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dauntlessdiva · 9 hours

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nsfw, actor eddie, hair and makeup artist steve, sub top

The downside of Eddie having a bunch of tattoos is that he has to sit in the makeup trailer longer than anyone else getting them covered, along with his character’s makeup.

The plus side is he gets more time with Steve.

They have this game. It started on Eddie’s first day. He was all wired up with nerves because it’s his first time in a lead role on a big production like this.

Every nightmare scenario of how he could screw up was running through his mind. He couldn’t sit still enough for Steve to give him the wavy hair and facial scars that his character has.

Eddie kept apologizing and Steve was great about it. He asked Eddie about the heart on his arm with “Wayne” across the ribbon and distracted Eddie from over-practicing his lines, busy telling Steve all about his uncle who raised him and where they’re from.

Eddie killed it on set that day, and pretty much every day since then. He loves acting, he loves fully immersing himself in the story he’s telling. This role is the biggest of his career so far, but it’s not even about that, he loves the character he’s playing, he meshes well with the director and has chemistry with his co-stars.

But Steve is his favorite part of this whole deal.

Eddie ran out of tattoos for their little game of telling Steve the story behind a different one every day. They never ran out of things to talk about though.

But Steve takes his job seriously and he’s good at it. He explained once why he likes doing this. It’s an art, getting the right look for the right character, or the right person, connecting with and taking care of whoever’s in his chair.

He explained it all while he was running his fingers through Eddie’s hair in those perfectly practiced strokes. Steve’s very good at his job, that’s why it feels so nice when he touches Eddie, even if it’s just work, because Steve cares about this. That’s why it’s easy for Eddie to be lulled into bliss when Steve’s fingers are so gentle on his scalp.

And, okay Eddie’s not made of stone, and he has eyes so he has a thing for Steve. A crush, but there’s a line there. This is work. They’re co-workers, despite how many pretty smiles and lingering looks are exchanged. Eddie won’t cross that line.

Until he does.

It’s an accident. He never would have done it on purpose.

Steve’s fingers are just so talented. Eddie’s eyes are closed, he was having another fit of nerves earlier so Steve took extra time with his hair. It put Eddie in a space so relaxed that he feels like he’s floating when Steve’s hand twists in his hair with the perfect amount of tension. It feels so intentional. The moan just slips out.

Eddie apologizes like crazy afterward, he feels terrible. Steve is a picture of professionalism, he’s charming and fun but he runs the makeup trailer like it's the navy and he takes his shit seriously and Eddie crossed a line.

But Steve just shushes him, guides him to sit back in the chair and says it’s alright.

Eddie blinks in disbelief but Steve just looks at him.

It’s a look.

A look that Eddie can’t stop thinking about for the rest of production.

It’s a look he sees again on his last day on set.

Eddie already shook everyone’s hands and said his goodbyes. He's just stopping by his trailer one last time to make sure the assistants got all his stuff cleared out.

When he opens the door, his stomach flips, finding Steve waiting inside for him.

“You wrapped filming today,” Steve says in place of a greeting. But his smile and the way his arm is languidly stretched over the back of the couch is inviting.

Something tells Eddie to lock the door before he goes over to sit next to Steve.

His gaze is even more intense up close. Eddie feels Steve’s eyes on him everywhere, like he’s just eating Eddie up.

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says, a tad nervous.

He doesn't want to make a move he can’t take back in case he’s wrong about why Steve’s in his trailer looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to be one of those douchebag movie stars that assumes everyone wants him and he has a free pass to hit on the crew. He’s sure Steve’s had enough of that bullshit.

“We don’t work together anymore,” Steve simply states.

“I know, it sucks,” Eddie laughs a bit sad because he really is, “Sorry if it’s weird to say, but I’m gonna miss you.”

Steve’s eyes shift between Eddie’s and then down to his lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“No it’s a good thing,” Steve says and Eddie’s brows knit in confusion. “It means I can do this finally.”

Eddie thinks he’s watching his daydreams play out the way Steve starts leaning in.

It’s only real when Steve’s lips press softly to his.

Just once, so light, long enough for Eddie to catch on that it’s happening, then Steve pulls back before Eddie can reciprocate.

Steve chuckles faintly at the dramatic frown Eddie’s pulling.

Then Steve’s hand cups Eddie’s cheek, his thumb stroking Eddie’s face as he tells him, “We can stop there and keep it professional and say our goodbyes. Or I can climb on your lap and give you something to remember me by.”

Eddie gulps. Steve’s offer and his silky voice and his perfect touch that Eddie’s already so addicted to is such a heady mix, making it hard to form words. “Yes, climb me— I mean, option B.”

“Yeah, honey, you want that?” God, Eddie always blushed hot when Steve called him that casually in the makeup trailer, now he’s melting hearing Steve say it like this. “Well, go on and take your pants off for me.”

It happens in a syrupy warm blur. Eddie sheds his jeans and underwear like he’s told and he’s rewarded with a gorgeously naked Steve Harrington in his lap. He’s allowed to touch, only after Steve has threaded his fingers through Eddie’s hair more reverently than any time before, like something precious in his hands, and kisses Eddie deep and hard.

Then Eddie gets to nuzzle the chest hair that’s been driving him crazy peeking out of Steve’s shirt every time he leaned over. Eddie gets to touch Steve’s soft strong thighs, feeling the smatter of hair leading up to his ass that’s been driving Eddie even more insane trying not to stare at. Then he slips his fingers in and moans into Steve’s mouth when he feels the hard bulb of a plug nestled inside Steve.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, smiling and smearing his thumb over the spit on Eddie’s lips. “Yeah, I’m so ready for you, Eddie, baby, you have no idea.”

Eddie’s practically drooling watching Steve take out the plug and get a bottle of lube from between the cushions and a condom, oiling up his hand. When his fist wraps around Eddie’s cock, Eddie helplessly bucks into it, but Steve’s solid thighs pin him down. That makes his mind lust-foggy and his eyes flutter up at Steve, who bites his lip watching Eddie as he lines up to his hole.

“Mm... you know how bad I wanted you?” Steve sounds relieved as he sinks down on Eddie’s cock. “You know how bad I wanted to climb on your lap when you were sitting in my chair. You know how starry-eyed you get when you’re drifting? Just from me touching your hair, so fucking cute.”

Eddie’s just a mess of moans, Steve is so hot and tight around him. It’s too much with all the sweet praise to really comprehend that Steve knew all those times he was getting spacy.

“It’s so easy to put you down.” Steve’s breath comes harder, not letting Eddie move as he starts to roll his hips. “Such an actor, high strung all the time but that’s okay. It’s your passion. That’s sexy. Been dying to hold you down and ride you until you can’t think about anything but me, though.”

Eddie gasps out a groan when Steve tugs sharply on his hair, being right about everything that Eddie’s into so far. It’s no secret that Eddie’s intense, just a different kind of intensity in the bedroom than with his craft.

Steve seems to get it, seems to know that Eddie needs everything hard and relentless with the way he’s bouncing on Eddie’s dick. He can feel the strength in Steve’s hips, dying to feel them fucking into him too, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock jumping with all the movement.

“You’d let me tie you down and use you, hm?” Steve asks, drawing Eddie by the hair into a biting kiss that just barely grazes the surface of what Eddie would let Steve do to him. “I know. I’d fuck you up so good if we had time, baby.”

“Steve, holy shit,” Eddie practically sobs, fingers digging into Steve’s ass.

“You close, honey?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Steve suddenly cups his face, just a tad rough and Eddie thought— hoped for one hot moment— that Steve was going to slap him. Just the thought is enough to make him do what he's supposed to, “Can I?”

“Mh-hm just keep looking at me,” Steve strokes Eddie’s face as he circles his hips and takes Eddie deep. “Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come inside me.”

Eddie does as he’s told, his gaze falling half-shut as he lets go, spilling into the condom like he’s pumping Steve full.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, followed by the second hottest thing when Steve kisses his slack mouth as his warm heavy spurts of come land on Eddie’s belly.

While Eddie’s coming down, he lets Steve shift him onto the couch. He gets some tissues and then pulls Eddie to lie on his chest because of course he would, he’s Steve.

“Was that enough to remember me by when you get all big and famous?” Steve asks after a while, trailing his knuckles down Eddie’s bare arm.

Eddie looks up, seeing the first glimpse of hesitance in all of Steve’s practiced smoothness.

So Eddie leans in and assures him between pecks on his lips that slowly turn to smiles pressing together. “Nope, think we gotta do it again. And again. And again.”

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dauntlessdiva · 2 days

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13 ▰▱▰▱ Take Me Home (Please Stay With Me) ▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

"came back wrong" post-s4 fanfiction, featuring monster kas!eddie. pre-steddie -> steddie

Here be S P I C Y content. Do NOT interact if you are underage.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING (contains possible spoilers!): ⚠️ bad post-scene etiquette that occurs due to a lack of proper understanding of what actually took place, from both parties. everything that did occur was entirely consensual, but both involved parties are simply ignorant. there is also depiction of sub- & dom- drop, again this is due to a lack of understanding of BDSM. don't worry, they'll figure it out. ♡( ◡‿◡ )

-> [ read from the beginning on AO3 ] <- -> S2-S3 Timestamp A Good Flashback

Part I ┊ II ┊ III ┊ IV ┊ V ┊ VI ┊ VII ┊ VIII ┊ IX ┊ X ┊ XI ┊ XII ┊ Part XIII (📍)

He comes back to himself slowly, in fits and starts. Sensations hit first: the heat of Steve’s body pressed so close to his own, the strength of his arms where they encircle him and bring a feeling of safety. The clench of thick fingers in his hair, kneading against his scalp. The warmth of a wide palm against his hip, long digits curling around his waist to toy at the hem of his shirt and ghosting against his skin. The taste of blood on his lips, slick wetness of shared saliva and plush softness of the mouth against his own, brushing together in languid gentle kisses, slow and sleepy. The world moves lazily and achingly sweet around him, like molasses or honey from the hive.

He flexes his own hands, finding them perched high on Steve’s shoulders, looped under the other man’s arms. The tips of his fingers dance lightly across the flushed, bare skin; trailing down along the elegant curve of Steve’s spine and tracing the texture of the scars that run alongside it from being dragged violently across the ragged ground of the Upside Down—the scars that sit in the same place as his own monstrous wings, when they manifest. His chest rumbles with a contented sound and he tilts his head slightly, his lips parting a bit more as they slide smoothly against Steve’s. There’s no urgency, no frantic energy to be found here and he simply drifts along the warm, buoyant airwaves as they carry him through the safe, soft space Steve’s brought him down to.

Steve is so gentle with him, the fingers in his hair pressing tenderly against his scalp as they drag downward, carding through his curls in a gesture so intimate it pulls a whine from his throat; stimulates his nerves in just the right way that it sends a ripple of shivers rushing through his body. The hand on his waist loosens its grip, Steve’s thumb pressing firm circles against his skin where Eddie’s shirt has ridden up on his stomach, caressing his multitude of scars in such a way that he feels cherished, uniquely special under Steve’s generous touch–like he’s been chosen by this paragon of a man, this God-made-flesh, and that no other besides himself is as favored by such a magnificent being. It’s a heady feeling, serving only to make his already cloudy, floaty mind remain in such a blissful place.

Sharp teeth nip softly at his lower lip and he can’t help his shaky intake of breath.

He doesn’t want to stop kissing Steve; it’s so perfect, so wonderful and it feels like an unforgivable crime to allow such a flawless act to end. But the choice is taken from him when Steve pulls away slowly, their lips separating micrometer by micrometer. It’s almost as though he can feel their very atoms pulling away from one another, so reluctant to part it’s almost as though they’ve bonded on a molecular level. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was true–the idea of inter-meshing with Steve so irrevocably is beyond appealing to him on an instinctual level and although he knows logically that such a thing is impossible, there’s something inherently romantic about being tied so intrinsically with another being. It makes his heart feel over full and bursting at the seams with all the love he carries for the other man.

He purrs when warm palms slide up his throat, eyelashes fluttering where they rest against his cheekbones. Thick, strong fingers cup his cheeks, curving around the angle of his jaw as they simply hold his face like he’s something so precious. He can feel the heat of Steve’s body through his hands, the warmth of his breath where it only just barely ghosts along the bridge of Eddie’s nose. He’s yet to open his eyes, too lost in the veritable ocean of sensations Steve has blessed him with when he remains like this, vision sealed off, limiting his awareness. Steve holds Eddie in this way, cradling him in the tenderest of gestures, as he starts to come back up from the depths of the warm, safe place he’d drifted down down down into. He begins to feel the ache in his neck from where Steve’s teeth broke skin, the tingle along his scalp where strong hands had pulled just on the side of too-good-too-much. His breath stutters in his lungs, lips parting.

“Eddie…”

Ohh, his voice… Steve sounds like a hymn; a song sung only by the highest of the holy.

He hums in response, unable to form words as he sways into the warm space Steve occupies. It’s permitted, and he’s tugged up against Steve’s bare chest in an embrace that feels like coming home. He whimpers, wrapping his arms around strong, broad shoulders and buries his nose in the space between the other man’s shoulder and his throat, inhaling deeply–and there it is, woodsmoke-salt-sweat-musk; slightly less of the buckwheat honey and peppercorns because there’s a sterile smell from being hospitalized that’s smothered it out. The persistent rumbling in his chest deepens, growing louder with deeply satisfied purrs, and he clings to the other man, rubbing his face against every available inch of skin under his cheeks. He wants Steve to smell like him, wants them to smell like each other. His purring increases steadily in volume and he presses closer, coming to a slow realization that they’ve been kneeling on the hard floor together. There are more comfortable ways to recline. He pushes, just enough to knock Steve backwards into a proper sitting position, those generously thick thighs splayed just enough to make space for him. The sudden movement pulls a grunt of surprise from the other man and Eddie wastes no time, clambering into Steve’s lap and draping himself across the other man once again.

“Eddie..?” Steve’s voice is low in question to Eddie’s own contented resonance, the sound quavering but rich with deep, full rumble that reminds him of distant, rolling thunder. It’s strange to hear sounds so inhuman coming from Steve, but it only serves to remind him how wonderful, how magnificent Steve is to have managed such a nigh-impossible feat.

He hums in pleasure, pressing ever nearer to where the woodsmoke-salt-sweat-musk scent is strongest, bullying Steve’s muscular arm out of his way and burying his face in the space between his ribs and his underarm, slightly humid and decorated with coarse hair. He keeps his moan trapped behind his teeth. It’s… perfection.

“Eddie, what are you doing?”

“Mmn,” he manages to half garble out, “scenting. Missed you.”

Steve replies with a soft wordless sound, the way it vibrates in his chest and throat doing something to Eddie’s newly-integrated instinct. Mate, it tells him, satisfied mate, pleased mate. His scent swirls, other undertones making themselves known as he inhales: the warmth of baking bread, toasted gentle spices, curling up with an old book…

“Missed you too,” the words settle something the instincts couldn’t, “hated that they took you from me. Scared me, Eds.”

He pulls his head away from his scenting spot, pressing his nose against the underside of Steve’s jaw, licking the salty skin there, tasting remnants of old blood that makes his body sing.

“S’rry,” he murmurs softly, using words to match his actions, a strange and wonderful possibility that comes so easily now. Before he’d integrated fully with Kas, there had been a disconnect between his human logic and the bestial instincts–a chasm that felt impossible to bridge. But now it’s as though what once felt insurmountable is a long forgotten memory. It’s as easy as breathing to find the words to match his instinctive actions–easy to find the actions to match the words he wants to say, to reinforce his meaning in as many ways as possible. It feels secure, a method where miscommunication seems nigh impossible, no matter one's understanding.

“Mom said they didn’t hurt you. That true?”

He nods. “Jus’ alone. Watched me.”

“Watched you?”

“One-way mirrors,” he mutters, absently waving in the general direction he knows the windows to be in, “an’ pretty sure there’s cameras…”

The drawn out, hissed exhalation gives Eddie pause, anxiety beginning to mount. Steve’s scent has shifted slightly, the odor of hot tar and burnt rubber swirling around his natural woodsmoke scent and morphing something that was warm, slightly sweet, into something that reminds him of gasoline, of ashes. There’s a hint of something acrid brewing beneath the surface, but it’s only just barely present and he wrinkles his nose without realizing. His gut tells him he’s smelling an angry mate, which is upsetting in a multitude of ways, so he opens his eyes and blinks into the artificial light of his fancy cage.

“Steve..?”

Eddie can’t help but shiver at the expression on Steve’s face; it’s dark, possessive, and downright murderous. It shouldn’t be so hot, but he can’t stop the whine that builds and leaks from between his lips as he bares his throat in supplication. He licks at the underside of Steve’s jaw and whines again, soft and sad-sounding as he petitions Steve’s instincts with his own, attempting to calm him and bring back the satisfied-pleased-content mate smell—old books-baking bread-warm spice— that he’d wanted to wrap himself in. He’s about to say something else, to reinforce his actions with words, when the strangest scent kicks up in the air around Steve. A bitter tang that burns his nose the more he breathes in–the harshness of strong alcohol and the astringent odor of vinegar. Jealous mate, his instincts purr at him, and while he’s stunned that Steve could possibly feel that way about him, he’s more concerned with the rage-stormy-murderous burning rubber-hot tar-chemical smoke scent weaving itself so tightly alongside it.

He licks at Steve’s jaw again, pressing his lips to the skin in an attempt to calm the furious scent he can practically taste in the air now–burning his nose with its aggressive prevalence. Eddie blinks watering eyes, that hazy, warm space drifting further and further away from him. He opens his mouth, about to ask another question when the heavy weight of Steve’s palm slides to the back of his neck, gripping firmly beneath the curtain of his curls. His spine straightens, correcting his posture on instinct and a zing of awareness shoots through his nerves, lighting his insides on fire. He swallows, turning a wide, wet gaze up to Steve’s face. He whimpers.

“₴₮₳Ɏ ⱧɆⱤɆ,” Steve growls out, the sounds forming an undeniable command as his voice rattles in his throat. The sweet scent of his blood blooms in the air and fogged eyes track the rivulets that spill from around kiss-swollen lips, dripping down Steve’s chin. He wants to lick them away, but he can’t.

Eddie’s world fades away from him. It feels the same way as before–when Steve commanded him to forgive himself–like a weight falling from his shoulders. Remotely he feels the heft of Steve’s hand squeeze once, firm and unyielding, before releasing the back of his neck and the heavy scent and shape of him moves away. Eddie can’t disobey, he doesn’t want to either, so he doesn’t even try. Steve will come back—Eddie trusts him. His vision is blurred at the edges and out of focus, like Vaseline smeared on a camera lens, and it casts his world in a dreamy veil as he waits patiently for Steve to return to him. Absently, he hears the heavy steel weight of the door to his room-cage-prison swing open, undoubtedly wrenched away from the latch by Steve’s own strength. His mouth waters, picturing the way the muscles in Steve’s arms would flex to muster the force to move such an unwieldy door, rippling beneath his constellation-covered skin, kissed by the sun and graced with the pink and silvery marks of his bravery.

Distantly, he hears the sounds of speaking, but he’s too lost in the warm, soupy clouds of the haze Steve’s once again dropped him into to attempt to parse through the meaning of the words. He waits, sitting back on his knees, posture immaculate even as his muscles protest and he quivers with the strain. He wants to be good for Steve–wants to hear praises fall from that gorgeous mouth when he returns–he wants to prove to his perfect mate, his flawless deity-made-flesh, that he’s worthy of such invaluable affections. His hands flex where they rest atop his thighs, trembling with the effort to remain still. Steve didn’t tell him he couldn’t move, but he… he remembers the last time Steve left him alone. Kas was in the drivers’ seat then, and Steve had vanished into the bathroom after asking him to be his good boy and from where he kneels now? It feels so painfully similar. Steve had praised Kas so well when he’d emerged from the bathroom to see that the beast hadn’t moved, and ohhh, Eddie wants that. He wants it so badly it aches all the way from his toes to his teeth.

His fog is fading slightly as Steve remains away from him, pins and needles forming in his legs from staying so still. He fights back the grimace that tries to form on his face as the mess he’d made in his boxers dries to his skin, tugging and pulling at his pubic hair and the sparse smattering of strands across his inner thighs. It’s uncomfortable, and it pulls him back to the surface remarkably fast–the safe, soft world Steve had left him in vanishing with an alarming speed that has his gut lurching with the suddenness of it all. He whimpers, chewing on his lower lip as he fidgets in his spot, eye darting towards the one-way mirrors. He wants Steve back; he will be good, he’ll keep staying still and obedient because he’s Steve’s little riot, his good boy, but… but he needs him close, wants him near as the good feelings slip away and reality creeps back in.

He doesn’t like the anxiety that settles into his bones, the dryness of his throat and his mouth as tears well in his eyes. His skin feels tight, too small, and like he could burst through it at any given moment. It itches without itching–something about it feels wrong, like it doesn’t belong to him, like a coat that doesn’t quite fit. He feels isolated, alone in this room-cell-prison; feeling abandoned as a pit forms in the hollow of his stomach. It’s not as though he doesn’t know that Steve would never do such a thing–it’s like the logic of his humanity is actively fighting his bestial instincts again; as if he’d never integrated with Kas at all and they’d remained separate yet the same. The separation feels wrong, a split in his mind making his body react like he’s ill. He’s sweating, but it’s clammy, his skin tepid and sticky. He whines aloud, a prolonged pitiful sound, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to cry as his discomfort and unease ratchets up another notch. He’s flipping rapidly between hot and cold now, shivers wracking his body as he remains immobile, trembling and fighting back tears as he forces tight, aching muscles to maintain good posture—and oh, it’s starting to hurt, and it’s not a happy hurt.

He feels sick.

The tears start to flow against his will, his shoulders rolling forward as his form fails and he curls in on himself, shivering violently and sobbing as he digs his nails into his thighs, where agonizing cramps have begun to form. He can smell himself; his own distress is evident and acrid–a pungent, almost ammonia-like odor that makes his stomach churn with nausea. Eddie’s eyes are open but everything is feeling far away–distant and cold, out of reach, alone in a sea of isolation where he remains adrift amidst the wreckage of what once brought him bliss. Distantly, through the miles of disconnect between himself and reality, the muted copper flavor of his own blood fills his mouth from where he seems to have chewed his cheek raw in a futile attempt to ground himself. He hardly tastes it where it coats his tongue, the metallic tang a shadow of what it normally would be to his senses. Another pitiful cry escapes him on a trembling gasp.

“—Eds? Hey, hey, Eddie, you’re hurting yourself—”

He jerks violently when the weight of touch grazes along his skin, a sharp high-pitched sound of distress ripping its way from his lungs. Panic rises–he’s moved, oh, oh no, he’s not been good, Steve won’t be happy with him—

“Okay, it’s okay. I’m not upset, I won’t touch you...”

He whines loudly because no, that’s not the problem! He wants Steve to touch him, he always wants Steve to touch him, he always wants everything Steve will give him! But he doesn’t deserve it, not right now, he wasn’t a good boy, he didn’t stay still while he waited, he’s been bad bad bad—

“Shh, I didn’t tell you you had to do that, did I?” Steve’s voice is distant but oh so soft, it sounds like a far off dream, “Don’t call yourself that, sweetheart. You aren’t bad.”

He whimpers, curling away as the tears come freely, hot and heavy as they roll down his cheeks. He chokes on his own breath, gasping as the sobs consume him. He’s worthless, he can’t even do one thing right, and now here he is, needing Steve to tell him pretty lies to placate him like some sort of pathetic child—

“Hey! Stop that.”

The reprimand is sharp, hard and unyielding in the way Steve barks it out at him. He can’t help the way he instinctively wants to listen–wants to lean into the firm handling, to have Steve do with him what he will. Those large, strong hands return, heavy where one lays upon his shoulder, the other grasping the angle of his jaw, his thumb resting just below Eddie’s lips as it curls around his chin. Steve applies the slightest of pressure and it’s easy to simply follow, raising his own head with the motion, an action that forces his gaze up up up to lock onto Steve’s serious hazel eyes, nestled beneath furrowed brows. Eddie feels unworthy under his scrutiny, a mere insect in the presence of such an ethereal being–of a god.

“Where is all this coming from, Eds?” his voice is so sweet, raspy like there’s some unseen damage, and fuck he doesn’t deserve this kindness from him. The grip drops away from his chin, and Eddie watches with wide eyes as both of Steve’s hands drag roughly through the man’s own hair, a snarl on his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I- I’m the one who fucking mauled you–!”

Eddie blinks.

What?

“I practically forced myself on you,” Steve spits out, sounding so horrified with himself that Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “I didn’t- I didn’t even stop to think- I just–” He makes a disgusted noise and clenches his fingers around his own forearms, as though he’s preventing himself from touching Eddie. Ohh, he doesn’t need to do that–he shouldn’t have to do that, Steve can always touch him…

“I hurt you, Eds. I broke the skin,” Steve chokes out, sounding so tortured with the confession. It’s unspeakable that he should be condemning himself like this, and Eddie won’t stand for it.

Eddie focuses his gaze, somehow finding his feet beneath him again by the sheer need to understand what Steve is going on about because- because what Steve had offered him? It was nothing short of a divine experience, straight from the hands of the heavens. He’d somehow been blessed with exactly what he’d wanted; Steve had given him exactly what he’d asked for, no questions asked! So why–?

“... Steve?” Eddie finds his voice, the sound of it raspy and weak even to his own ears. “I don’t–” he swallows, “I don’t understand..? You… you did exactly what I- what I asked for…”

He looks away from the man across from him, staring down at the floor as he fidgets, “An- And I didn’t… I didn’t deserve any of it, so, um. I just… I don’t understand why you would be upset with yourself when you should be upset with, uh. Me..?”

From the corner of his vision he sees Steve’s hand dart out as though he means to grab Eddie’s wrist, but his arm freezes midway, the appendage flexing noticeably before retreating jerkily back to its previous position. He feels the loss profoundly.

“I- I shouldn’t have, Eddie,” he whispers, “I- I made you bleed…” He sounds as though he’s full of despair, and Eddie can’t help the shiver that rockets through his body when he feels the ghost of a touch over the raw, throbbing places where Steve’s teeth dug deep into his flesh. “The fact that I… enjoyed it so much, that I practically reveled in it, like some sort of- of- depraved psychopath, doesn’t concern you?”

Eddie tilts his head, eyelashes fluttering as he exposes his neck more to Steve’s hesitant fingers, “No.”

He can hear the sound Steve’s throat makes when he swallows. “It- Maybe it should. I think… I think there’s something wrong with me…”

“Steve…”

“What kind of person dreams about making the person they lo–uhhh–they like, cry?”

—Steve pushing his head down further, forcing the tears to stream down his cheeks as he chokes on the cock head that blocks his airway. A hand fisted tightly in his hair, giving no quarter, pulling him up and down as he fights to swallow around the thick intrusion in his throat—

“Or dreams about choking them, forcing them to take what they deign to give until they’re sobbing and begging for mercy?”

—a hand around his throat, pressing him down into the mattress as his eyes roll back in his head, air supply cut; the sheets beneath his head are soaked with drool, he’s been reduced to incoherent babbling and pleading nonsense, completely cock drunk as his perfect mate drives into him over and over and over, long, powerful thrusts jolting him up towards the headboard as he garbles out slurred “ah!-ah!-ah!” sounds—

“What kind of fucked up person wants to make someone they care about bleed from teeth marks in their skin?”

—Steve’s tongue digs into the raw divots left behind by his teeth, licking up the pearls of blood that well up and roll in crimson rivulets down his pale skin. His inner thighs are a war-zone, hardly any skin left unmarked, his untouched cock painfully hard, leaking pre all over his belly, and when Steve returns his attentions to it, licking up a vein—

“Or watch as bruises well up as semi-permanent marks on the skin of the person they like, left behind by their own hand?”

—he hears himself moan as the red-hot impact lances across his ass; a fire beneath his skin. Teeth sink into the flesh, bruising the already tender surface further. He’ll be a veritable kaleidoscope of colors when it starts to heal, he won’t be able to sit right for a week, fuck, he sobs out a “thank you” as Steve spanks him again, fingertips gripping so hard on his hip he’ll be able to add them to the rainbow collection—

Steve looks away, his voice dropping to a whisper. “What kind of decent person wants to say awful things and reduce the person they care about the most to a drooling mess of tears as they wreck them entirely?”

—he’s in Steve’s lap, back to chest, arms held at the wrists by one of Steve’s large, strong hands, the other hand plunging thick fingers into Eddie’s mouth, pushing down on his tongue. He’s drooling around those fingers, eyes rolled back in his head as Steve grinds up where he’s inside him with devastating precision. “Look at you, completely fucked out.” Eddie moans around those fingers, the words cruel and going straight to his leaking, untouched dick. “Greedy little riot, my little cock-drunk slut—”

A dream, Eddie thinks to himself, swallowing down the mess of saliva that’s pooled in his mouth. The more Steve has talked about his own desires–even if he’s painting them as bad–the better Eddie has felt about himself and what they’d done. Steve was clearly into it, he’d wanted it. He’d come back to Eddie, he thought Eddie was wonderful. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the dried mess in his boxers, his dick twitching in stark interest at the rapid fire fantasies Steve’s provided him with–each throb pulls at the dried cum in his pubes; makes his skin itch where it’s stuck to him. It’s gross, but there’s something delicious about the humiliation of sitting here, leaking all over again to fantasies given to him by the man he desires above all others. Through this odd, emotional roller-coaster of an exchange, he’s aware now of their compatibility in a way that makes him feel secure and grounded; it makes him feel like he can breathe again. He licks his lips.

“What kind of terrible person does that make me, that I want all of that too?”

Steve’s question is so quiet Eddie nearly misses it. It’s most likely a rhetorical one, but. He finds that he hates the idea of Steve finding himself abhorrent more than anything else in the world. He’ll gladly out himself as a complete freak here and now if it means Steve won’t feel alone–if it means Steve will know that there is at least one other person out there who is perhaps interested in something similar, if not identical to what he himself is partial to? And that maybe, if Steve is willing, maybe they can… explore that? With courtship? Properly?

Because as amazingly, blindingly hot as this entire experience has been, Eddie’s instincts are clamoring to beg Steve to accept his courtship suit.

Which, he has yet to formally offer.

Oops.

“The same kind of person that I am, apparently… just, um,” he coughs quietly, pulling a lock of hair in front of his face to hide the burning flush that floods his cheeks, “in the opposite direction, I guess? Mostly? I’m curious about what you’re describing, but. Um.” He tears his eyes away from Steve’s, his embarrassment growing too much to bear. “I definitely think I have more of an interest in… uhh, the reciprocal side.”

The silence lingers, weighty and profound as Eddie hangs on tenterhooks for Steve’s response to his impromptu confession. He’s usually better with his words than this; he’s a wordsmith, a Dungeon Master, a weaver of stories… but here and now he’s lucky he’s even managed to get his mouth to form sounds at all. His throat is suddenly dry and he swallows around nothing.

“I- You- Really–?” Steve sounds breathless and Eddie can’t help but jerk his eyes back to him. He’s not disappointed.

Steve’s face glows with a soft pink hue, dusted across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, making the thin scar across it from when Byers busted in his face stand out more than usual. His hazel eyes are wide and dark, shock clear in the multifaceted irises. His plush lips are parted, wet from his persistent anxious chewing and glistening under the artificial light of the room-cage-prison.

“You’re not–” Steve swallows, “–disgusted? With me? About what I- what I want to do? To- To–”

“Mn,” Eddie shakes his head, “Disgusted? No. Intrigued? Yes.”

He leans into Steve’s personal space, feeling very much so like a throwback to their walk through the Upside Down woods that very first time, Eddie’s lip pulling up in an attempt at a coy smirk as he murmurs:

“Turned on? Very much so.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then—

“Oh.”

Eddie gets to watch as the dark pupils in Steve’s hazel eyes dilate wide with how close he is to the other man, swaying even further into his space. There’s a certain joy in being so close to him like this, playful and bright, pulled out of the strange funk he’d fallen into by the buoyant realization that Steve wants him as desperately and as badly as Eddie wants Steve–there’s comfort in their closeness, the intimacy in a shared secret, in the heat of his body radiating against Eddie’s own. He can’t help the satisfied sub-vocal rumble that stirs up in his chest when Steve’s scent swirls and grows complex again, losing the rhubarb-astringent-bitter odor of shame that got stuck in the back of his nose and clung to his tongue, blooming instead with a bright floral-rosemary-citrus aroma his instincts declare means delight. He inhales deeply, a smile pulling at his lips as the natural woodsmoke-buckwheat-peppercorn intertwines with the lighter emotional essence in a delicate dance that weaves the scents together into a heady amalgamation that makes his heart soar.

Steve reaches out, hesitant with shaking fingers, to gently cup Eddie’s cheek against his palm. Eddie hums, eyes fluttering shut at the tender touch, leaning into the caress and nuzzling against the calloused skin of Steve’s wide, large hand. He presses his lips to fingertips, feather-light and soft like gossamer lace caught in a warm summer breeze. Eddie hears the quiet, nearly imperceptible hitch of Steve’s breath at the gesture; catches the twitch his fingers make against the skin of his cheek, smug satisfaction settling in his stomach like a good meal, his heart calm and flush with pleasure. He hears a quiet rumble separate from his own, a slightly different tone although the resonance is similar. His instincts rejoice in the happy noise resounding from his chosen mate, in the satisfaction wafting off the other man in scent and now sound.

“Where did you go, before?” he can’t help but ask, his sub-vocal sounds growing louder as Steve’s thumb presses harder against his cheek, distorting the flesh beneath the digit as it gives way beneath it.

“Hm?” Steve sounds far away, and Eddie pulls his focus in on him. It’s cute, how fixated Steve is on Eddie’s face; the way he watches with dark eyes as he drags his thumb closer to Eddie’s mouth, pressing down on Eddie’s lower lip, making his jaw drop open on reflex. He fights back the urge to moan because fuck, the casual exploration is killing him. “What do you mean?”

Eddie swallows, his tongue darting out to pass a quick kitten lick along the edge of Steve’s thumb, watching his expression go darker, more heated. “Wh- When you left me, earlier? After I mentioned something about the- the mirrors? An- And the ca-a-aameras?” He can’t help the stutter, not with the way Steve’s hand slides down over his chin to wrap all the way around his throat, not pressing, just holding. He wants to scream, get down on his hands and knees and pray at this man’s altar for centuries, for it will never be enough.

“Oh, that,” Steve hums absently, dark eyes fixed on Eddie as he simply watches him writhe, a detached sort of satisfaction in every inch of his body language, “I made Owens show me where they keep the footage, and forced them to destroy it in front of me.” He says so casually, as though such an easy display of control and power isn’t unbearably hot. Eddie whines, the sound escaping tremulous and quiet even though he fights to keep it locked away behind his teeth.

“I also made sure they all Forgot what they’d seen…” Steve leans in close, nose grazing along the line of Eddie’s jaw, his breath ghosting hot against the pulse pounding rapidly in his neck, “No one else gets to see you like that… you’re mine, aren’t you, Little Riot?”

Eddie whimpers. Jesus H. Christ, Steve’s got to be an actual dream because, fuck, had he really done that? Just threatened a bunch of people into destroying footage–that’s admittedly more than a little embarrassing and ridiculously personal because shit, he’d definitely not have done any of it had he remembered they’d had an audience–and wiping actual memories just because Eddie mentioned the possibility of surveillance..? He’s so gone for this man. “Ye- Yes,” he gasps out, nodding frantically, “yours, yours–”

He can feel the way Steve’s lips pull back in a smile against his own skin and happiness bubbles up in his chest, fizzy like pop and just as sweet. “And… and that’s okay with you? That I want you to be mine?”

“Yes,” he breathes, eyelashes fluttering against his own cheekbones, “wanna belong to you–best mate, perfect mate–” Eddie’s reduced to a deliriously happy mess, feeling so, so treasured; so possessed in the absolute best possible way. He could cry with how overwhelmed he is–it’s been an absolute emotional roller-coaster he’s been strapped into, and although he’d not been sure there’d been an end to the ride, he thinks the track might finally be coming to a satisfying stop.

“Please, Steve,” he begs, opening his eyes and staring up into the face of this gorgeous, perfect man he’s so, so, stupidly in love with. Steve looks beautiful, lips parted as he gazes back at Eddie as though Eddie is the perfect one, and it makes his crooked heart sing where it beats within his chest. He refuses to miss his chance here, he can’t give up this opportunity he’s been blessed with—

“Please, let me- let me court you properly,” he pleads, voice breathy on a whisper, “please.”

Steve blinks and Eddie watches in fascination as his cheeks flush with a ruddy red blush.

“I- you- what?”

“Let me court you,” he begs again, “please!”

“No, I heard you,” Steve replies, shaking his head, clearly baffled. But before Eddie can fall into despair, before he can think he’s being rejected, his breath catches at the sight of the stunned, pleased broad smile that breaks across Steve’s face, warm like the rising sun.

“You- you really want that?”

“Yes!” Eddie surges forward, eyes wide as he swarms into Steve’s space, looping his arms around the other man’s neck, “Yes! I do! I want!”

Steve laughs, and ohhh how perfect–it’s replaced all the greatest guitar riffs in his mind for best sound ever, there’s absolutely zero contest–it’s full of joy as his scent blooms around them, a complex swirling mix of woodsmoke-floral-peppercorn-rosemary that makes Eddie’s head spin.

“So, are you asking me on a date?” he chuckles, “Did you seriously beat me to it? I had a whole plan, how dare you, you adorable little asshole–”

Eddie can’t help the delighted chirrup that escapes him, nor the excited little wiggle he makes at the candid confession. Steve was planning on trying to court him back!! Steve wants to court him! Present tense! He’s so excited he’s practically vibrating, tiny sounds escaping him as he all but climbs Steve like he’s a piece of furniture, pulling more laughter from the other man.

“Hey! Watch it, you little menace!” Steve gripes, his tone completely free of actual anger or negative emotion–his scent full of happy things. Strong hands settle on Eddie’s hips, holding him still despite all the excited energy he has built up, threatening to shake out of his body. He squeaks when Steve somehow manhandles his legs around his waist and smoothly stands up, easily lifting Eddie with him. He clings to Steve’s front, squeezing his thighs where they perch over top of Steve’s hip bones. He probably ought to be more embarrassed about how ridiculously hot he thinks Steve’s easy manhandling is, but he’s too preoccupied by his horrified reaction to the teenie tiny squeaking sound he’d let out as they’d gone upright.

“I won’t drop you, you goofball,” Steve teases, graciously letting Eddie bury his head against the side of his neck to hide his furious blushing, wrapping his arms tighter around Steve’s neck. He knows Steve would never drop him, but still!

“It’s a little strange to see you back to your regular size, Eds,” Steve muses quietly, squeezing once where his hands are securely fastened around Eddie’s thighs. He has to bite back a pitiful sound at the feeling that washes through him. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I didn’t like how big you were all monster’d out like that, but it’s… it’s nice to be able to pick you up like this again.”

Eddie pulls his head away from Steve’s neck, shooting the other man a puzzled look.

“You’ve never picked me up before though? What do you mean, again?”

Steve merely raises an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t know that I could pick you up before? I definitely would have carried you out of the Upside Down if I hadn’t already been half-dead myself, no question.”

“I’m…but I’m bigger than you still?”

Steve snorts. “Taller, maybe. But I can dead-lift way more than you weigh, dude.”

Eddie’s mind goes fuzzy like a VHS tape run out.

Just. All brrrrr—

—glitchy.

Because wow, that’s… that’s something he’s going to be thinking about now.

He shoves his head back against Steve’s neck, groaning long and low at the injustice.

“You, Steve Harrington, are a menace.”

Steve just chuckles again, walking them both over towards the heavy steel door. He shifts his hold on Eddie’s thighs, releasing one of his hands to knock three times. There’s a long pause and then Steve is stepping neatly out of the way as the door swings inwards—

“Oh, thank goodness–!”

“See, mom? I told you, we’d be fine.”

Eddie lifts his head away from Steve. Blinking. “Is–”

“Eddie, sweetie, are you okay now?” Arlene asks, concern evident in her tone.

He can’t see her, facing Steve’s body like he is, so he turns his torso and his head, finally spotting her where she’s standing just beside Steve, a hand on his shoulder. He smiles at her, a wobbly thing where it pulls on his cheeks.

“Ye- Yeah,” he sniffs, “Yeah I’m okay, Arlene. Steve’s got me.”

Steve pouts. “What? No big boy this time?” He scoffs playfully, “highway robbery, this is injustice of the highest order–”

Eddie can’t help the giggle that escapes him, pressing his face back into Steve’s neck.

“I’m so glad to see you two are joking around like this,” Arlene says, tone soft, “I was so worried–you both gave us a fright.”

“Sorry mom, I- I honestly don’t know what came over me, but I never did get around to asking Eddie what happened on his end.” Steve presses his cheek against Eddie’s hair, “Eds, sweetheart, do you know what happened? Why you went full vampy-monster-mash?”

He can’t help the way he tenses up at the question, his human hands fisting against Steve’s bare shoulders like claws. “I- I have an idea…”

“Well we should probably talk about it with Owens,” Steve grouses, “He’s going to want to hear about it, no doubt.”

“I’ll make sure Sam stays respectful, don’t worry.”

“I know you will, Mom. I know that’s why you stayed here, right? To make sure that they didn’t cross any lines?”

She scoffs, “These scientist types don’t see lines, they just pursue their potentials without regard for ethics half the time…”

“I do resent that, Ellsworth,” Eddie hears a male voice chime in. It’s vaguely familiar, and he thinks it belongs to one of the people he’d interacted with the most during his week here. Sure enough, when he looks, the face is familiar where it sits under the gray hair. “I don’t know how many times I can say I’m not Brenner before you all believe me.”

Steve’s lip pulls back in a silent snarl that Eddie still feels vibrating in his chest, one arm coming up to wrap around Eddie’s body, his hand cradling the back of Eddie’s head. He almost swoons at the aggressive, protective display. “Yeah, well, you’re doing a hell of a job proving it to us, Owens. Words mean shit to a bunch of traumatized teenagers and their fucking babysitter, man.”

Christ, Eddie’s got to get a grip on his fucking hormones.

Or Steve just needs to stop being so goddamn hot.

One or the other.

The man–Owens–sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. “Fair enough, I suppose. I’m not about to stop trying, at any rate. We owe you all that much, at the very least. Anyway, come on, there’s a conference room on the ground floor we can use. I can have someone make us some coffee… are you hungry? You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been admitted, Steve, just IV nutrients and when we were able to get a NG tube down, we fed you that way, but you pulled it out quickly enough.”

Steve blinks and glances at Eddie, who shrugs. “Dunno, they fed me.”

“They did?”

“Mn. Real food and blood, too, although it was pretty gross and I was too anxious to eat the longer I was here…”

Steve frowns and turns his gaze back to Owens. “Yeah, you know what, we’ll take the food, then.”

“Oh, can we just have someone get takeout? The cafeteria food here is absolute trash,” Arlene grouses, “I’ll pay one of your staff to run and get it, even. I can’t take another day of it, honestly!”

Owens drags a hand down his face, “You know what? I don’t care, do whatever you want. Knock yourself out. Let’s just- Let’s just get to the damn conference room first?”

Eddie licks garlic butter from his fingers, having just scarfed half the order of garlic bread from Enzo’s by himself. He’s never been more grateful that he’s not like, allergic to the stuff more in his entire life because goddamn it’s so fucking good. Steve snorts quietly where he sits at Eddie’s side, prompting a questioning look from the vampire-turned-human. He shakes his head, shoving the rest of a meatball into his mouth and hiding a smile as he turns back to his plate.

Arlene had insisted on Enzo’s, seeing as the only other options in town were fast food or mediocre family-style chain restaurants since Benny’s went defunct, or needing to drive farther outside Hawkins proper. And with the Military checkpoints, it was a lot of trouble just for some takeout. So Enzo’s it was.

“So,” Owens says, interlacing his fingers across the top of the conference room table, “you said you have some idea of what exactly happened?”

“Jesus, Sam,” Arlene hisses, “a little delicacy!”

“Ellsworth, they’ve already lived it, it’s not like dancing around on eggshells is going to make them any less traumatized.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be a bit less blunt about the entire thing!”

“It’s okay, Arlene,” Eddie says, smiling at her. He’s honestly touched by how much she seems to care. And while he knows that most of it is on her son’s behalf, she does care about him too. She turns soft eyes to Eddie and sighs, deflating and gesturing for him to take the floor.

“If you’re sure, Eddie. If you get uncomfortable or want to stop talking at any point–”

“Yeah, Eds.” Steve furrows his brow, laying a warm hand over top of Eddie’s own. He hadn’t realized it had been shaking until the tremors had stopped under the weight of Steve’s palm. He turns his hand over, lacing his fingers with Steve’s and takes comfort in the other man’s solid presence.

He draws a long breath.

“Supergirl–ah, that’s um, El? Eleven?–she told me that I didn’t feel like everyone else, or like Baby Byers did; I was something different, but not bad like Vecna/Henry/One—whatever the hell we’re calling him, but closer to the feeling of the place she goes to find people–what she calls The Void? Anyway, I agreed to let her do a little mind meld walk about and so she and Baby Byers pulled me into it. Um, we talked? While we were there? Apparently I had a mindscape already, which was weird, but that was probably because my transformation into what I am now meant I needed a place to harbor my instinctive parts, or my human parts to keep them safe while that transformation took place. That’s what we guessed and it makes the most sense, at least. El told me a little more about Will’s power, and how the Upside Down changed him. About how Vecna was weak, and how the powers varied between herself and him… and someone she called Eight?”

He sighs, taking a sip of his coffee, wishing he had more sugar for it.

“So, uh. We figured that with Vecna as weak as he is, he couldn’t find us there in the Void, but he’s regaining power from the gates. And El isn’t strong enough right now to close them. She’d thought that maybe Will was some sort of like, battery boost for her powers at first, but she thinks he’s actually more like her and Vecna after all, rather than an amplifier for her. So we got to thinking, that maybe Vecna is looking for something that could be an amplifier for himself–a conduit of some kind, to elevate his power to beat El once and for all. I said, well, we better find it first.”

Steve chuffs a laugh, “I mean, makes sense.” He makes a gesture across the table, “Find the thing first, we monopolize it, he can’t use it anymore. We’ve crippled his potential, basically. We win.”

“Exactly,” Eddie says, snapping in Steve’s direction before turning back to Owens, who’s listening with a rapt expression on his face. Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Uh, so then El gets this crazy look on her face and she starts like, chasing me around the mindscape and that’s scary as hell, and then she touches me and it all explodes–”

“It exploded in real life, too.”

He whips his head in Steve’s direction, eyes boggling out of his head. “It did?” That’s news to him! “Was anyone hurt?”

Steve shakes his head, “No. I managed to notice it building in time to warn everyone to get out of the way. I was the only one who got hit by it, and even then all it did was knock me off my feet.”

“Stevie,” Eddie whimpers, “Stevie, I’m so sorry…”

“Not your fault, Eds. You can keep going, if you still remember?”

Taking a steadying breath, Eddie leans back into his seat, turning his gaze up to the ugly drop-ceiling of the conference room.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. So. I don’t–I don’t remember much from after that, only that… I spoke to something…”

“You… spoke to something?” Owens prompts, leaning forward in his seat, brow furrowed.

“What do you mean? What did you–was it Vecna?”

“Eds, are you–!”

“No, no–” Eddie shakes his head, “no, it definitely wasn’t Vecna… I’m pretty sure it… I’m pretty sure it considers Vecna a parasite.”

“A… parasite?”

Eddie looks up into Steve’s bewildered face, nodding sheepishly.

“Ye- yeah. It… it spoke to me, it was. It was really… I don’t know how to describe it, actually.”

“Can you try?” Arlene asks, her lips pursed. Steve shoots her a look and she relents, concern becoming visible in her expression. Eddie exhales, shaky.

“I… it told me that it needed my help; that it was sorry for what happened to me, but that I was perfect for the job.”

“What job?”

“Taking care of its acolytes in this world, helping them. It has two, apparently… and they’re the real powerhouses behind getting rid of the parasite, which I’m assuming is Vecna.”

“What–?”

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs joylessly, “It sounds insane, doesn’t it? Like something straight out of some sort of fantasy novel…”

“Or one of your campaigns,” Steve ribs him, nudging Eddie gently with a soft smile.

Eddie lets a tiny grin slip through his defenses, dropping his gaze to the table top, “I- Yeah. It felt real at the time, and I… I agreed to help. It didn’t feel like a lie, or like it was a ridiculous situation when I was there with it, you know? It kept saying it needed help getting this parasite out of its realm which I’m thinking means that Vecna is an intruder in the Upside Down, and has done something to it; warped it in some way and that the being or- or entity I was speaking to somehow is in charge of the entire uh, dimension? Or something.”

“This is,” Owens falls back in his seat, blinking disbelieving eyes, “this is a lot to believe, if you’re telling the truth.”

“I’m not lying,” Eddie snaps, “it sounds insane, but I’m not making shit up for ha-has, man.”

“Oh, no,” Owens shakes his head, “the worst part about it is I believe you. After everything else, a deity saying it needs help isn’t even the weirdest thing I’d expected that could have come out of this conversation’s possible outcomes.”

“What- What else could possibly top this?” Eddie asks, morbid curiosity winning out.

Owens fixes him with a dead-eyed stare. “You don’t want to know.”

Oh, but now he does, though—

“Was there anything else you remember, Eds?” Steve asks, a warm hand laying down over top of one of Eddie’s thighs. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with sharing, that is.”

He turns his gaze to Steve–wonderful, beautiful, caring, protective Steve–and can’t help but wonder about the last bit of information the entity had deigned to share with him. Because it had said that he would know, hadn’t it?

“I… I remember something else.”

“Don’t feel pressured, honey,” Arlene chimes in, “Sam is a stubborn old coot who sometimes doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

“Oh, no…” he shakes his head, flushing, “I- well, it’s okay, actually. A little scary, but.”

“Eds…”

“I’m okay, Stevie,” he says, looking up into concerned hazel eyes. He drops his free hand to stroke the back of Steve’s knuckles, squeezing the other hand still laced together with Steve’s on top of the table.

“It also told me that I… I would be susceptible to the parasite’s Thrall.”

“Thrall..?”

Eddie nods. “I was confused about that, too. But then I remembered about the Upside Down’s hive mind, and how it’s all connected back to Vecna…”

Steve inhales sharply.

“You don’t think–”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’m sorry,” Owens interrupts, “I’m not following, exactly. You’re susceptible to thrall, and there’s the hive mind, and–ohhh, wait.”

“Getting it now, old man?”

Owens huffs at the insult, but nods, “That’s. Certainly not good.”

“Are you- are you okay right now? Do you–?”

“Stevie,” Eddie smiles gently, “I’m fine.”

“But–”

“I’m fine. And I will continue to be fine, because it told me that I already have protection.”

Three confused sets of eyes stare back at him and he chuckles.

“It called it an accidental boon–a ripple caused by the casting of a stone knocked loose without notice.”

“So, what exactly is this so-called accidental boon, then?” Owens asks.

“A Sword and Shield, it called them,” he says out loud. My Lord and Master, he admits privately to himself.

“That sounds awfully romantic,” Arlene murmurs, pressing a hand to her lips, ocean blue eyes wide.

Eddie hums, careful not to look at Steve yet. “It told me I would know them when I saw them again, that they’ve been close all this time. Apparently, this Sword and Shield, my Guardian, blocks the thrall–Vecna’s hive-mind–from contaminating my thoughts and free will, despite the fact that I am at least in part a creature of the Upside Down.”

“Do you- Do you know who your um,” Steve swallows, audible to Eddie’s ears, “who your Guardian is?”

“I have an inkling, but I’m not completely certain.”

Steve nods, the motion jerky.

The room descends into a heavy silence, all four of them sitting under the oppressive weight of the new information Eddie has brought to the table–quite literally. He fidgets slightly in his seat, only the persistent touch of Steve’s hands keeping him grounded. He’s hoping Steve is getting the hints he’s been bandying about–confessing that he suspects he is Eddie’s Sword-and-Shield, his Lord-and-Master in front of others is embarrassing and agonizingly painful; it’s not something he really wants to do–not yet, anyway. He wants to talk about it with Steve privately, first, because it feels permanent, in a way that’s different from him simply proposing courtship or Steve asking for them to date.

“Well, shit,” Owens says, breaking the quiet. “I feel like the whole damn world has just tilted a little on its axis.”

“A little? Try a lot, Sam. This is beyond insane, even though it certainly seems plausible after everything you’ve told me, and everything I’ve weaseled out of my son.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs, “I… I almost don’t believe it myself, but. I mean, it happened, so…”

“Have you given any thought to how you might be able to find the um, acolytes your entity spoke of?”

“Ah, I um. I think I know who they are, actually.”

“Oh, that makes this easier then,” Owens nods, “We should probably try to get you all together and see how your conduit role affects their powers. Do you know what other abilities you have?”

“I um,” Eddie blinks, “I only know a few things I can do in my monster form, it’s all mostly instinctive.”

“Damn. Looks like we might be starting from scratch then. Well, that’s alright. We’ll see what we can do together. If your entity wants you to get rid of its parasite and that parasite is Henry, then we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Eddie blinks, squeezing harder around Steve’s hand. He gets three rapid squeezes in response and he exhales, his shoulders dropping from where they’d apparently hiked up by his ears in anxiety.

“I think our first steps should be for you to see if you can find your ah, Guardian,” Owens says, tapping the top of the table with his finger, “Once you’ve gotten them on board, we can get started on figuring out your skill-set and getting you together with the acolytes to build up your synergy.”

Owens levels Eddie with a serious look, although his mouth twitches up in an apologetic smile.

“To be honest, kid, I’m not super optimistic. We lost last time we had to face Henry. But maybe this go ‘round, with your mysterious entity in our corner and the whole extra oomph you and your Guardian might provide… maybe we actually have a shot at this, after all.”

Owens stands up from his chair, both hands flat on the table as he leans forward, “I’m really, really hoping we do.”

And what else can Eddie do but nod?

Because hell, he’s hoping the same thing.

Because if they win, it means he might actually have a shot at forever with Steve… and that’s something to fight for.

whelp, here she is. some sweetness, some angst. some confessions, some PLOT.

now we're getting somewhere!

Also of Note: TMH will be going on a brief hiatus for the next week or so, at least until after the 28th. I've got to finish writing a one-shot D&D campaign that I'm running for a friend's birthday, so that's going to take precedence over this little project. But don't worry, I'll get right back to it!

the support banner was made by cafekitsune! please check them out if you're a creator!sligheach-sidhe made the content warning banner, so give them some love as well!

----------------------------------- THE PERMA-TAG LIST ----------------------------------- @almondflavoredbookworm @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @brainsteddielyrotted @cashewnutofdoom

@child-of-cthulhu @croatoan-like-its-hot @dame-zoom-a-lot @dauntlessdiva @ellietheasexylibrarian

@estrellami-1 @eyesofshinigami @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @grimmfitzz

@gutterflower77 @himbosandhardwear @hippieg1rl420 @hornybunnybaby @insteviewetrust

@kacatshi @kingelyx @lawrencebshoggoth @lunabyrd @matchingbatbites

@me-and-my-sloth @moltenchocolatelavacake @monsterloverforhire @mugloversonly @numinosmoon

@obliosworld @ohmeg @panicatthediaz @pansexuality-activated @prazinos

@queenie-ofthe-void @rainyefflorescence @sani-86 @sergeisilence @simplebtromance

@snarkfamily @steddieinthesun @steddielations @steddieonbigboy @steddiewithachance

@vacantwatchers @waelkyring @warlordess @y4r3luv The perma-list on the main post is full! But don’t worry, you can still ask to be tagged! Your name will just end up in the replies, rather than the main post. I won’t forget you, I had to make a spreadsheet to keep track of all of you, which is fucking wild to me but i’m so goddamn flustered and blushy and skfnalsghaso about it so it’s whatever i guess.

I also have a list of folks who didn’t ask specifically to be tagged for future installments, but have been extremely enthusiastic about the story from the beginning based on their reblogs and/or replies to the posts. So if you’re on that list, unless you tell me otherwise, I'll continue putting your name in the replies. You can also follow the story tag, which is #Take Me Home steddie fic where you might find my posted sneak peeks or wip updates in between the actual parts, or you can even just follow me, @hobbyistauthor for all my nonsense!

If you don’t want to be tagged or want to be taken off the tag list for any reason, just let me know either in the replies or via DM. I don't bite much.

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