#ITS EDDIES HOUSE HES NOT REALLY A GUEST | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

augustjustice · 3 months

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Chemistry, History, and Shared Trauma

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The day Eddie’s released from the hospital, he’s packed up into Steve’s BMW and driven straight to the Harrington mansion.

The government agents are still in the process of doing the whole song-and-dance routine required to clear Eddie’s name, so laying low is ideal. There hasn’t been time to relocate Wayne to a new trailer–something Owen promises is happening, though Eddie will believe it when he sees it–and a hotel room isn’t really a great place to recover, especially considering the state Eddie finds himself in.

When the question of where exactly he was going to go had come up, Steve had volunteered all too quickly.

“You can stay with me,” he had said, easy as pie, like it was nothing. “My parents aren’t home, and, besides…it’s not like anybody’s going to be looking for you there.”

Though Eddie had tried to protest, quick to say that he didn’t want to put Steve out, his jock savior wouldn’t hear a word of it.

So, the next day, Steve had shown up to the hospital early, signed all the appropriate paperwork, and then wheeled Eddie out into the parking lot whistling some upbeat, poppy tune Eddie didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of recognizing–but still found oddly endearing, in spite of himself.

And that had been that, Steve hauling Eddie’s cane out for him under one arm and his bag of meds in the other once they pull up in front of the Harringtons’ house, ready to put Eddie up in the guest room next to his like he’d belonged there all along.

Eddie’s mobility is still pretty limited–hence the cane and the wheelchair now sitting in the Harrington’s den–but that doesn’t mean he isn’t bold (and stupid) enough to try to make his way up the stairs on his own.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steve scolds, catching Eddie around the waist as he wavers on his feet a little, clearly being careful of the open wounds on his stomach and torso. “Hold on, just…hold on, man.”

“You got me, big boy?” Eddie teases.

The flirtatious call back is a diversion, an attempt to cover up the embarrassment of having to be this damn reliant on…well, literally everyone around him, but Steve in particular from here on out.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got you,” Steve says, tone nothing less than perfectly sincere.

Eddie deliberately ignores the way his stomach gives a little swoop in response.

So he leans on Steve heavily as they make their way to the next story of the house, close enough to get a faint whiff of Steve’s cologne, a surprisingly sweet mix of amber, vanilla, and something a little fruity tickling his nose. Once they’re finally inside, though, Eddie does manage to hold himself upright long enough for a quick look around, taking in the digs he’s going to be sleeping in.

The room itself is almost sterile in its cleanliness–neat military precious corners on the bed, devoid of the usual clutter Eddie associates with home. The blue floral pattern that covers the walls is bizarrely identical to the fabric of the curtains, the repetition almost comical, when he thinks about the uniformity of all the houses that line the street. It’s the kind of detail that would be called too ‘on the nose,’ if written into a book.

Eddie’s surprised to find a few exceptions to the cold tidiness, however, and even more surprised those exceptions come in the form of a stack of fantasy novels stashed inside the bedside table and a couple of action figures tossed in one corner.

Following his gaze, Steve turns from where he’s ‘tidying up’ what can only be an imaginary mess perceptible to the eyes of babysitting monster hunters and babysitting monster hunters alone, Eddie guesses. He gives Eddie a wry look.

“Dustin stays over sometimes,” he explains, “the other rugrats, too, but it’s still mostly his stuff that winds up here. Leaves his shit all over the place.”

There’s a fondness to Steve’s smile that undercuts the annoyance in his words.

Eddie thinks back to the months and months Dustin spent talking Steve up to him. How even then it never really occurred to him just how close they might be. It’s strange to think, now, that though Eddie’s spent nearly a whole school year as DM for Steve’s nerdy band of babysitting charges, their paths had rarely ever crossed, beyond glimpses and a handful of long forgotten words exchanged, before that nightmare of a Spring Break. Almost like their lives have been running in some kind of strange parallel, fated to collide, without either of them even noticing it.

Eddie’s not exactly sure how to phrase the feeling that comes over him at the thought, so instead he says, “I can’t believe we’re best friends with a fourteen year old, man.”

“God, tell me about it.”

Eddie takes a few stumbling steps forward and sits down on the bed, honestly a bit proud of himself he manages it with as much grace as he does. As he settles in, he catches sight of a small stack of photos splayed out on the bedside, sitting atop what looks to be a photo album.

Though it’s only a brief glimpse, the two visible pictures alone hint at the whole life story no doubt tucked away between glossy pages.

Theres’s Dustin, several years younger than he is now, in a suit shooting the camera his gummy smile and with a hairdo that looks suspiciously like Steve’s own. And a polaroid shows Robin sprawled out on the counter at Scoops Ahoy, company policy be damned and a book in her hand, Steve’s head just in frame as she flips off the camera.

While Steve fusses over him, fluffing his pillows and insisting he go get Eddie something to drink, Eddie can’t help but think he'd sorta like to hear it sometime–Steve Harrington’s life story. Be regaled with tales, from the photos and beyond, now that they’re here together, after the almost end of the world.

He hopes that, maybe, if he’s lucky, Steve will want to tell him some day.

---

The bloodcurdling scream wakes Steve.

He’s out of his room and down the hall in a flash, nail bat quickly snatched out of its hiding place underneath his bed with ease after years of practice.

Even with his heart racing, he’s quiet when he opens the guest bedroom door, not wanting to scare Eddie or alert…anything else that might be lurking inside.

“Eddie,” Steve calls out, whisper soft as he approaches the bed. When he repeats it, it’s a little harsher, more of a hiss, trying to get Eddie’s attention. “Eddie!”

As he draws closer, Steve can see that Eddie is sweating, large droplets visible where they’ve beaded on his forehead, and he’s writhing hard enough in the sheets Steve’s worried he’s going to pop a stitch if he doesn’t stop him soon.

There’s really only one option ahead Steve sees for himself.

So he gets a knee on the mattress and climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around Eddie to still him. Even as he does it, Steve worries his bottom lip between his teeth, anxious Eddie might fight against the restriction and inadvertently make the situation worse.

But then huge brown eyes fly open, Eddie’s terror reflected plainly as he stares up at Steve.

“Jeez–Christ!” Eddie manages to get out, stuttered and slurred, cutting off when Steve makes a soft shushing sound.

“Hey, man,” Steve murmurs, trying to keep his tone soothing as he gives him a tentative smile, “it’s me. It’s just me. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

He brushes Eddie’s sweaty bangs back from his forehead, a gesture that would be too intimate in any other circumstances, and then just keeps trying to murmur reassuring shit to him, voice low and gentle.

“I’m here, Eds. I’m here.”

Eddie is shaking against him, but he isn’t squirming or trying to buck him off, which Steve takes as a good sign–as ideal, really, as Steve could hope for in this situation. One of Eddie’s hands comes up to run down his face, his curls shifting against the pillow as he shakes his head fervently.

“Shit, Harrington, I thought–I mean, what I saw–” he trails off, lip trembling.

“I get it, man. Trust me, I get it.”

Though Eddie had squeezed his eyes firmly shut through the come down, he blinks them open again, looking at Steve through the darkness.

“Yeah, uh. Guess you would, wouldn’t you? Probably better than anybody.”

Steve can only nod his agreement.

“I mean, not just me. All of us get them,” he whispers, compelled to say it quietly, as he’s not sure if that truth is a comfort or a burden. “The nightmares, you know? Nance, Dustin, Robin–me.”

“Well, can I just say, they truly and royally suck.”

“Yeah…can’t really argue with you there, man.”

Eddie seems to register, then, that Steve has curled his body around him. His steadily loosening posture goes stiff again, much to Steve’s disappointment, and his eyes dart over nervously to catch Steve’s as he sucks in his bottom lip.

“Fuck, I-I’m sorry, dude. I totally didn’t mean to wake you up with my–terror-filled screams.”

The smile he shoots Steve is self-deprecating, tentative.

Steve’s grip slackens, but he doesn’t pull away, still pressed against Eddie’s side.

“Hey,” Steve coaxed, “you don’t need to do that, Eds. Like I said, we all fucking get them. That’s what I’m here for, okay? I–just wanna help when I can.”

The quirk of Eddie’s lips looks more genuine, now, some of the tension draining away.

“You know, Harrington, it’s kinda annoying how much I know you mean that.”

“Better get used to it, Munson. Cuz I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve gives Eddie one final quick squeeze around his shoulders, wondering if the gesture somehow crosses the line of casual, friendly touch Steve has gotten used to doling out to Eddie since all the Upside Down shit started, the jocular back pats and hair ruffling he’d justified as just typical guy stuff.

With that thought firmly at the front of his mind, Steve pulls away, albeit reluctantly. That said, he really doesn’t want to go back immediately on his word by slinking off to his bedroom, abandoning Eddie to fight off whatever images linger alone in the dark.

Especially not when he hears the almost imperceptible noise Eddie lets out as he stands.

Steve eyes the floor speculatively, an idea already taking root in his head.

“Speaking of, why don’t I just–stay here tonight. Yeah?” he suggests, already tossing the pillow and throw from the chair in the corner on the ground, making himself a pallet.

Sure, it’s not the most comfortable sleeping position ever, but between chairs in the Wheelers’ basement and the cold, hard floor of a Russian elevator, Steve’s done a lot worse.

“C’mon, man–you don’t have to do that,” Eddie tries to protest.

Like Steve can’t clearly see how haggard he looks, peering down at Steve through the curtain of his hair, the end of one strand damp where he’s pulled it up to his mouth and chewed on it.

Steve waves him off. “It’s not a problem. I already told you, dude, Henderson stays over all the time–you think I’ve never had to have a floor sleepover when he was around? Get real.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him.

“...Something tells me you’re not going anywhere even if I pull out my magnificent rhetorical skills from years of DMing and try to argue with you, huh?”

Steve thinks that really Eddie’s just proved his point, the fact that, since Steve mentioned staying, he’s recovered himself enough to be teasing all the more reason sticking around is clearly a good thing.

“Nope,” he answers, voice chipper as he shoots a finger gun at Eddie.

Eddie shakes his head ruefully. “Alright, didn’t think so.”

Without further ado, Steve flops himself gracelessly onto his makeshift bed for the night, the thick carpet beneath softening his landing.

“Night, Eddie.”

“Yeah. Yeah, night, Steve.”

Several long moments pass, and Steve listens, waiting to hear Eddie’s breathing evening out. It’s a sound he has become well acquainted with after many nights spent at the hospital, fitfully trying to sleep in the uncomfortable chair at Eddie’s bedside. When he fails to hear that telltale signal, Steve can’t help but stay tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Eddie breaks the silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls out, voice wavering. “Could you–fuck, man, I just need…”

He trails off, becoming muffled as he probably buries his face in his hands again. Even in the darkness, as Steve sits up, he can see the way Eddie’s shoulders hitch with his uneven breathing.

Without a word, he abandons the pillow and blanket on the floor to climb back onto the bed. Eddie doesn’t even look up when Steve’s weight dips the mattress.

“Hey, man,” Steve hipchecks him, nudging him over gently, “move over.”

“Harrington…” Eddie drawls slowly, looking completely lost even as he does as requested. His eyes widen further when Steve climbs into the empty space he left behind. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow as he leans back onto the pillows, getting comfortable.

“I know what it looks like, I just need some reassurance I’m not just hallucinating from blood loss or something here, man. Maybe you didn’t actually pull me, barely alive, out of that hellhole, and everything since then has all just been a really, really elaborate dream.”

Steve laughs, jostling his shoulder slightly.

“You’re not hallucinating.”

Eddie continues to stare at him in silent disbelief, causing Steve to sigh and sit up.

“Look, man, I–I get it, okay? All this, afterwards…sometimes it helps, just…being together. Close by, you know?”

Steve had had Nancy and the pretense of normalcy after the first go around, though that had all quickly gone to hell.

And the second time, when the kids truly were still kids, not the tiny adults they were fast becoming, there had been Dustin. The night after their second showdown, they’d slept side-by-side on their own makeshift palate on Joyce Byers’ living room floor, the other munchkins all scattered around them and Steve’s hand ruffled in Dustin’s hair, just the reassurance that he was there safe and comforting.

It was the best Steve had slept in almost a year.

And then, after the third time, there had been Robin. Filling up his parents’ empty house with laughter, movie marathons and impromptu sleepovers. Robin crawling into his bed in the middle of the night because she didn’t want to sleep alone in the echoing walls of Casa de Harrington, the two of them kicking each other like two giggling preteens until they fell asleep.

So, yeah. Together, in Steve’s many years of experience, was undeniably better.

“Besides, this way I can check and make sure you don’t actually bleed out in the middle of the night.”

“...If you say so,” Eddie says dubiously, but he doesn’t argue any further, which Steve counts as a win. He’s learned to take them where he can get them, these days.

But even after his agreement, Eddie’s restlessness is transparent. He fidgets beside Steve–drumming his fingers, squirming in the sheets as though trying to get comfortable, and eventually rolling half onto his side so that he’s facing away from Steve entirely. As Steve peers curiously at the outline of his shoulders, he realizes Eddie is still trembling, just a little.

His heart gives a painful kick in his chest.

“Here, just–” Steve turns until he’s lined up along Eddie’s back and then wraps a hand around his waist, pulling him back against him.

Eddie’s fidgeting stops immediately as he freezes in Steve’s arms.

“How’s that?” he asks into the waves of Eddie’s hair brushing against his face. “Better?”

“Uh.”

The hesitation in Eddie’s voice makes Steve really wish he could see his face, get a better read on the situation. Eddie’s so damn expressive, he might as well be the poster boy for “heart on his sleeve” as a phrase.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you totally weirded out?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice casual. “If you want me to, like, stop, you can just…tell me, you know.”

“No,” Eddie laughs, his head dipping downwards, “no, man, it’s…it’s definitely not that. I’m just trying to reconcile several shifting pieces of my world outlook into place all at once.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Eddie turns, then, tipping over onto his back again so he can stare at Steve in disbelief. Steve doesn’t loosen his hold on his waist.

“Steve Harrington. Is in my bed. Spooning me,” Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “None of that strikes you as weird?”

“I’m not spooning you now,” Steve points out. “You turned around.”

“Dude!” Eddie smacks his shoulder, shaking his head, laughter in his voice. They’re close enough his hair tickles Steve’s face as it whips around them.

“And, no, not really,” Steve shrugs. “Probably doesn’t even rank in the top ten weirdest things I’ve done in the past three years.”

“I mean…after the shit I’ve seen? I don’t doubt that, dude.”

But Eddie stares at him for a long beat after he admits it, eyes bright and brows drawn. There’s an expression, on his face, like he’d like to crack Steve open and see how his gears work, understand him from the inside out.

Plenty of people have looked at Steve like they wanted him. Steve’s not sure anyone has ever looked at him like this before, though.

The comforter has fallen down around Eddie’s waist, the shirt Steve had lent him riding up, exposing the pale line of his stomach. The worst of the wounds are still covered in bandages, the stitching hidden underneath them, but a patch of fresh, purple scarring spills out from the stark white gauze.

That’s the only real explanation that Steve has, for what he decides to break the sudden, loaded silence with.

(Plus maybe, just maybe, it’s one way of giving Eddie a part of himself, one jigsaw piece in the puzzle those bright brown eyes seem eager to solve.)

“You know, Nancy has a scar on her palm.”

When Eddie’s face turns towards his on the pillow, shooting him a puzzled look, he keeps going.

“Here, like this,” Steve tries to sound nonchalant as he takes Eddie’s hand, drags a finger gently across it. He’s not sure how much he’s succeeded, seeing the way the furrow of Eddie’s brow deepens in the low light. “And it’s…from the first time, with the demogorgon? Nancy and Jonathan, they–they lured it out together, and they’ve got the matching scars to prove it. She explained it to me, later, what happened.”

“I mean…that sounds like a gnarly war wound,” Eddie observes hesitantly. Then, his lips tug into a lopsided smile. “Not as impressive as a missing nipple, of course, but, you know–not everybody can be as badass as me.”

“Shut up, dude,” Steve scoffs, trying to bite back his own smile as he very gently jostles Eddie’s arm.

“What I’m trying to say, Harrington, is–I’m not really sure why you’re telling me this now?”

“I was getting to it, Eds. Sheesh, when it comes to patience, you're as bad as the munchkins.”

Eddie inclines his head for Steve to continue, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You have my sincerest apologies for interrupting, Stevie. Please–carry on, my liege.”

“Thank you,” Steve says snippily, partially out of habit, and partially because returning to the topic at hand is making him a little nervous. “So, like I was saying–Jonathan and Nance, they’ve got these matching marks on their hands, right? And, after they got back together–not to sound like a stalker, or anything, for the record this was when we would hang out sometimes–but more than once I would…I would catch them, just. Doing this thing where they pressed their palms together, like this.”

He demonstrates, spreading his hand out so his and Eddie’s hands line up together perfectly, Steve’s own longer fingers inching out over the tips of Eddie’s own.

“I don’t think they ever realized I noticed. But I always knew, when they did it, they were comparing their–what did you call them?–their matching war wounds. Like they carried this secret little thing that would always tie them together, no matter what happened. And I’m not gonna pretend I wasn’t jealous, at first, but even then, I always thought it was…nice. The thought of having somebody who would always be connected to you, that way, where you could never really erase what you’d been through together.”

A long beat of silence passes between them, him and Eddie staring at each other in the moonlight. Steve hopes, desperately, that maybe some part of what he’s trying to work up to saying is getting through.

“That is…incredibly morbid. Especially for you, Harrington,” Eddie notes finally, a corner of his mouth ticking up in amusement.

Steve huffs out a breath, beginning to pull his hand away, “Whatever, man, if you’re just gonna make fun, forget I said any–”

“Shit, no no no, dude!” Eddie’s arm flies out, gripping Steve tightly around the wrist, not letting him slink away. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I–that’s not what I meant. I do, I do get what you’re saying. Like you said, scars like that–they work like a symbol, that you’ve been through some tough shit together, side by side, and made it out the other end alive. I totally fucking get it, dude. And against all instincts, I do think it’s pretty romantic, in an absolutely metal sorta way. That’s why I said it like that. Just didn’t expect your romantic side to come with so much edge, Stevie boy.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve lets out a dry huff, “almost dying about a hundred times will do that to a person.”

“Yeah, I guess it will. I’m, uh. Still not completely clear about what Wheeler and Byers’ big epic love story has to do with us, though?” Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Unless…you’re here to wallow? In which case–I mean, fair enough. Wallow away, my good sir. You’ve more than earned it.”

“It’s not that,” Steve insists, even as he shrugs his shoulders, slightly conceding the point. “I mean, sure, with Nancy…I really thought she was it for me, once upon a time. And so when I saw what she had, with Jonathan–it hurt. Because it was her, of course, but also…because I wanted that with someone, as twisted as it maybe sounds. I’d gone through hell and back, too, and all I got was that nail bat and a bunch of mouthy kids to look out for.”

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter, and Steve grins back at him.

“Not that I’m complaining, or anything. I mean, I got Robin, too, and I don’t know what I’d do without her, or the hellions, for that matter. But, I–”

Deliberately, he tugs up his own shirt, shifting until he’s pressing carefully against Eddie’s side. Their matching bandages brush, an identical swath of white in the darkness, tangled scars seeming to almost curl together. It’s hard, in that moment, to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“I just–never thought I’d have anybody else to match with. That’s all.”

“But–now you do?” Eddie says slowly, something cautious in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving upwards in a tentative half-smile. “Now I’ve got you.”

“...You got me,” Eddie agrees quietly, almost like he’s afraid to speak that part out loud. “Dragged me out of hell and everything, Harrington. No return receipt after all that so…don’t really think there’s any getting rid of me now, even if you wanted to.”

“Good,” Steve says curtly, with a sharp, certain nod of his head, leaving no room for any creeping doubts. “Like I said, Munson, I’ve been waiting on this for a while, so you don’t get to run out on me now.”

Eddie shakes his head again, lips curling in bemusement.

“You are something else entirely, Steve Harrington,” he admits. “Full of surprises.”

“Good ones?” Steve asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Eddie tilts his head back and forth, as though he’s considering.

(Later, he will tease Steve about it mercilessly.

“Was that the infamous Harrington charm at work? Bet you tell that one to all the boys you lure into your bed, seduce them with tales of matching battle wounds connecting you like a pair of fated lovers.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Eds,” Steve will counter with that same sincerity that always sends Eddie blushing, “cuz I’ve never said anything like that before. Not to anybody. Not before you.”)

But, for now, it takes only a moment for Eddie’s face to dissolve into a warm smile. Reaching over, he tangles his fingers with Steve’s again, tugging their interlaced hands up to rest against one of the scarred patches stretching across his belly.

The skin feels smooth under Steve’s hand. For a moment, he wonders how it would feel, to press his lips there.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, eyes sparkling with so many promises of the future, for now left unsaid. “Yeah, I’d say pretty good so far.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #my writing #my stuff #my things #me coming at you with yet another spin on an established steddie trope? it's more likely than you think

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blueywrites · 19 hours

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better in the dark

eddie munson x fem!reader it's movie night, and you get a little lost in your head sitting on eddie's lap down in the boys' basement.

1.9k

cw: 18+. exhibitionism, sex acts with others in the room (imagined/implied), no y/n, no physical descriptions. note: all characters are college-age adults.

This came from a 'naughty nights' ask that got long enough to be published as its own oneshot. Thanks for the idea, anon! The original ask can be found here.

enjoy xx

The room is dark aside from the flickering of the television, which slashes colors across your five faces in time with the screams of the characters on screen, desperate to escape the reanimated dead. Gareth and Jeff have the popcorn bowl wedged between them, each taking turns shoveling handfuls in their mouths, nudging each other as another person gets chomped down the same way by a zombie. They're seated on the gaudy floral loveseat which was banished to the basement of their rented house, a hand-me-down from Gareth's mom the guys wouldn't dare put in the living room to be seen by guests. Eddie and David don't count, though; years of high school, Hellfire, and Corroded Coffin have bonded them far beyond that type of judgment. You're only rueful that the two had snatched up the comfortable spot for this week's movie night, forcing you and Eddie to squash together on the narrow armchair since you'd insisted David take the recliner (you knew he'd be even more uncomfortable than you in this one, and you're not a total mannerless heathen).

At least the armchair has fabric cushions instead of leather, you think, snuggling down further into the knit blanket draped over you and Eddie, which is keeping you warm as you sit on his lap. It's not the most comfortable seat, mostly because you're sitting sideways across him and thus are perched right on his bony femur; the guy has no fat on his legs to speak of, plus the bare minimum amount of muscle to keep him walking around, so the padding under your butt is quite lacking. You purse your lips, sneaking a glance at Eddie's face from where you have your ear pressed against the front of his shoulder. His brown eyes are near black, gleaming as he watches the screen until he notices you looking and he glances down at you curiously.

"Your thigh's bony," you grumble quietly, close to his pierced ear so he can hear you over the movie; you lift your head to peer around his chin and survey the other occupants of the room, checking to see how engrossed in the movie they are. You're wondering if you can finagle your way into sitting straight on Eddie's lap without drawing their attention - not because you or Eddie would care that they see you in such a position, but because you don't wanna hear them giving you any shit about it for the next month. You can take a good teasing, but they just go on and on about it, and it gets irritating after a while.

When their eyes don't waver from the screen, you place your head back against Eddie's shoulder, scratching your fingers down his worn t-shirt, feeling along his soft abdomen in such a way that you end up teasing yourself as you think about how much more comfy you'll feel sat on his lap with your front pressed to his.

That wasn't originally your plan, but now that you've thought of it, you really want it. You don't even care that you won't be able to see the movie as you imagine his lithe arms wrapping around you under the blanket, the bud and spice scent of him in your nose as he keeps you close, how cozy and warm and deliciously held you'll feel. And a little bit of arousal blooms, too, as you consider how the position will allow the stiff denim of his jeans to drag along your panties, how delicious the friction would feel against your clit, how the naughty secret of it would heighten the pleasure since no one else would know, despite them being mere feet away.

You imagine how it'd go. How your knees would press into the back cushion as you straddle Eddie, teasing him with the subtlest brush of your pussy against his crotch, all concealed underneath the thick knit of the forgiving blanket. He'd probably buck up into you with a little aborted thrust of his hips, trying to keep still as his arms tighten around you. He'd look down at you with those big brown bambi eyes, wide and apologetic 'cause you know he'd think it was an accident until you did it again, slower, more deliberately this time.

Eddie would narrow his eyes then, and he'd grin at you, a crooked, dimpled thing to convey his piqued interest. And it probably wouldn't take much to convince him to make out with you like that, considering you've made out in front of the guys before, usually when you're all drunk or high or both. It's happened enough that they likely wouldn't even spare you more than a glance over it. So Eddie would cup your jaw with one hand as you nip at his chin, trailing little baby kisses up to the full pink lips he'd just licked in anticipation. Glossy and wet, they'd open to you as soon as you were in reach, capturing your mouth with intent after you'd teased him a little, 'cause Eddie is easy to rile up like that. You'd kiss him back with equal hunger, letting the frantic sounds of the movie conceal the smacking of your lips and the clicks of saliva as you lick into each others' mouths. You'd heat up quickly, working into a frenzy of need and pooling arousal that gathers where you bump against each other between your legs. When the blanket starts to sag, Eddie would pull it up over your shoulders again, tucking you in like a little bug in a cocoon as he devours you whole with his seeking lips and his wide, hot tongue while his cock chubs up against your hot pussy.

He'd get you so turned on, grinding up into you and making out with you in the basement next to his friends. He'd make you so fucking needy that your little fingers would trail down the front of his chest and fall to his belt. And Eddie would know what you want right away, too. He'd feel your heart skipping bunny rabbit-fast as he holds you flush against his chest, your nipples poking him straight through your bra and shirt, you're so excited. Moved by the danger and thrill and naughtiness of it all, your eyes would meet, both sets of pupils blown to consume all the color there— a moment of silent communication between you. Eddie would sneak a glance toward the loveseat as you pant against him, trembling with nervous excitement and throbbing with an insistent ache that has your puffy lips drooling through your panties onto his jeans.

You wouldn't be able to fuck, of course. Not properly, at least, not unless you want the guys to realize what you're doing, and you definitely don’t want to face the consequences of bouncing on Eddie's dick in front of them. But you could snake your hand down between you, skimming the front of your belly on your way, feeling down to your weeping slit until you find the edge of your panties by touch alone. You could tuck your nose against Eddie's pale neck, feel the quick thrumming of the artery there as you hook your index finger in and pull the fabric aside. You'd feel Eddie's dry, cracked knuckles brush your fingers as he works his belt open, moving slowly so his hands don't rustle the blanket around your lap and give you both away. Carefully, he'd pull down his fly, and you'd feel the subtle vibration of each tiny tooth splitting apart to let him that much closer to you. When he finally takes himself out, letting the dry velvet heat of his cock meet your soaked lips, you'd have to suppress the way your hips want to jump like he'd touched you with a brand.

This next part would be a bit tricky, but together, you and Eddie would manage it. You'd nudge your hips up, your thighs trembling as you move so slowly, hovering high enough to clear the length of his dick. Then, Eddie would help you by pulling your lower lips apart with his thumbs, opening your hole so when you line up his head, he can notch in smoothly. He'd tremble then, his biceps quivering under your hands as you lower yourself down onto him, stretching yourself tight around his rigid length, enveloping him in your sopping heat.

Three-quarters down, you'd both freeze when you hear a loud exclamation from the couch, waiting with bated breath to see if you've been caught. Realizing it's just Gareth's reaction to the movie would bring you mostly relief but also a tiny, sick little buried-down tinge of disappointment, too— a feeling you'd choose to ignore as you settle flush against Eddie's lap, his tip digging deep inside you, your body molded to every curve and notch of his thick cock. That cock would kick once inside you, but otherwise, Eddie would remain motionless, his jaw grit as you press the soft apple of your cheek there, his breath puffing from his nose to feather the hair at your temple.

You'd take a moment to grow used to the feeling of your secret joining before starting to kiss again, both as a public reason to keep you sitting on him like this in case any of the guys start to wonder, and also just to taste each other 'cause you’re burning for it. You'd nip Eddie's lip, and he'd lick across your teeth, and once your kissing turns heated and sloppy again, he'd reach down between you, dragging his middle finger down over your mound until he reaches the apex of your sex.

There, he'd start to rub tiny little circles into your sensitized bud. Slowly but steadily, he'd pet your little clit, and the feeling would be torture and pleasure all at once— frustrating because you can't move, but also deliciously arousing because you're cockwarming him while he touches you in front of his oblivious friends. You'd whine and moan and make muffled begging noises that Eddie would swallow up greedily. And when you'd start to pulse around him, clenching on his thick length as the tingling wave inside begins to crest, Eddie would groan against your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to cum on his cock.

And you would. You'd bite down on his lip, gripping the meat of his shoulders to keep yourself still as you gush and pulse around his length. You'd soak Eddie's balls beneath the blanket David found at a garage sale in town. And maybe David would spare you a glance when the television screen lights up bright for a moment, revealing how you've gone suddenly rigid on top of Eddie, your brow pinched up in painful ecstasy in a way that he finds curious.

Maybe, or maybe not. Who's to say?

"Hey." Eddie's whisper dissolves your fantasy, leaving you with the blanket clutched up in your fingers, your ass growing numb on his bony thigh, and your pussy awfully puffy and swollen, crying desperately for attention. You look up at him again, your pulse kicking faster as you see the new edge to his gaze— something quite hungry. Quite naughty.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asks you quietly, his eyes darting between yours as he tries to read you. You bite your lip as that thrill rises inside again, intensified this time by the fact that what you'd fantasized about would become real.

You nod.

A grin crawls across Eddie's face— wide, manic, and full of deliciously wicked promise.

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine

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unfinishedslurs · 1 year

Text

matchmaking gone wrong (steddie)

“So,” Murray says, smarmy little smirk in place. Steve kind of hates him. “How long have you two been dancing around each other?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, now,” he says. “Everyone can see it. Or, well, maybe they can’t, but I can. Small town boys, both fighting against the odds. Alternate dimensions bring people together in the strangest ways, don’t they?”

“Hey, now,” Steve objects, shooting a panicked glance next to him. Eddie hasn’t moved a muscle since Murray opened his big mouth. His pose reminds Steve of a frightened rabbit, frozen in the eye of a snake.

“Hey, now,” Murray mimics. “Real eloquent, Steve.” He says Steve like he’s saying something else. If he’s not careful, Steve is going to punch his fucking teeth in.“I gotta say, when I met you, you managed to take me by surprise. I really thought you were gonna be different. Small town rich boy, right? Big house, no parents, thought I knew the type. But you’ve managed to turn it on its head, haven’t you? Still, you’re lonely. Must be nice, having all those kids in your house. Less empty with them around. And Eddie here, too. I bet it’s real nice with him around.”

“Dude,” Steve says, prickling. He doesn’t know what eloquent means, or what that has to do with anything, but he really does not like what this guy is putting down. What business does this washed up mess of a conspiracy theorist have digging into Steve’s personal life? He chances another look at Eddie, who has unfrozen in favor of straightening up and glaring at Murray.

“What the fuck do you know?” he spits, vicious in the way he only ever is when he’s defending someone. Steve is touched, really.

“I know a lot,” Murray says, smile growing ever wider. “Like that you sleep in his bed, even though there’s…what, three perfectly good guest rooms here?”

“Two,” Steve corrects automatically. “The other one is Max’s.” Unofficially, of course, but she sleeps here enough that everyone else knows she’s claimed it. Technically it’s one and a half, given that Dustin is slowly taking over the one next to hers, but Ms. Henderson is actually responsible so he only stays the night occasionally. Robin just sleeps in Steve’s bed with them.

He realizes his mistake when Murray’s smile grows even wider. “Two!” He exclaims. “Two guest bedrooms, and yet you sleep in his bed, wake up next to him, end up with his pillow lines on your face. I bet it’s nice, huh? To have him soothe your nightmares, to fall asleep knowing he’s there. We like Steve, indeed. How could a man possibly resist? Tell me, Eddie, is that handkerchief in your pocket just for show? I’d have thought masochism was more your style.”

“Hey!” Steve barks. Eddie jumps next to him, and Steve puts his hand over his unthinkingly. Murray’s eyes track the movement, but Steve speaks before he can open his mouth.

“Not cool, man,” he says firmly. Eddie’s hand is trembling under his, and Steve thinks that Murray is lucky that he cares more about comforting Eddie than he does about punching the smug look off his fucking face.

“What’s not cool?” Murray asks. “Telling you two to get your shit together, for the betterment of us all?”

“You barely fucking know us,” Steve snaps. “There’s no ‘betterment of us all,’ Jesus. You can’t just…you can’t…” he lowers his voice, like he can protect Eddie from hearing it if he tries hard enough. “You can’t just out people, man. You should fucking know better.”

Eddie’s frozen again. Steve doesn’t look at him, instead staring Murray down like a challenge. The man does lose steam with that, wilting like a weed in the heat. “Ah,” he says. “I…ah, hell, I thought you knew.”

“What I know doesn’t mean shit if he’s not the one who told me,” Steve says. Eddie makes a sound, slowly sliding his hand out from under Steve’s. Steve lets him, resisting the urge to grab it back. He knows Eddie won’t run away from him, even if he wants to. “And what if you’d been wrong about me being cool, huh? Seriously man, aren’t you supposed to be smart or something? Act like it.”

Murray opens his mouth again, but Eddie interjects. “As fascinating and eye opening as this has been,” he says, clapping his shaking hands together, “I need to be gone, like, before this conversation ever happened. I appreciate your attempt to get me into golden boy’s pants over here, really, but, uh, yeah. I think the whole being straight thing kind of puts a damper on that, don’t you?”

“You’re straight?” Steve blurts out, hurt and embarrassed all at once. Well, shit, there goes whatever Steve thought they were hurtling towards. And after Steve just confessed he thought Eddie was gay. Is that discrimination? He’s going to kill Robin, dammit, she’s the one who pointed out Eddie’s hanky in the first place.

“What?” Eddie asks. “No, you are.”

“I am?”

“Yes!”

“Uh,” Steve says, extremely confused. Is Eddie coming out as straight for him? He’s pretty sure this is supposed to go, like, the opposite way. “Since when?”

“Since—“ Eddie’s mouth drops open. “I thought since always, Harrington, what the fuck?”

“Me what the fuck?” Steve sputters. “You what the fuck! You thought I was straight?”

“Of course I did!” Eddie throws his hands up. “You’re, like, the epitome of straight jock!”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says. “Because my painted nails and affinity for sucking cock scream heterosexual man.”

Affinity might be a stretch given that he’s only ever sucked one dick in his entire life, but hey, a little embellishment never hurts. He wasn’t awful at it. The painted nails weren’t actually his choice, either, thanks to El’s killer puppy eyes, but still. He’s been blatantly flirting with Eddie for months now. Would it kill him to notice?

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a response for this, mouth opening and closing without sound.

“Well,” Murray says at last. Steve and Eddie both jump, having completely forgotten about him. “I guess you needed my help after all.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says, rounding on him. “I don’t need your help for jack-fucking-shit, alright? I am a grown-ass man. I am not repressed, I am not in denial, and I am not thanking you for this. You messed up my plan!”

“Your plan?” Eddie asks.

“Your plan,” Murray repeats, amused.

“Yes, my plan,” he hisses. “You’re not smarter than everyone else just because you don’t like the government, asshole. None of us like the fucking government, we’re just not about to go off the rails and become total shut-ins about it. We fucking get it, you’re lonely and have no friends. We don’t need you to tell us our own business for us, okay? You want to talk about getting help? Go to a fucking AA meeting and leave us alone.”

The skin around Murray’s eyes tightens. Steve might feel bad, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d fucking outed Eddie. Mistake or not, it doesn’t matter that Steve already knew if Eddie wasn’t ready to fucking tell him.

Eddie’s hand on his arm stops him from saying much worse.

He doesn’t turn around, just stares Murray down like a warning. Murray looks back at him, seemingly unimpressed, but Steve can see shame in the line of his shoulders. There’s apology in his eyes when he breaks Steve’s gaze to glance at Eddie.

He’s not a bad guy, Steve knows. Joyce tells them fondly about how he helped her and Hopper get their shit together. How they’d both be Russian chow ten times over if it wasn’t for him. Nancy, too, has some good things to say about the guy. He was the one who helped her get word out about Barb’s death. He helped her get with Jonathan too, even if that didn’t exactly work out.

And it’s not like he blames Murray for Nancy cheating on him. She’s her own person, and makes her own decisions, even if they’re shitty, hurtful ones that he’s still not sure he’ll ever fully get over.

Jonathan said it best, once. He’s weird, and nosy, and annoying, and I don’t really like him. But I think he really just wants to help, in any way he can. Plus he’s a really good cook.

Steve breaks.

“Just get out of my house, man,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Joyce will be happy to host you for the night, they’ve got a spare room there. Tell her my house was too ‘rich kid’ for you, or something. But you’re not staying here anymore.”

Murray nods, accepting this at face value. He gets up from the table, pausing to snag the vodka. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” he offers, and disappears before either of them can reply.

“So,” Eddie says, after a considerable length of silence. His voice shakes slightly. “That was, uh, enlightening.”

He huffs a tired laugh. “That’s one word for it,” he says, finally turning to look Eddie in the eye. He’s shifty, eyes flitting around the room, hands playing out guitar chords against the counter. Steve takes one in hand.

Eddie stills, finally looking at his face. Steve won’t force eye contact, but he needs to know Eddie’s focusing on him and not whatever shitty thoughts are flying across his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he offers quietly. “I didn’t know he’d try that shit with us, when I told Hopper he could stay here.”

Eddie resumes his finger chords. “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“I know,” he says. “Still, that wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Go? ‘Go’ what? What’s going?”

Steve shuts his eyes. “Us. I wasn’t going to say anything yet. Not until after you told me you were…”

“Oh,” Eddie says quietly. “Right.”

“Yeah.”

“I can get out of your hair, man, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“What?” Steve‘s eyes fly open. “No! I’m not kicking you out, what the fuck?”

“You’re not?”

“Literally what part of that conversation made you think that’s where this was headed?” He demands.

“I dunno, man,” Eddie confesses. “Good things don’t really happen to people like me.”

“And I’m a good thing?” Steve tries to joke, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie doesn’t take the bait, just briefly meets Steve’s eyes and lowers his voice. “Steve, you’re, uh. You’re kind of one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“Oh,” falls weakly from his lips.

“Shit, was that too much? That was totally too much, sorry, I’m not good at this. You can totally kick me out now, fuck, that’s so embarrassing—“

Steve kisses him.

“Honestly, I’m not that worried about it,” Eddie says, laying with his feet on Steve’s pillow and head hanging off the bed.

“Really?”

“I mean, like, it was a dick thing to do, but what’s he gonna do? Tell the whole town? They all know about me anyway.”

Steve kind of shrugs at this, because as much as he wishes it weren’t true he’s right. He’s walked past fag sharpied on Eddie’s locker enough times to know that unlike Steve, he never really had the luxury of hiding it.

“People always just knew,” he tells Steve. “Don’t know how, don't know why. I’m not sure I‘ve ever actually come out to anyone except Wayne, and that was more of a bitter, self-loathing explosion than anything. It backfired, obviously. Instead of kicking me out, he told me he loved me and I cried so hard I threw up. Totally embarrassing. But even with Wayne…I didn’t have to. It’s like it was tattooed on my forehead, or something. Too soft, too close with other boys, too obvious. So I leaned into it. Learned to fight, ‘cause getting beat up might end in something worse. Let my freak flag fly, let ‘em focus on the DND and the devil worshiping because somehow that was better than being queer.”

Steve, who’d also known about Eddie long before Eddie had told him, bites his tongue.

“I think he’s safe,” Eddie finishes with a nod. “He really did seem like he wouldn’t have said anything, if he’d known I hadn’t told you. Which is hilarious to me, by the way, because I’d just kind of assumed I didn’t have to so you might have just waited forever. Plus I think he and Hopper have, like, a vibe.”

Steve chokes. “A vibe?”

“They’re not fucking,” he clarifies, “but they have fucked, yanno?”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

“Nah, man. I bet that’s why Hopper asked us to host him, instead of offering up his spare room immediately. Your ex and your new squeeze living together?” He whistles lowly. “Awkward.” “I don’t want to know this,” Steve declares, flipping face first into his pillow. He pushes Eddie’s stinky feet away from his face, ignoring his squawk. “Why would you give me information? Now I have to look Hopper in the eye knowing that his taste in men is Murray.”

#stranger things fanfic #murray bauman #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #implied past murray/hopper because i think it's funny #accidental outing #i like murray matchmaking steddie as much as the rest of them #but occasionally i wonder how it would fit in the time period as two queers instead of 'straight' couples #and my immediate thought was that it would Not Go Well #murray IS obnoxious and i love him for it #matchmaking gone wrong au

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cryonme · 1 year

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐔𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

—graham dunne x fem!reader

—summary: the story of you and graham dunne was never simple, but his love for you never faltered.

— word count: 2.7k

—tw: addiction, implied drugging, alcohol, cursing, reader says she "doesn't wanna be here anymore", very obvious signs of mental illness, the works...

—a/n: so... I did not intend for this fic to be this long or this sad, but here we are. I'm breaking it into two parts so its easier to read, part two is coming shortly!! I apologize for how sad this is lol but I promise its a happy ending story! also, sorry for how I wrote daisy! she's my girl and I love her, it was just for the plot I swear! this is the first fic I've posted in about 6 months so im rusty, please be kind! and please, don't read if anything listed in the triggers is going to upset you, I want you all happy and comfortable! XO

(flashbacks in italics)

Nothing was ever Daisy’s fault, was it?

At least, that’s what Graham Dunne thought when he got a call from Karen saying his girl was wasted at a party with Daisy attached to your hip.

She should have known what you were struggling with, she should have known that you couldn’t handle a party, she should have known this wasn’t what you needed. Daisy Jones should’ve fucking known.

To be completely fair, they really all should’ve known. You’d been around since day 1. Everyone knew better, Daisy just happened to be the red corvette.

“You can’t keep doing this, my love.” Camilla whispered oh so gently, holding your hair back from your face, pressing a cold rag to your neck.

It was a small gig, at some shitty bar called Tony’s in Pittsburgh. The band always had a couple beers and maybe a shot or two before a show but you had begun to need more. You snuck vodka into your water bottles and begged the bartenders to sneak you a couple free extras by pulling your top down and leaning over the bar, using your forearms to push your tits up.

It worked every time. Pigs.

“Can do whatever I want.” You slurred, cheek pressed to the toilet seat.

But damnit, you knew she was right.

Tony’s wasn’t the first time.

There was Rod’s, and The Ladie’s Room, and The Shiner Saloon, and some girl named Lisa’s 18th birthday party. It was becoming a pattern, everyone could tell.

You always went back to your house after a show. Your parents had been completely absent since you were 15, you never knew where they were. And after every show, their cars were never once in the driveway.

A safespace.

Billy would sit outside of the bathroom, head leaning against the door while Graham waited in the living room, arms crossed and head down, not wanting to listen to your cries and shakes of pain.

Eddie would retreat to the guest room, but he usually wouldn’t be able to fall asleep til he heard the click of your door next to his.

Warren would be passed out on the couch as soon as you all walked through the door, not that he didn’t care about you immensely, but the poor kid could just not stay awake if he was tired.

“I wanna go to bed.” You said.

Camilla sighed, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

You nodded and so did Camilla. She got up to get Billy like she always did, and he’d come and pick you up off of the bathroom floor, as he always did, and carry you to your room and lay you on the bed, letting Camilla make sure you’re comfortable, like she always did.

Graham would come in and ask how you’re doing, like he always did, and he’d make himself comfortable on your floor with throw pillows and spare blankets, like he always did.

But that night, after Tony’s, things changed.

“I can’t do this anymore, Graham.” You whimpered.

Fuck.

This was early days, Graham was still awkward as hell and didn’t know how to go about things like this.

“Do what?” He croaked, mustering up the courage to be there for you.

“This. I can’t live like this. I’m afraid I’m gonna kill myself.”

Graham was up in an instant, reaching for the doorknob. “Do you want me to get Camilla?”

You shook your head, “No, please. Just-” You wiped a tear from your cheek, “Will you just lay with me?”

“Anything.” Graham breathed as he settled into bed next to you. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, being too drunk to care about any awkwardness and Graham was thankful.

“We’ll get you out of this, promise.”

That was the last time anybody saw you drink anything besides a beer or two, following that was shirley temples and cherry cokes.

Nobody really knew the heaviness of addiction then, but they knew that you were happier, and that’s all that really mattered to them. You were even laughing at Warren’s jokes and Billy and Eddie’s lame bickering, everything felt okay.

“You don’t drink?” Karen had asked, the first time you properly met in California, while she was digging through the fridge searching for a beer. You shook your head, hoping you weren’t going to get some crazy reaction like you were a zoo animal in a cage like you got from most people.

She just nodded, a small smile playing at her lips as she pulled two coca cola bottles from the fridge, popping them open with her ring and handing you one.

“Cheers to that.”

You were sober enough to realize you were in love with Graham, and confident enough to tell him. And man, he could’ve exploded.

There was a celebration, at the house in Laurel Canyon, just the 7 of you.

Warren recalls later that Graham looked like he’d been dipped in sunshine and rainbows.

“Like he’d just smoked sunshine and been fucked by a rainbow. It was crazy, man.”

Well, almost.

You’d been around the band multiple times while they drank and it was never a problem. You’d have the first round of beers with them then tap out, but you always stayed and had fun, smoked a couple joints and cigarettes, never without a mocktail or coca cola in your hand. Sometimes, usually Karen or Camilla, someone would join you on the sober night, and that always felt really nice.

That night had felt different, you were scared.

“I’m gonna fuck him up Warren…” You said as you laid on the floor with the drummer as Down By The Seaside by Led Zeppelin played from the record player, Warren laughed.

“Yeah you are.” He said, his tone suggestive as he bumped his elbow with yours.

You rolled your eyes, fighting the heat creeping into your cheeks. “You know what I mean, man. I’m gonna ruin him.”

Warren had known you long enough and listened to enough of the songs you wrote to where he’d like to think he knew you pretty well.

And you never opened up out of the blue unless you were drunk.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked, not looking up from the ceiling. You scoffed.

“I still have a beer here and there, Warren.”

“You know what I mean, man.” He repeated your words back to you and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m going to bed.” You said and stood up, trying your hardest not to stumble or slur.

“Honey…” Warren started, pushing himself off of the floor to try to stop you.

“NO!” You whipped around, flipping your hair so forcefully it stung your face but you were quick to pull it back.

“Don’t fucking- don’t fucking do that, man!” You started, holding a hand up. “My own friends don’t even fucking trust me i’m just constantly babied! Do you know how that feels?”

At that point, Karen, Eddie and Billy had tuned in, being in the kitchen. Camilla and Graham must have been elsewhere, he had always confided in her like a sister.

“Hey–” Billy tried to interject with a hand on your wrist but you were quick to pull away.

“Huh?! Do any of you know how that feels?!” You were borderline screaming now, and everyone was speaking to you so softly, hands slowly trying to grasp you and it made you want to scream even louder.

“How dare you ‘ccuse me of something like that asshole?” You were beginning to slur your words, the tequila you’d snuck from Warren’s room starting to hit pretty heavily, making your eyes droop and words slur.

“Baby, please-” Karen started, making the move to grasp your arm but you turned and lost your balance, nearly falling but Eddie was quick to catch you, he held on tight and didn’t dare let go until you calmed down or Graham came back. Billy had left minutes ago to find him and Camilla, who had taken a walk so he could freely gush about his new girl without the chances of anyone else hearing.

“Need you to calm down, babe.” Eddie whispered, running a hand up and down your arm for comfort.

“None of you even care!”

Warren shook his head alongside Karen, both of them had squatted in front of you, doing their best to provide what you needed.

“That’s not true.”

“I fucking hate you all!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t wanna be here anymore!”

And then he said your name.

You froze.

He was gonna leave you, you were so sure of it. You worked so hard to be better for him and it didn’t work.

“No…” You whimpered and you swore you saw Graham break in front of your eyes.

“You can’t- you can’t see this.”

But he didn’t care. He knelt in front of you and Eddie and gathered you into his own arms, completely silent as he carried you to his room and you wanted to disappear into him so badly.

“‘M so sorry…” You slurred, and still he was quiet. You let him undress you and replace your pretty top and flared jeans with his own tee shirt and boxer shorts.

You watched as he changed into a similar outfit as you picked at your nails. “Graham, I-”

He sighed and placed his hands on either sides of your cheeks, placing a firm kiss on your forehead that only made you cry harder. You brought your hands up to grip his wrists, not willing to let go of the feeling of his lips on your skin.

“I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

Graham was silent again as he pulled you into his bed with him, covering you both with the large duvet.

“Not in the slightest.”

That night was really the last night anybody had seen you get drunk like that.

Then, Daisy Jones came along.

And you learned how to keep bad habits a secret.

Tequila and mints in the bathroom, water and cherry cokes with the band. A shot of jameson to fall asleep. Champagne to wake up, brush your teeth. A beer in the shower after lunch, leave the evidence in Warren’s room since there were hundreds of empty ones anyway.

It’s not like Daisy was teaching you one on one, you just started watching her, and you liked the way she got away with it.

No one told Daisy about your issue either, you could hold your own and you had asked them not to, so lips were sealed.

But it took everything in Graham and Billy not to tell her to tread lightly every time they saw the two of you sneak off on your own.

And now here was Graham Dunne, sitting in the driver's seat of the van outside of God knows who’s house, with Camilla in the passenger’s seat and Billy in the back. Moral support.

“Want us to come with you?”

Graham shook his head. “I need to do this alone.”

Billy scoffed, “I’m not gonna let you go in there with our two hot headed alcoholic rage sisters. Cam, you stay here.”

“Nope, you go I go. You two get our girl, I’ll handle Daisy.”

The three bickered a moment but finally settled on their plan. Graham and Camilla would take you, while Karen and Billy took Daisy, since the blonde girl drove.

“Fucking finally.” Karen exasperated as she saw her friends walk into the backyard of the party while trying her hardest to hold you upright.

“Where is Daisy?” Billy spat immediately, making eyes around the party. You had always been like a sister to him, in the way Camilla was to Graham, and he could’ve killed the redheaded girl in that moment.

“Beats me.” Karen said, passing off your deadweight into Graham, who was quickly supported by Billy. Your head lulled onto your boyfriend's shoulder, recognizing him as a source of comfort even in your inebriated state.

It made his soul ache.

“Is Simone here?” Camilla asked.

Karen shook her head, “Was. Split as soon as she and Daisy got into a fight. Offered to take this one” she nodded her head at you “home with her but I figured it’d be best if you guys came.”

Graham shook his head, “You made the right call, thank you.”

“Yeah, well uh, I sure as hell can’t drive. Got drunk as hell before even stepping foot in the backyard, soon as I saw (Y/n) I stepped in and called you guys immediately.”

“Do we need to get Daisy?”

“That’s a fight you sure as hell don’t wanna have. Yelled at me just for taking ‘her best friend’ away from her to get her some water.”

Billy rolled his eyes.

Graham and Billy began making their way out of the party with you slung around their shoulders, and Camilla walking arm in arm with a very drunk Karen who kept tripping over feet.

And suddenly red hair and sparkling eyes were in front of them.

“Ohhh no, what happened to my girl?” She tried to touch your face but Billy pulled you away, ready to say something before Graham spoke up, surprising everyone.

“Your girl, Daisy?!” His voice boomed, no doubt you’d be embarrassed if you were in any way conscious. “This is my girl, our girl.” He gestured to the rest of the group. “And I’d say it’s in your best interest to leave her the hell alone from now on.”

Graham was a mess when he got you home.

Daisy ended up at the house not too long after the rest, explaining she didn’t know the situation, apologizing profusely, informing them all you had been drinking for months. She told them in a sullen voice that you hadn’t been this bad last time she saw her, that she thinks someone must have done it to you.

Graham understood, he did. But he couldn’t look at Daisy. How could she let you out of her sight, to allow someone to do this to you? It made his stomach turn. Billy was next to his brother this time, in the living room, a hand resting on his shoulder, squeezing from time to time, and instead of standing Graham sat with his head in his hands, creating knots in his hair as he ran his fingers through it. Cam and Karen had you in the bathroom, after seeing the panic in Graham’s eyes they decided to take over that part, knowing it wouldn’t be easy for him to see. Warren stayed up, and Eddie didn’t retreat to his room, Daisy paced back and forth outside of the bathroom, biting her nails. Graham could hear it, it was driving him nuts.

“Would it kill you to be quiet for two seconds, Daisy?!” He groaned, running a hand over his red splotchy face.

Everyone knew that Graham was just upset and taking it out on Daisy, the red corvette, which wasn’t exactly fair, but they also knew better than to argue with Graham at that point.

“You know what, Graham?!” Daisy stomped into the living room, planting herself in front of the Dunne brothers with her arms crossed.

Graham didn’t look up.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!” Daisy used her thumb and pointer finger to grip his chin and pull his face up to look at her and she immediately felt guilty at his tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

She sighed, and crouched before him.

“I know it’s hard, and I’m so, so sorry this is happening to her. But she makes her own decisions, Graham. No one could’ve stopped her.”

Graham nodded, but still wouldn’t look in her direction. “Will you go check on her, please?”

Daisy would later tell the story with a frown on her face, and she’d recall never being that scared for another person before, despite the smile she put on for Graham.

“I didn’t-” She took a breath, “I’d never seen it that bad before, at least not while I was sober. I thought she was going to die.”

Daisy retreated to yours and Graham’s shared room shortly after discovering she couldn’t stomach staying in that bathroom, deciding to make herself useful by getting the bed ready, fluffing the pillows and retrieving some fresh clothes for you to wear to bed, making sure she grabbed ones that smelled like your boyfriend. She dropped the clothes off in the bathroom, and passed along the message to Graham from Karen and Camilla that it was time to take you to bed.

This had been Billy’s job, since before The Six was even The Six, that’s how it went. But things had changed, Graham had grown, and it was his turn.

part two coming soon!

#graham dunne x reader #graham dunne imagine #graham dunne #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones and the six fanfic #warren rojas #eddie roundtree #billy dunne #daisy jones #karen sirko #karen karen #warren rojas x reader #eddie roundtree x reader #billy dunne x reader #simone jackson

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munsonkitten · 4 months

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Eddie doesn’t sleep well anymore.

It’s not like he really did before, but it’s worse now. He only catches an hour or two a night before waking up again. Sometimes when exhaustion tugs too heavily at him, he slips away while laying on the couch in front of the TV. It never lasts long.

He tries to blame it on the environment. On the fact that he’s been staying at Steve Harrington’s house for two weeks, on the fact that people come in and out at all hours and leave it impossible to catch any shut eye, on the fact that the bed he’s sleeping on is too firm from disuse, the blankets too scratchy.

He’ll blame it on his pain, the nightmares.

He’ll blame it on anything, even Steve.

Everyone around him seems to be doing just fine. Steve has injuries similar to his own, yet he’s moving around like nothing’s wrong. Everyone else has seen horrible things, but they carry on like it’s another day in their lives.

Maybe it is, but Eddie expected to feel less alone here.

He expected to hear Steve waking up screaming each night from the nightmares that plague Eddie, too. He expected to see Dustin crying a lot, or looking at him differently after Eddie almost died in his arms.

(Did die, he reminds himself. He stopped breathing. Needed Steve to restart his heart. He should have died. He shouldn’t be here.)

He feels like he’s falling apart, but everyone else is here taking care of him like they aren’t hurting, too. Steve is taking care of him and changing his bandages and making him eat like Steve doesn’t have to do those things for himself.

That keeps Eddie up at night. Steve keeps Eddie up at night. For more reason than one.

He lays in his bed in the guest room on Steve Harrington’s ground floor and he stares at the ceiling because sleep isn’t coming. He’s in pain and he can’t stop thinking about Steve upstairs, and wonders if he ever falls apart when he’s on his own.

He has to, right? Steve has to be up there with sleepless nights and deep, aching wounds. He has to see Eddie’s lifeless eyes when he closes his own, has to remember the feeling of Eddie’s still heart beneath his fingertips.

It makes Eddie feel less alone down here to think Steve might be struggling, too. Even if Steve won’t show anyone, least of all Eddie.

Sleep isn’t coming tonight, and Eddie finally feels okay enough to walk on his own, so he slides out of bed as carefully as he can. He makes his way down the hallway to the kitchen and he can see that the light is on. It usually is. The Harrington kitchen is always open for whoever needs it, Eddie’s learned that over the last two weeks.

Tonight, though, it’s not Robin or Nancy or any of the kids sitting at the counter. In fact, no one is sitting in the kitchen tonight, but there’s leftover evidence of someone nearby. There’s a cup of coffee on the table, half drunk and probably cold by now, and the sliding door to the backyard is open.

It’s April and Eddie feels a chilly breeze coming in. He wraps his arms around his bandaged torso and goes toward the door, toward the blue lights of the Harrington’s heated pool. He smells cigarettes and itches for one before he even sees who’s smoking.

He really hopes it’s not one of the kids. He doesn’t think he’d be able to reprimand them for that, not as tired as he is right now.

The patio is cold beneath his bare feet when he steps out, the breeze working its way through his thin pajama bottoms. He turns his head from left to right, looking for the culprit of the 2AM coffee and the cigarette smoke wafting toward him.

There, in one of the pool chairs, Steve is lying. He has one hand covering his eyes, the other slowly bringing a cigarette up to his lips. Eddie watches him take a drag, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales again. He watches as Steve’s hand shakes as he brings the cigarette away from his mouth again.

Eddie knows he should turn and leave. This is a private moment, and Eddie feels like an intruder. He’s felt like an intruder for the past two weeks, like he shouldn’t be here.

(He shouldn’t be, he reminds himself. He should be dead. He was dead.)

He knows he should turn and leave, but he can’t. He can only stare.

Steve isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s covered in bandages just like Eddie. If Eddie wasn’t looking at him now, he would think Steve was completely healed already. He’s looked nothing but put together for the past week. Carrying boxes of donated items and helping Eddie in and out of the bath, helping Eddie from bed to couch and back again. He hasn’t shown anyone any less than one hundred percent.

Right now, Eddie is seeing something Steve wouldn’t want him to see.

He can’t leave, though. Something is stopping him from leaving, something selfish is keeping him from turning around and going back to bed.

Seeing Steve like this — vulnerable, sleepless, shaking — makes Eddie feel less alone.

All he’s wanted his entire life is to feel less alone.

He just stands there. Watching as Steve finishes off the cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray beside him. He watches as Steve sits up to look around for his pack and lighter, watches as he considers another and then sets it down and picks up a glass from the table instead.

As he sips, he finally looks over toward the house, and Eddie feels caught. He knows Steve sees him, even if neither of them react at all. He knows Steve probably thinks he’s a creep, the way Eddie’s watching him like this. Guilt washes over him. He isn’t supposed to watch Steve like this. He isn’t supposed to notice that he’s shirtless, he isn’t supposed to think about how he looks when he smokes.

He expects Steve to tell him to leave. He expects Steve to be mad.

But Steve just picks up a bottle of liquor from the ground beside him and waves it in Eddie’s direction.

“Get a glass from the cupboard if you want,” Steve says.

Eddie just stands there for a second, not knowing if this is a real invitation or if Steve’s just trying to be nice. He’s felt like that a lot. Like being in Steve’s house isn’t what Steve really wants. Like Steve hopes Eddie will say no every time he asks if Eddie wants to watch a movie with him.

“Well?” Steve asks.

So Eddie nods and goes back into the warmth of the kitchen to find a glass. He takes one down from the cupboard and finds a sweatshirt laying over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He doesn’t know who it belongs to at this point. He’s seen everyone from Robin to Nancy to Lucas wear it in the last week. It hangs loose on him when he pulls it over his head, but it’s better than sitting outside shirtless like Steve currently is.

The ground is cold beneath his bare feet as he crosses the patio to the pool chairs. He looks at the one beside Steve and the thought of sitting there in the cold makes him shiver. It’s so far from Steve’s chair and he can’t help but wonder if it would be weird to move it closer.

If it’s weird to want to share in Steve’s warmth.

“Here,” Steve says.

He saves Eddie from making the decision by pulling his feet up and pointing to the empty space of the pool lounger. Eddie sits down on the plastic slots, sitting perpendicular to Steve. Steve shoves his toes beneath Eddie’s thigh and offers the bottle of whiskey to him.

Eddie holds his glass out as Steve pours.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asks.

Eddie hums in response and takes a sip of his drink. He wants to ask for a smoke, but doesn’t want to mooch. He hasn’t had one in over two weeks, not since Robin threw one into Lover’s Lake and the rest of his pack turned to mush when he fell in himself.

“Me neither,” Steve says. “Haven’t in a while, really.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts.

“No, really,” Eddie tells him. He decides fuck it, and reaches for the pack of smokes on the little glass table beside the chair. He sets his glass down on the ground by his cold feet and pulls a cigarette out. “You’re really, ah, good at this shit, I guess. Good at making it seem easy.”

Steve scoffs and leans forward, his lighter in hand. Eddie puts the cigarette in his mouth and cups his hands around it for Steve to light it. A memory flickers into his mind of dark hair and freckles, someone from another lifetime lighting his cigarette as a way of flirting with him.

With everything else she had to offer him, it had worked, and Eddie’s so exhausted his brain tricks him into thinking that Steve is flirting now, too. His sleepless mind is telling him it would work even better now, that he could make it work with Steve, better than he did with Paige.

“It’s easy to pretend when everyone else is around,” Steve says after a second. He’s still leaning forward toward Eddie, his arms wrapped around his knees. “When the kids need me, I have to be there for them, you know? They expect me to have it all figured out, and hell, I need to pretend like I do. But when I’m alone…”

He trails off.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

They sit there in silence for a while. Eddie smokes his cigarette and Steve sips at his drink. It’s cold out, but Eddie doesn’t want to go back inside. He wants to be where Steve is, wants to feel the point of contact where Steve’s toes are shoved under his leg. He doesn’t want to burst the bubble they’ve found themselves in tonight.

It fills Eddie with warmth despite the cold.

“I don’t think you should stay here anymore,” Steve blurts out after several minutes of silence.

And the bubble shatters. All the warmth between them leaks out and Eddie’s left with nothing but the late night chill. He slides away, down to the end of the pool chair, away from Steve’s touch.

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“It’s… I mean,” Steve says. He stumbles over his words, hands moving up to cover his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s cool, man. You don’t want me here, anymore, I get it,” Eddie says. He pretends it doesn’t hurt his heart to hear it. He’s looking down at his hands, knowing he’ll start crying if he sees how Steve’s looking at him right now. “Wayne almost has a new place for us, anyway. I can stay with Henderson for a few days, no worries.”

“No, it’s — it’s not that I don’t want you here,” Steve says. “I think, uh — fuck, man. I want you here too much, I think?”

Eddie leans down to put his cigarette out on the concrete. He picks up his glass while he’s down there and brings it to his lips as he sits up again. He doesn’t know what Steve’s saying, or how to respond. Or, more like, he thinks he understands what Steve’s saying, but he’s so tired he doesn’t actually want to make a guess and be wrong about it, because that’s very likely here.

He doesn’t want to think about the lighter or the way Steve’s touch lingers when he helps Eddie from his bed to the couch. It could never mean what Eddie wants it to mean, but now Eddie isn’t so sure it doesn’t.

“You gotta tell me what you mean,” Eddie says softly, looking down into his glass.

“It’s not just the monsters that keep me up at night,” Steve says. “It’s not just the nightmares or the fear that everyone I care about is going to die. It’s not — it��s not just Max in her coma, it’s not the chunks of flesh taken out of my skin, it’s — god, all that seems easy sometimes. That all makes sense, as fucked up as that is. I’ve been going through this shit for years, I can — I mean, I’ve handled it, and I still do, it’s just…”

Eddie sits there listening to Steve. He lets the silence hang between them as he waits for Steve to continue. He doesn’t want to interrupt and ruin everything here by saying something stupid, or by jumping to conclusions based on his own wants and desires.

“You keep me up at night,” Steve finally says. “It’s — fuck, Eddie, don’t get mad at me, or anything, okay? You keep me up at night because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop — it doesn’t make sense, does it? I’ve only been with girls, but this feels like that. This feels like — like when I was crushing on Nancy, and… And now I’m realizing maybe this isn’t the first time it’s been like this. Like, maybe I’ve looked at other guys, and…”

“Steve,” Eddie breathes. He turns to him, sees the open and vulnerable way Steve is looking back. “I’m not gonna get mad at you for that.”

“That’s why you can’t stay here anymore,” Steve says. “Because every time I see you naked when you need help in the bath, and every time I help you to the couch or the kitchen, I just… Never want to let go.”

“Christ,” Eddie breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I’ve been taking advantage of this situation, and it’s wrong.”

“What? No,” Eddie says. “No, no, it’s — Steve, you know I’m gay, right? I have, like, no problem with guys looking at me.”

“You had sex with Nicole Summers at one of my parties in high school,” Steve says. “And I heard about Cass Finnegan, and you — you had that girlfriend for a while, uh… Mark Warner’s sister, right? I remember him talking about you at practice once.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know you had all my sexual experience cataloged, Harrington,” Eddie huffs.

It’s not like any of those girls were a secret. And Eddie’s pretty sure Carol had a hand in daring Nicole to sleep with him at that party. He knew everyone just wanted to see if the freak would get with a girl, and he’s pretty sure that night didn’t help the rumors of him being a fag. It’s just… Surprising that Steve Harrington of all people would remember names and details like that.

“It’s… I mean, word gets around,” Steve offers, a bit sheepish.

“Then you probably also know I barely touched Nic or Cass and barely got hard enough for anything to happen. God knows they told everyone.”

“No, I… But Warner’s sister?”

Eddie shrugs. “She offered me a way out of town. I thought that was love.”

“Huh.”

Eddie pulls one leg up and turns on the chair so he can fully face Steve.

“It’s okay that you’ve been having less than innocent thoughts about me, Harrington,” Eddie tells him. “Especially considering I’ve been looking at you.”

Saying it feels like a weight off Eddie’s chest. He’s been living here in Steve’s house for two weeks, and he’s been crushing on Steve for even longer. He’s had enough time to come to terms with being gay, but coming to terms with liking Steve has been an ongoing battle.

Steve Harrington has always been forbidden.

Too pretty for someone like Eddie. Too rich, too sporty, too straight. No one like Steve would ever like someone like Eddie, that’s what he’s told himself.

That’s what he tells himself every time he’s caught Steve’s eyes lingering. It’s what he tells himself when Steve offers to light his cigarette, or when he shoves his cold toes beneath Eddie’s thigh.

But knowing he doesn’t need to tell himself that anymore, knowing he was wrong, and that the lighter and the looks were all something more, knowing all of that — it’s a weight off Eddie’s chest.

Knowing he won’t get punched in the face and kicked out of Steve’s house for looking back, for wanting to touch, all of it eases something inside him.

It warms him despite the cold.

It makes him feel like he’s won the battle.

It makes him feel less alone.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers.

He’s leaning forward again, sliding his legs down so his knees are no longer pressed to his chest. There’s less empty space between the two of them now. The gap is becoming smaller and smaller.

As Eddie laid awake tonight, he thought Steve was upstairs in his own room, a staircase and rooms and hallways away from him. He thought Steve was so far away, up in a part of the house Eddie hasn’t yet ventured because he doesn’t think he could make it up the stairs on his own.

And he felt so goddamn alone.

But Steve was closer than that. He was just outside, sitting in a pool chair just outside Eddie’s window. He was so close, and now — now he’s just inches away.

He’s just inches away, and he’s been feeling the same things Eddie’s been feeling this whole time. He’s been pining away, so scared of what Eddie would say about it, and Eddie, he’s been scared of what Steve might say if he knew, and it turns out — it turns out Eddie hasn’t been alone at all.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers back.

One of Steve’s hands comes up to touch Eddie’s cheek. His thumb runs along the edge of the bandage on Eddie’s cheek, light as a feather. So gentle.

Eddie wants to kiss him. He thinks Steve might want that, too, but even with the admission of feelings, Eddie doesn’t think he can make the first move. He’s never made the first move. He has to be prompted, has to be told, has to have it done for him because he just never knows. He never knows if it’s safe, when he’s right here on the precipice.

And with Steve, it matters. It matters that Eddie does this right and doesn’t take what isn’t freely given. He can’t just jump to any conclusions here. Steve may like him, but that doesn’t mean he wants to pursue anything with him.

Neither one of them move, and Eddie has the sinking feeling that Steve is thinking the same exact way. That whoever moves first is sealing some sort of deal that could either make or break this thing brewing between them.

“What’re you thinking about?” Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. You, he wants to say. Always you. You keep me up at night, too. You make me feel less alone just by being here.

He doesn’t say any of that.

“I’m tired,” he says instead.

The hand on his face falls away, and then Steve’s gaze does too. He looks over toward the pool, away from Eddie. It was the wrong thing to say, Eddie knows that. He just… Can’t do this tonight. Not when his head is heavy with sleep deprivation and his heart is pounding with his inability to kiss Steve first.

“Okay, yeah. Right,” Steve says. “It’s late.”

“And cold,” Eddie says.

“And cold,” Steve agrees.

Eddie picks up his glass and finishes it, probably too fast, but hopefully it’ll help him fall asleep. He watches as Steve gathers up his things and stands on unsteady feet. Eddie has to wonder how long he’s been sitting out here drinking. He has to wonder if Steve actually notices how cold it is out here.

Maybe it’s because it doesn’t compare to the Upside Down. Maybe this feels warm to Steve, the opposite of how Eddie feels these days. Like the cold seeped into Eddie’s skin and won’t ever leave. Maybe this is a respite for Steve, a break from the frozen nightmares.

They make their way into the house, back into the warmth of the kitchen, back into the golden light in the house. Away from the blue outside. Their glasses get put in the sink, the bottle of whiskey gets left on the counter. Steve shoves his smokes and lighter back into the pockets of his pajama pants, and Eddie almost asks if he can have another for later, but he doesn’t.

He thinks about asking if they can watch a movie, just so they can be near each other for a little while longer.

Falling asleep on the couch with Steve a few feet away always feels safer. Like he can give in and doze for a little while.

Standing in the hallway just outside the kitchen, they pause and look at each other. They need to go in opposite directions, Steve back upstairs and Eddie down the hallway to his bedroom. Neither one of them move, and Eddie knows the moment isn’t over yet. Steve’s still looking at him like he was outside, like he wants to cup Eddie’s cheek again and pull him in this time.

He doesn’t want to leave Steve yet. He’s so tired, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep once he lays down, not if he lets this night end like this, without either of them making a move and sealing that deal.

“Can we —” Eddie starts.

Just as Steve says, “Do you —”

They both fall silent.

“Go ahead,” Eddie says.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Steve asks. “Just — I mean, to sleep, you know? It might be easier.”

“Just to sleep?” Eddie asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I swear I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Eddie laughs, something soft and quiet between them. He really likes Steve, and he’s not so scared of thinking about it anymore.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees.

“Yeah?”

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles, and Eddie thinks he might be falling in love, and that scares him, but not enough to try stopping it.

They take the stairs slowly. Eddie hasn’t done any stairs since getting out of the hospital, and he just started to move around the ground floor a bit more freely. He thinks he’s going to need a cane eventually, but for now he leans against Steve and lets himself be helped. Steve’s arm is warm around his waist, his body firm and strong against Eddie’s side.

By the time they make it to the top, Eddie needs to rest against the wall for a second so he can catch his breath. He feels a little lightheaded, has to close his eyes and breathe through it. Steve’s hand comes up to touch his neck, thumb pressing to his pulse.

Steve has to feel how fast Eddie’s heart is beating. Eddie wonders if he’s trying to cover up the memories of stillness. If he’s trying to replace them with proof that Eddie’s still here.

“Just breathe,” Steve whispers. “You’re okay. Take your time.”

Eddie nods. Takes another deep breath. “I’m good.”

Steve’s bedroom isn’t too far from the top of the stairs, which is a relief. Eddie’s never been in there before, but it feels familiar,like he has. Sports trophies line the top of Steve’s dresser, posters of half-naked women and Steve’s favorite bands line the plaid walls, and the nail bat rests against his nightstand.

If Eddie weren’t so tired, he would take some time to look around at all the little pieces of Steve’s life, to see what kinds of things he can glean from the trinkets and posters and photos he has on display. But right now, all he can do is tug the sweatshirt over his head and fall into Steve’s bed.

He lands a bit uncomfortably, wincing as his wounds take the impact, but Steve’s there with gentle hands and a concerned look on his face, and Eddie forgets the pain for a second. Steve leans over him where he stands, one hand on Eddie’s chest, the other coming up to cup his cheek.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers. Pleads. It’s a plea, the way he says it. He needs Steve to make this decision, to either lean in and kiss him, or not.

He can’t take it anymore.

And then Steve climbs into bed with him, pushing himself up on one elbow as he lays beside Eddie, and his other hand comes back up to Eddie’s face, and he’s—

He’s leaning in, and Eddie’s lips part and his eyes fall shut, and he waits for the contact. He lays there on his back in Steve Harrington’s bed and waits for the press of lips to his own.

A noise falls from his lips when it finally happens, something between a moan and a whimper. It surprises him when he hears it, but he can’t even be embarrassed because he’s so tired and because this is what he’s wanted for so long.

The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant. Like they’re both too scared to push each other too hard. Like they’re both too tired to turn this into anything more. The kiss is soft, but it’s full of everything Eddie’s never been allowed to have.

Steve’s lips press against his and he’s never felt like this before. He’s never wanted to keep someone like this. None of the girls he fucked, none of the nameless guys in bars he kissed and let fuck him, none of it even compares.

He likes Steve, and he knows Steve likes him back. This isn’t a prelude to rough, dirty sex in a bar bathroom. This isn’t a dare at a party to see if the freak will put out. This isn’t him thinking he’s in love because someone offered him a ticket out of town.

This is different.

This kiss is from someone who gives him a reason to stay. It’s from someone who wants to know him and hold him and make sure he gets enough sleep.

Steve Harrington is someone Eddie could love easily and freely. He thinks he might already be there, after just two weeks of Steve’s generous heart showing him what it means to have people care.

When Steve pulls away, he doesn’t go far. He keeps his hand on Eddie’s face, a soft thumb moving along the edge of the bandage on his cheek. His breath comes out in soft puffs against Eddie’s skin, close enough that Eddie feels it.

“I know I said we’d just sleep, but I had to do that,” Steve whispers, tilting his forehead to rest against Eddie’s.

They’re so close that Eddie can feel the heat between their bodies, the warmth in the space between them. He wants Steve even closer, to feel him against his skin, to hold him under the safety of the blankets.

“It’s okay,” Eddie laughs. “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Steve whispers. “Soon as you’re better, I want to take you out.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Harrington?”

“I suppose I am.”

Eddie hums in thought, then presses another kiss to Steve’s lips. “I accept your offer.”

Steve smiles, and Eddie can’t stop his own from forming.

They kiss a little more, but eventually sleep tugs at Eddie in a way that can’t be ignored. He’s so exhausted, there’s nothing left to hold onto, no thoughts racing through his head to keep him up.

As he starts to drift, he feels Steve roll him over, and the last thing he remembers is Steve pressing against his back and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Eddie sleeps better than he has in a few weeks. He still wakes before the sun, but he doesn’t have to lay there wondering if Steve’s struggling to sleep, too. He doesn’t have to lay there feeling cold and alone. Not when Steve whispers something unintelligible into Eddie’s neck and pulls him closer.

Not when Steve’s here to keep him warm — to keep him safe.

It’s easy to fall back asleep.

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #steddie fic #my fics #stranger things

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eddiemuonson · 7 months

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"Here's your treat, Sailor" - Steve Harrington x f! Reader

Summary: It's Halloween and you're celebrating your birthday. You throw a small party at your house, but end up locked in your closet with Steve. Give him a treat, he's upset, yeah?

Warnings: A little fluff, a little smut. Oral sex, cursing. 18+ DNI

Word count: 2.6k (just a quick story)

Being born close to Halloween means it was always most likely you would throw a themed birthday party. Two days before the actual date, you were celebrating at a bar with your closest friends, always excited to gather all of them and your other friends.

Hours before the party, you were getting help from Robin and Eddie with the decoration, while Steve and Dustin - your not-so-baby-brother - were cleaning the house.

Jonathan and Nancy were in charge of the rest; food, crockery, cups and stuff like that. A faint rock music was playing on a boombox as you were all busy with the arrangement.

You were pretty excited this year, for the first time after getting into college you invited a few friends you got along. Not that you weren't missing having a boyfriend, but every time you'd go out with someone, it turns out they just want sex, and you didn't like that.

Pumpkins with wicked grins lined the path to the entrance, their flickering candles casting eerie shadows. A large, ancient oak tree was adorned with fake cobwebs and ghostly apparitions hanging from its branches, swaying gently in the autumn breeze. A fog machine sent wisps of mist rolling across the yard, setting the perfect, eerie mood.

It was 8 pm sharp when the first guests arrived. Mike with El, Lucas with Max and Will, who were not that young anymore either, they were all like 18, 19. You couldn't hold a grin to see them dressed as Ghostbusters, like every year they wear matching costumes.

You and your friends made a deal you'd surprise each other with your costumes, so a while after the kids arrived, Eddie knocked on the door and as you opened it, and it was impossible to miss. He had transformed himself into a member of the legendary rock band, Kiss.

He was wearing a very made up costume. He even painted in the signature black and white makeup, wearing a black leather vest, displaying his flat abs.

He wore a skin-tight, leather jumpsuit adorned with studs and spikes. Behind him, Robin was wearing a camouflage outfit, along with black boots just like Eddie.

"Wow, you took the 'dressed to kill' idea very seriously!" She said as she complimented you. As a lesbian, she couldn't stop looking at your cleavage.

You went for an Elvira look with a black, form-fitting, low-cut dress, with a slit on the side. The v-neck showed a little too much of your chest, which would make every guy look at you for more than five minutes.

"Eddie, come on dork. Stop stripping her with your eyes!" She mocked him, laughing at the way he was just frozen, still looking at you.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart. Nice choice. Gonna make every dude in this house get a boner" He tried to sound playful, but he only just turned himself in.

"Thank you so much for the heads-up. I had no idea" Ironically, you weren't really expecting that. Maybe that's why Mike and Lucas got flickered in their foreheads earlier.

Steve was more obvious and it made you laugh. He just chose to wear his Scoops Ahoy uniform, without the hat. Because that would ruin his perfect hair.

And again, what Eddie said echoed in your head, because the hairy chested guy couldn't stop staring at your breasts until you tried to pinch him. Jonathan and Nancy were wearing something very couple-like, and it was heart melting.

There were people chatting in the backyard, some were listening to music while talking and drinking, Dusty and the kids were talking about some game. The couple was somewhere, probably exchanging saliva, and you were talking with Robin, listening to her charm about Vickie, while Eddie was smoking a joint.

"Hey, where the hell is Steve?" She asks after a brief pause, watching as Eddie shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't seen him in like, twenty minutes, I think?".

"Probably fixing his hair or managing to get his dick wet" He scoffed.

Both of you looked at him in disbelief, he was just trying to mock. "Ew, Munson. I know he used to be like that, but he wouldn't do this. Not at my house at least" You respond, but he doesn't agree.

"Eh, could be. But let's be honest. The guy is charming, pretty, and has a good talk. Any girl would jump on him like that" He snaps his fingers.

"I'm gonna look for him around here. You can go upstairs" You tell her before leaving him alone, who mumbles something about Steve "needing a babysitter" or something.

You had no idea where the guy could've gone. He just didn't say anything before ghosting, and it's not like there was a way of communicating to him, unless he had a walkie. But this wasn't one of his gatherings with the kids.

You looked behind the curtains, because, you never know right? Under the table, behind the couch, in the guest restroom and even behind any door, but still nothing. Robin said she didn't see him upstairs.

She went to the backyard and asked the others about him. Until you realized you didn't look for him in one spot that anyone could fit in: the closet under your stairs.

He was sitting there with a different look on his face. Maybe tired? You didn't know. He had his back resting against the wall, fidgeting his fingers. A cup with some drink was also resting on the floor.

"Care to explain why you're hiding at my party without saying anything?" You ask, but he doesn't bother to look at you.

He shrugs his shoulders, pouting. "I'm sorry it's your birthday party. I just didn't feel like being around".

You wanted to ask, but you weren't sure he would answer you. Still holding the doorknob, you reach out your hands, so he can lift himself up, but he doesn't.

"C'mon Steve, let's try and cheer up, yeah? You want me to change the music? Is it boring?" He shakes his head. "You want something else to drink? Food?". Nothing.

As soon as he gets up, he closes the door behind you, before you protest. What he doesn't know is that If you close the door, it locks from the inside. He just locked you both in there.

"Steve-" You try to tell him, but he cuts you off.

"Can you not tell this to Robin just yet? It's going to sound really stupid" He asks, his tone was low and pretty hurtful.

"Steve, you can't close this door from the inside. We're locked in here".

He snaps his eyes and raises both eyebrows. He tries to open the door but nothing happens.

"You're fucking kidding me. I just locked the party host in the closet" He groans, yanking his head against the door.

"Yeah, thank you. Now Robin is going to think we're either missing or messing around".

Steve still has his head resting against the door, banging it carefully.

"Could this night be any shittier?" You don't get why he seems stressed, but you try to ask him anyway.

"What happened, sailor?" He chuckles lightly, almost like in a bittersweet way.

"If you make fun of me I'll get your gift back" He threatens. "Just this girl I was talking to earlier in the backyard.. I asked her for her number and she said I was a 'stupid momma's boy and that my reputation is wrecked'" He mourns.

"You know you're not like that anymore, right?" You try to ease him and reassure you don't think of him that way.

He still laughs sarcastically. "Seems like I still am". He sighs. "That's the problem. People still see me like that, and I hate it".

"Just because some random girl said that to you, it doesn't mean it's true".

Steve tries to take in your words as he crosses his arms on his chest and ponders. He hasn't been like that in ages, why would he still make it a big deal anyway? Seems like he needed to work out his self-esteem.

"Maybe you're right. How's the party?" He still sounds like he's offended, maybe he just needs a hug.

"Well, it's been pretty good until you locked us in" You joke, watching him slightly chuckle.

"You look really good as Elvira" Steve gives you a gentle side smile and you grab his hand.

"You look the same as always, sailor" Snorting, he gives you a death glance. Like, it's not the first time you see in that outfit.

"Just think you missed the boobs". Oh, that was a burn.

Walking towards him, you make sure you're pressing your sides to show a little more cleavage, and he gulps. "What, you don't think this cleavage isn't enough?" Your voice was smooth and low.

As you reach to both his arms, he tries to not stare at you for too long or he breaks. Your pleading eyes actually hold something different and it makes his boxer feel uncomfortable already. You've always thought he was good looking, even with the stupid outfit.

"I.. uh- No, it's great" He nervously laughs, his hands never meet your body out of respect for you.

You tease him as you lean against his body, and Steve is looking confused at you. "Eddie was right when he said every guy would get a boner with my costume".

He tries to hold a nervous chuckle and fails. "I don't have a boner, what do you mean?"

"Then what are you hiding in there, an ice cream scoop?" The taunting was terrible, but it makes him laugh as his cheeks flush.

"You're a terrible person" This time he holds his gaze directly at your eyes and leans closer until your noses bump. "You're incredibly sexy and terrible".

"And yet you're the one dressed as a sailor with your uniform" You retort, wrapping your hands around his neck. He feels your chest pressed against his, as well as his growing crotch.

He doesn't give you an answer, but instead he just crashes his lips against yours, holding your chin in a light grip. He tastes like beer, he smells like Calvin Klein and you don't regret this little show you're having.

It doesn't have to be something serious right now, so you just enjoy it when he slides his tongue against yours, letting out a groan to your surprise. One of his hands slides down your body, holding your waist as he tries to bring you closer to him.

You feel his hard cock rub against your cunt under the dress and it burns your skin. Grasping his lower lip against your teeth, you let out a teasing gasp, learning Steve is just about to throw you against the wall and fuck you there.

But before he even tries anything, you start kissing him again, feeling his hot tongue swirling around yours in a battle for dominance. It makes your brain twist and your stomach sink. It makes your entire body shiver.

He pulls back only to breathe, his haired chest is heavily panting and his lips are swollen. "This is what they're missing. So, fuck them" You praise.

His big squared hand grabs your cheek carefully as he uses his thumb to rub his digit against your skin. "Thank you" That's all he says.

Watching him from that position, it makes you realize he's everything Eddie said before. He is charming, pretty, and has a good talk. He's also caring, smart and gentle. If you could, you would put him in a bubble and take care of him.

You pull him by the collar only to give him a peck before sliding both hands down his stomach until your hands reach the elastic of his shorts.

He looks at you, confused and sort of lost with the action. "Here's a Halloween treat, sailor". You kneel in front of him.

The tone of your voice is barely above a whisper and it carries luxury, filling the air of the small closet. His throat is now dry as he gulps harshly. You pull down his piece of clothing before glancing carefully at his hardened cunt under the fabric.

It pulses when you softly touch his base and Steve almost collapses under your hands. He helps you get rid of his boxer, muffling his grunt when you hold it in your right hand. Your best hand, the one you know you can give a nice handjob.

But this time you catch him off guard when your mouth gives him a soft open mouthed kiss on the glistening tip of his cock. He's kinda big, and thick, and it makes your mouth water with desperation. You glide your tongue until it reaches his balls and he flinches, hissing.

"Jesus fuck" He cries. It makes you grin through his cock.

Slowly, you swallow him until it reaches the back of your throat and you try not to gag. His reflection is to pull a handful of your hair and he slowly loses it.

Working along with your tongue, you start bobbing your head up and down, careful to not choke on his cunt. You cup his balls with your free hand and softly rub them against your soft fingers.

Steve almost starts sliding down the wall, trying to hold himself up. He feels himself completely at your mercy, not knowing why it feels so good, considering you were good friends.

You hum while tasting every inch of him, feeling his dick twitch inside your mouth, dripping with precum.

He uses one hand to hold himself while the other one still pulls your hair. The sound of your throat against his dick is echoing inside the closet, while his breathing makes the air become stuffy. Your mouth sucks him so perfectly, your throat tightens around him.

"I'm not gonna las- Fuck-" He sttuters when you hollow your cheeks and suck him hard, the loud gasp coming off his mouth makes you feel so horny you almost give up on this.

The way you concentrate on your movements, always switching so it doesn't give you cheek cramps, makes him want to thrust against your mouth. But he knows his limits and he doesn't want you to choke on him either.

He watches with bliss on his eyes the way your head bobs towards him and it makes him dizzy at your sight. You look at him with lust and awe, savoring his salty liquid, feeling how his fat cock stretches your mouth so it can fit in.

Your hand falls from his balls to his hairy and thick thighs, digging your nails into his skin, listening to every moan he spills against the thin air.

"I'mgonnacum" He slurs and you feel his hips shuddering as he finally reaches his peak, washing over your throat. You swallow him entirely, his warm cum suddenly makes you feel too blissed from the moment.

Steve can barely breathe, you watch him almost gasp for air. His chest is heavily panting and sweating, just like his flushed face.

You noticed how messy his hair is. After swallowing it all, you give him a quick peck on his sensitive tip and he pulls back from the sensation.

He helps you get up from your knees, still staring at you amused. You quickly clean the corner of your mouth, licking the same spot. "God, you are fascinating".

When he leans forward to give you another kiss, not giving a shit you taste like him, the door finally opens and Robin stares at both of you in shock.

"What the fuck happened here?".

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #userashe #useremz

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fastcardotmp3 · 5 months

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fluke

for @steddiemicrofic December 2023 prompt: PINE | words: 508 | rated: G | established relationship; no CW (I wrote fluff, are you proud of me?)

They come into the land by a total and complete fluke.

An empty Tennessee plot that hasn't seen use in decades, it's got a shed of a cabin built by Eddie's great grandfather, likely no modern plumbing, and it's perfect.

A perfect fucking fluke that the Munson family is fractured in enough ways that Eddie and Wayne are the only direct decedents around to inherit the land and all of its endless potential.

Or so Steve calls it.

“I mean, look! A balcony,” he jogs out a handful of yards across the snow-dusted plot of land, spreads his arms wide like he can see it, “right here-- a table and chairs-- a spot to look out at the view.”

The view is also a fluke. A gorgeous overlook of the Blue Ridge Mountains sort of fluke.

“It could even be two-story with stairs,” he gestures upward, such a skip in his step and a flush to his cheeks that Eddie can't help but think that he's a perfect sort of fluke too, Steve Harrington, “that lead right up to a second balcony right outside the bedroom. Yeah?”

He's beaming, positively glowing, and Eddie is mostly just stunned when he nods in agreement. Arms crossed tight to hold in the warmth of his coat and the hair not tucked into his knit cap whipping across his face in the wind, he nods.

Next month, Eddie will turn thirty years old even though he was supposed to die at nineteen, and Steve Harrington's face is going soft with something like understanding as he plans out the blueprints for the house they'll grow old in.

High up in the mountains. So far from the holes in the ground that once tried to drag them to hell.

“C'mere,” Steve strides back over to him, some of the broad exuberance leaving his step but none of the joy as he grapples for Eddie's hand and drags him to the other side of the plot, “okay, so from about here--” he gestures to where they stand, “to over by those trees, there's space for a guest house, don't you think?”

“A guest house?” Eddie looks at Steve questioningly.

“For Wayne. Now that he's finally retiring.”

Eddie may be the creative force when it comes to words and sound between them, but it's in moments like this that Steve proves the kind of vision he has. He can stand here on a nearly empty plot of land, a cabin so neglected the windows are boarded up and the porch rotted through, and still he sees a life.

A future. A family. Not just a fantasy but their prize, if they choose to take it.

“Hardwood floors. Pine,” Steve says, grin only growing as Eddie gapes at him in awe, takes his face between gloved palms, “oak furniture-- I'll build it myself.”

Eddie exhales, fog of breath dancing across Steve's crooked nose. “You really would, wouldn't you?”

Steve grins and kisses him soundly in the place that will become their home.

What a remarkable little fluke.

#dot fic #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicrofic december #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff I say! a fun challenge while i try to figure out how to be excited about my own writing again i say!#i wanted to write like a bunch more of this actually so paring it down was tricky

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aidaronan · 6 months

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X Marks The Spot

For @steddiemicrofic's October prompt: suck 480 words || Rated M for Mature || Tags: vampire eddie, biting, bloodsucking, off-screen sexy times Steve held the pen—felt-tipped and red like summer berries. There were still stains on his skin from the day before and from the day before that. A sleeveless shirt and shorts revealed faded red Xs on his clavicle, his wrist, his neck. Each X bracketed with fading white scars the exact size and width of Eddie's incisors.

He watched Steve twirl the pen between his fingers, the pen arching over middle, then ring before floating back the other way. It was rhythmic, a wave bouncing to and fro with each inhale and exhale through Steve's lips.

"Steve."

They'd been doing this for weeks. All borne out of Eddie's guilt and the case of art supplies that had migrated from his old trailer into Steve's guest room. 'Fine, but I'd feel better if you picked where. You can mark it.'

"Did you mean it?" Steve asked, pen still rolling seamlessly over each digit in flashes of red and flesh, flesh and red.

"Mean what?"

"C'mon, Eddie." Steve rolled his eyes. "You know what."

"I didn't mean to say that." Eddie stared at a smudgy X on Steve's forearm, tongue darting out to taste his lips. "You can forget it ever happened."

"Yeah except you did say it, and I really can't actually."

Eddie let his eyes fall to a line of purple-blue just below Steve's skin, mouth watering even as he forced the words out. "I can find someone else. If… if you don't wanna do it anymore."

"I never said that."

"But I'm, you know… and you're not…"

"Eddie." The pen stopped. Steve curled his hand around it and popped the top with his thumb before asking again, "Did you mean it?"

Eddie swallowed, the sound audible in the cavernous space of the Harrington residence. "Yes."

Nodding, Steve drew a careful X right on the meat of his thigh. Then he hiked up his shorts and drew another and another, until crosses of red ink marched all the way up his thigh from knee to apex.

"Steve." Eddie breathed his name, even as he felt his teeth growing sharper, his nails lengthening in their beds. The hunger clawed at him from the inside, the pit of his stomach growling its emptiness, the pit of his soul growling more.

"It's not just you, you know?" Steve said. "You said I'm not, but I am. A little bit. Enough."

Steve dropped the pen and eyed the Xs on his leg and then Eddie. It took every part of Eddie that was still human to resist pouncing. Instead he crawled, delicately locking his lips onto Steve's skin.

The first taste was always good. Each mouthful after was pure bliss. But he didn't stop with the Xs. He didn't stop with flesh and blood.

He didn't stop until he had Steve's hands buried in his hair, until the usually-too-quiet house shook with Steve's moans.

#steddie #fanfic #mine #steddiemicroficoctober

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stagefoureddiediaz · 3 months

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Fun little fact about breaking points/ key moments that are either the end of Bucks relationships or the moment something happens that sets their demise in motion - Buck wears dark green

Abby leaves - dark green plaid shirt

Buck moves into Maddies after he has accepted his break up with Abby (technically this is a bit later as he has moved into Chims and this is him being kicked out of Chims, but it all plays into the same concept!) and the uses of plaid here is also a bit of a nod to that airport costume in my opinion.

Ali breaks up with him

Buck tells taylor he kissed Lucy

Buck ends things with Taylor

I've included this because it felt like a break up of an aspect of Buck and Eddies relationship at this moment - as well as the moment when Buck was being delusional about Natalia and her seeing him. its also the scene where we get the line about not dating people you meet on the job - which feels like foreshadowing for the Buck and Natalia relationship

And now we have this still - I thought it was a green toned black shirt - and it might very well still be, I won't know for sure until we see the scene play out, -but now I'm looking at it on my proper computer screen and not my phone screen at 4am, its looking much more dark green to me and therefore potentially fits into the Buck relationship costume colour way - black with a dark green top layer.

So if this does in fact turn out to be dark green - it either means one of three things - this is connected to a Buck/Natalia break up in some way, or we're going to see some drama and divorce era 2.0 for Buck and Eddies relationship, or this is a scene where we see Buck and Eddie grow closer together.

I tend more towards it being a Buck/Natalia break up related scene which actually doesn't preclude it from also pushing Buck and Eddie closer together! The reason I say that the dark green could be a sign of them growing closer is becuase aside from all the outfits above, there are only two other instances of Buck wearing a dark green - the olive green jumper he wears in 3x11 - the This is Eddies house I'm not really a guest scene,

and then the following episode when they take Chris skateboarding.

both scenes that establish Bucks place in the Diaz boy's life and as part of hte Buckley Diaz family!!

#I am so back in my costume and colour theory era!!!#I am living my best life!#kym costume things #Kym colour theory #911 spoilers #Buck and his relationships- break ups!#911 costumes #911 abc #911 colour theory #Buck in dark green #eddie diaz #buddie #evan 'buck' buckley #the buckley diaz family

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hotluncheddie · 1 month

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omg I didn't realize you wanted chubby steddie asks 🙈

as much as we love the babygirlification of Steve Harrington..... I'm obsessed with boyish manly Steve who is chubby and Eddie is obsessed with him!!!! I'm thinking about your one fic with the sweaty tank top!!!!! do you have more thoughts on this??

yesssssss!!! anon yes yesssssssss!!!!!

not me being like 'yeah! sweaty task top fic nice nice' then realising i have like three different posts that have Steve in a sweaty tank top lol

thankfully @scoops-aboy86 came in clutch with a new tank top sciario <3 (and held my hand thru writing the end lmao ty pal)

but i just love an ex jock trope, i love bulk under muscle and i think big beefy hairy guys are hot - and Steve harrington deserves to be all of that, and more

and also, importantly, eddie munson deserves to have all of that too, in and around him, all the time, in the form of Steve Harrington.

Eddie had come to accept the wealth of things he could be into, the actual buffet of people and scenarios that could get his dick hard. He's had more than his fair share of knuckle biting orgasms over the ex chief of police Jim Hopper. Before and, maybe worse, after getting to know him.

So he knew what it was to have something of a shame wank. To enjoy a moustache or two and a paunch at a middle.

But nothing, no deep seated daddy issues or fantasy of being held down, could ever prepare him for Steve Harrington.

Post upside down, post eventual college and transition to work. Post two bed apartment with Robin, then two bed apartment with Robin and Eddie. Then actual full blow house with Eddie, and more often than not weekend guest Robin. Dating Steve for as long as has was one thing, loving Steve with everything he had was another, and being loved by Steve was something he still had nights of panic about - silent tears as fear and self doubt gripped his throat, nightmares about it all being an elaborate prank that sneak their way in even with Steves arms wrapped tight around his middle.

but Eddie had him.

Was allowed to love him, and worship Steve for all that he was worth. It was wonderful. Eddie knew that.

But it had its challenges. Nothing past Eddie could've done would help current Eddie for what he was in for.

Like how Steve had bulked up over the years, settled and filled out in a way that made those visions of Hopper, and guys from bars he really shouldn't have been at, all come surging back.

Steve was thick, and strong and still so achingly beautiful. Boyish in his actions at times but also protective and capable in a way that made Eddie swoon. Honest to god. Made him feel like a main character in one of those bodice ripper books he had seen (taken out and read) at the library.

And then Steve made it worse.

So so so much worse.

Because Steve went and got a tattoo.

Well, another tattoo. He added roses to go along with the robin and branch on his arm, adding to its greenery with red petals and thorns that Eddie knew were secretly for him. He’d said, offhandedly, that they were his favourite and he knows, because he knows Steve, that thats something he'd listen to and remember.

He’s a die hard romantic.

And now Eddie is going to die, hard.

Soon, if Steve doesn't put a proper fucking shirt on.

Steves been wearing his stupid, old, cropped, white tank top since the appointment. He's "letting the tattoo breathe", "doesn't like the feeling of the healing skin against the fabric", "wants to do it properly". "hates Eddie and wants him to die of hard dick, big-fat-ball disease."

He glares at Steve from the other end of the couch, and maybe only three of those things are something Steve's actually said, but, he thought them. All of them. Must have.

Because Steve's tank is so old it's nearly see through, the peak of his pink nipple evident and distracting. The cropped end keeps rolling up and exposing his wider bellybutton and soft sides. And, as always, with any tank top, with any tank top on Steve, hit tits are there - hairy and lovely and out.

'Steve, please.' Eddie whines, he doesn't think he can take much more.

Steve just raises his eyebrows, taking a swig of beer and not looking away from the tv. 'If I sweat too much, it'll mess with the healing.' He says.

Eddie just crosses his arms, sinks lower into the couch. ‘Can you put on a normal shirt at least? For my sanity, for that alone, please?' Not wanting to sound desperate, but he is desperate.

Steve sighs, muting the TV. 'C'mere.' He holds his arms out and Eddie crawls into his lap. Still sulking, arms still crossed. ‘Eddie, you’re the one who gave me the tattoo. I’m following your instructions.’ Steve says gently.

‘M’firing Robin for getting you to sign the info form.’ He grumbles.

Steve smiles at him, tucking some hair behind his ears. ‘You can’t fire her for doing her job baby.’

‘Maybe not’ Eddie sniffs. ‘But I’m not sharing my baby blue ink with her next time she gets one of her slutty little lady sailor pin ups booked in.’ He mumbles to himself.

Steve pulls Eddie in closer, hands on his waist as he leans in to whisper in Eddies ear. 'Aren't I being so good though? Following what you said, no strenuous activity for two days right?' His voice a little breathy, soft.

And that makes Eddie pause, makes his insides churn and his heart rate increase. 'Ye-yeah.' He rasps, eyes wide. 'So good Stevie.'

'So we have to wait until tomorrow, like you said, yeah?' Steve asks, eyes all big and sweet, lips in a little pouty.

Fuck. He's right. Eddie dug his own grave.

'Yeah.' He sighs. He can do it, for Steve.

Steve smiles sweetly at him, tapping Eddie on the ass and shifting him closer so Steve can unmute the tv and keep watching his game. 'Good boy.' Steve says, kissing Eddies temple.

…Wait. Eddie scrunches his eyebrows, half hard and confused.

But Steve just holds him closer. Eddie buries his head in Steve's neck, and whines.

#:)#eddie gets domed by pouty dilf Steve #he doesn't know how to feel about it - but he likes it #<3 #ask #hotlunch #steddie #chubby steve harrington #tattoo artist eddie munson #and robin #i think Steve is their part time receptionist and also works at the coffee shop across the street #or part time florist across the street - to really live the au tropes #hes hot

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inkandarsenic · 10 days

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I had a dream last night that could have been a fic and I’m disappointed that it wasn’t.

It was Buck and Eddie like after the last episode after Eddie was like “this changes nothing between us” and at first, everything was fine and normal but then it became very apparent after like six months that something very much had changed between them, like Buck was still dating Tommy and Eddie was still dating Marisol and in the field they were as in sync as ever but then everywhere else there was this weird distance between them? Like they were still best friends but like fundamentally they were Buck and Eddie instead of BuckandEddie like they used to be and everyone else in the 118+ could see it and they couldn’t

And then suddenly they could see it, because Buck was at Eddie’s and something happened and he needed to change his shirt but he realized that for the first time in years, probably since Eddie got shot, Buck didn’t have anything of his at the Diaz house. A couple weeks later, Eddie was telling the 118 a story about Chris and Buck had no idea what’s going on in the story and they (Buck and Eddie) were talking about it and they realize that it’s been a while since Buck picked Chris up from school or just like had a day that was just the two of them. And then there was some gathering at Eddie’s house instead of Bobby and Athena’s, and Buck makes cookies at his loft and brings them and Maddie points it out, and Buck has a mini crisis as he realizes abruptly that he is a guest in Eddie’s house and he was looking around and the couch was new (Marisol had convinced Eddie to buy a new one) and he hadn’t even realized.

And then Eddie and Marisol and Buck and Tommy were going on a double date at Olive Garden of all places but Marisol couldn’t make it, so it was just Buck and Eddie and Tommy and it was awkward and Tommy was like “look i haven’t known you guys as long as everyone else around you but even I can tell that there is something not right here and you need to talk it out and fix it because you’re both not the same with your lives being almost completely separate, it’s like not natural for you two.”

And they start talking except it kinda devolves into grocery store fight 2.0, about Buck not being there for Chris and not being around except this time it’s kinda on both of them and it’s really no one’s fault but it’s kinda both their faults. And this argument makes its way into their work life where they’re just not as in sync in the field.

And then something happened on a call (unclear what) that wasn’t really anyone’s fault but Buck blamed himself and the current issues he’s having with Eddie, and asked Bobby to be put on B-Shift for awhile and it was just super awkward in the firehouse and Bobby was talking to Eddie and was like “I don’t know what’s going on but whatever it is you need to fix it” and Eddie was like “I dont know what’s going on either, Buck and I just aren’t the same since he started dating Tommy” and Bobby was like “maybe you need to evaluate that because that’s something that only seems to be affecting you.”

And then like a week later, Eddie and Marisol broke up, and Marisol was all “it’s because of Buck isn’t it, you love him more than me.” And Eddie did not work through that, he just went to Buck’s despite still sort of being in a fight and they got drunk on Buck’s couch and Eddie kissed Buck just kinda out of the blue and then was like “fuck I didn’t mean to do that” and left.

Buck told Tommy immediately the next time he saw him (because he learned his lesson from Taylor) and Tommy was pretty cool about it but he was also like “hey maybe you should think about that because you don’t actually seem all that upset by the fact that Eddie kissed you just that he kissed you while you’re dating me and I feel like that says something” because Tommy is a real one.

After like two weeks wherein Eddie goes to great lengths to avoid Buck outside of calls despite being on the same shift again, and Buck talking through it in therapy and with Maddie, Buck breaks up with Tommy (who again is very chill about all of it and is like “we can all still be friends just give me a little space for a while”) and then he drove to the Diaz house and Eddie saw him pulling up and met him outside and it was raining so they really should have gone inside but I digress. And Eddie was like “Buck it’s like midnight what are you doing here” and Buck was all “i broke up with Tommy because you kissed me” and Eddie was like “fuck I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that I never meant to get in between you two” and is just sort of spiraling and Buck can’t get a word in so instead Buck kisses Eddie and Eddie is just like “Oh. So you aren’t mad.” And Buck laughed and was all “No I’m not mad I’m in love with you”

And then my neighbor’s kid started screaming and woke me up so I didn’t even get to see the ending and I’m kinda mad about it because I wanna see how everyone else reacted to all of this

#if anyone wants to write this #I would absolutely read this #if anyone has any suggestions #of fics that are similar #please im begging #911 abc #evan buckley #buddie #eddie díaz #buck x eddie #buck x tommy #dream #could have been a fic #my fanfic ideas #the 118 #tommy kinard #grocery store fight #911 #911 season 7

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try-set-me-on-fire · 11 months

Note

For the soft prompt ask, maybe some forehead touches for the boys?

This barely has a forehead touch in it if you squint and its pre-relationship buddie, I’m so sorry i got possessed by feeling things about fathers and sons. Soft prompts! Finished ones!

Buck looks like he’s getting a little sunburnt, and Bobby isn’t sure how to bring this up. It’s not usually a concern at one of the team backyard barbecues, where people tend to drift in and out of the house and the shade, and which tend to start later in the day in any case. This one’s been a real marathon, though, a full day affair for no reason other than everyone had the free time and it's been a hell of a few months for all of them. Guests had started pouring in at around 11, milling around with drinks and snacks and a slightly hysterical relief on their faces. Bobby, as usual, had been drifting between the kitchen and the grill, making pleasant conversation that carefully avoids disasters (natural or personal), or legal proceedings.

When Buck had stumbled in half a step behind Maddie at 11:23 he’d headed straight for a lawn chair several feet away from the grill and has more or less stayed there. Bobby doesn’t know how to bring this up, either. You look tired, kid, he wants to say. How’s the leg? You feeling alright? He doesn’t think- no, he knows the sentiment will not be particularly appreciated, even now when Buck’s been back at the station for weeks and everything is much the same as it’s ever been. Or, the same as it was before. Except Bobby isn’t even sure which before he means, truck or ocean or litigation, and Buck looks tired, and Bobby is a coward who can’t even make himself walk a handful of steps to offer up sunscreen. It’s edging towards evening, though, and deep into a temperate SoCal winter, so the sun is already slumping down past the horizon. Any damage has already been done, and will peel itself off the kid’s face in a few days. Another little hurt that Bobby did nothing to prevent. He sighs, trying to shake off being over dramatic, and starts to scrub down the grill.

Feet away, Christopher comes up to Buck’s chair. “Where’s dad?”

Buck doesn’t have to look around before answering- the two of them always seeming to have an uncanny homing mechanism when it comes to the other. “He’s inside, bud, what do you need?”

Christopher frowns the universal frown of a sleepy child slightly too old to ask to be picked up who wants to be anyway and Buck obeys instinctually, pulling the kid into his arms without hesitation. He settles them together on the chair, Christopher’s arms twining around his neck, one of Buck’s arms secure around his torso. They’re far enough away and turned at just enough of an angle that Bobby can’t really make out Buck’s expression as his other hand comes up to cradle the back of Christopher’s head, but he can see it shake on its journey there. Their heads rest together, and Buck sways a little in his seat. It hurts to look at, suddenly, and Bobby turns his attention back to the grill.

The thing is almost clean when Eddie comes out of the house. “You seen Chris? We should get going, he’s probably dead on his feet.”

Bobby smiles a little and nods to the chair. “Sleeping already, I think.”

Eddie goes entirely still for a moment as he sees Buck and Christopher, and comes back to motion in stages. Lungs first with a big inhale, then his hand which comes up to pull through his hair, then his legs and face simultaneously to move towards them with a small smile. Buck looks up and matches it as Eddie approaches and pulls the chair next to him close. Bobby tries not to listen to their conversation but watches they way Eddie strokes his hand up and down his son’s back, not quite getting close to where Buck still holds him but leaning in close enough to talk that Buck’s forehead collides with his own when he turns his head. Both of them laugh and Bobby turns back to clean up as they say their goodbyes and Eddie gathers up his child.

“See ya, Bobby,” Eddie says softly as he passes, quiet for the sleeping boy in his arms. Bobby nods farewell at the two of them.

“Good night, Eddie.”

Perhaps subject to a homing mechanism of his own, Bobby turns to look back at Buck. He’s standing by the chair, hands in his pockets, watching them leave with an expression more bereft than he probably intends it to be. Another thing Bobby doesn’t really know how to bring up, though he thinks it’s something he should wait for either party to come to him with. It only lasts a few seconds, and then Buck glances over at Bobby and smiles when he notices the attention, strolling over.

“Need help cleaning up?”

“I’m ok, kid. Almost done here.”

Buck’s smile gets a little wider, reaches his tired eyes a little more. “Let me help you bring things inside.”

Bobby laughs through his nose as he nods, and the two of them gather up tinfoil and condiments and leftovers and ferry them into the kitchen. They usually cook together at the fire station, and haven’t even done that in a little while, but the way they move around each other here is still familiar and easy. When everything is as away as it's going to get at the moment, the two of them stand at opposite sides of the room.

“Good night, Bobby,” Buck says, quiet, not yet making any move to leave.

And here is another opportunity to ask, to check in, to try to find the right words that Buck will understand as care instead of criticism, but Bobby is still not a brave man so he says. “Good night, Buck. Good to have you here.”

Buck nods, smile genuine but more brittle than it should be. It’s that, and something about the slope of his shoulders as he turns to go, a downwards aching slump, that has Bobby moving forward. “Buck.”

Buck turns back, and raises his eyebrows a little at Bobby’s slightly outstretched arms, but doesn’t hesitate as he moves to lean into the hug. Bobby wraps one arm around his back and lets his other hand cradle Buck’s head, for just a moment. Buck lets out a deep sigh into his shoulder before they part.

“Alright, kid. See you Monday.”

“See you Monday, Bobby.” Buck smiles again, a little more solid, and waves as he goes to the door.

Bobby stands there, and watches him leave.

#buddie #bobby nash #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #eddie diaz #my writing #911 fox #911 abc

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extasiswings · 1 year

Text

The Couch Manifesto: Or, when is a couch not about the couch?

When is a couch not about the couch? When it’s about the home.

I made a post at some point earlier in the season about Buck and couches, and am interested to see that we are very much still on theme. Because the couch metaphor is about the couch, but in reality it’s not about the couch at all, and that is, in fact, Buck’s problem.

At its core, Buck’s journey from the beginning has not been about finding love. It has been broader than that. Finding love is one piece, but he’s really been on a journey of self-discovery, and first and foremost searching for family, for home, for belonging.

In S1, Buck didn’t really have a home. He had a house that he lives in, yes. A room in a house that he shared with a bunch of other guys. And then he fell in love with Abby. And then she was gone, but he had her apartment. Her couch. Still not his home, but a place to live, a place that had memories of them, a place where if she hadn’t left, maybe they could have built a home together.

Buck finally left Abby’s after he accepted their relationship was over, but he then spent S2 adrift, even once he started dating Ali. He was literally couch surfing, rotating between Maddie and the members of his found family. He didn’t have a couch of his own. He didn’t have a home.

Buck associating the couch with romance because his “couches came with girlfriends” is really interesting in that context, because when you look at S2, Ali didn’t just pick out his couch. She picked out the loft. The fancy, gorgeous, hipster loft that is a stunning space but really isn’t Buck. And immediately after he signed the lease, he got his leg crushed and had to…what? Sleep on the couch. Feeling like a constant guest in what was supposed to be his new home. The home he was going to share in part with Ali, but didn’t get the chance because they also broke up almost immediately thereafter.

The couch is not the problem. The couch isn’t the wrong couch (because see 3x09). The home is. (Or at least, the physical space of the loft is).

It doesn’t feel like an accident that the times Buck’s loft feels most like a home are scenes with Eddie and Christopher. And there are a lot of scenes involving Eddie and/or Christopher in the loft (and thereafter, Buck also in the Diaz home) in S3, beginning with Kids Today and the tsunami (and Christopher sits on his couch). 3x01, 3x03, 3x09 (the Kitchen Scene that culminated in all three of them on Buck’s couch), 3x12. But 3x11 (on the heels of Buck and Christopher at Eddie’s with Hen and Denny in 3x10) verbalized something that had previously been unstated. “This is Eddie’s house, I’m not really a guest.” Buck, who has felt many times like he was a guest even in his own house, feeling like he isn’t in Eddie’s is Important.

In 4x07, (after Buck and Christopher were on Eddie’s couch in Future Tense), Buck talked about a need for a safe space and how the loft didn’t feel like a safe space. But the loft hasn’t been a safe space for Buck for awhile. It wasn’t for much of S4, and it certainly wasn’t in S5 with how miserable he was there with Taylor. Yes, Taylor made him get rid of his couch (the Ali couch), and replace it with hers, but Buck was already forcing things with her, was already settling, was already unhappy. The loft was not a safe space. It was not a home with her.

Again, notable that the times when the loft feels the most like a home is when the Diaz Boys are there. Equally notable in the context of the BT misery of S5 that Eddie and Christopher were absent from the loft. The only time we saw Eddie there was in 5x04 on the balcony—outside looking in. Eddie (and Christopher) could not exist in the loft at the same time as Taylor, just like how Buck disappeared from the Diaz house as soon as Eddie introduced Ana to Christopher and didn’t return until Survivors (when, pointedly, he was sleeping on the couch).

In S6, Buck didn’t have a couch, and then he did (one chosen by his mother), but regardless of whether he did or not, all of the loft scenes with Eddie and Christopher were in the kitchen. The heart of the home. (Indeed, interesting how until Kameron gave birth on it, the only person to ever sit on the Margaret couch was Buck himself).

6x12 was loud as hell though about the couch metaphor though, so we have to unpack that. 6x12 was tying everything together—about how the couch is about the couch, but not about the couch. Buck fell asleep on Eddie’s couch immediately after not being able to sleep on his own. But it was more than that. It was about Buck running to a safe space, running to the place (the people) who are his true home. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t sleep on his uncomfortable couch, it was that he didn’t feel safe in his entire apartment. (And as we saw in 6x17, he was once again made a guest in his own space when Kameron came to stay).

And the way that Eddie’s home is a safe space for Buck is underscored by what happened after he woke up in 6x12. He couldn’t open up to Maddie or Hen or Connor in his apartment (even in his kitchen, the heart of the home), but he could open up to Eddie in Eddie’s kitchen, because that’s where he feels safe and home.

The couch is not meant to be about romance in isolation. The couch is about romance, but also about home and family (emphasized further by showcasing Madney + Jee-Yun and the Wilsons on their couches). Focusing exclusively on the couch-as-romance is missing the forest for the trees, and the fact that Buck is so singularly focused on only the romance of that is quite possibly part of why he’s missing the point/misunderstanding the assignment so badly, unable to see what is right in front of him (remember, he was confused about how he was so quickly and easily able to fall asleep on Eddie’s couch in 6x12).

Honestly, it’s almost as if Buck needs to make the connection between Eddie + Christopher + him as family before he can realize that the connection between him and Eddie is romantic. Because he’s still trying to do things in the “right” order—find love and then family—because he thinks that’s what life/love should look like, he’s still misunderstanding the assignment, still trying to find it instead of building up what he already has. Buck is not in a place where he is ready to see and accept the full extent of his desires about what he already is and what he wants to be with Eddie and Christopher. And so we continue.

So with the couch metaphor + the end of this season being Buck and Natalia together and Buck asking her to help him find a couch, I feel like the broader concept is really…Natalia might be the right person for now while he is in the place he is, the couch he picks out might be the right couch for now, but he’s still not quite picking it out himself since he asked for her to go with him, and more than that, he’s still picking out a couch to fit an apartment that’s not and never has been a true home for him (except when Eddie and Christopher have been there).

Two other brief points:

1. I am obsessed with the Buck-Eddie-Christopher sleeping on Eddie’s couch trifecta. And want to point out that In 6x01 before Maddie and Chim got back together, before they were able to be open and honest with each other about their true feelings and what they wanted, we saw them fall asleep on their couch. Asleep because they weren’t ready yet.

2. For further evidence that the romantic aspect of the “right couch” isn’t about the couch but about the person, one need not look further than Eddie and Ana. We saw Eddie and Ana (and Christopher) in relation to couches a lot. In Breaking Point, Eddie and Ana on her couch during their awkward math date, Eddie later inviting Ana in to reintroduce her to Christopher as his girlfriend and sit on the couch with them. And in Parenthood, Ana was on Eddie’s couch with Eddie alone and then with Eddie and Christopher when Christopher comes in. Eddie’s couch is the right couch, but Ana was the wrong person for it and for them. Buck, however, is the right person, to be Eddie’s romantic partner and Christopher’s other parent. They just need to open their eyes and face it.

#chapel for ts #buddie #911 spoilers #couch theory

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artiststarme · 11 months

Text

Another Bad Day

Based on a prompt given by @mysticcrownshipper. I'm sorry it took so long but I hope you like it! Please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve was content. He didn’t want to jinx himself but he was pretty happy. He had his friends, he was dating Eddie, and his brother was back in his life with his super cool boyfriend too. What wasn’t he to like about that?

It was just another evening at the Harrington house and he was relaxing on one end of the couch while Phil and Dio were at the other end. They were cuddling and playing footsie together like Steve would've been with Eddie had he invited him over. But subjecting Eddie to the mustachioed protectiveness of his older brother sounded less like a relaxing movie night and more like inviting a lamb into a lion’s den. Guaranteed homicide.

He didn’t know how Dio convinced him and Phil to watch Halloween again but they were both terrified at the events happening on-screen, jumping at every scary moment. Steve was not a fan of scary movies, especially having lived through a horror series himself. As such, he was gripping a pillow tight and squeezing his eyes shut through every jumpscare. No way was he getting another heart attack, no thank you.

At a particularly scary scene that he could sense even with his eyes squeezed tight, Steve jumped and let out a scream of shock. To his further surprise and horror, he heard a gasp come from the hallway behind him. This only prompted him to scream more and plunge his head underneath his blanket as if that would protect him from whatever dangerous home invader was creeping behind him.

“Son of a biscuit,” he heard Phil curse as he stumbled to turn on the lights. With a few more grunts and bumps, the lights flickered on and Steve slowly poked his head out of the safety of the blanket.

When the lights came on however, he saw something much more frightening than any home invader or murderer. Instead, he saw their parents. Martha Harrington was literally clutching her pearls as she stood glaring at them all in distaste and Richard Harrington was fuming behind her where he held their luggage. Poor Dio paused the movie and stood in the center of the living room looking the most out of place as he’d ever been.

“Steven, I see you continue to disappoint us. Not only are you lounging around like a child but you’re also keeping distasteful company.” Martha scowled at him with her eyes narrowed in disgust.

He shrunk at her words and looked away. His parents always knew how to bring him down and ruin his night. It was disappointing but oddly comforting in its continuity.

“See your guests out and make sure they don’t come back. You’re enough of a disappointment as it is, we don’t need them further tarnishing your reputation. And ours,” His dad sneered at him.

“You fucking dick! You don’t get to talk to him like that. You and mom haven’t been home in ten goddamn months and you think you have the right to tell Steve who he can and can’t hang out with? Fuck you.” Phil hissed at them both, his face red with fury and his mustache twitching with barely contained rage.

Richard’s face reddened to match and he shoved an accusing finger right in Phil’s face. “You shouldn’t even be here! We washed our hands of you years ago and yet you still come around to harass us. How pathetic are you?”

Phil flinched back but quickly regained his composure. “Oh, you think I’m pathetic? You’re the one that kicked me out for ‘being a bad influence on Steve’ when I joined the police force. Now you’re screwing your secretary and dragging mom all around the country for supposed business trips. Who’s really the pathetic one, Dick?”

Richard raised his hand to swing at Phil but his wrist was grabbed by a silently fuming Dio. “Don’t touch him or I will sever every one of your fingers and feed them to you. Back away.”

“Who the hell even are you? What are you doing in my house?” Steve’s dad turned his anger to Dio instead but he was only met with an unimpressed look in response.

“Trying to watch a fucking movie, Dick.”

Steve’s mom spoke up then and moved a hand to Richard’s shoulder to hold him back. “Phil, you are no longer my son or a part of this family. That means that you can’t come into our house and you can’t associate with Steven.”

“Fuck you, Martha! You want to accuse us of being disappointments and bad sons and whatever the fuck else you say but it’s really you two that are the disappointments. You’re bad fucking parents and I hope you rot in hell.” With that, Phil grabs his jacket and storms outside. It’s all too reminiscent of the first time he left, years prior, when it was followed by a loatheful silence between the brothers. It left Steve feeling unmoored, frazzled in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling.

There’s silence in the living room for a moment where his parents, Dio, and Steve stand around looking at each other before Richard sighs and glares at him.

“Look what you’ve done, Steven. Your mother and I are exhausted after our trip and we had to come home to this ludicracy. Ridiculous.”

“Yeah alright. Steve, come with me. You can stay with us for a while instead of staying here with these assholes. Go pack a bag and we’ll get going,” Dio told him, softly pushing at his shoulder.

“Excuse me-” His mother tried to protest.

“You’re excused. Go ahead, Steve.”

~*~*~*~

Steve spends the night at Phil’s and Dio’s, sleeping in the guest room and ignoring the woeful glances Phil sent to him. He had no interest in rehashing anything with his brother and a strong urge to ignore everything that had happened in order to move on.

When an acceptable hour in the morning came, Steve got himself dressed and left the house. He was off of work that day but his plans of sleeping in were thwarted. He couldn’t believe that his parents had come home after so long without any notice or that they’d obliterated Phil right in front of him again like the first time hadn’t been enough. Most of all though, he was surprised that Phil and Dio had stuck up for him. No one had ever defended him from his parents before and Steve really didn’t know how to handle that.

He continued about his day as if his parents’ return hadn’t shaken him to his core. He returned a few tapes to Family Video, hit the grocery store to pick up some snacks, and went to Melvald’s to get his migraine prescription. Steve ignored how every loud noise made him flinch and how every person in his peripheral vision appeared to be his dad seeking him out for revenge.

Eventually, he decided to stop pretending to be a functioning member of society and to seek out the comfort of his friends instead. He went from the Melvald’s parking lot directly to the Wheeler’s basement where nearly everyone was already congregated.

“Oh-ho-ho Steve, nice of you to join us. We’ve been calling your house all day, dude. Where have you been?” Eddie asked him haughtily as soon as he came in.

“I was running some errands. Here’s some snacks for you guys,” Steve said, dumping all of the chips and candy out on the coffee table. He plopped himself to the floor at the foot of one of the arm chairs and watched his friends attack the offerings like a kettle of vultures.

“Thank god you’re rich, Steve. We were starving,” Lucas told him and patted his knee.

“You mean thank god for his rich parents. They probably gave him an allowance and he wasted it on food. Loser move, Steve,” Mike sneered at him.

"Hey, Steve isn't a loser! He just doesn't apply himself," Dustin weakly defended.

Steve just looked at them all as they laughed at him trying to do a nice thing. Nothing he ever did was enough for anyone. He would always be a disappointment to his parents, a burden for his brother, and a loser to the group of friends that meant everything to him. What was the point in even trying anymore?

He didn’t realize it but sometime during his thought process, his breaths had become labored. His chest was tight and his face was turning red from lack of air.

“Steve? Steve, are you having a panic attack? Everything is okay, you just have to breathe,” Eddie spoke to him gently before turning to the kids. “Look what you guys did! You should know not to talk about his parents, dipshits! Call Officer Callahan or Hopper, shit, call Robin. Just do something other than gawking at him!”

Steve couldn’t breathe. The panic was clawing at his throat and it felt like he was back in the lake being dragged into Hell by the demon tentacles. Then not only was he obsessing over his parents in town and what the Party thought of him but he was also agonizing over the phantom pain in his sides and the suffocating pain around his neck.

“Steve, stop clawing at your neck, that’ll make it worse. Calm down, wherever your mind went, you’re not there. You’re with me, Eddie, in the Wheeler’s basement. Don’t you smell the stank of dirty socks and Mike? Come back to me.”

“That’s uncalled for-”

“Wheeler, shut the hell up before I make you. Stevie, you’re okay.”

Steve doesn’t know how long he was in his state of panic stuck in his head but he started coming out of it when he heard his brother’s frazzled voice.

“Steve?! Steve, where are you? Where is he, where’s my brother?” He could literally hear the emotions in his voice and picked his head up a little bit to look for him.

“Steve! Hey, it-it’s Phil. I don’t know why you’re panicking but if any of these bitchasses did anything, I will arrest them and give them a juvenile record. Just say the word, little bro. You’re okay,” he comforted in the only way he knew how (threatening children).

With enough of his… unconventional words of comfort, Steve was able to pull himself from the throes of panic and slump ungracefully into his arms. Everyone present fell back on their haunches and let out a sigh of relief. Eddie pulled one of Steve’s hands onto his own lap whether to offer his own comfort or be comforted from the no-doubt horrific sight of Steve choking on air.

They’d have to talk about what triggered him to have a panic attack eventually, probably after Phil lectured them and Robin got off of work to rip them a new one once she heard what happened. But they would discuss it and how ungrateful the kids had been to have snacks delivered at their feet precisely when they wanted them. But for now, Steve would hold hands with Eddie and lay his head against his brother’s chest in the longest, yet least awkward, hug they’d ever had.

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#Dio hears about this later and glares at the kids for weeks #He and Phil conspire with El for her to use her powers for pranks against the kids #Robin does in fact scream at them and kidnaps Steve for a sleepover to recover #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #Dio is Phil's boyfriend based on Pedro Pascal as Dio (brought to you by mysticcrownshipper)#Phil and Steve have bi brother solidarity (because of pyrohonk)

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