean, you wouldn’t want me to burn out here in this hot sun, would you?”

“No, we can’t have that,” Eddie chuckled, taking the bottle you were holding out. “Sit up for me princess so I can reach.”

You leaned forward, sliding yourself along the lounger. Eddie swung one leg over, sitting directly behind you. Grabbing your hair in your fist, you draped it over your shoulder. The sound of the lotion squirting into his hand had you quivering with anticipation already, eager for those hands to be on your skin. 

“Here?” he asked, rough fingertips roaming along your upper back, between your shoulder blades, thumbs digging into the flesh, pressing deliciously into tense muscles. 

“Mmmhmm…” you murmured, your body vibrating with desire. “Lower too…”

His hands ran over your skin, leaving a trail of flame everywhere he touched. Fingers danced along the top of your bikini bottom and your hips rolled, your clit pressing against the tightly thatched material, the sensation causing a small moan to fall, unbidden, from your lips. 

“Damn sweetheart, when you make such pretty sounds just from me touching your back, it makes me wonder what other sounds I can get you to make.”

“Yes,” you gasped, every part of you alive with energy, ready to burst out of your skin. You needed him to keep touching you. You felt you would spontaneously combust if he stopped. 

“M’kay,” he rumbled, his voice deep and rough against your ear as those fingers trailed along your spine, slipping beneath the strap of your bikini top. 

Your heart rate accelerated, pounding incessantly in your chest, so loud you were sure the whole town could hear it. His fingers moved along your ribs, tracing the string of your bikini to the front. Your face was hot, breathing quick and shallow, the lightest touch enough to take your breath away. 

Then his hands slid under the triangles of your bikini, covering your breasts and you collapsed back against him, moaning soft and low. His fingers pinched and rolled, teasing your nipples into hard peaks of desire, your center pulsing with hunger, craving to get the same treatment. Your back arched, pressing against him and Eddie chuckled roughly. 

“Mmm, such a needy little baby, aren’t we?” he teased, squeezing and kneading the flesh of your breasts. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Let’s see what other sounds we can get you to make.”

Warm flesh and cool metal wound around your throat, pulling your head back even further. His lips latched onto your neck, suckling just over your pulse point. Your hips rocked, needy, wanting, made even worse when your grinding forced a growl from the hard body behind you, his teeth raking over the tender flesh. 

Keeping a grip on your throat, his other hand roamed along your stomach, fingers teasing just above the top of your bikini bottom. You lifted your hips, yearning for him to touch you the way you’d always fantasized about. You could feel his grin against the skin of your shoulder as he slipped two fingers underneath the fabric, moving achingly slow toward where you need him most.

“So eager. If I would have known you wanted it this bad, I would have given it to you long before now,” Eddie rasped. Slipping through your slick, he moaned. “Fuck me. You’re always so damn wet.”

You wailed when his thumb brushed over your clit. He teased it as his tongue played along your ear. Keeping his thumb on your clit, two thick fingers slipped inside of you, stretching you out, bringing you to levels of pleasure you didn’t know existed. Your body instantly responded, grinding your hips up and against his hand, seeking out the relief it so desperately needed.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” he murmured, nose brushing along your neck, shivers racing along your spine. “Can’t wait to have that tight little pussy around my cock. You want that?”

“Mmmhmm…” you whimpered, gasping when his fingers spread apart, scissoring within you, stretching you out even further as if he were prepping you. 

“Gonna need to hear the words, princess. Come on. Tell me what you want.”

“I…want…fuuucckk….I want you to fuck me…” you mewled, rocking your head, hair plastered to your head as Eddie curled his fingers, reaching that spot that had you seeing white. Your eyes rolled back, short, hard breaths pounding in your chest as the roller coaster that was your orgasm started cresting the hill, prepared to drop you in a rush of pleasure. 

“Of course you do, dirty little thing,” he rasped. “You been dreaming about this, sweetheart? Thinking about my cock? My fingers?”

“Yes,” you cried, your stomach knotting, muscles tensing. You could feel the blood racing through your veins. Your skin felt electric, alive. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…”

“You should have something. I’m always happy to help a lady in need.” Your walls clenched around his fingers, your body vibrating, on the verge of release. “Oh, you gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna cum all over my fingers?”

“Oh shit…oh fuck…oh god…Eddie…” you whimpered, hips rocking against his hand with abandon. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Turn your head for me. I wanna see your face when I give you the best orgasm you ever had.”

Your head rolled, obeying his command, willing to give him anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop. You were so close. That roller coaster was tipping over the edge. Your hands grabbed onto his arms, gripping hard as you screamed, your entire body tensing before collapsing into a puddle against him. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, slowly removing his fingers from inside you. He brought them to his mouth, sucking your pleasure from them. “Mmm…you taste so good, sweetheart. I’m going to need to bury my face between those thighs sometime.”

Just like that, your thighs pressed together, your center already aching again just at his words. Eddie stood up from the lounger, hands coming to his belt, unfastening it and undoing the button. He slid the zipper down and pushed his boxers and his pants just down off his hips. Taking your hand, he helped you to your feet and then laid down, opening his arms wide. 

“You want my cock? It’s yours for the taking, princess. Show me how badly you need it.”

You slipped your bottoms off and straddled his hips, struggling to process that this was all happening and not just another of your delusional fantasies. You were actually getting what you wanted, what you’d been craving. Eddie Munson had gotten you off and it had been even better than you’d imagined and now you were going to ride him like a fucking pony. 

He held his cock in his hand as you slowly lowered yourself over top of him. He was thick, stretching you wide with each inch and you took in a bit at a time until he bottomed out, your ass snuggled against his thighs. You placed your hands on his chest, eyes slipping closed, just savoring the feel of him inside you. 

“Jesus Christ…I knew you’d feel fucking amazing,” he groaned, his hands running along your thighs to grip your hips. “Come on, sweetheart. Fuck me the way you’ve fantasized about.”

“Oh, I’ve fantasized about fucking you every way possible. Most of the time it’s you fucking me.”

“Mmm…we’ll get there. I will fuck you every goddamn way you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Eddie,” you grunted as you began to rock your hips, each forward motion grinding your clit against his pelvis, drawing a moan from you. 

“Shit…” he groaned, fingers pressing into your skin as his eyes devoured the sight of you fucking him, taking charge of your own pleasure. “I will keep this one.” His hands slipped along your body, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Fuck baby. These are the most perfect damn tits I’ve ever seen. Always figured they would be. Easy enough to tell when you prance around in those…ahh…” He paused, teeth clenching as you switched up the motion, your hips rolling in circles. “When you prance around in those tight little tops but they’re even better than I imagined.”

“You imagined me?” you choked out, slipping your hands under his shirt, tracing your fingers over his lean frame, his belly that was thin but still soft, that soft strip of hair along his pelvis. 

“Fuck yes. You think you’re the only one who’s fantasized about this? Sweetheart, I’ve been dreaming of fucking you since that first day you came down the stairs, those sweet little tits bouncing with every step.”

The knowledge that he’d wanted you too filled your belly with heat. A confidence you hadn’t had before took over. Gripping his chest, you used your feet to lift yourself until just the tip of him was within you and then you slowly sunk onto him once again. He released the most delicious sound you’d ever heard so you did it again. His eyes slipped closed, hands coming to your shoulders in an attempt to keep himself sheathed within you. 

Your hand wound into his hair, pulling, “Open your eyes. I want you looking at me when I make you cum harder than you ever have.”

“Fuck yes, princess,” he growled, following your command, brown eyes dark with lust gazing right into yours. 

You kept your hips nestled against him, rocking forward and back once again. The consistent friction of his pelvis, the coarse hair rubbing over your clit was sending that coaster rocketing back up that hill. Eddie’s hands gripped your waist, holding on but not controlling, allowing you to be in charge. 

“I’m so close, princess,” he ground out between clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “Just like that, baby. Don’t fucking stop…”

“Come on, big boy,” you urged, tugging his hair again, earning a grunt of pleasure. “Cum for me. Fill me up, baby. Let me feel it.”

“Jesus…fuck me…shit…son of…biiitttccchhh!” 

His face screwed up tight as he held onto your waist. His hips lifted off the lounger, thrusting into you hard as he spilled his release into you. You yanked at his hair, your back arching as you quickly followed, crying out his name. 

“Jesus Christ…holy shit…fuck…” he muttered, flopping back onto the lounger, his chest heaving beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. “That was…fuck, that was definitely the hardest orgasm I’ve ever had. You’re like fucking magic, baby.” 

You giggled and he grabbed onto your arms, pulling you down to him, pressing his lips to yours. A feeling of shock ran through you as you realized this was your first kiss. After everything you’d just done, that seemed ridiculous but jesus if those lips weren’t just as plush and soft and yummy as you’d always dreamed. You could gladly spend the rest of your life just kissing Eddie. 

“Mmm…sweetheart, I can’t wait to find out what else you’ve fantasized about.”

“Oh, you might have your work cut out for you. I’ve envisioned doing just about everything with you. Some of it’s pretty damn dirty.”

“I’m not scared of getting a little dirty, baby,” he grinned, his lips finding yours again. 

#eddie munson #eddie the banished #stranger things eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x femreader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART III

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mega plot-driven smut ahead in this part of the story. you've been warned. MINORS, DNI. 18+

***

Despite everything, you and Steve both get through battling Vecna. You both grin and bear it. You both set aside your differences when the moment calls for it.

Just like you have before. Many times.

And in the midst of it all, you can't help but wonder about your uncle. How he's doing. If he's somewhere in his bunker still, hopefully drinking less (ideally, not at all) and keeping up his phone calls with Joyce. You'd told her to keep tabs on him, and you also told your uncle to keep tabs on her. They needed each other. You had the kids and the teens, but they needed each other. And sure, your uncle has you. Always. But you have to work, and babysit, and hang around a guy who hates your guts because the circumstances won't permit otherwise.

Eddie and Robin really stick up for you. They do. They really like you. Steve can’t stand it.

Even Nancy doesn’t mind you. Honestly, she’s scared of you more than anything. Steve doesn’t care.

The kids love you. Steve won’t make them hate you. He never would. But he won’t endorse their kind sentiments about you either.

More groups are formed, along with more plans. Scary, life-threatening plans.

You stay behind with Dustin and Eddie, knowing that Steve is quietly a basket case over the concept leaving Dustin alone without having him there to protect him from all this shit, the way he has before. With the demodogs, the Russians, and everything up to this point. That kid is his brother. His son.

It’s the only time that Steve tells you thank you.

And he sincerely means it.

By the grace of some unspeakable force, you manage to not only keep Dustin alive...but also Eddie. The bats have done their damage, and you've got some damage yourself. Though not nearly as bad as Eddie. You can withstand yours with adrenaline and the sheer need to protect one of your kids and get this metalhead back to the real world so that he can get proper medical attention.

When Steve and the girls all get back to the three of you there, after all the shit hits the fan - you, Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin all manage to get Eddie back across the gate and get him majorly patched up. Thanks to Dr. Owens.

You keep Eddie hidden at Murray's bunker. You're shocked to find it empty, your worry growing more every single minute. But Steve tries to assure you that your uncle is likely fine, probably just out to eat or something. However... even he knows that is not true. Murray does not go anywhere.

"Bauman," he's saying to you, softly. So softly. Softer than he's ever spoken to you once. "He's gonna be okay. I promise. We're here, alright?"

Two days later, Jonathan and his Cali crew all show up. Nancy and him are reunited.

And you watch Steve break.

He doesn’t let it show, not really. But you see it. Both you and Robin do. You let her comfort him. He needs his best friend, much more than he needs you. Especially in this situation. You are undoubtedly the last source of comfort for him in this specific instance.

You reunite with your Uncle Murray, who has returned with Joyce and — to your surprise — a very much alive Hopper.  It’s a beautiful reunion, as you all hug tightly. 

You all fucking lived, bitch.

Given the new flurry of debris-snow-shit in the air, you all end up having to take shelter.

Steve volunteers his house, given that his parents fled to their vacation home and he told them he wasn’t going. They ditch him, so he has the house all to himself. This time, he doesn’t have to be alone though.  He has his real family.

You all move into the Harrington House. Lord knows it’s big enough. But it’s also really tight, for two people who can’t stand each other unless there’s a really ugly monster guy waltzing around that needs to be killed along with his multi-species army of little uglies.

Given the close quarters, on top of the fact that you all can’t leave the house much unless it’s for supplies, you and Steve have no choice but to coexist.

He still resents you, especially seeing Nancy and Jonathan are now getting along again and seem to be doing better. But it's much more subdued now, and you both find a way to talk. Which happens mainly because of you, initiating.

You learn more about Steve's home life, given the pictures everywhere throughout the house. They're all pretty stiff, lacking warmth. You figured that Steve was a pretty lonely trust fund baby, and being that you're a lonely child you can relate to the loneliness that comes with that. Not the trust fund part. Just the only-child-syndrome part, which you know perfectly well forces you to either become very well acquainted with yourself...or hate yourself even more. Steve clearing did not lean into becoming his own source of reliability and companionship, the way that you did. And it made you understand him better. It made you understand why he needed to be around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. He did not know how to be alone with himself.

"I think my dad and I don't even like the same beer," Steve scoffs, allowing himself a humorless chuckle. You don't laugh with him, instead giving him a soft look. An apology with your eyes.

"And my mom, she just...I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder why she never left him."

You let Steve reveal as little or as much as he wants to. It just depends on the day.

The two of you watch out for the kids. You both go with them to visit Max in the hospital. You even initiate finding a way to get her to stay there while in a coma, thanks to enlisting the help of your uncle to help enlist the help of Dr. Owens. The kids love you for that.

Steve doesn’t love you… But he appreciates you.

A lot. He's beginning to find appreciation for you, for a lot of things.

Your uncle clocks the very niche tension between the two of you, now that you’re all under the same roof and he’s given no choice but to.

And damn, it makes him curious. He is, after all, the witch doctor of love…

Nevertheless, Murray takes his time choosing when to strike.

As you and Steve both help nurse Eddie back to health, and read to Max in her coma (which leads to both of you just simply talking), and make the kids laugh together, and even make conversation with Nancy and Jonathan (…it’s very double date ish) Murray watches his niece — and mannnnnn, is he amuuuuuused.

One night, you and Steve stay up to share some drinks with the adults. It’s the first time that the two of you actually make each other really laugh, heartily. The drinks help.

That’s sort of Murray’s plan. Vodka is, after all, the holy grail.

Even Eddie joins, along with Robin. But Steve sits next to you. Not his best friend, or the new friend he’s made in the metalhead. Nope, he sits his perfect, hunky ass that makes all the ladies drool right next to little ole you.

And damn, do you both laugh.

Murray’s never seen you laugh that hard with anyone in his life. He wonders if you’ve ever laughed that way at all. 

And the way that Harrington looks at you?  Especially when you’re not looking… Holy shit. 

And the way you look at him the same way... makes Murray grin ear to ear like a mischievous kid with the plan to wreak havoc.

Hopper and Joyce are so settled into their relationship, and Jonathan seems to be winning back the love of Nancy. Eddie and Robin are so single it hurts, but it's legendary too. And you? Steve? Well, you guys are mortal enemies. And yet somehow, sitting here in the Harrington's living room with glasses of chilled vodka, belly-laughing over anything -- you and Steve exude more chemistry than all of them combined.

So when everyone goes to bed, and Murray catches you alone, he grills you. Not like the others. Nah, you’re family. He’ll cut you some slack.

…not much, though.

It sobers you right up.

"Do not tell me for one second that you don't think he's gorgeous," your uncle is saying in a low voice. You're both standing in his bedroom, having fetched him a tall glass of water which turned out just be a way to fucking lure you into his witchdoctor trap.

"I love you Uncle Murray. I really do. But this theory? -- is not one of your other bullseye's."

"Face it, kiddo," your uncle is smirking. "Your uncle's never wrong. You're just never the one on the other end of his lectures when he's making astute observations. You're always contributing to it. But this time? You're the leading lady, darling."

"False."

"You like Steve."

"Murray...!"

"You like Steve..."

You try to tell your uncle that everything he is saying is nonsense. Steve hates you. He absolutely hates you. Loathes and despises you, and plans to do so until you’re all particles of dust. 

“Plus, he is so fucking annoying and whiny and entitled and has zero self respect unless it’s up against someone who calls him out for his shit,” you tell your uncle, gesturing to yourself on the last part. “Steve Harrington is a cocky guy who would just rather suffer in his own misery than ever see or lean into being this...this incredible man that he's...capable of being, the role model he has become to those kids, who love him, they love the human most deserving of being put first —”

.................

…oh fuck.

The silence is deafening. Murray’s smirk and all-knowing glare only adds to your being aware of what you just said to him, and admitted to yourself, out loud.

“Oh…oh so we do love Steve.”

Your uncle’s words are the cherry on top of the cake you just baked, and didn’t know you had the ingredients to make.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, you and Steve both sit with Max.

"Wondering what she wrote in yours?"

Steve is nodding at the stack of letters on the bedside table. You all left them there, promising yourselves not to open them. Because she will wake up.

Lucas took it hard, Max dying. You'd been there to hold him, comfort him, along with Steve. You both watched him burst into tears numerous times, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, despite the fact that she was somehow still here. It broke both your hearts, but you both got through it with him. Together.

And while the other kids were taking it hard too...so fucking hard...it was Steve who carried the most guilt. Remorse, anguish and guilt.

"I failed my kid," Steve had told you at the hospital once. You looked at him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

"Steve, no you didn't."

His voice shook, eyes drowning in nightmarish thoughts. "I wasn't there for her. I wasn't -- wasn't..."

"You could never fail those kids. Not even if you tried."

He didn't believe you. But he wanted to. You had squeezed his hand that day, sitting in the waiting room. And to your surprise, not only did he let you...but he squeezed it back, letting your hands rest that way for an hour as you fell asleep in the seats before being woken up.

And now, sitting in one of his guest rooms while Max lay asleep in the coma still, you can see that guilt in him is spreading.

Steve is holding the letter that she gave to him, and you ask him if he’s wanting to read it.

Steve snorts. "God, you kidding? She'll wake up just to kill me before going right back to sleep."

You smirk, biting back a real laugh. “True.”

But Steve looks conflicted. He fiddles with the letter in his hands, wanting to tear it open. You know that he does.

“…want me to read it out loud to you instead? She can kill me in your place.”

Steve chuckles at that.

...but he doesn’t say no.

In fact, after biting his lip for a minute and thinking, he finds himself nodding. Yes. Please, read it to me, he’s thinking.

So you do.

You take the letter and read it to him. You read him the words that only a little sister could write to a big brother who she loves and wishes she will grow up to be like. You read him words that make him light up like a Christmas tree, yet cause him a painful ache deep within his bones. You read him a letter of love that no one ever took the time to write, let alone express, to him his entire life.

Steve fights tears. He bites them back, successfully. You’re the last person he ever wants to see him vulnerable. Hell, he can’t even see himself like that without judging his own self harshly. He can only imagine that you will, too.

He doesn’t know, though, that not only would you never judge him for that. But selfishly, you wish he would feel safe with you. Or God, someone at least. Just not Nancy.  Someone who deserves him wholeheartedly.

"Steve," you speak softly.

He's staring into space, zoned out. But then, he finally looks over at you. He sees the kindness in him, and it almost takes his breath away. The way that you look at him...he just never thought you could...that you could --

"You're all of these things. Everything she wrote in this? You're all of it. And then some. You're the hero all those kids dream of being when they grow up. You're their favorite person. The one they trust, go to for everything. Even if you don't think that they do, they do."

He listens, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

"You are...a great person, Steve Harrington."

***

That night, there’s a knock on your door. You’ve been given the guest room upstairs with no bunk mate. Unlike most of the people in the house. But given that Joyce and Hopper are together now, and El sleeps in Max’s room to keep watch, the four younger boys share a room with Eddie, Nancy is with Jonathan, Erica sleeps at her own house and Robin shares Steve’s room since she splits her time here and at home — you and Murray got the solo rooms.

Steve is now grateful for those sleeping arrangements tonight.

Because when you open the door, he’s on the other side. He looks sad, conflicted and lost. Like his mind is racing at a million miles an hour, yet can’t think of anything to say. He’s tongue tied, just staring at you expectantly…

What is he expecting?

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Is it Max?”

Something about your question makes Steve brows pinch together. Like it’s suddenly confusing him even more. But he doesn’t speak.

You wait patiently. But truth be told, you are anxious as fuck. Because damn, he’s pretty. He is so stupid pretty. And fuck it’s annoying. His lips are just the right shape in a pout, and it’s really fucking annoy —

His lips are crashing into yours before you can even finish dissecting them.

Steve is kissing you like life depends on it. Gentle at first, but eager. Determined.

And when you both pulls back -- you don’t hesitate for more than a solid 2-3 seconds, your eyes shocked while his eyes silently ask, is this okay?

Your lips crashing back against his answers — yes.

Steve is a hurricane of both madness and all things serene in the ways that he touches your body. He explores your skin with his lips and hands, as if he has all the time in the world. The curve of your jaw and neck. The jut of your collarbones. The feel of your clavicle, which leads him to the shape of your tits and nipples. He cherishes your body, hungrily exploring it. It’s heated, hot and heavy. He licks a stripe down your abdomen to the waistband of your sweatpants. The way his brown irises look up at you, all round and doe eyed, makes the back of your throat groan with need. It’s not loud or brash, nor is it strained and quiet. It’s soft but certain. Steve melts at it, his fingers curling one by one around the band of your sweatpants, his eyes still asking — please?

You’re nodding without even having to hear a word out of him. And Steve pulls.

Euphoria is the feeling of Steve’s tongue exploring your folds. It’s the sound of him sighing into your portal in pure pleasure, and the way he sucks your clit with fervency yet flicks it with supple patience. His hands knead into your thighs, one of them reaching to squeeze your hips so that he can pull himself up to you and let you taste yourself on his tongue. He wraps an arm underneath your waist, hooking you to him, asking in the breathiest of whimpers, “Please let me, angel.”

He’s getting a fistful of your hair into one of his big hands, adoring the way that you squeak a yelp. You suck on his tongue, hard, and it’s enough to drive him mad. He pins himself against you, grinding. But you sit up, keeping your bodies glued together and now using your teeth to tug on his lip and paralyze him in pure ecstasy. You take the opportunity to slide your teeth and tongue down his jaw and neck, trailing pecks and kisses along the way, and the throaty whimper he lets out makes you see stars behind your hooded eyes as you drag your tongue down his chest. The wet stripe you’re leaving glides down to his toned abdomen’s bunny trail, and as you curl your fingers around his sweatpants, you pause… letting your lips press the most fluttery of kisses to each of his scars.

Steve can’t help the shudders, sighs and whimpers that escape his lips, along with your name. It’s raw, uncensored.  He clutches your hand, which you extend up to him in a greedy grab as you slowly work his pants down with your other hand. You hook your fingers onto his chin, forcing him to let go of your hand in his and look down at you. He does, and it’s game over. You watch him and never break eye contact as you use both hands to push down his briefs…

…and thank God for that — because otherwise, you would see just what you’re up against as far as pleasuring him goes.

You feel the tip of his hard length tap your chin, and you scoot farther down into the mattress — on your knees like a perfect angel. Your tongue plays with its head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum, and Steve is shaking so hard he can’t stand it. He clenches his jaw, gritting out blissful curses through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

You take in the intense length of him, pleasuring him until he is touching the back of your throat and nearly gagging you senseless, and the mess he is up above you — it sends your mind into a tailspin. He has never looked so pretty, eyes squeezed shut except when he’s glancing back down at you with more fondness and adoration than you ever thought possible from not only a man who hates you…but any man at all.

And when Steve is just about to cum, he begins to beg. “P-please. Wait, please.”

His hands urgently cup your jaw, forcing you to look back up at him and cease your sickeningly perfect work. He pulls, and you follow. He drinks you in with his gaze, staring into your soul, as if he’s trying to figure you out. He stares and stares, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes searching yours like you are the most beautiful mystery he has ever needed to solve. He looks as though he might ask you something. Say something...

But he dives in to kiss you again before he lets himself.

His hand wraps around the bend of one of your knees, tugging it up so that he can hook your leg around his waist. Then he does it to the other. And before you know it, you’re straddling him.

“Fuck, Bauman, please,” Steve Harrington groans into your mouth. Then softer, murmuring against your lips as he kisses them endlessly, “please let me, please.”

And you know what he is asking. You know what he wants. You don’t have to even think twice. Lifting yourself up, lining him with your entrance, he stretches you out and the euphoric sting of it sucks the air right out of you. And Steve.

Steve is winded by the feeling of how tight your walls are, and by just how right it feels to be inside of you. You both fit. Like a perfect match.

At this point, you’re both a frenzy of fucking. You ride him – slow, hard, fast, all of it. Steve keens into your mouth, then your neck as he buries his face there — completely overwhelmed. You hold his head there, comfortingly and securely, and so fucking perfectly as your fingers tug at the ends of his perfect hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” your voice shakes in a breathy whisper, just for him. “Let it all go.”

And Steve does. His fingers dig into the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he presses the loud growl of his climax into your bare shoulder. He releases himself into you, hot and loaded, and you drip just as much onto him as he just shot into you.

As if that wasn’t enough to send you reeling — enough to make you see angels and devils and god — it’s the way that Steve shudders against you, catching his breath…and then pulls back to look at you…that renders you speechless.

His hairline leaks sweat, his face beaded with it. His eyelids are hooded, the dark brown irises dazed and daring to meet your gaze. His lips are parted perfectly — and the way he looks up at you with his tousled hair, somehow still perfect after it’s been pulled and messed with, is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Steve Harrington is so fucking beautiful.  He’s an all-American boy, yet a Greek god.

The way that Steve gently brings your forehead to his, breathing against you, closing his eyes at the contact — you find yourself timidly nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. And you feel him smile against you, opening your eyes just enough to steal a peek — and that’s when you feel a deep ache in your heart and soul that might as well kill you.

Because now you realize. That is love. 

Steve is love.

But you let it die inside of you tonight, not wanting to make this moment end any sooner than it has to. Instead, you let Steve entangle his limbs with yours, not daring to ask if he wants to stay. Because if you do, he’ll likely leave. He’ll realize that being in bed with you is the last place that he wants to be, and that he’s made a mistake. He’ll go back to hating you, more than he already does, and it will be the death of you. So instead, you just let it ride out however it’s supposed to.

You try not to count the minutes as Steve absentmindedly traces circles with his fingertips on your skin. Your hip bones, your shoulder blades, your spine. You tell yourself to forget that time and its limits exist as you stroke the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, your temple against his forearm, his outer arm draped over you. You tell yourself that this is it. This is heaven. This is eternity. You tell yourself even if you wake up and it’s just a dream, you’ll remember it for as long as you live. Because on the other side of death is this, and it will never end.

You let that ease your mind as he presses his lips to your forehead and you no longer fight sleep.

So when you do wake up…and find that Steve is still there…you’re shocked. But you stay that way until he wakes. He looks at you in awestruck wonder. Not confusion or regret. Just…wonder.

He props himself up on an elbow, still looking at you, deep in thought. All you can do is stare back, wishing you knew what the hell he was thinking but not daring to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this.  You stay that way for a little while.

He finally breathes a sigh, whispering, “Kids will be up soon.”

You give him a soft smile and gentle nod. You can already see Dustin waking up to go knock down Steve’s door, and that’s…not gonna end well if he finds out that Steve is walking out of your room instead.

Steve contemplates god-knows-what for another long moment before pressing a quick kiss into your hairline as he rises.

You watch him stand and dress himself, your heart throbbing at the way he looks in the early morning light streaming through the windows. His body is god-like. Tall, lean and athletic. His skin has the most beautiful constellation of moles that put the entire galaxy of stars to shame. And you ache at the thought of never being able to touch them again.

He gives you a soft grin after he throws his t-shirt back on, and before you know it he’s gone.

You lay there staring at nothing, feeling yourself leak a couple of silent tears and wondering why. You find yourself afraid to get up and face whatever new reality lies ahead of you on the other side of that door. 

***

thanks for reading :) comment to be added to my tag list for this series.

tags: @erastourvip @xprloki @get0ut0fmyr00m @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington stranger things #dustin henderson #murray bauman #enemies to lovers trope #they're in love your honor #Murray is a schemer #sorry stancy

[matan4il]

911 ep 701 first watch reactions

(I don't think I have the energy to write proper Buddie meta, so here's me randomly squealing instead...)

LMAO In case you were wondering whether s7 of 911 will be subtle about their gratitude/debt to ABC for saving the show, the answer is a resounding no.

Also, I have lost a lot of respect for Frank as a shrink, but gained a lot of love for him as a sass king. "Did she win!?" The murderous look Athena gave him was priceless. I love her, too. She doesn't even need words to rule.

Man, nooooo. Don't give me a mutual "I love you" between Bobby and Athena like that.

"Go ahead and cut the green wire." Everyone and their sister: "Green? You said Red."

9-1-1 is the superior comedy they slipped into our drink, while we were here for our weekly action, suspense, drama and familial love.

Buck broke off with Natalia, and the show really did it like that. XD Every single person who rolled their eyes at this pairing during s6, we were all justified, but wow. The show really is the only forum to respect the pair even less than fandom does. And of course we find out about it in the middle of a scene built around Eddie being half naked, Buck watching him, with the camera specifically turning so we can discover Buck was initially covered by Eddie's body, and the angle change reveals him, when the whole thing wraps up with Eddie welcoming Buck back to the land of the living... Yeah, wonder what made Buck feel alive again. Don't know. 'Tis a mystery. We were given zero clues...

"I want the honeymoon life." *cries* Chimney is just such a good, good man. And okay, expecting your whole life to be a honeymoon's a bit unrealistic, but Madney are living together and they have a child. They know this. Chim knows this, but he still wants to go for it. Aim for the moon, you'll at least land among the stars, right?

Bobby baffled by Athena's reaction to Norman and Lola is hilarious.

I like how Chim has a great idea, but it's still obvious that it's gonna go wrong, because he can't help going overboard with it...

OMG, that scene with Eddie recounting to Buck what Christopher's date was like... If I were to write my Buddie meta, I would serve a three course meal just from that. I mean, the fact that watching Chris hanging out with a girl he likes, makes Eddie compare it to "hanging out with his guy friends" (when there's no lack of interest in this girl... in fact, it turns out that if anything, Christopher's problem is the opposite of a lack of interest) is so telling. There's a reason why that's where Eddie's mind went.

But then also... Eddie's trust in Buck got to me, the way he went to his best friend (not his own gf) for help with Chris. But that was still played with half a smile. But then Buck sort of disses himself jokingly, and Eddie won't have it. "You didn't end up like you." He sees how Buck worked on being a better person, even when Eddie wasn't there for the worst of it, and he appreciates it, and won't let Buck forget it. Meeeep. I love them.

Oh Chim. I was giving you so much credit, and then you went and bought that outdoors jacuzzi. lol Still love him. That's what Maddie's reminding herself of right now, too. ;p

Poor Hen, she was great in this ep, but none of it was really about her, she was comic relief, both with Chim and with the red wire. Then again, she was amazing in this, like she always is with everything.

Eddie and Buck were both so good with Chris this ep, MY HEART. Buck with getting him to talk about what's really bothering him, and Eddie with realizing exactly what his son needs, and how to give it to him. They completed each other. Neither one would be helping Chris without the other one. Tell me again how they're not soulmates?

In conclusion, I love Bobby saying, "Let's go prove one of us wrong," when they're both right. Something WAS going on with Norman and Lola, AND Athena was using them to avoid him.

Argh. That scene of the ship and its passengers being hijacked was rough to watch. </3 I'll still be here to watch the conclusion of this. That's the power of 9-1-1 for you.

It def felt like a great kick to the new season. We had lots of comedy and fun, some great tension, some emotional moments (especially with Christopher), but all in all, it's still clear that the whole thing's a build up to next week. Are you excited?

#9-1-1 #911 spoilers #911 #911 abc #911abc #911 on abc #911onabc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #madney #bathena #buddie #911 meta #christopher diaz #chimney han #maddie buckley #bobby nash #athena grant #hen wilson #911reactions

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER SIX: IS IT OVER NOW?

LET'S FAST FORWARD TO THREE HUNDRED TAKEOUT COFFEES LATER, I SEE YOUR PROFILE AND YOUR SMILE ON UNSUSPECTING WAITERS.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.8K+

☆ A/N: if i could put the entirety of the lyrics to this song on here, i would. it's! their! song! (side note: these idiots need to start making progress before i tear my hair out i mean it. they make me think about jumping off of very tall somethings)

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The coffeeshop that Eddie chooses isn’t one you’re familiar with. It’s smaller, more hidden, tucked away in an unsuspecting corner and disguised from prying eyes. 

It wouldn’t have been your first choice, but you’re sure his thought process on choosing public locations differs from yours now. One wrong move, and he’s sure to end up on the cover of another magazine. Actually, one wrong breath, and the public eye probably eats him alive. 

He’d sort of brought that upon himself, building up such a polarizing reputation all by his own hands. 

“Ever been before?” he asks as the two of you stand in line, the scent of espresso burning your nose and the hiss of steam wands cutting straight through the soft chatter of fellow patrons. 

You only shake your head. No words to ease his clear anxiety as you watch him shift his weight between his two feet and his hands dig deep into his pockets. 

“It’s pretty good,” he continues to ramble, looking up at the menu rather than you, “They’ve got decent hot coffee, and their lattes aren’t too bad. I like the vanilla one best, which is probably boring but-”

“Eddie,” you interrupt him sternly, “What happened to not talking?” 

He scoffs a little, finally turning to look at you. “We aren’t seated yet. Once we get a table, I swear, my lips are sealed.” 

You highly doubt that. 

It’s torture being this close to him for this long. The accidental bumps of his elbow against your shoulder that send you jumping from the contact. The way you nearly stepped on his foot when you’d shuffled out of the way for someone, and your apology got tangled on your tongue when he’d reached out to steady you. In small moments, when he’s too busy glancing nervously around the cafe, you spare him longer looks. Since he first came tumbling back into your life a mere week ago, you’d been staunch on your stance that he had changed beyond measure. But here, out at a coffee shop with just the two of you present along with all his nervousness, you can see glimpses of something familiar beneath the surface. The way he bites his lip, the way he fiddles with his rings, how he’s occasionally humming tunes beneath his breath as he avoids eye contact with you – you hate it. You hate every aspect of it, and all the painful nostalgia it stirs within you. 

It reminds you of your first date with him, back in Hawkins. All the confidence he’d exuded at that Halloween party you’d met him at had disappeared the moment he got you alone sober. As if he had felt the weight of what this would become from day one, as if he knew just how much of both your future’s rested in one stupid date. 

You almost get lost in the memories before it’s your turn to order at the counter. 

“Just a vanilla latte, please.” 

You can see his small smile out of the corner of your eye. A small trace of triumph is clear as day as you order the exact thing he just said was his favorite. It wasn’t intentional, but there’s no use trying to convince him of that. 

It’s just a coincidence, you try to convince yourself. It just sounded good after he brought it up. 

“I’ll have the same,” he tells the barista behind the counter, moving to pull out his wallet. 

On your first date with him, you had bickered endlessly about who would pay. And you nearly do it again – you nearly reach out a hand to stop him and insist you could pay for your own coffee on instinct. 

It would be so easy to let history repeat itself, to watch your greatest hits reinvent themselves at this moment. Maybe, this time around, the two of you can get it right. 

You don’t move a single muscle as he hands over his card. 

He murmurs out a soft thank you when it’s returned to him with a receipt, and you’re already turned to scout out a table to sit at. 

There’s plentiful booths, a few high-tops by the front windows. There’s even half booths lining one wall of the cafe. If you were out on your own, all of these choices would be perfect. You’d take a seat at any of the tables and be content, especially the high-tops that offered the perfect opportunity for people watching between work. 

You choose a table in one of the back corners. Somewhere darker, and far from everyone else in the building. Somewhere hidden. 

“Here?” he questions, hesitating behind you as you drop your bag down beside one of the chairs.

“Something wrong with this table?” you ask over your shoulder, hand gripping on the back of the chair as if it could ground you. 

“I mean… not really,” you turn and look at him over your shoulder, “It’s just kind of dark back here, and you used to like sitting by windows-”

Your throat tightens at it – the acknowledgement that he remembers. That he can recall anything from the past, of you, of your time spent together. Part of you had been convinced he’d taken a sledgehammer to the past, shattered it into something unrecognizable and abandoned it altogether. 

He hadn’t. It should have been obvious, but he hadn’t. 

“Maybe I’ve changed,” you cut in, gaze unwavering as you dare him to challenge you on the fact, “Besides, I don’t want to be distracted while I work.” 

You won’t lose this game; whatever he’s currently playing at, you can’t afford to lose. You are not the girl he remembers, and he is not the man you’ve mourned for two years. Both of you, it seems, need that reminder. 

He joins you at the shadowy table without another word. 

You take to setting up your laptop and notebook, powering up your devices as you flip back open to your pages of contacts and physical notes already taken. Your eyes refuse to find his the entire time as you log in, as you open up to that damn refusal from the latest venue, as you sigh harshly out your nose at that bitter reminder of failure. 

When they call your names for the lattes, he’s up and retrieving them without you even asking him to. 

In your short time alone at the table, you lean forward to rest your forehead on the palms of your hands. It’s exhausting – being around him, pretending like you wouldn’t have enjoyed the view out the window, facing the reality that his mess had once again become yours. Every inch of your skin prickles with the need to run. And yet you don’t. You could have told him no, easily turned down his offer for coffee. But you didn’t, so now, you’ll live with the consequences. 

“One vanilla latte,” Eddie appears, setting down that takeout cup of coffee down in front of you before he takes his seat, “I didn’t know if you’d want any extra sugars, but if you do, I can grab them-”

“Thanks,” you interrupt blandly, lifting your head from your hands as you watch him sit down his own coffee. You really, really didn’t want to hear him ramble anymore. 

Didn’t want to ponder how it’s almost as endearing as the first day you met him. Didn’t want to think about how each syllable that falls from his lips strikes something deep in you, something stained and something yearning for erasure of a past both of you can’t change now. Didn’t want to keep caving so damn easily. 

You are meant to be furious. You have every right to be; he left first, he stopped loving you first, he broke this first. You’ve had two years to gather up all your grief and all your anger, package it nicely with a bow on top, and that is what you should be handing over to him right now. Not forgiveness, not understanding. Certainly not endearment. 

Something in your chest still shudders at the sight of his wince when he tries to sip the hot latte too soon, effectively burning his lip and tongue. 

“So, you come here often?”

What the hell happened to not talking? 

It’s not him to blame – it’s you. The words tumble out embarrassingly quickly. You had a plan, why weren’t you following the plan? Get a free coffee, get a break from the office, maybe manage to have some sort of breakthrough while away from that stuffy building. You weren’t supposed to be talking to him.

And he knows it. Damn it, does he know it as his lips curl at their corners ever so slightly, “Yeah. It’s convenient, nice and close to the studio.”

Where the fuck had all his rambles disappeared to? What are you supposed to do with such a short, such a normal response? 

“Right,” you nod, acting as though the location of his studio would be common knowledge to you, “Right, no, of course. It’s good to have a convenient coffee place.” 

He leans back in his chair, nervousness misting away and some sort of confidence creeping in instead. Fuck him. 

“Do you have one around here?” 

He’s testing the waters, seeing just how much conversation you’ll allow. The threshold should be none. Zilch. A resounding absolutely not. 

“I usually stop by the Starbucks closest to my apartment.”

So much for that.

“Starbucks?” he crinkles his nose, and dear Lord, you need to look away. Save yourself the heartbreak, because those wrinkles are almost a replica map of the ones you remember back in Hawkins when he’d make faces at you across the Hideout when someone would approach him with boring conversation he wanted no part in. The same disgust, the same silent conversation between you transpiring, “I thought you were always a coffee snob. Hated that shit.” 

You had been. When he had known you, you had hated that subpar commercial coffee.

“Like I said,” you swallow hard, looking down to your keyboard, realizing the conversation needed to end, “People change.” 

Did you change, though? You still hated the taste of your morning coffee, cringed at either the burnt bitterness or overwhelming sweetness you could never find peaceful equilibrium between. A thousand different orders, a thousand different experiments, and you still had yet to find anything that satisfied your caffeine cravings. 

Kind of like how you window-shopped at the bars. How you’d look over various men that Romina pointed out, and only shake your head before picking out something wrong with them. Something that wasn’t to your usual taste, something that wasn’t him. 

You finally take a sip of your latte as Eddie nods, muttering a soft, “Guess so.”

It’s perfect. The latte isn’t too sweet, isn’t too bitter. It’s exactly what you’ve been searching for these last two years. 

“They have really good muffins,” Eddie continues on, mimicking you by taking another sip of his drink. This time, he doesn’t burn his mouth, “Cinnamon rolls, too.”

The small talk is nearly killing you. You should go silent on him, begin to work on figuring out the venue situation. But you watch the way he fiddles with the sleeves of his leather jacket and can’t help but remember the old one with safety pins holding together the sleeves. Finally, you cave outwardly. 

“What kind of venue do you want?” 

It’s not small talk, but it’s not personal talk. It’s just you swallowing your pride, and shocking yourself by reaching out for the help everyone has pestered you with offering the last week. 

“What?” Eddie’s eyes widen, no longer rubbing the fabric between his fingertips.

“The venue for the party,” you elaborate, “What are you looking for in it? Small? Big? Private? Rooftop? I’ve tried asking Matt, and he’s given me nothing to work off of.”

Eddie slowly lifts his hands to lay on the tabletop, watching you with such careful eyes that you can see all the lack of trust in them. “Does it… matter?” 

You scoff, and before your brain or heart can warn you against it, you’re scooting your chair around the table to be closer to Eddie. You pull your laptop along with you, shifting it so that both of you can see the screen as you bring up your list of options. A colorful spreadsheet: rejections highlighted in a muted red, the ones you haven’t heard back from highlighted in soft orange, the ones you’re unsure of and haven’t even sent out queries regarding highlighted in a nearly transparent yellow. 

Only one is highlighted in a pastel green. The one with a rooftop option, as well as several downstairs rooms. The one you thought seemed the most like Eddie.

“Yes, it matters a fuck ton,” you explain, pointing at a random line as his eyes dart about your impressive display, “The ones in red are ones that already rejected me, but most are larger venues you’ve played in the past. By the way, why have you destroyed so many green rooms?”

“I get bored,” he flatly replies, leaning in with squinted eyes, “What does that yellow mean?”

“Those are ones I’m unsure about. Either too big, too small, or too exclusive.”

“And orange?”

“I sent out an email, and haven’t heard back.”

“And…” he pauses as he reaches that venue, “And green? Why’s there only one green?” 

It occurs to you he’s the first person to not turn their nose up at your extensive organization. Everyone else had thought it was stupid, wasteful, to spend so much time on the spreadsheet. No one had asked you to explain the color system before, usually hardly glancing at the screen before brushing you off. 

No one had even questioned the green line yet. 

“Green is the one I think…” you trail off, unsure of why you’re so afraid to admit the meaning. You sort of feel foolish; that terrible imposter syndrome managing to creep up on you as you doubt your judgment, “It’s the one I think might be the best fit. It probably isn’t, I don’t know. Honestly, I can take it off the list-”

“Show me the venue.” 

“I really don’t-”

He interrupts you by saying your name sternly, looking away from the screen to glance at you with raised eyebrows, “Just show me. It can’t be any worse than…” he looks back over the list, letting out a snort, “Jesus, Webster Hall? Yeah, they’re not letting us come back any time soon.” 

“What did you do to them?” you ask, too curious for your own good. Most of the venues wouldn’t divulge the messy details, only staunchly say no and promise they had their reasons once you mentioned Corroded Coffin.

“I’ll tell you if you show me the green venue.”

He knows he’s won when you finally click onto the still open tabs. You’d opened the hyperlink for every single different room, ranging from the large main one to the petty small one on a rooftop. You start with the largest room, and Eddie eagerly drinks in the details on the page.

He whistles softly, only loud enough for you to hear, “Quite the venue.”

“This is just the first room.”

He looks at you, clearly shocked, subtly nodding for you to click through the rest of the tabs. His reaction is fairly consistent as you show each new room, new capacity, new option. You can see the way his face lights up – you had been right.

Your judgment was correct. You hadn’t been an idiot, shouldn’t have doubted yourself. It almost makes you feel as if there’s still a chance that you still know him. Somewhere deep down, beneath your layers of stained armor and his layers of reckless defenses, you still know him. 

“It’s… good,” he says softly after reading over that final tab you had opened, “Like, really good.”

You exhale in relief, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he leans back in his chair, “I don’t think we’ve ever played that venue before, either, so… no wrecked green room to hold over my head.”

You should stay on track and focus; you are making progress. After a week of hopelessness, you were finally not feeling like an absolute failure. Better to keep the train moving forward than to halt right now. 

And yet, your mind picks up on that green room comment again, and you can’t help it – all your focus flies out the window. 

“Why do you fuck up all those green rooms? And don’t just say you were bored,” you ask, curling your hands around your still warm cup of coffee, “I mean, I get it – the rockstar image or whatever – but isn’t it… isn’t it more trouble than it’s worth when it comes to scheduling tours?” 

He shakes his head softly, curls tumbling over tense shoulders, “Definitely not for the rockstar image.” 

“Then why?” you turn your head, ignore the screen, focus on him. On his scruff and the bags under his eyes, on the cracks in his chapped lips. 

On that distinct look overtaking his face that says you overstepped.

“Forget it,” you weakly say, taking back your words to the best of your abilities without being able to pull them back onto your tongue, tuck them back into that box of anger and grief, and curiosity now, apparently. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. Either way, it’s good that these guys have nothing against you, right?” 

“They still might,” Eddie shrugs, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, “Word travels fast between venues.” 

He says it so sadly, it’s hard to think of a proper response. You know he brought it upon himself. There’s no room for sympathy at this table, in this cafe. 

But it still only adds to your motivation to do this job, and do it well. A parting gift to Eddie; a way to silently swallow the pride leftover from a messy breakup, and apologize for the way you’d left without a trace. Right then and right there, you decide that’s what this has to become. For your peace of mind, and possibly for his. 

“You want a rooftop,” you don’t phrase it as a question, but as a statement as you yank your laptop closer to you, fingers flying over the keyboard, “A rooftop with a nice view, that’s what your email said.”

“I mean, that’d be nice-”

“You all want an open bar,” you add, continuing to type loudly enough a few people glance back towards the dark corner. You pay them no mind, your determination taking over, “And it needs to be smaller than your normal shows according to Matt. That doesn’t mean we have to limit venues by capacity – we could just limit ticket sales.” 

Eddie’s mouth falls open ever so slightly, watching you in awe as you start a new document. Making a checklist of just what was possible. No more spreadsheets littered with reminders of rejections, of what you weren’t sure you could get for the band. It would be nice to have a list of the venues you couldn’t contact now, but there was no need to let their names glare at you every time you reviewed your plans. 

“We need a top three for venues. What are your top three?”

You finally pause your clacking to look at him. Still stunned, still under the spell of watching you come to life. 

It used to be this way back in Hawkins, too. Whenever you took over on a school project, or a new gig for Corroded Coffin. You could do this. You would do this.

“I don’t-” Eddie starts, before taking a deep breath, “The only venues I really know by name are the ones I can’t perform at. The ones that banned me.”

“Awesome,” he shrinks back a little at that, almost in disbelief, but it was awesome. Not that he’d gotten banned, but that you had somewhere to start, “Send me that list. Type it up on your phone right now, and send it.”

“To your email?” he questions, already doing as you’d commanded of him. 

You consider it. Your email was already overflowing with work related notions, and brimming with those goddamn rejections you had yet to delete and move past. 

Personal email was out of the question. You only checked it for coupons from your favorite online shops and notifications from your mother’s Facebook. 

You snatch his phone out of his palm, and don’t look up at him until you navigate to the contacts app, hit the small plus sign, type in the magic number that you don’t check to see if he actually deleted two years ago. You just assume he did.

Your number. 

“Text it to me,” you instruct him as you pass the phone back. His hand still hovers where it’d been when you’d taken the cell phone, as if he’s frozen. “Now, please.” 

You don’t care if it’s stupid to do, it’s necessary. He’ll probably just delete it once you finish this final favor, this final gift to him to send him off and out of your life for good. 

“O-Okay,” he stutters, and not even a minute later, your phone buzzes with a text. 

You flip it over, keep it angled so Eddie can’t see the screen. 

New text from ROCKSTAR ♡ !

He may have deleted your contact, but you’d never deleted his. 

You’d tried to, make no mistake. Spent plenty of late hours staring at that haunted number, even tried to backspace it away a few times. But every time your thumb would hover over the delete button, your hands would shake and knuckles would ache. Every time you’d manage to fully backspace the number away, it was no use; you still knew it by heart, still retyped it and saved it as if nothing had ever changed. There had been a short week of having his number blocked, but you’d given up, unblocked it then sometimes still sat and waited for another round of calls from him begging for a chance to just talk. 

You always seemed to have one foot in the door, one foot out with Eddie. Always stained, never cleaned of him. 

It didn’t matter. After these next three months, you’d delete it. You told yourself you would, for real this time. You’d erase him, properly let him go until you forgot the sound of his voice and couldn’t even recall the first three digits of his phone number. You would. You had to. 

You flip the phone back over and face it down on the table, looking up at him, forcing a polite smile. It kills you – it startles him. 

“Alright, Mr. Rescue Party. Shall we begin?”

—

You never return to the office. 

Hours later, when the sun was setting and the table was littered with empty coffee cups bought by Eddie to continue to fuel the two of you, you receive an email from Lydia. 

Leaving and locking up the office now. Hope the meeting with your client went well. See you tomorrow. 

You blink rapidly at the message, hardly being able to process the time. It was nearly seven. 

“Okay, so, that venue was a no-go,” Eddie says as he approaches the table again, finally stepping back inside from calling your green venue. The two of you had decided it was time to stop sending off emails that could be easily ignored – you were tracking down numbers and calling them directly, now. Forcing them to give an answer then and there rather than putting you off for weeks, “I was right about word traveling between those assholes- What’s wrong?” 

He stops just before he pulls out his chair, leaning down with his forearms pressed into the back of the seat when he notices your expression of shock. 

It had been easy, too easy, to waste away the hours with Eddie. And, sure, the main distraction had been planning and putting everything into action. Eddie had narrowed down his top three venues, you had found a few businesses that would service an open bar and had begun to gather quotes. But it hadn’t all been business. 

Small things had slipped in. A short conversation had been had about the best bars in town when you’d begun that side quest, Eddie admitting which bars in town let him frequent them while offering the most privacy (not many, unsurprisingly) and you’d listed a few of the clubs your coworkers liked to frequent. No overlap to be found. But then, there had been the joking after Eddie called one of his other top three venues and put them on speaker, allowing you to hear the way the owner chewed Eddie out for the time he’d caused chaos at a show that wasn’t even his own. The moment the owner hung up, Eddie had made a face, somewhere between embarrassment and irritation, until you’d finally spoken up and mocked one of the last things the owner had said before the dial tone.

“Don’t you ever call here again,” you’d jokingly mimicked in a deep and comical voice, wagging a finger in Eddie’s direction in fake scolding. 

It hadn’t even been that funny. But the two of you had still descended into giggles like two children, until tears pricked the corners of your eyes and your stomach ached just a little bit. 

Small moments. Small exchanges. Things that were personal, things you wouldn’t have done with a normal client. Things that had a full day slipping away from you quietly in the darkest corner of a coffee shop you never even knew existed mere blocks from your work. 

“It’s seven, Eddie,” you tell him as if he should be just as taken back. He hardly blinks an eye, “We’ve been here seven hours.”

“And?” the creases between his brows finally smooth, standing back up straight, “We’ve been getting shit done, and we’ve been paying customers the entire time. I don’t see the issue.” 

The issue is the way you made work not feel like work. 

The issue was the cycle you had been fearing, avoiding, and falling victim to ever since he’d been waiting for you in that conference room that very first day. Every time Eddie would inch back into your vision, whether right before you as he was now or in the form of emails you’d find yourself reading over before bed, you were forgetting the anger. It kept feeling like a time machine, sending you right back to that very first night. Before the fame, before the hurt.

You have no idea how you’ll manage to keep this to just a parting gift. 

“I just…” your words fall short, because he’s technically right, “I didn’t realize we’d been here that long.” 

Eddie takes his seat with a nonchalant shrug, “Easy to lose track of time when you’re actually getting shit done,” he stops, blanches at his words as he stares at you as if he thinks he’s just insulted you, “Wait, I- No, I just mean- I don’t mean you weren’t getting things done before. I swear.”

You’re not offended in the slightest, “I know. But to be fair, I really wasn’t. I’m sorry for doubting how helpful you’d be when you showed up earlier today.” 

“Don’t do that.”

“What? Apologize?”

“No, discredit yourself,” he stresses. And you hadn’t noticed it, but your two chairs had seemingly grown closer over the hours as his knee bumps your thigh, “You… I’m not an easy client. You were handed a shit deal, plus Matt really wasn’t giving you anything to work with. I wasn’t giving you anything to work with.” 

“I’m working for the entire band,” you remind him, remind yourself. 

All it does is remind you of even more people you miss. Gareth, who was the little brother you never had back in Hawkins. Jeff, who had been one of your closest confidants. Craig, who would’ve answered your phone calls even in the dead of night. All friends you gave up when you walked out on Eddie. You always forget that – you didn’t just leave behind one person, you left behind an entire life.

Eddie’s phone buzzes, and he makes no move to grab it, “Have they been helpful?”

You stare at the phone, waiting for him to reach out. He doesn’t.

“Sort of.”

Another buzz. Another unanswered message Eddie clearly has no interest in responding to. 

“Sort of? What did they ask for in their lists?”

Another buzz. Finally, you break free of whatever conversation Eddie’s trying to have, and lean forward to grab his phone and pass it to him, “You need to check that. What if it’s Matt?”

Eddie doesn’t glance at the phone, only crosses his arms, effectively tucking the phone out of your sight as well, “He can wait. What did the other guys ask for?”

You can hear the next buzz, more muffled against his t-shirt and beneath his jacket.

“Eddie.”

“Sugar.”

He knows the nickname is a weapon against you. He uses it more deliberately this time, not letting it just slip out as it had at the office. 

“Open bar, fuzzy robes, normal things,” you finally spit out, trying to not let the echo of him calling you that name to worm into your brain and begin to rot you away, “Now, check your phone. Please.” 

This time, when the phone buzzes, Eddie removes it from being trapped beneath his armpit and actually looks at the screen. You know immediately you were right; his face falls as he reads over the missed messages, all his teasing fading and that air of light-hearted arrogance being sucked out of the space between you two. 

You don’t need to ask, but you do anyways, “Rockstar duty calls?”

He looks up rapidly, mouth already forming the word no, but you shake your head to stop his lie. 

It’s fine. It’s entirely acceptable that other people need his attention, that he has other affairs to tend to. You had gotten used to it when the two of you were dating and he first made his big break, you shouldn’t expect a change now when you were nothing more than a stranger working for him. It shouldn’t sting, and you shouldn’t feel a small fraction of you hopeful that he’ll be defiant and insist on ignoring those duties.

Today was only ever meant to be one cup of coffee. The fact that you two had lost track, fumbled and turned one cup into four, was only a blip. 

“I get it,” you say, sinking back into your chair. And you did, you really did. It was easier now to understand than it was back then, back when this very type of situation started the domino effect that was the beginning of the end, “You should go if they need you. You are a rockstar, after all.” 

It’s a hard sentiment to say without a trace of bitterness, but you manage. He’s a rockstar. All his hopes, all his dreams, have finally come true. He gets to breathe, he gets to be rowdy, he gets to hear crowds scream back all those lyrics you’d watched him write in his bedroom back in Hawkins. He got everything he wished for. 

You should be happy for him. If this arrangement is going to work, you have to be happy for him. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks you as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans, standing and beginning to gather empty coffee cups.

“Work,” you shrug, crossing your arms as you glare at the laptop, already feeling preemptive frustration at the thought of picking up where you’ve left off today, alone. 

It’s not just because you want Eddie to join you on the project. It’s not Eddie’s help that you specifically want. It’s just nice to have someone to help shoulder the load with you, right? 

“At the office?”

“That’s where I usually work, yes.”

“Come to my place instead.”

Time almost freezes. He’s standing there, nearly all of the empty latte cups balanced in his arms, and looking at you as if he hadn’t just asked the most insane possible thing of you. 

“Eddie,” you speak softly, carefully, as your arms drop from your chest, “I don’t think that Lydia would be okay with that-”

“I’m a client,” he points out, “Besides, you’ve been stressed about this project, and I like to think I helped with that today.”

He did. God, he did.

“Just think about it,” he’s nearly begging. Beneath the lowlights of this cafe, features dancing with the reflection of some Christmas lights pinned up to line the top of the wall as they cast an aesthetic glow of gold over the surroundings, Eddie Munson is begging for your time, “You have my number. Think it over tonight, and just text me if you decide you want to. I can send over my address.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Probably not,” at least he’s being honest. But quickly, it becomes apparent he’s misinterpreted you as he continues on, “You’re probably going to get photographed by paparazzi when you show up if you’re not careful, and if they figure out you’re there to see me, you’ll probably end up on the cover of some lowlife magazine-”

“That’s not the part I’m concerned with,” you lament, finally choosing to stand now. The last thing on your mind is publicity, or cameras, or magazines, “I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea to make this,” you motion your arms between the two of you, “A habit.”

His face falls ever so slightly. A soft drop of his eyebrows, a gentle pinch of his lips. You swear, you watch him nearly drop one of the coffee cups before he regains composure, “It won’t be. It’s… It’s just work, yeah?” 

Just work. Just a project. Just one final parting gift. This is nothing more than a source of closure for the two of you, a slamming of the door on that chapter of your life where the boy standing before you was your end-all, be-all. He’s right – it’s just work. 

Your voice hardly comes out a whisper, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” it takes everything in you to level your words, to keep them from shaking, “I’ll ask Lydia, and I’ll let you know.” 

A slow smile spreads across his face, and you can’t ignore the way it puts the glimmering lights on the ceiling to shame. No shade of gold, no twinkling reflection on the windows overlooking the busy street, can compare to the knife his hopeful smile strikes in you. It’s the type of smile that aches, that resonates, that haunts.

It’s the kind of smile that tells you you’re going to bleed for this, no matter how much you resist. 

“Cool,” he nods, finally taking a few steps back, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, maybe?”

The kind of smile that tells you the bloodstain is never going to wash out, whether this is all just for work or not.

“See you tomorrow, Eddie.” 

The idea of closure is about as tangible as smoke and mirrors as he leaves you alone in the dark corner of the coffee shop. It almost hurts as much as it did the first time he walked out to be a rockstar.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @@loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious

join my taglist!

#my writing #ghost's writing #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #rockstar eddie munson #will she go to his place the next day? will something happen at his apartment? will i go insane by the end of writing this fic? who knows ! #certainly not me #as the writer it is not my place to know these things #i am just a vessel for my visions #they frustrate me endlessly #as always #if it ain't good do not tell me #this is burning slower than i expected #wah

[byersbootyshorts]

hear me out

sub!steve , eddie, or jonathan you choose they’re all adorable, but PLS best friend!character thats also kinda pervy and obsessed but not overly? like maybe you wear a short skirt or something else revealing and you notice they’re kinda 😵‍💫 and help them?? change anything you want though ofc

I decided to write this for Jonathan since he's literally the perviest man alive

Heatwave (J.B.)

There's a heatwave in Hawkins so you decide to wear a skirt for a change. Little do you know it's going to drive Jonathan absolutely insane.

Word Count: 2,536

EXPLICIT CONTENT MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: bestfriend!Jonathan, perv!sub!Jonathan, fem!dom!reader, smut, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, swearing

Leave a request here

Everyday I thank the Duffers for making this man a little perv

Your hair blew around your face as the cold wind beat in the open window of Jonathan’s car. It was the middle of a heatwave in Hawkins and you were feeling its effects. So much so that you had decided to wear a skirt to school that day. Your outfits were usually low effort and extremely casual, but that day you couldn’t bear to wear pants.

So, you decided, since you were wearing a skirt, that you’d make the effort to wear something nicer to school. After throwing clothes all over your room and trying on countless different tops, you’d finally gone with a red and black tennis skirt with fishnets, a black vest top, and a studded belt. Not exactly appropriate for school but you thought you’d get away with it since no one ever noticed you anyway.

But Jonathan noticed. He’d noticed the minute you came out of your house that morning and got into his car. He’d noticed the way the skirt rode up when you sat down. He’d noticed the fishnets clinging to your thighs and how your skin bulged out between each string. He’d noticed…

“Jonathan!” you shouted, practically punching him on the shoulder.

“What?” he said, snapping out of his daze.

“Are you kidding me? You just ran a red light,” you accused him.

“Oh shit, really?” He suddenly realised he’d been thinking about your thighs rather than looking at the road. “Sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Well, focus,” you said, your heart still pounding from Jonathan’s illegal driving. “I’d rather not die today.”

You eventually made it to school with no more near death experiences.

First period math in a boiling hot classroom was not an enjoyable start to your day. Even your teacher was struggling and had resorted to telling you all to do some equations while she fanned herself with a textbook.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you please open that window back there,” the teacher said before you began writing.

You nodded, glad of the suggestion and reached for the window latch. But, of course, it was one of those windows that is literally right at the top of the wall and almost impossible for any average human to reach. You stood on your tip-toes and somehow managed to grab onto the latch and pull it open.

Little did you know that, while you were reaching, your skirt had slid up the back of your leg, revealing most of your thighs. While, the rest of the class had their heads in their books, Jonathan’s eyes were fixed on you. His leg began to bounce rapidly as he started to feel the blood rush to his crotch.

He stared shamefully at your ass, imagining what your thighs would look like perched on top of him with his fingers digging into your skin and your hand around his…

He quickly buried his head in his book when he saw you turn around. He glanced up again, just for a second to find you looking back at him. You smiled at him but you were worried. There was something off about him that day. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was definitely bothering him.

“Are you ok?” you were finally able to ask Jonathan at lunch. You were sitting alone on a wall outside the school building. It was more peaceful than the bustling cafeteria. And there was less chance of getting picked on by the jocks.

“What do you mean?” Jonathan said, looking up from his sandwich. He had his schoolbag on his lap for some reason. You were confused as to why but didn’t question it.

“I mean, you’ve been acting really weird today,” you explained.

“I always act weird,” Jonathan mumbled.

“Ok then, weirder than normal,” you sighed exhaustedly. “J, I’m your best friend. Please tell me.”

You innocently placed your hand on Jonathan’s arm and noticed him grip the bag closer to his body. That made you a little suspicious.

“It’s nothing,” he said defensively.

You were about to question him further when the bell rang. Jonathan practically leapt up and said, “Sorry, I’ll talk to you later,” before speeding off.

You were itching to know what the hell was going on with Jonathan and last period couldn’t come fast enough. He was already sitting at his desk when you walked in. When he saw you enter his eyes immediately averted to look out the window. You sat at the desk in front of him and tried your best not to think about him. You’d give him a proper interrogation in the car.

Your last class was English and, unfortunately, the teacher wanted all the students to read out part of the homework you’d been working on. After hearing countless dull essays from tired students, the teacher finally said, “Y/N, please stand and read the first page of your assignment.”

You did as she commanded and began to recite the start of your essay. If you’d asked Jonathan what it was about, he would’ve been stumped. Because here he was, once again, stuck in class, staring at your ass. And this time, there was no way to hide it.

He cursed you for choosing to sit right in front of him. And he cursed the teacher for making you stand up. He tried to listen to your essay but the words blurred into one as an image formed in his mind. If he wasn’t resting his chin on his hand his mouth would’ve been agape as he pictured himself running his hands up and down the soft skin of your thighs as you rode him, softly mumbling his name.

But your weren’t mumbling anymore. You were shouting. “Jonathan!” And you didn’t sound like you. You sounded like an old woman.

“Mr Byers! Pay attention and stand up this instant!” the teacher demanded.

This time his jaw did drop as he realised it was now his turn to read his essay and he’d been zoned out for the past five minutes thinking of you.

You turned around to face him as he got up to speak. His face was bright red. He cleared his throat before beginning to read his essay. You looked up at him from your seat in an attempt to reassure him. While listening to his surprisingly well written essay your eyes dropped for a second. Just a second. But it was long enough to confirm your suspicions.

You lifted your eyes back up to Jonathan’s face, trying to ignore the bulge in his black pants. Thank God he was at the back of the class in a dark corner where hopefully no one else would see. When he sat back down you turned around in your seat again, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

The class sprang out of their seats when, at last, the final bell rang. You and Jonathan left the classroom in silence. As you walked down the busy corridor your mind was racing. You had to address the situation, right? But how? By the time you reached Jonathan’s car you had a plan.

“Give me the keys,” you ordered him, standing in front of the driver side door.

“What? Why?” Jonathan replied, confused.

“We’re going somewhere,” you answered vaguely.

Jonathan gave you a sceptical look but slowly handed over the keys.

There was little conversation as you drove Jonathan where you wanted to go. The closer you got to your destination, the more confused he got.

“Are we going to my house?” he asked.

“Not quite,” you responded.

You parked the car at the edge of the forest that surrounded the Byers’ house and gave Jonathan the nod to get out of the car.

“Oh,” Jonathan sighed in relief when he realised where you were taking him. It was a place you’d discovered a long time ago and now used as a place to hang out. A misshapen tree that bent over to form a perfect little bench. The leaf covered branches of the tree hung down, creating a dome over the bench. It was like your own personal little haven where you and Jonathan would come when you wanted to get away from the bullies of Hawkins.

“Why are we here?” Jonathan questioned you when you reached the tree.

You didn’t say anything until you were both sat on its crusting bark.

“Because we need to talk,” you replied, your expression turning serious as you stared deep into Jonathan’s eyes. He shifted his legs nervously, the close proximity between your face and his causing his pants to swell for the fourth time that day.

“Don’t try to hide it,” you said.

“Hide what?”

“You know what,” you whispered, raising your eyebrow.

Jonathan swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say.

“I assume this is why you’ve been acting weird all day,” you said.

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it,” he said shakily. “I don’t know why this is happening.”

“I do.” You grabbed Jonathan’s hand and placed it on your thigh. “It’s because of this. It’s because you’ve never seen me wear anything other than jeans. It’s because you haven’t been able to stop staring at my ass all day.”

Jonathan let out a quivering breath.

“I didn’t know my best friend was a little pervert,” you smirked.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan repeated.

“No, J, it’s ok,” you assured him. “I’m trying to tell you that I don’t mind. You’re a guy. These things happen.”

“It’s just, you’ve never worn something like that before. I’m s-,”

“If you apologise one more time I’m leaving,” you said, covering Jonathan’s mouth with your hand.

You were silent for a few seconds, staring into each other’s eyes. Then, you moved your hand down from Jonathan’s lips so you were holding his chin between your finger and thumb. You pulled his face forward, forcing your lips to connect. Jonathan didn’t even flinch when you kissed him. Immediately he melted into your body and begged your mouth to open with his tongue.

But you didn’t grant him access just yet. You pulled your lips away and rested your forehead on his.

“You want some help with this?” you mumbled, placing your hand on his inner thigh.

Jonathan nodded eagerly and started to pull you on top of him.

“Ok, slow down,” you chuckled. You got up from the tree branch and were about to pull off your fishnets when Jonathan stopped you.

“No,” he said quietly, grabbing your hand. “Can you keep them on please?”

“Shit, you really are a little creep, aren’t you?” you smirked.

Jonathan’s face flushed as he fumbled with his belt. He almost sobbed when his dick was finally released from his tight pants.

You got on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and hovered above his dick.

“You must be so desperate if you’ve been like this all day,” you said, running you hand through his hair. He let out a quiet whimper in response.

“You sure you want me to help you with this?”

“Yes, yes please,” Jonathan whispered, wrapping his hands around your waist.

You pulled your fishnets and underwear to the side. Jonathan let out a loud moan as you guided him inside you.

“Shh, J,” you hushed him. “We may be in the middle of nowhere but sound travels.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan mumbled.

“And what did I say about apologising?”

This time he stayed quiet.

Your thrusts were slow and deep. Jonathan’s fingers dug into your sides as he willed you to pick up your pace.

“Faster, please,” he begged.

So, instead, you stopped. You sat on his dick, taking all of it inside you. Jonathan whined at the lack of movement. You ignored him.

“You know, it’s really misogynistic of you to only find me attractive when you can look up my skirt,” you said, wanting to watch him squirm for just a bit longer.

“I find you attractive all the time,” Jonathan replied, his eyes shut in concentration.

“Well, you’re not getting a boner every day, so obviously you don’t.”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to look at you every fucking day and not get hard,” Jonathan explained. “The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that when I go home I can…”

Jonathan stopped, realising he had revealed too much.

“You can what?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said quietly.

“Jonathan,” you said more sternly, staring daggers into his eyes. “You can what?”

Jonathan started to speak but he was too quiet.

“Speak up or I’m leaving you out here and you can sort out your little situation by yourself.”

That was one thing Jonathan didn’t want, so he raised his voice.

“I have photos of you,” he began. “And I, uh-,”

“Wait, photos? What photos?” you demanded.

“Nothing creepy, I swear.” You couldn’t tell if Jonathan’s face was red with embarrassment or the heat. “It’s photos that you let me take of you for art class last year.”

“Ok,” you said. You could feel him twitching. “And what do you do with these photos?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

He looked up at you with pleading eyes. You felt his breathing get faster.

“You don’t wanna know,” he finally said.

“Oh, I think I do,” you smiled, beginning to roll your hips back and forth again just thinking about it.

Just that slight movement set Jonathan off again. He couldn’t stop the grunts and whimpers escaping his lips. You thought if you couldn’t stop him from making noise, you could at least muffle it.

You pressed your lips against his again, this time allowing your tongues to intertwine.

“Y/N,” Jonathan groaned desperately into your open mouth.

He was practically ripping your shirt with his hands so you started to increase your speed. Now you were kissing him to hold back your own moans, as well as his.

You reached up to grab one of the tree branches behind Jonathan’s head as you started to feel your stomach tighten.

“Do you want to cum, J?” you asked, pulling away from his lips.

“Yes, so bad,” he whined. “Please, can I?”

You nodded and almost immediately you felt Jonathan spill out inside you. He threw his head back and moaned your name louder than before. But you were too tied up in your own high to tell him to be quiet.

When you eventually stopped your movements the two of you were out of breath and sweating. The sun was beating down on you through the trees, wiping any energy you had left.

You climbed off Jonathan’s lap, adjusted your underwear and sat back down on the tree branch. Jonathan’s hands shook violently as he attempted to do up his pants.

You both sat, staring up at the sky, neither one of your daring to speak. Until Jonathan broke the silence.

“Is this going to be really awkward now?” he asked timidly.

“I don’t see why it should be,” you responded, turning to face him.

A small smile spread across Jonathan’s face. “So we’re still good for movie night on Friday then,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, squeezing his leg. “I’ll even wear a skirt if you want.”

#jonathan byers #sub!jonathan byers #perv!jonathan byers #best friend!jonathan byers #dom!reader #jonathan byers smut #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers one shot #stranger things #stranger things smut #smut #smut oneshot #smut fic

[nburkhardt]

Somebody Loves You, You Got A Friend.

Hello! This is my abo teenage parents steddie fic I talked about a few times. Wrote it a while ago for myself, never felt quite confident for sharing. But after sharing the few snippets, here’s the start! There’s real no end to it, it’s mostly slice of life with nearly no real plot. (Title is from Spaceship by Andy Grammer)

Some info you should know: it takes place in season 2. Originally wasn’t going to include the upside down but switched it to have it. ANYWAY, enjoy the start! It’s mostly Steve angst and only a hint of Eddie lol.

So, here’s the thing… Steve never keep his secondary gender a secret. In fact, he was quite proud of it. Mostly because it pisses his dad off to no end, and well, pissing off his dad is one of his and his mom’s favorite past time.

With that said he was definitely proud to take after his mom and for being a male omega. He knows it probably pisses more people off than they let on and really, that makes his fucking day.

Sometime around the time he entered high school, his status went sky high. He didn’t mind, though finding true friends was rough. Especially when Tommy and Carol glued themselves to him within a few hours of knowing him. Since he didn’t keep his omega status a secret, they thought he was weaker and needed to be protected. With Tommy being an alpha and Carol a beta, they decided to be best friends. It pissed him off, but at the time he didn’t have many friends. But of course, he’s not weak. He knows how to protect himself and even others.

His life gets flipped upside down, shortly after Nancy Wheeler calls him ‘bullshit’ in a bathroom at a dumb Halloween party.

It’s been months since Will Byers disappeared, thought dead and found alive. Also months since Nancy’s best friend fucking died while sitting at his pool. All while he and Nancy were in bed, they only found out in the next morning at school.

Nancy’s words send him spiraling down immediately, because unlike her, he does or did love her. So in a blind panic, he leaves the room and then the house and straight into the forest behind. Freaking out and sobbing as he went.

He didn’t know how long he was there, all he remembers of the night is panicking and then someone that smells of smoke, rain and freshly cut grass, helps him to his car and on his way. With only a matchbook with a number on it sitting on his passenger seat as who helped him.

In the morning, he gets ready for school, kisses his mom on the cheek and goes on his way. Only pocketing the matchbook as he parks in the school parking lot.

The day is simple only because he avoids Nancy as much as he can and then nearly get his ass handed to him by the new big alpha in town, Billy Hargrove.

“Should plant your feet, pretty boy”

He rolls his eyes, “shove the fuck off, Hargrove”

Billy is about to do another shove, he can’t figure out why to be honest. His scent is currently covered by scent blockers, the one thing his mom told him to take. When he notices Nancy waving him down, so he goes willingly to that danger instead.

It’s nothing but anger from her, it’s rolling off her in her scent even with a blocker, “Why didn’t you pick me up?”

He scruffs, “because I’m apparently bullshit?”

She at least flinches at that. But doesn’t apologize, at least, not the way he’d like. She does try to excuse it all by saying she was drunk and if there is one thing he took to heart from his asshole dad; drunk words are sober thoughts.

The final kicker of the whole conversation: her not saying “I love you” after he pleads her to.

He decides after that, Nancy Wheeler is someone he refuses to be with.

—

If you made it this far great!! Because after this the real fun begins 🥳 meaning Eddie is actually there and you get to meet my favorite person, Janet Harrington… Steve’s mom! This was just getting things mostly set up. I hope it doesn’t seem too weird with jumping around or weird phrasing lol.

(Btw, I don’t necessarily keep to everything everyone does in abo fics. I go with whatever I like and easy to work with. So there’s scents, mates, pack easy things. Nothing too explicit either, I’m definitely not confident enough to post smut hahaha.) OH AND IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS AU MY MESSAGES AND ASK BOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!!!!!

Permanent Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay

Also those who liked my snippet: @zerokrox-blog @callme-keys @maya-custodios-dionach @rajumat @yellowdevilkitten @munsonfamilyband @steddierthings

#steddie #steddie fic #omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steddie abo #abo fic #stranger things fic #nburkhardt writes #Steve Harrington fic

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble - 19/09/23

Prompt: we’re not family

****

The ICU is at capacity. An earthquake, they’re saying. It’s been a week and they’re still sticking to that bullshit story.

Wayne’s not an idiot, and neither are these doctors. There are Feds here talking about dog bites and it’s written all over their faces, yeah pal, we don’t believe it either.

A nurse brought him a book a couple of days ago. “To keep your mind off things.” It’s hard to read when he’s listening for the whoosh clicks of the ventilator, the alarms, beeps and bells of machinery, all plugged in to his nephew, and knowing that these sounds mean Eddie’s alive. He doesn’t want to keep his mind off that.

Wayne hears a commotion in the hallway and he’s about to ignore it when he realises he recognises the voice.

He steps out of the room and is stunned to see his little brother arguing with two nurses. It’s like a slap in the face. Wayne didn’t even know he was out of jail.

“Christ, Wayne, will you tell these people we’re family?”

Wayne stares at him. At Albert Edward Munson, the baby brother who he wished for for so long. Who finally showed up a couple of months after Wayne’s tenth birthday and he’d thought it was the best possible birthday present anyone could have got him.

He used to take Al to school for his Ma when she was working, his small hand tucked safely in Wayne’s as they walked. That yardstick of growth, hand against hand, laughter and giggles as Al caught up to him, bigger and bigger each year.

He showed him how to slick his curls back with Sweet Georgia Brown before his first date. Told him he was still proud of him when he failed senior year. 

Hugged him tight when Al was drafted. Hugged him tighter when he came home.

He comforted him when he got Shirley-Anne pregnant, told him it would be okay. Gave him money, helped them get married. 

Cried with him when Eddie was born. Cried with him when Shirley-Ann died.

Bailed him out of jail when he went on a bender. Cleaned up the bottles and cans in the house so that Eddie wouldn’t cut himself on them. 

Argued with him when he saw the bruises on Eddie’s arms. Hit him when he saw the bruise on Eddie’s cheek.

Disowned him when he threw Eddie out.

He stares at his baby brother, and it fucking hurts because he sees so much of Eddie standing there. The big brown eyes, the dark curls. It fucking hurts because he loved this kid with all his heart and he did everything he could, he did, to steer him right, to keep him on a good path. All for nothing.

Wayne swallows thick and wet. “We ain’t family.”

“The fuck we’re not!” shouts Al. “You can’t keep me from my boy!”

Wayne is a patient man, but that there is his breaking point. He storms towards Al, grabs his shirt in one hand, points right in his face with the other.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he spits out, venom and anger and frustration, a pressure cooker twenty years in the making finally exploding. “On two counts. I will keep you away from him, and he ain’t your fucking boy no more!” Wayne shoves him away. “You lost the right to call him your boy the moment you beat the shit out of him.”

He catches sight of one of the Feds and well fuck let’s make them work for their money, he thinks as he waves him over.

“This man’s bothering the nurses.” He barely finishes the sentence before Al is being dragged out of the ICU, hollering and shouting the whole way.

The nurses are kind, they ask if he’s okay and he thanks them and apologises. For what happened, not for Al’s behaviour. Because he stopped being responsible for Al Munson a long time ago.

#wayne munson #al munson #stranger things #fanfic #drabble #stwgdailyprompt

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

My favorite headcanon ever is that Steve is lying in bed, and he rolls over into a pair of comforting arms. He sighs, snuggling into a cool but rather comfy chest. Their skin a welcome presence against his warm cheek. Steve blinks rapidly. Wait a minute. He looks up to find Eddie sleeping in his bed.

"Eddie?! Didn't you die?!" Steve asked.

"Huh. . .? Oh, yeah, I got better. Go back to sleep, baby," Eddie said.

Steve stared at him for a minute before laying his head back down. Yeah, he had to be dreaming. It was such a nice dream. Steve curled a hand tightly around Eddie's hip and fell back asleep.

In the morning, Robin had biked over to Steve’s house, wondering why the hell her best friend wasn't answering his phone. She used her key and went in, lumbering up the stairs to Steve’s room. She opened the door to find him fast asleep, in the arms of Eddie Munson. Robin shrieked.

"Oh my God! Eddie, didn't you die?!" Robin exclaimed.

"Ugh, why does everyone keep asking me that?" Eddie asked.

"Maybe because you died?!" Robin yelled.

"Oh, yeah."

"Shit!" Steve yelled, finally waking up. "It wasn't a dream."

"Hi, baby," Eddie said, sweetly, as he cupped his face and gave him a kiss. "You want pancakes? I'm going to make us some pancakes."

He got out of bed and moved past Robin out the door. Robin looked at her friend, stunned.

"He just kissed you."

"Yeah, I was there."

"Have you - have you guys done that before?"

"Nope."

"Ah. Maybe he thinks this is a dream. Let's ask him," Robin said.

They wandered into the kitchen where Eddie was digging through his cabinets. Steve realized Eddie was wearing his old gym clothes and was now wearing one of his mother's clips to hold his hair up.

"Eddie? Do you think this is a dream?" Robin asked.

"No. . . Do you?" Eddie asked.

"You died, Eddie. Now you're standing in my kitchen acting like it's no big deal and then you kissed me! You kissed me, Eddie," Steve said.

"Shit. You have every right to punch me for that!" Eddie exclaimed and turned to face him, fully panicking. "I came back, man. I crawled out that hellhole myself, and I'm not sure how. . . I mean, I think I might be a vampire. Anyway, I got out of there and I all I could think about was you, Steve. That was my first thought. . . Well, not without wondering if Dustin was okay, though. I checked on him first, and then I came here to you. You were already asleep, and so I took a shower. Sorry, man, I borrowed your clothes. Anyway. I looked at you, and you looked so beautiful that I couldn't help but think about all the opportunities that I could have lost with you, and my only thought was how much I just wanted to sleep next him and hold him. You can totally hit me because I totally deserve it. I just didn't want to die again without knowing what it was like to kiss you," Eddie rambled on.

Steve moved towards him and cupped his face.

"Eddie, is it really you?" Steve asked.

"Yes."

Steve leaned forward and kissed him. Eddie whimpered against his mouth and melted into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, pulling him tightly against him. Steve picked him up and placed him on the counter, stepping in between his legs. Eddie wrapped his legs around him in a tight grip as Steve deepened the kiss.

"Are we just going to ignore the fact that he said he's a vampire? . . .Okay. Fine. I'm still here!" Robin exclaimed.

Suddenly, there came a pounding on the door, startling everyone. Dustin's voice floated through the door.

"Steve! I'm freaking out! Last night, I woke up, and I saw Eddie staring at me through my window! I assumed that I was dreaming, but I went outside this morning, and there were a set of footprints and his bandana, which I am sure we left with him in the Upside Down. . .Steve, I think Eddie might be alive!"

#stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things s4 #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #vampire!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie #kas the betrayer

[hawkinsquarry]

❝  please don’t go—  i need.  i need someone—  i need you.  ❞ and ❝  it doesn’t have to mean anything,  i just don’t wanna feel lonely tonight. and i want to feel good for once.  ❞ is making me feel things. honestly needy steve begging to not be lonely sounds lovely but either way ❤️

how could i say goodbye? - steve x gn!reader

no pronouns for reader used; fluff, angst; hurt/comfort; sharing a bed; friends to lovers; love confessions; steve cry :(; brief mention of p*rn section at fam video but nothing in depth!

You’ve seen Steve like this before. Beaten up, bruised, a bit bloody. You’ve seen him wear the scars after. Borrowing Robin’s concealer for a cut lip and making up lies about being a klutz. You’ve bandaged him up, grabbed an ice pack and a handful of ibuprofen and sat them down on his bedside table, taking in his sleeping face before shutting off the light and going home.

This time, he’s scared. Everyone is. The world’s up in smoke and fire and tens of people are missing or dead. You’d wrung your hands the entire walk to Steve’s at 2 am, just as big military vehicles are pulling in. You couldn’t sleep, not knowing what’s become of him, and you’re relieved when his big, dumb house is in view, intact. A warm light on in his bedroom window. His car in the driveway, his dad’s car not.

Steve’s terrified when he opens the door, but his features soften immediately. His shirt’s off. You notice the lacerations on his torso immediately, but Steve’s pulling you in and locking the door before you can ask.

“Did you walk here?” is the first thing he says. You shrug, and he sighs loudly before wrapping you up in his arms. He smells like earth. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Lines are down anyway,” you mumble into his shoulder, trying not to kiss the skin as much as you want to. “What happened?”

He sighs again. “Not an earthquake.”

“I know.”

“Guess you could tell I needed a nurse, huh?”

You don’t think it’s very funny, but you lead him to the bathroom, picking out the first aid kit you’d last restocked in July. “Think you’ll need to lay down,” you say, gently kicking the cabinet under the sink shut. “Bedroom.”

You work gently and diligently on his stomach. He’d sworn to you it was already disinfected by the same people who partially cleaned him up after Starcourt. You still apply alcohol, much to his dismay. But even when he’s wincing, he’s quiet. Steve’s not known to be quiet. Your anxiety nearly gets the best of you, almost screaming at him when you ask again, “What happened?”

He stares at you for a long time, brown eyes starting to wet. “Not tonight,” he says.

“Robin?”

“She’s alive, too. Almost -“ and he takes a deep breath, pauses when you dab some more isopropyl on his spent skin. “Eddie.” It’s all he says. You bite at your cheek. You didn’t know Eddie well, and you’ve still got a lot of questions - but it’s a confirmation that those you know who usually get into these kinds of messes are okay.

You’re not unaware of the pointed use of the word alive and not okay. He was okay after 1984, and okay again after 1985, but 1986 only brings the word alive.

You use gauze to wrap the cuts on his stomach before taking another once over of him. He’s still so beautiful, even caked with mud and dirt and some weird thick gross slime that he’d only moaned a little don’t ask about. “Your neck,” you whisper, brows furrowing.

He nods a bit. “Hurts.”

You disinfect it, too, gently dabbing him with a cotton pad. “Hurts to swallow? To talk?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s okay,” you soothe, “I’ll stop askin’ questions now.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your wrist. “Keep talking. Please.”

You swallow and nod before continuing your work. “My house is fine. It looks most bad in downtown - I guess you already know that? The phone lines - I said that already. Guess what I did today?”

A hint of a smile. He shrugs a shoulder.

“I finally checked out the porn section at Family Video.”

His smile grows.

“Which I guess was really good timing. But Keith was there - something about how his employees didn’t show up? Do you know anything about that?”

“Nothing,” he mouths.

“I didn’t rent anything,” you continue, “I just wanted to look. And I guess - I guess I just wanted to see you, too.”

His big eyes get all soft again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You dab away the last remnants of blood from his neck and pull back to throw the cotton pad in the trash. “Shouldn’t apologize for saving the world.”

You’re prepping a band aid for a cut on his head when he whispers, “We didn’t this time.”

You look back at him in a little bit of shock. Yes, the things always come back. But he’s never come back and said “yeah, we really dropped the ball this time.” He’s always been relatively confident, giving it “an eighty to eighty-five percent chance” that this was the last time.

“Zero percent,” he says, like he’s reading your mind. “We didn’t.”

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow, okay? I saw those big government vehicles - they’ll help.”

He makes a face that tells you everything. They won’t. They don’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning back towards him and resting your hands on his chest.

You see his adam’s apple bob. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it safe for you.”

Steve has never cried before in front of you. He’s gotten close, but just walked away, pinching his nose and coming back a few minutes later like nothing ever happened. But now, he’s crying. It’s soft, a few tears riding down his cheeks.

“Steve.” Your voice cracks. “None of this is your fault. None of it. You can’t save the world. I’m - I’m so happy you’re safe.” You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, trying to fight off a sob. “I’m just glad you came home.”

He closes his eyes and bites his lip. You move away with your kit, placing it on his desk before moving back to him. You push his hair out of his face softly. “Get some sleep. Okay?”

Steve’s eyes shoot open and he looks scared again. Panicked. He shakes his head and grabs your hands, pulling you into him so far that you almost trip and fall on top of him. “Please don’t go. I need - I need someone. I need you.”

Your heart jumps up to your throat and you swallow thickly. He’s never asked you for this before. And he’s genuine - his eyes are wild and still wet and he looks so, so scared. Scared of losing you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll get some blankets and -“

“Here,” he says, tugging you in again. “I - look, I know. But it doesn’t have to mean anything. I just don’t wanna feel lonely tonight. I want to feel good for once. I - goddammit. I want you. Please.”

I want you. It rings in your head. I want you.

You move to the other side of the bed and slide under the covers, cuddling up close to him. Steve turns onto his side as best as he can - you’d chosen his good side to lay beside. You wrap him in your arms as he rests his head on your chest. His grip on you is tight and it has to hurt. His muscles have to be screaming at him to stop and rest. But he holds you like you might get taken, too, along with all the others.

And he cries. You feel the tears soaking through your shirt. He tries his best not to make any noise, but he still sniffles and clears his throat. You rake your hand through his hair and hold him as tight as you can, too.

“Steve,” you whisper. “I love you. I just - I had to say it.”

There’s a pause, a shaky breath, before he pushes himself up to kiss you. It’s small and otherwise insignificant, but warm and sweet and what you’ve wanted for years. You’re surprised when he pulls back, but you melt as he whispers, “I love you, too.”

He settles into your chest again, and you resume combing his hair, heart pounding. “I’m here. Okay? I’ll take care of you. Just rest. I love you.”

He sighs and relaxes. “I love you, too.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #han posts

[dynamic-power]

Steddie Time Travel AU, Back to the Past part 4

Part 1 | or read it on ao3

Hey, Steve. 

You aren’t going crazy, I promise. I don’t remember exactly what I read in this letter, but I’m going to do my best to tell you what I can. FIrst, and this is the most important thing, trust Eddie. You’re safe with him. Always. 

To be honest, I don’t actually know much. Just that when I was 19, I walked into the Upside Down and woke up in 2008. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, the me from 2008, but I do know that you'll come back to 1986. We were successful when I got thrown forward, so I’m hopeful that means it’ll happen again. Though to be honest, who the fuck knows. I’ve only time traveled once before, I’m not exactly an expert. 

It’s June, so you don’t have to worry about work. You’re about to get some visitors, actually. Good ones, I promise. You’ll know most of them. They’re coming out for the week. They don’t know why, but we do. 

Here’s what I want you to do for now; take it easy. Sleep in that comfortable bed, hang out with people. Let Eddie care for you. He’s really good at it, so just let him.

I know this is weird. You’re nineteen and just woke up married to the Freak. Trust me, I know it’s weird. But I want you to soak it all in. Let yourself be happy for a few days, Stevie. 

Eddie knows to give you the next letter when it’s time, because we are going to have to fix this eventually. But I’ve got some things to do here, and you need time to get to Hawkins. So until then, enjoy this life we’ve made for ourselves. 

-Steve

P.S. Please tell Eddie that I love him and that I am coming back for him, no matter what. He isn’t showing it right now, but he’s freaking the fuck out. Thanks.

Steve reads the postscript one last time and looks up at Eddie. He looks curious, like he’s dying to ask Steve a million questions, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

“He says he loves you,” Steve says softly, smiling when Eddie’s eyes light up. “He also said that he’s going to come back.”

Eddie laughs, but unlike the unrestrained laughter from before, this sounds tight. “This is the kind of man you are. You’re probably in need of reassurance way more than me, but you still take a moment to make sure I’m okay.”

“We’re married.”

Eddie nods, sitting on the foot of the bed. The cat, a tuxedo with bright blue eyes, jumps onto the bed, bumping its head into Eddie's arm before padding across the bed to force itself into Steve’s lap. Steve scratches at its head and it begins to purr. 

“That’s Mothy,” Eddie says. “Mothman.”

Steve blinks at the cat. “Mothman?”

“Uh, Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his head with a small smile. “Wait until you hear about the rest of the furry mongrels we’ve let into our house.” He hums. “Okay. I don’t want to tell you too much, because who the fuck knows how this whole time thing actually works. But you should know some things. 

“First, like I said, it’s 2008. I know you aren’t from this year, you’ve told me that much at least. But I don’t know what year you’re from.”

“1986.”

Steve hears Eddie take a breath. “Oh,” he says, and it comes out so softly that Steve isn’t actually sure he’s said anything at all. “That’s why you were surprised to see me alive.”

“Yeah.” Steve sets the letter on the nightstand, covering the glasses and book and ring, and gently shifts Mothy out of his lap. The cat gives a small chirp in protest, but obliges and curls onto Eddie’s pillow instead. Steve shifts himself down the bed so he’s sitting next to Eddie. He reaches out and grips Eddie’s arm. “All of the shit with Vecna went down five days ago,” he says. “You- fuck. Eddie, where I’m from - when I’m from? - you died five days ago. You saved us. All of us. You saved me. I didn’t even get the chance to say thank you or- or- anything.”

And then Steve finds himself enveloped in Eddie’s arms again. The angle is awkward as they sit there side by side, but Eddie is warm and is holding him so tightly that Steve has no choice but to melt into it. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, squeezing him harder for a second before shifting back again. “I mean, look at where we ended up. It’s- it’s all so good. Our life together.”

“So we really are married.”

“Well, technically, no. It’s still not legal. But we kinda said ‘fuck it’ and had ceremonies anyway.”

Steve stands, trying to ignore how bare he feels in only a pair of boxer shorts, and approaches the dresser Eddie had just been rummaging through to investigate the pictures. 

He’s pleased to recognize most of the people in them. Dustin is there, with Will and Mike and Lucas. There’s one of Max and El, and another of Jon and the new guy that’s living in Steve’s guest room. Argyle. Then, of course, there’s the pictures of the brides and grooms. Nancy and Robin look splendid, Nance in a traditional dress and Robin wearing a white pant suit, but it’s the one of he and Eddie that Steve picks up to study. 

They are both dressed in black suits, leaning into each other with matching dopey grins. They look a bit older, Steve would guess mid-twenties, and Steve can’t believe how genuinely happy he looks. 

“In the 90’s,” Eddie says, “the four of us decided to commit to each other in front of friends and family.” Steve turns to look at him. He’s still sitting on the foot of the bed and he looks proud. 

“Family, too?” Steve asks, and when Eddie’s face falls just a little, Steve doesn’t have to ask to know why. Family, but not his.

“We were so surrounded by love that day, Stevie. Everyone that mattered, that cared about us and our happiness, was there.”

Steve swallows back the unexpected lump forming in his throat. “What else?” he asks, setting the photo down again. “Where are we?”

“Chicago,” Eddie says. 

“Really?” Steve asks, eyes going wide. 

“Yeah. We bought this house back in the 90’s, too. Good decade for us, the 1990’s,” Eddie says with a laugh. “I, uh, should tell you. We have-”

But he’s cut off by the sound of something playing an odd jingle on Eddie’s nightstand. 

“Fuck,” he says, using his cane again to stand. “That’s probably her.” When he gets to the nightstand, he picks up a small, metallic rectangle. Steve watches in confusion as he opens it and holds it to his ear like a phone. “Morning, lovebug.” He pauses, and Steve realizes it is a phone. But it can’t be larger than a wallet; it fits perfectly in Eddie’s hand. “Yeah, gimme a second and I’ll send your dad out to help you.” Another pause, and then he says, “love you,” and snaps the phone shut.

“Is that a telephone?” Steve asks, pointing to the small rectangle. 

“Oh. Uh, yeah. A cell phone. You’ve got one too, Stevie. We can look at it later, though. We need to get dressed. You’ve got someone to meet.”

“Who?”

Eddie’s grin is blinding. “Our daughter.”

The tag list is full. Come follow this on ao3! And lmk if you want to be removed from the tag list. Thanks for all the love y'all are giving this. 💜

-----

Part 5

Tag list: @clumsiluni @l0st-strawberry @aol19 @newtstabber @mugloversonly @cryptid-cuties @notaqueenakhaleesi @estrellami-1 @idkuhhh @f-llthevoid @pauphs @tinyplanet95 @therealscarletpumpernickel @feral-possums-in-the-bog @emma-elsa-0000 @stevesbipanic @alycatavatar @insteviewetrust @blue-menace-mind @romanticdestruction @hbyrde36 @jinkiesbiiitchhh @jezabella8 @xxsky-shockxx @livinginthesea @aliea82 @somewhereatdawn @jayree-3-lol @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @nailbatanddungeon @messrs-weasley @thebiblesays @hallucinatedjosten @platinum-sunset @theluckyalien @weirdandabsurd42 @phirex22 @marklee-blackmore @@nerdyglassescheeseychick @bird-with-pencils @skjachukson @yourmom-isgay

@grtwdsmwhr @sirsnacksalot @literalangels @burningbasementmilkshake @novacorpsrecruit @krazyperson @fancyorangepeels @m-owo-n @colidamae @wheatisstillwheat @im-just-here-to-watch-the-chaos @kjobriscoe

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #time travel #stranger things #dyno writes #back to the past

[steddieasitgoes]

Inspired by the tags I left on @phoenicae poll about our favorite way Eddie didn't die.

I know we all headcanon Steve being the one to carry Eddie out of the Upside Down when they make it back in time after defeating Vecna but consider:

Steve's own body is giving out on him. He's bleeding through the makeshift bandages Nancy fitted him with from all the running they've done getting back to Forest Hills. He's woozy and lightheaded and relying too much on Robin to keep him upright as they finally make it through the woods and spot Dustin and Eddie in the distance.

Dustin is crying, yelling about how Eddie still has a pulse and they can't leave him here, and Steve tries his best to suck up his own pain. Tells Dustin he'll get Eddie back through, but when he bends down to hoist Eddie up, his own knees give out and his vision blacks out.

There's more yelling and pulling, and before Steve knows it, he's being fully supported by Robin. Dustin hobbling behind them.

"We can't leave Eddie," he shouts, glancing over his shoulder as Robin guides him to Eddie's trailer door.

"Nancy's got him, come on!" she shouts, pulling him faster.

And then there's Nancy.

So-called priss Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy Wheeler, who lost Barb, her best friend, to the Upside Down three years ago.

Nancy Wheeler, who lost her classmate and friend Fred days ago because of the Upside Down.

Nancy Wheeler, who just spent several days keeping Eddie safe from a misguided witchhunt that is all the Upside Down's fault.

The same Nancy Wheeler who shot rounds and rounds of bullets through the monster controlling the Upside Down minutes ago.

Nancy Wheeler has been here before.

She's seen what the Upside Down does to a person.

Knows first-hand what it does to the people who get to escape while others don't.

Nancy Wheeler has lived with survivor's guilt for three fucking years.

And she's not going to let Dustin, her favorite of Mike's friends, have to learn what that survivor's guilt feels like.

She's not going to let another one of her friends die because of this place.

Not on her watch.

So, she drops to her knees and gets to work. Stars ripping her shirt to wrap around the worse of Eddie’s wounds, hoping it’ll keep some of the blood in. Eddie winces in pain and it’s the most beautiful sound Nancy’s ever heard because it means he’s still alive. 

“Come on, Eddie. Stay with me okay?” 

She’s left in just her bra when she finishes bandaging him up as best she can. His blood is already soaking through the cotton material and she can hear Robin shouting for her from inside the trailer. 

There’s no time to waste. 

She takes a deep breath, plants her feet and slowly hoists Eddie into her arms. His screams are defending but she tunes them out, running towards the trailer with all the energy she has left in her. 

“M’sorry, I thought you were a priss,” Eddie chokes out, blood oozing from his mouth. “You’re b-b-badass.” 

“You’re pretty badass yourself,” she says as she takes the stairs to the trailer two at a time. “Maybe when all this is done we can be badass together.” 

Eddie hums noncommittally as his eyes start to flutter and Nancy kicks herself into high gear. She manages to get him to clasp his hands around her neck, positions him so he’s on her back and starts climbing the rope. When they flip through, Nancy makes sure to turn their bodies so she absorbs the brunt of the fall, Eddie falling limply on her back with little protest. 

Nancy only has a moment to catch her breath before the door flies open and she’s following a dying Eddie into the back of an ambulance. Robin and Dustin piling into the ambulance for Steve. 

Days later when Hopper asks Nancy how the hell she carried Eddie through a gate in the ceiling, she shrugs. 

“I guess it’s like those moms who lift cars off their kids. I just did it.” 

“It’s because she’s badass,” Eddie supplies instead. “Badass Nancy Wheeler.” 

#inspired by my tags on that poll yesterday #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson ficlet #robin buckley #dustin henderson #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #platonic ednancy #dani writes

[thesupreme316]

Hiii I’m here to request ( take your time)

I wonder how aew guys would react to their s/o being clumsy ( she gets hurt lot from being clumsy )

Have a amazing day and take care of yourself

AEW STARS REACT TO: Their S/O being clumsy

Pairings: Eddie Kingston X Reader, Kenny Omega X Reader, Ricky Starks X Reader, Hook X Reader, Nick Wayne X Reader, MJF X Reader, Daniel Garcia X Reader

Word Count: 832

Supreme Speaks: heyyy, thanks to anon for this request (and sorry for taking so long) and I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL AND ARE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF. that's it I think...at least i'm uploading once a week neow...anyways, please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: none tbh, GIFS AINT MINE

Taglist: @eddie-kingstons-wifey @hookerforhook @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom @cassie0sstuff @batzy-watzy @triscillal

Eddie Kingston

This man laughs at you

Like a full-on cackle

But don’t get it twisted

He will make sure that you’re all right

But he’s gonna laugh through it

Will buy bubble wrap baby safety items to “keep you safe” (mainly to tease you)

Mans even grabbed a helmet for you

“Remember when you ran into the light pole?? And then you tripped over a cat??”

He’s a tease and will not hesitate to remind you of all your clumsy actions

But he still loves you…even if you don’t have the best balance

Daniel Garcia

He doesn’t know you

Mans would full-on walk away from you and pretend he doesn’t know you

“Oh my god ma’am are you okay? Whispers stop tripping on air”

When while y’all are on vlogs with Isiah

He just looked off into space or into the camera like he’s on the office

Sometimes he would check on you and quickly walk away

It’s not that he’s not concerned…he just embarrassed a lil

Daniel still loves you to bits and pieces

But your name on his phone is still “Two Left Feet”

Ricky Starks

This man laughs at you pt. 2

Teases you like no tomorrow

Have you ever seen those videos where the dogs mock their owners?? Like that one dog pretending to hop on one foot cause his owner was doing it??

…That’s Ricky…

A dog that mocks you every chance he can

He would mock you over and over again to the point where it’s just an instant reply

Once he walked in on you covered in orange juice (cause you know the fridge fell or something) and he instantly started laughing

“I’m so glad I don’t have to clean that up”

He has videos and pictures of you tripping, slipping, falling, running into doors

I mean he would help wipe the juice off your face…but that’s it…you’re on your own

Hook

Man catches you before you fall every time

He will move you out of the way of danger without looking

He doesn’t understand how you are so clumsy and still alive

Doesn’t flinch if he hears a big crash…that’s just the universe letting him know that you are still alive

It’s when you are very quiet that scares him

Like the time he didn’t hear a noise for an hour, Hook decided to check on you

And he found you on the floor holding your foot in silence…looking up at the ceiling in disappointment

“You good?” “Yeah” “Do you need ice?” “No” “Do you wanna be left alone?” “Yeah”

And then he closed the door and sat back down

As long as you are not severely hurt, Hook is fine

Kenny Omega

Immediately cares for you…folds every time

Gets surprised and scared every time you trip or if there is a big noise

But finds your clumsiness adorable

“AWW, you are still so cute…even though you are as fragile as Don’s ego”

Instantly cuddles you, hugs you, and comforts you if anything happens

Has actually wrapped you up in bubble wrap before

Tries his best to make sure that you don’t have to get up to get anything

Worries about if he’s not there to help you and you get seriously injured

But he quickly realizes that it’s a daily thing and that you are fine

He hopes…

MJF

THIS MAN IS EVIL LAUGHING AT YOU

YOU KNOW THAT PICTURE OF SHINEE’S KEY WAS TAKING A PICTURE WHILE MINHO WAS DROWNING? (Here’s the pic)

That’s him…In fact…that’s his home screen

Doesn’t understand how he fell in love with you when you are this clumsy

Has weird nicknames for you

“Hi my little butterfingers, how are you today?”

But also would take your clumsiness and use it to make him look so strong

Just catches you when you fall and would be “What would you do without me here?”

In his mind, he’s your Superman

Nick Wayne

Mans is clumsy too and no you cannot change my mind

Doesn’t judge you at all…will still laugh at you

While he’s laughing at you running into a wall, Nick runs into a door

Now you both on the ground…laughing in pain

You both be covered with bandaids and bruises from running into anything and everything at least once a week

He risks his safety just for you (kith kith)

“I got you sweetheart. place himself between you and the wall Now you won’t stub your toe”

But then he stubbed his toe…so now you have to nurse him

Overall…he just wants to make sure that you are okay

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagines #aew reactions #nick wayne #nick wayne imagine #aew hook #aew hook imagine #ricky starks #ricky starks imagine #daniel garcia #daniel garcia imagine #eddie kingston #eddie kingston imagine #i love that man i truly do #eddie kingston x reader #nick wayne x reader #ricky starks x reader #daniel garcia x reader #mjf x reader #maxwell jacob friedman #aew hook x reader