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urhoneycombwitch · 4 months

Text

I know what they call you.

🍯 honey flavour: You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

🐝 the bees: Eddie x shy!Reader, best friends Steve + Robin

wc: 11k

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous.

Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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taintedcigs · 8 months

Text

we’d still worship this love — e.m.

part two of even if it’s a false god.

pairing: modern!college!fboy eddie x fem!reader

warnings: smut!!!!!!, 18+, MINORS DNI. p in v, cr*ampie, unprotected s*x, angstangstangst, eddie regrets everything!!, jealous eddie, a bit of protective steve, drinking, swearing, praises, nicknames, fluff!!

summary: in which eddie regrets what he said to you. (wc:6.3k+)

a/n: literally the lyrics match up soooo well w the story imo im sorry for the last line ok i rlly tried to hold myself back not to directly write any lyrics lmao. this is CHEESY. i hate THE ENDING. as usual! but im so glad u guys liked pt. one and i didn't want to deprave any of u !!! i did not proof-read so pls ignore any mistakes!! hope u guys enjoy this lmk what u think mwah!!

Eddie sighed as he checked the kitchen, you were still nowhere to be found.

He had fucked up.

So badly.

He grabbed the half-empty red cup sitting on the kitchen stand. A whiff of alcohol hit his senses as soon as he tried to sniff it; it reeked, but Eddie didn’t care at this point, downing it like it was water.

He grabbed the pack of cigarettes sitting in his back pocket, walking miserably toward the backyard as he lit the cigarette sitting between his lips.

“Let’s get you to Steve’s, yeah?” The voice that passed by him was quick to grab his attention.

Robin.

“Robin?” He exclaimed excitedly, causing Robin to mouth “Don’t”.

He took a step to get closer to you but stopped quickly in his tracks; he had caused enough fucking damage.

He made his bed, and now he needed to lie in it.

He watched as you and Robin left, leaving him all alone.

2 HOURS LATER

DON’T ANSWER: im so fuckhjing sorry

DON’T ANSWER: i didnt fuckingmeanit lije that i swear

DON’T ANSWER: pls talk to me

DON’T ANSWER: r u at steve? i can come

DON’T ANSWER: pleaseeeeee we can’t leave things like this.

You heaved a sigh reading his texts, he was drunk again, and you weren’t going to entertain him.

You blocked this contact.

“He’s texting me.” You groaned, chucking your phone away as you plopped yourself onto Steve’s bed.

“What did he say?” Steve asked curiously.

“He wants to see me and talk, he’s drunk again.” You replied curtly, head still filled with the words he uttered to you.

“I just… I can’t believe he’d say that.” Robin chimed in, shaking her head.

“I could. He’s an asshole.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah… but I always thought he had a soft spot for you.” Robin muttered.

You chuckled dryly. “He has a soft spot for my body.” You crinkled with disgust.

Robin shook her head as she spoke. “No, I mean it, Y/N… I really don’t believe he meant it like—”

Steve was quick to interrupt. “Jesus, Robin, stop making excuses for him. I know he’s your friend and all, but he fucked up. And there’s nothing he can do now to ever take back the things he did to her!” He exclaimed, the two of them started bickering back and forth.

You wanted to sink into the bed; you so badly wanted to believe Robin, believe that Eddie’s words were all just a lie, just something he made up on the spot just because he was afraid.

But Steve was right—even if it was a lie, even if it was all a huge misunderstanding, nothing he could do would undo the amount of pain he caused you. The nights you spent sobbing—nothing could change that.

But a part of you also knew that, if Eddie ever caught you in a moment of weakness again, you’d do it all over again; you’d let him ruin you all over again, just to have him complete you for the mere seconds he made you feel loved.

The bickering and the storm in your mind stopped with a sudden knock on Steve’s door.

The three of you looked at each other in unison.

Shit.

Did that stupid bastard really have the audacity to come here?

You looked over at Steve with pity, about to open your mouth and beg, plead with him to do something, and he was quick to understand your train of thought. “I got this.” He muttered, hand squeezing your knee for comfort before he attended the door.

As soon as the door swung open, there he was, blood-shot eyes and messy hair framing his face. He was shitfaced and could barely stand against the door frame. “Munson.” Steve affirmed sternly.

“W—where is she?” Eddie slurred, barely even letting Steve speak.

“She’s not here.” Steve said without letting Eddie take a look.

“Look, man… I know she is, please—” He tried to push past him, but Steve stood his ground, blocking his way before his face turned cold.

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Steve almost hissed, the intensity of his gaze taking Eddie back.

“Don’t make this any harder and just leave, yeah?” Steve muttered, almost shutting the door before Eddie’s heavy boots interfered.

“Please.” Eddie pleaded, making Steve huff as he threw a quick glance your way, and you quickly shook your head, mouthing ‘no’s.

But that was it; Eddie barged in as he used Steve’s distraction to his advantage, you gasped when the door swung open, revealing Eddie.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, his gaze held guilt and relief. Guilty because of the fact that he uttered those words to you. But, relieved that he saw you, relieved that he could finally explain himself to you.

Yet you looked at him with such disgust that it ached his heart, putting on a heavy ache on his chest. Every breath he took now felt like a struggle.

“Don’t!” You seethed when he took a step toward you, Steve was quick to jump to your defence, but you waved him off.

“Leave.” You could feel your face grow hotter with rage each time you spoke, you didn’t want him here, you wanted him to disappear from the face of the earth.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” That was all that left his lips, his eyes were glinting with sadness, and his bottom lip trembled with guilt.

“You have the nerve… You have the fucking nerve.” You chuckled dryly, tongue rolling inside your cheek in anger.

“Please... Let me just explain,” He slurred.

His drunkenness made you more angry.

“I don’t want you to!” You hissed.

“I told you, I’m fucking done, Munson.” You spoke calmly, tears were threatening to spill, but you held your ground.

“One fucking minute, I swear—” You heaved a sigh, and another angry chuckle escaped from your throat as you looked at Steve, as if to tell him to kick him out, signaling for help.

“Alright,” Steve muttered. “She doesn’t wanna talk, Munson.” He spoke calmly as he held Eddie’s arm, trying to drag him out. Eddie’s protests fell deaf on your ear as you plopped yourself on the bed again, crying into Steve’s sheets as Robin played with your hair to reassure you.

1 MONTH LATER:

Thirty fucking days.

Eddie was going to lose his mind.

Blocked from everywhere, and you avoided him like the plague.

He knew he deserved to be shut out; he knew he didn’t deserve you. But even crumbs of information from you would have eased him.

Steve and Robin had been useless, except for today. Except for that cryptic message Robin sent him about you being at the party today. And he praised his lucky stars for that.

Until he made it to the party.

Until he finally saw you.

With Mr. Jock pinning you against the wall as you giggled at his unfunny jokes.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Don’t make a scene, Eddie. Don’t fucking make a scene—

His lips pressed together, jaw quick to clench as he couldn’t help the way he almost sprinted toward you. He didn’t know if it was out of pure jealousy, or the fact that he had missed you so goddamn much that he couldn’t stray away from you anymore.

“Hi, honey.” Eddie said sarcastically and chirpily, jealousy dripped from his tone, and he couldn’t help the intense gaze he had on the asshole.

You froze in your place as soon as you recognized the voice. What the fuck was he doing?

Standing between the two of you, “Who’s this?” Eddie spat, his hand aggressively pointing toward him.

You rolled your eyes before you turned to him. “Don’t,” You warned, your brows shooting up and a fiery flash apparent in your eyes.

“Who are you?” He narrowed his eyes at Eddie, and as if Eddie had been waiting for him to provoke him further, he gave a smug smirk. Body turning to face the asshole.

You panicked, and the ever-so apparent tension in the air grew thicker “No one.” You replied quickly, avoiding Eddie’s lingering gaze.

“Really? You’re gonna play that card, princess?” He gave you a dry chuckle, jealousy gnawed at his insides.

You squeezed your eyes shut to save yourself from embarrassment, but he wasn’t going to stop until this jerk wasn’t at your side.

“That’s not what you were saying the last time I saw you—” You were quick to cut him off with a warning gaze, your eyes widening.

“Eddie… This—this is Ethan.” You said through gritted teeth.

Eddie mocked a realization face, and you wanted to punch that smirk off of his stupid smug face. “Oh…” He laughed all-knowingly.

“That Ethan? The jock?” You narrowed your eyes, annoyance setting over your face, and you couldn’t handle the heat growing in your cheeks.

This asshole.

“I’m sorry, man.” He chuckled, giving Ethan a harsh slap on the shoulder, a slap that wasn’t friendly in the slightest bit��and you were sure now that the tension in the space the three of you shared could be cut through with a knife.

You cleared your throat to speak up, but Ethan did it before you. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

This was the provocation Eddie needed, and you knew it; you saw that mischievous glint glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, just that she was telling me all about how fucking horrible you—”

You interrupted Eddie with a nervous giggle. “Sooo sorry! He’s just a bit drunk!” You gave Ethan a panicked smile.

“I’ll see you around!” You called out, walking off while dragging Eddie as far away from him as possible with a harsh grip on his arm.

You probably didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you dragged him toward the closest empty room.

“What the fuck?!?” You yelled into his face.

He ignored your distress. “What are you doing with him?”

“None of your business.” You hissed.

“It is my business if you get with Mr Jock again.”

“I’m not getting with—” You lowered your voice mid-sentence, annoyance taking over.

“What part of ‘I don’t want to fucking see you ever again’ don’t you understand?” You let out through gritted teeth, your face heating from anger.

“Did you know…” He said, completely ignoring you, and you looked at him with the same angry expression, getting tired of his antics.

“When you get angry like that, a line crinkles on your forehead, and those sweet lips pout into a frown? You look so fuckin’ cute like that.” He murmured, leaning against the wall you trapped him into.

You let out an exasperated sigh, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “What the fuck is your problem?” You asked, brows furrowing.

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“You? I mean, eventually, I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep with you every night.” He smirked.

Fucking jerk.

You chuckled with an audible scoff. "Is this some kind of a joke?" You muttered under your breath, voice laced with irritation.

“You are so fucking irritating.” You spat, eyes narrowing.

“Just… just—Leave me alone.” Your voice lowered, your face was coming closer to his, and all Eddie could think about was how nice it was to have you this close to him again, to feel your warmth again.

You could see it, the emotions his gaze held, but you didn’t want to fall for his antics again, so you turned quickly to leave.

“Please.” His pleading and his hold on your arm were what made you stop in your tracks. The way his voice cracked, you could hear the desperation. If only you didn’t care about him this fucking much…

“Please—just, hear me out.” He was almost begging, and you knew you should be running, you knew you shouldn’t care, not even to spit the venom inside of you that had been building since that night.

But you can’t help it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You asked, words coming out in a sharp and biting tone as your anger escalated.

“After what you said to me...” You looked at him with a piercing stare, your eyes practically emitting flashes of irritation.

“Do you have any fucking idea how much I can’t even stomach being around you?” Your nostrils flared with every breath you took.

“In fact, I hate you.” You spat.

“You hate me?” He asked, inching closer toward you.

“Yes!” You snapped.

“Then show me.” He challenged.

“W—what?” You stuttered, your confidence dissipating in a second as the room felt so fucking small when he was standing this close to you.

Your guard was so thinly veiled that one fucking word from him was enough to shatter it.

And you knew, with one or two more pushes from him, you’d give in. You’d give in, regardless; you had missed him more than you would ever let him know.

And you shouldn’t. You fucking shouldn’t.

“Take it out on me.” He whispered, gaze intentionally fixated on your lips.

“You hate me, fine! One last time. Get me out of your system.” He’s so close to your face that when he leans in to whisper in your ear, you can feel his hot breath on your neck.

He’s intoxicating—his endearing words, the jealousy, and the possessiveness—and you shouldn’t fucking fall for it.

But it feels different this time; something is so fucking different about him that it’s throwing you off. The way his pretty lips frame the words is convincing.

Making you believe that this would be the last time, making you believe that you could come clean off him if you had him just one more fucking time.

You don’t say anything when you give in, your gaze lingering on his lips.

His eyes are quick to trace your face, admiring all of your features in awe, regret filling every vein in his body, knowing that this would be the last time.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says roughly. He doesn’t let you respond, lets the petty comments die down your throat when he kisses you.

Oh, Jesus, Fucking Christ.

Your heart was pounding against your ribcage. There was something so bittersweet about the way he kissed you, knowing it was going to be the last. He twirled his tongue with yours, so needy and so fucking promising.

Eddie knew you better than the back of his hand, so when you started whimpering against his lips, your knees giving out, he knew you didn’t want to waste any time.

He guided you toward the bed, gentle as he had never been before. The two of you were slow to undress each other, savoring every fucking moment.

He let you lead everything, going only at your pace and making sure everything was up to your desires, purely catering to you.

You could sense it, see the difference in how intimate this was, compared to others where it was just senselessly fucking, this was passionate, and it was killing the two of you.

Rather than just pushing into it, he kept his gaze on you, admiring the way your chest rose up and down as his calloused hands slid further down your body, nipples hardening when his hands stopped to ghost over your thighs.

His other hand rested on your breasts, and he didn’t hesitate to latch his tongue on it, sucking while his other fingers toyed with your entrance.

You mewled; you weren’t going to hold back. “Moremoremore.”

But he didn’t move an inch.

That greedy bastard.

“More,” You pleaded louder this time, growing impatient.

Eddie looked at you with such hunger in his eyes that it had your core throbbing. “I’m gonna give you every fucking thing you need, honey.” He promised.

“But I need… this. I need this memory of you engraved into my brain, forever.” He groaned, giving all of his attention to every part of your body.

You were quick to nod, quick to oblige him, especially when he made you feel this fucking good.

But you couldn’t help it, you needed him. Especially when he was everywhere, hands gliding all over your body, making you whimper with just his touch.

And the way you looked at him was so fucking tempting that he was almost going to explode, you were pleading with your gaze, telling him to take you… fully. To make you his, one last fucking time.

He could recognize the weight your gaze held, almost as if he understood your train of thought, he pressed his thumb further into your clit, circling around it as your core clenched on nothing.

“Please,” You begged.

“Such an impatient, baby,” He muttered into your skin, pushing past your folds as he earned a low groan from you.

“Missed those sweet noises,” He hummed, doing everything in his power to not pound into you right away, the way your cunt was gushing for him, the way you pleaded, Eddie was sure he’d burst if he had to wait more.

With a tender touch, he tucked your hair back. “You have no clue how fuckin’ insane you make me.” He pressed a sloppy kiss, his hands were still working their way through your folds.

“Each time I’m around you… it’s like I lose all my fuckin’ senses.” He slurred into your ear, his cock was straining his boxers, and you looked so fucking perfect beneath him, looking all fucked when he had barely touched.

But you ignored it. Ignored every one of his words, you didn’t need his sappy shit; you didn’t need another reason to stay.

You just needed to feel good.

“Please, fuck, baby, please,” You whimpered softly, your nails digging harshly into his back, making his cock twitch more and more.

Baby.

He doesn’t even remember the last time you called him that, and it shouldn’t bring a stupid, childish grin to his face, but it does.

He’s ready to put everything behind him, start over, and do whatever you say.

But he’s sure you will never let him.

“I need you, Eds.” You murmured, eyes gazing into his; a mixture of tenderness and longing overtaking your features, speaking to him without uttering a single word.

That was all it took for him to free his hard cock from his boxers, his pink-tip burning with desire as it faced you, beads of pre-cum dripping from it as you smeared it all over, giving it a few pumps before you placed it into your entrance.

The low groans that escaped Eddie’s lips were so fucking loud, filling the room, and you loved it. You loved the strained sounds he made with one touch from you.

He didn’t hesitate to push himself deep inside of you without a warning, the space now being filled with both of your contented groans.

“Holy fuck,” He breathed, head tilted back as he grinned at the sight in front of him.

You with your mouth hung open, murmuring his name as you took his cock like the good fucking girl that you were.

“Takin’ me so well, angel,” He praised, “Baby, so fuckin’ tight, mhmm.” He placed sloppy kisses between your jaw and the line of your neck, grunting as he pounded his cock in and out of you with a speed that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You were lost in him now, lost in the pure passion and affection Eddie provided you. You never felt this fucking good; you never felt this fucking close to him, breathing heavily as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Everything was so fucking intense that you could barely breathe.

“Look at how well your sweet cunt is takin’ me in.” Eddie moaned, watching the way his cock disappeared into you, nuzzling him with your warmth.

“Fuckfuckfuck. S’fuckin’ warm, honey.” He muttered the deeper he pushed into you, and your walls were quick to clench around his throbbing cock.

You arched your back into him as you rocked your hips toward him.

You wanted him deeper and deeper, faster and faster, his every moment was euphoric, and you needed him, more and more.

He was making you greedy.

God, you wanted to hate him so fucking bad.

He groaned at your impatience, relished in the way you grunted your hips more into his cock, he chuckled smugly. “Greedy baby,” He muttered.

You ignored his taunting while you begged for more.

“Shut up,” You murmured, teasing him back.

And it was a huge mistake.

He cursed as he pulled out of you, and you whined at the emptiness, “Shit, shit, ‘m sorry” You whispered, but he ignored you, continuing his teasing while all you could do was thrash beneath him.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” You begged, causing him to smirk down at you.

And even though your pleas were heavenly, Eddie was in no mood to stray away from you, he needed to be inside of you.

He needed to feel your walls hugging his cock, he needed to be as close to you as he possibly could.

“I would never say no to you, doll.” He mocked, rocking his hips into you with such force that the whimper that slipped past your lips was sinful.

“All fuckin’ mine, yea?” He whimpered needily, and you nodded without hesitation, even though you both knew that wasn’t true.

You shuddered underneath him; he was filling you to the brim, and you cherished every fucking second of it.

“Eddie…” You barely let out a breath; the pleasure and sensation of each of his movements overwhelmed you.

He cooed, “S’stuffed with my cock that you can barely speak, doll?” He asked mockingly.

You nodded without hesitation, eyes squeezed shut. “I—Fuck…” Your head was dizzy, incoherent babbles were the only thing that escaped your lips, and Eddie knew, he knew you were close by the way your legs trembled.

“Fuck… honey—I know.” He purred cockily, his hips pushing further into you with a glorious thrust. “I feel the same, baby.” He groaned when you clenched around him again.

“My perfect girl.” He muttered as he continued his pace, his cock rocking into you further and faster—as if it were possible—earning low pleads from you in return.

“I never—I never thought being with someone could ever feel this way,” He whispered into your ear.

Don’t let him get to you; don’t fucking let his words get to you.

But fuck—does everything with him feel so fucking good.

“But, shit, you’re so different…” He muttered, his pace continuing as he grunted between his sentences.

“You’re so fucking different.” You avoided his gaze, the emotion it held was too fucking much for you to handle.

You tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the way you felt the hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Your emotions were a mess.

It felt good, and he felt good; his words, his fucking cock inside of you, everything felt so fucking good. It was the temporary fix you needed.

“Don’t do this to me, Munson.” You barely let out, he could feel your thighs trembling.

“I…I never felt this way before… Jesus—Fuck.” The rocking motion of his hips became rougher each time he spoke; you were clenching around him, getting tighter and tighter, driving the both of you into insane heights of pleasure.

“I think I lo—” You snapped from your hazy state of pleasure; each of his words was like a stab at your fresh wound, the one he fucking created.

“Don’t,” You warned him sternly, interrupting before he could get another vowel out.

"Don’t fucking finish that sentence. Don’t do that with me.”

“I know you. It's not working on me." You whispered.

“But—” He pleaded, and you interrupted again.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, don’t ruin this.” The words were harsh as they left your lips.

“Don’t say things to make me doubt this, to make it harder for me to leave.” There was such a vulnerability in your voice that he couldn't help but want to protest.

He wanted to tell you that it was all fucking true. That he was so fucking in love with you that he was sure he lost his mind.

Yet, you don’t let him speak, you don’t let his words fool you, not again.

You kiss him in a dizzyingly rough motion just to shut him up.

His skin slaps against yours, rough, as if he’s trying to take his frustrations out, and you let him, you let him pound into you senselessly. You let his cock drive into you further, not stopping until he’s sure he’s stuffed you to the brim.

“Eddie, fuck!” You mumble into his lips; your brows are drawn together, and he knows—he knows you are close.

“Are you gonna cum, baby?” He cooed, and you nodded quickly. “Cum for me, honey.” He encouraged, not stopping his pace as he roughly thrusted his cock inside of your throbbing cunt one last time.

A gush of wetness pulsed out of you when you released around him, the strength of your orgasm was enough to choke you out, and white-hot flashes blurred your vision as he watched you in awe.

He wasn’t far behind, as the strained moans that escaped your throat drove him closer to the edge.

“Shitshit—s’fuckin’ perfect.” He grunted. The way your cunt convulsed around him was too much for him to handle. He slammed inside of you one last time.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—” He growled against your hair as he came, his cock shrivelled inside your cunt, pulsing as he coated your walls with his warm cum, fucking his release inside of you.

The two of you stayed like that for a hot minute, bodies tangled to each other, both minds fuzzy as both of you tried to catch your breath.

You could feel tears brimming your eyes again when the realization hit you.

This was the last time.

And you needed to leave.

As soon as possible.

And that’s exactly what he’s afraid of, afraid of you leaving, forever.

You are quick to shake your thoughts off, quickly getting up to get dressed.

“Don’t,” He mutters, it’s barely audible.

You turn to him with a quizzed look. “Please… Just, please don’t leave.” He begs, it’s the last sight you expect, and the last thing you expect to hear.

And it should feel so fucking satisfying, to know he’s wrapped around your finger, to know he is practically pleading for you. But it doesn’t, it feels so fucking sentimental, and you hate it.

“You knew.” You muttered, putting on the clothes you so carelessly discarded.

“You wanted this to be the last time.” You whispered, not daring to look at him.

“I lied,” He was quick to reply.

“Eddie…” You heaved a sigh.

“Please, just fucking listen to me for once.” He breathed; you’re sure you’ve never heard him this determined.

“I’m a fucking idiot, and I’m the biggest coward in the whole fucking universe, okay?” You turn around to meet his gaze, it’s pitiful and heavy with guilt, and you wish you never cared about him.

You wish you could just throw your feelings away and leave him behind.

“I don’t deserve you!” He exclaimed, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Stop… just stop with the bullshit of making me pity you—” You replied angrily.

But he doesn’t let you finish.

“Look, Y/N. I want that with you, I want something real with you… Shit—more than anything.”

You chuckled, baffled. “Too fucking late for that.” You replied coldly.

“I—it doesn’t have to be!” He spoke, grasping at straws to get you to give him one more chance.

Just one more fucking chance.

“What good will it do?” You whispered.

“You know what I realized?” You asked, putting on your shirt as Eddie gazed at you with need.

“We’re both so beyond fucked up that...” You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Us—” You pointed toward the two of you. “We would never work!” You spat.

“I’m the last fucking girl for a relationship, and you’re the last fucking guy for a relationship.”

“That’s why it would be perfect!” He tried to reason, but you shook your head.

“No—no, it wouldn’t! We’d eat each other alive!” You exclaimed, but Eddie refused.

“So?” He shrugged.

“So? We’d just fight all the time! You really want a relationship that hard?”

“When did you become so fucking afraid to take a risk? A little challenge?” You narrowed your eyes.

He read you like a fucking book. You knew you weren’t afraid of a challenge.

You were afraid of getting hurt.

You were afraid of being more attached to him than you already were.

You were afraid of him running out once you decided to fully commit.

You knew it wasn’t all him; you were messed up in your own fucking way. Avoiding everything that felt too real was your specialty, because you’d rather be aching now than in the near future when he broke your heart again.

If you didn’t leave now, you never could.

“Goodbye, Eddie.” You muttered, shutting out whatever he was saying as you closed the door.

Eddie sat on the bed, alone with himself, and his mind that was spinning with thoughts and his own voice telling him that he fucked up.

He chucked his jacket to the ground as he rubbed his hands along his face in frustration.

He had truly done it this time, he had lost you.

Forever.

But did he have to?

Did he need to be a fucking coward again?

Why would he give up this fucking fast when he didn’t tell you how he even felt?

Eddie got up in a hurry, sprinting toward the party like a man possessed, spinning around each girl he saw in the hopes that it might be you.

“Have you seen, Y/N?” He asked, and the blonde girl pointed toward the porch.

He muttered a quick ‘Thanks’ as he slipped through the bodies in his way as fast as he could, making his way onto the porch with anticipation, eyes glistening the second he spotted you.

You were sat on the cold wooden floor with your face buried into your hands, quiet sniffling was all Eddie heard. And he felt it again—that familiar ache—the same ache he felt the past month, when he couldn’t see you, talk to you, or know how you were doing. It returned instantly when he heard your sobs.

“Hey… hey…” He murmured, causing you to jump as you turned to him with swollen eyes and your mascara was quick to run down your cheeks.

“You’re gonna get cold, honey. Let’s get you up, yea?” He had never been this fucking caring, nor did he ever pine after you this much; he always held back, no matter what storms brewed in his mind.

He extended his arm for you to take, but you glared at him coldly. “What are you doing here, Eddie?”

“I need to talk to you.” He said.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You muttered, “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to—” Your rant was interrupted by his pleas.

“Please—just don’t say anything and just listen, please.” You sighed.

“Please, Y/N.”

“Fine.” You crossed your arms against your chest, your eyes still glistening with tears.

He inched closer to you. “These thirty fucking days I’ve spent away from you… It’s been torture, Y/N.” He shook his head.

“You—you have no fucking idea the things I did... The things I’ve tried to forget about us... Forget you.” His voice almost cracked, distress overtaking his features. He was sincere, so fucking honest that it was starting to make you afraid.

You couldn’t decide if it was him or the chilly breeze that sent shivers down your spine. “And no matter what I did, I still found myself itching for you. A part of me that I couldn’t fucking kill craved for you… to see you, to call you.”

You’d never seen him like this before.

Eddie was always guarded, all fun and teasing. Always turning serious shit into jokes.

And this was real. The only thing you wanted from him, the only thing you begged that he made a mockery of. The hypocrisy was appalling to you.

You opened your mouth, your brows had already furrowed, and he could tell you were going to curse him out, so he didn’t let you.

“I know… I’m a fucking hypocrite, I get it.” He whispered, and your eyes almost widened.

How the fuck did he read you that easily?

“And I’m so fucking sorry for everything I said.” He ran his hands through his curls, almost tugging them out for being an idiot.

“I was afraid, okay?” He heaved a sigh, hand ruffling through his messy hair.

You didn’t want to ask him what he was afraid of because you knew—because you were afraid of the same thing.

Your lips trembled with need; no words dared to come out of them.

“I was so fucking scared because I did the first thing we promised not to do.” He squeezed his eyes shut. You knew how bad he was with his feelings; you couldn’t even believe that he had made it this far.

“I think—No, I know.” He shook his head.

“I really fell for you.” He was ripping open your chest now, holding your heart out. Telling you he felt the same. A gasping, quiet noise escaped your lips; this was all you wanted—needed.

You’ve been this close to Eddie countless times before; hell, he probably fucked you at a much closer distance countless times before, but this was intimate.

“And I realized... I could lose everything in this fucked up world.” He took a deep breath, his face so close to yours that you could sense it. Sense every emotion radiating from his body—the vulnerability, the pain.

Each beat of your heart was like a drumroll against your chest; everything you longed for was there, a breath away from you.

“But not you. Oh god, not you.” His brows knitted together in a painful expression, and his voice was barely audible as he looked at you with a gaze that held you as the center of his universe.

You wanted to kiss him; you wanted his soft lips to graze against yours; you wanted to sob into him, melt into him, and become complete with him.

“W—what are you saying?” You asked, and you knew the answer, but you needed that confirmation, you needed those three words to leave his lips.

“I love you.” He said without hesitation, and you couldn’t help the childish grin that formed on your face, mirroring Eddie’s.

“I—You do?” You stuttered.

“Yeah… I love you so fucking much that it’s embarrassing, really.” He chuckled, still not able to comprehend your expressions; you looked… frozen.

“You, uh, you don’t have to say it back.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, all of this was so fucking new to him. What was he supposed to do now? Kiss you? No, no, no... He couldn’t do that because you didn’t say it back.

“I’m sorry, shit, uhm—I honestly have no fucking clue what I’m doing,” He stuttered.

You gave him a warm smile. “I’d say you are doing well,” You whispered, scrunching your nose.

“Yeah?” He returned the smile—that goddamn smile that brought out his dimples.

God, you wanted to kiss him.

“You’re making it so hard for me to leave.” You muttered, turning around to take a breath as you shook your head.

Eddie sighed, hands quick to find yours as he turned you to face him. “Then don’t leave. Stay.”

His past words didn’t matter, and how your relationship started didn’t matter. None of it mattered now because Eddie was ready, ready to give himself fully to you. And he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

It was now or never. You heaved a sigh of breath as you looked into his eyes; you couldn’t help yourself. How could you not utter those words back to him?

“Jesus…When I told Robin that I was ready to fall in love again, I didn’t mean with you.”

You barely gave him any time to process your words as you smashed your lips with his.

It was as if passion was dripping from every move; it felt so fucking different to have this many emotions carrying your actions.

Before you could further it, taste him fully, Eddie pulled back slightly. You whined at the loss of contact. “Wait, wait, wait.” The words slipped past his lips quickly, eyes widening at your words.

“You—you? You are…?” He asked, baffled. He didn’t expect you to say it back.

He expected you to hate him forever. The thought of someone loving him was unfamiliar to him, especially to the extent that you did. Healing his fears without realizing it.

Your lips quirked into a smile. Why was he so idiotically cute?

You nodded, affirming him.

“Say it, please,” He pleaded, hands gentle as they cupped your cheeks. The look he gave you was mellow and your face tilted as you melted into his tender touch.

“I love you,” You muttered, eyes glinting with all the unspoken feelings you’ve been containing.

“Again.” A grin overtook his lips, and his widened eyes didn’t falter, shock and pure bliss apparent was written all over his face.

“Please,” He implored, brows softening each time you gave him that pretty smile.

“Soooo needy.” You narrowed your eyes jokingly.

“I love you,” You repeated, your gaze lingering on his honey-glazed eyes.

“Aren’t you a fucking dream?” You giggled, the dimples on his left cheek were pretty, he was so pretty.

“I love you more, honey.” He whispered, smashing his soft lips against yours.

And you invite him in to patch up the wounds he made, to give you the world, to love you fully; knowing that the blind faith transcended into something real, something worth worshiping.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x you #fuckboy!eddie munson #fuckboy!eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #modern!eddie munson

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stevieschrodinger · 25 days

Text

Everything is going slowly foggy. The fear is fading. Eddie's vaguely aware that it's probably because he's dying. What was terrifying a couple of minutes ago, is only vaguely of interest now. An ephemeral pressure on the back of his brain. Present, yet easy to ignore.

All he can taste is his own blood, but it's not so bad. At least he can tell Dustin how much he loves him. And Steve's there. Steve Harrington. Who knew he would turn out to be such a great guy? So, yeah. It all feels alright.

Eddie feels sleepy, vaguely aware that he's, actually, probably dying.

He closes his eyes.

There's a strange sense of vertigo, strange enough that Eddie notices he's standing up before he notices that someone's kissing him. It's a soft press of lips. It's wonderful.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, and from an inch away, he's looking at Steve Harrington.

He's standing in a kitchen. it's nice. Eddie's clean; he's wearing sweats and a tee. Barefoot. The kitchen smells like coffee, and sun is shining in through the window.

Somewhere in the house, a child sequels; Eddie startles. "Steve?" He asks, carefully. "I mean...not that it isn't-"

The child comes barreling into the room. It's a little girl. She's wearing the smallest Dio shirt Eddie's ever seen. She throws herself at Eddie's legs, screaming "Papa!"

Eddie has no idea what his face is doing as he looks down at this little girl, but Steve is taking his hand, tugging it, Eddie looks up, "it happened again, didn't it? You forgot again?"

"I...what?"

Steve scoops up the little girl, throwing her over his shoulder, she squeals again, laughing like this is the best thing ever, "come on pumpkin patch, Papa's not feeling so hot today and auntie Robin's going to be here in two whole minutes."

He looks back to Eddie, mouthing 'just wait, okay?'

Eddie, at a loss, just nods.

He creeps to the doorway, watching, fascinated, as Steve Harrington fixes the little girls hair into pig tails. Helps her get her socks straight. Helps her tie the laces on her sneakers. Gets her back pack on her, "eat your carrot sticks today, okay Ronnie?"

'Ronnie,' Eddie mouths to himself.

Watches as Steve puts her little hand into Robin's, standing on the front porch. Robin looks different. Older. She's smartly dressed.

Steve whispers something to her, and she looks at Eddie. Smiles a sad smile. They leave.

Steve stands there for a moment, waves them off, then closes the door. He seems to steal himself, and then he turns and comes back to Eddie, "I have to go to work, but, come on, let me show you something."

Eddie follows Steve into an office, there's shit everywhere, "I don't come in here often, your mess drives me fucking batshit," Steve digs into a desk drawer, brings out a notebook. "I have no idea what's in here, I've never read it. Something about...what happened. You did die. You were oxygen deprived long enough to cause a brain injury, so sometimes you...forget everything. After the second time it happened, you started writing letters to yourself. So, yeah...you call it your instruction manual, I get it for you when this happens."

It takes Eddie what feels like a really fucking long time to process this, and he can't help but notice that Steve's eyes are wet, Eddie feels crushingly guilty about it.

"Okay so what do I...do?"

Steve shrugs, "read it, I guess. You add to it whenever anything important happens...Eddie...just, the bats, they did a number on you...when you, when you look at the scars, the first time, just, brace yourself, okay and...don't forget that I love you, no matter what, I love you."

And Steve just...leaves the house. Leaves Eddie in this absolute disaster of an office. Leaves him holding a notebook that's ratty and untidy and feels like it's bursting at the seams.

Eddie reads.

So, I'm going to try and keep this simple, but I'm you, from the past, and our dumb ass has fucking brain damage...

You're not going to fucking believe this...we bagged Steve Harrington...

Hold on to your hat big boy, but we got fucking published! And if you're reading this, then you are in for a treat, because it means you get to read our genius for the first time all over again...

Okay, so this one was a bad one, we initially, didn't react so well, so, here's what I was worried about, and I'll talk you through it...

So, I need you to not fuck this up for us, okay? So, this is the Steve Harrington play book. The man is romantic, buy flowers, do nice shit. I cannot stress this enough - just pick up your crap man, he hates it when the place is messy. Now, we have to get it right so here's everything I know, I'll start at the top and work down. He loves having his hair played with, and tugged, but not too hard, gentle but firm, there's a sweet spot. The neck, the whole thing is an erogenous zone, I really can't downplay the importance of the neck...

We bought a fucking house! Look at it! Just look at it! And Eddie does, because there's a Polaroid stuck to the page.

So, this might sound dumb, and I probably should have written to you sooner, but...Steve jizzed in a cup for Robs, and Nancy turkey basted it, you know. Anyway, the point is...Rob's pregnant. With our baby. And then me and Nance got drunk, like, to celebrate, and she got all sad that her and Robin weren't having a baby, stay with me, I know this is mad as shit, but Nancy wanted our kid and their kid to grow up together....

Look, I don't know if it's the stress of like, imminent fatherhood, but we've been forgetting a lot lately, so, here's the plan for when Rob's in labor, and everything you've talked to Steve about when it comes to being the stay at home parent, okay...

The next page is just a Polaroid, a little scrunched up face. A little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Ronnie Jamie Harrington'...

And the next page, another Polaroid, another scrunched up face, another little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Stephanie Edwina Wheeler'...

Steve comes home. He looks exhausted. Like, drained. And, worried and scared and pale and lots of other things Eddie can't even begin to imagine. Eddie holds his arms out and Steve practically throws himself into them, "how long does it take, for me to get back to normal?"

Steve shrugs, "it's different every time, but it's a good sign you're still here, sometimes you run. Those times are the worst ones."

Six weeks later, Eddie writes to himself, "do not, under any circumstances, run away..."

Eddie thinks he's seeing things. Thinks maybe he's going senile. But he hasn't forgotten for...well, it's been years now. At least seven or eight. And yeah, Ronnie might be about to finish high school and Steve might be stressed to fuck over her college applications, but...Eddie's glad. He's glad she's spreading her wings. He's glad they managed to produce a stand up human being.

He's really glad her and Steph are trying for the same colleges, they're always going to have each other.

But yea...he's worried his mind is kind of...slipping. Hasn't told Steve. Doesn't want to worry him. They're both sprouting a few gray hairs, no need to add to those.

But sometimes. Sometimes when Eddie looks out of the window, he thinks, for a moment, that the sky is dark and...it looks like snow?

And sometimes, Eddie catches himself in the mirror, and he's sure he's dirty. A mess. Covered in blood but...no. He walks back a step, checks again. Everything is fine.

Sometimes he's sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Sometimes, in the beat of the music or the rumble of the car engine, he swears he hears things. Sometimes a voice. Sometimes it sounds like they're yelling.

Sometimes it sounds like Steve.

And once, he blinked awake, Steve bringing him a coffee. But it wasn't Steve, for the time between startled, half asleep blinks, it was Vecna.

It gets worse.

Something isn't right. The house is empty, and it shouldn't be.

He can hear Steve, but he can't find him. And that's silly because the house isn't that big. He searches and searches, growing more frantic. He calls back to Steve, but Steve...doesn't seem to hear him.

There's something dim about the light, but the light has always been that way, hasn't it? Something...dusty, in the air. Eddie feels like he's dreaming. He has to be dreaming; there's a crack in the living room wall. A crack that spreads and lengthens until the whole house is crumbling and Eddie can see clearly now that the sky here flashes red.

That it's always been flashing red.

How did he not see before? The dust on every surface? The pages of his notebook are blank. Eddie knows. He's always known.

Steve.

Steve is here. He's hanging from Eddie's fist, bruised and bloodied and begging Eddie. Begging Eddie to stop this, to hear him, to see him. It's Steve.

It's Eddie's Steve.

Next to him, Vecna says, "finish it."

Eddie has something in his hand, the hilt of something he's sure of, long and sharp and dependable.

Eddie doesn't think, he just moves.

He drops Steve.

He doesn't need to look. Eddie turns, and he swings.

Part Two

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #pre getting together #sort of #my writing #robin buckly #ronance #nancy wheeler #kas eddie munson #vecna #steddie dreamed life

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theemporium · 7 months

Text

Eddie Munson wasn’t the most romantic guy, but he tried his hardest.

His feelings for you were overwhelming in the best way possible. He was loud and eccentric and a little too much for most people, but then again, you weren’t like most people. Wayne had always joked that it was a shock Eddie managed to snag someone like you. You always liked to joke back that Eddie was scaring everyone else off until you came along.

But truth be told, he agreed with Wayne.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to get someone like you to love him, but you did. You loved him with your whole heart. You took one look at him and saw the real Eddie. You didn’t see some third year senior, or some freak obsessed with a fantasy game. You didn’t see a weird metalhead, or some kid with no future.

You saw Eddie. You saw a glimpse of him and you wanted to see more. You wanted to see more so you could love more, and it made his chest feel funny the way you decided to stick around even after seeing the person behind the mask.

And sometimes, Eddie envied how easily the relationship seemed to come to you. You would always surprise him, sometimes with dinner from his favourite or a bouquet of flowers or a tape you knew he had been wanting. You always knew when he wanted to be held or the words he needed to hear to cheer him up a little. You always knew how to make him feel special, like it was a basic instinct for you.

Meanwhile, Eddie was left second guessing himself because the last thing he wanted was to scare you away. He loved you. He loved you so much, it hurt. He loved you so much and he just wanted to show that. Hence, the picnic date.

He had gone all out, having spoken to Robin and Steve countless times over the last week to set up the perfect date setting. He cleaned out the back of his van to make it the perfect fortress of blankets and pillows. He had packed your favourite foods and even splashed some money on the slightly more expensive beer that was easier to get down.

It was the perfect set up for a romantic date, but the funny thing about Eddie Munson was that he wasn’t really a romantic kinda guy. And that was something you adored about him.

You didn’t want cheesy dates and corny lines that made you borderline feel like you wanted to empty your stomach. You didn’t want over-the-top date nights or meticulously planned outings. You didn’t want expensive beers and fancy chocolate-covered strawberries that cost three times the amount they should.

You wanted Eddie.

You wanted your Eddie.

You wanted your Eddie who made you feel good in a million different ways that no other man could ever compare to.

“Eddie,” you let out a soft, high-pitched squeal as your head fell back against the thick blanket beneath you. “Shit, I—”

“This,” he groaned, low and rough and gravelly. It made your stomach dip. His hands gripped the meat of your thighs, keeping them spread open as he leaned down to lick a thick strip along your cunt. “This is better than any fucking dessert.”

“Eddie,” you whined, your hands gripping the fabric of your pretty sundress in tight fists as he began shamelessly licking the mess you had made all over your thighs.

And you really shouldn’t have been surprised.

Eddie was a simple man when it came to you. Anything you did, the boy obsessed over because you did it and he was obsessed with you. So, his brain practically short-circuited when you came running out your house, dressed in a pretty floral dress that brushed against your thighs and had two thin straps holding it up. He about lost the ability to speak when you leaned over to kiss his cheek in a greeting, giving him the perfect view of your tits. But his downfall was when you climbed into the back of his van, giving him the perfect glimpse of the white cotton panties you were wearing that made it difficult to care about eating anything but you.

He lasted all of twenty minutes before he broke, watching a little dribble of strawberry juice drip down your chin that had him leaning over, licking up the mess before crawling over your body completely. You had breathed out his name, breathless and a little dazed when you saw the heated look in his eyes, the look that told you he wanted to devour you and that was exactly what you let him do.

But now you were two orgasms in, your body was wracked with pleasure and the boy didn’t look like he had any plans of stopping soon.

“‘s too much,” you cried out as he pushed your thighs up, almost bending you in half with your knees pushing against your chest so you were completely spread out and exposed for him. “Please, I can’t—”

“One more,” he groaned against your cunt, his nose nudging your swollen clit because he liked the way your body jerked in response. “Need you to come on my fingers, honey. Then I’ll stop, okay? Just one more, that’s all I want.”

“Mhmm,” you whimpered, all high-pitched and whiny but your obedience made him grin.

And he did intend to only make you come one more time for him. He intended to give you a break. He did. He really, really did.

But then he was knuckle deep inside you, the wet and debauched sounds of your soaking pussy echoing through the back of his van as you squirmed and moaned and screamed out his name until your throat was raw. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, your thighs were shaking in his hold and you were babbling incoherently, so lost in the pleasure that you didn’t have time to warn him that something felt different, that there was a twist deep in your guts that didn’t feel familiar.

Eddie could’ve came in his pants from the sight alone.

It almost felt never-ending. His fingers were pumping in and out of you, already soaked to the wrist with your arousal before you were squirting everywhere. You were shaking beneath him, mouth parted with silent screams as you soaked everything around you. As you shook and moaned and came harder than you ever had in your life. As you did something he only thought was possible in fucking pornos.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when your brain seemed to catch up with your body, blinking a few times as the realisation hit you like a freight truck. Your eyes instantly teared up, your hands desperately trying to pull the soaking material of your sundress over your body to cover yourself up like it would give you some dignity.

You opened your mouth. “Eddie, I’m so—”

“Did I say you could cover up?”

You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

He slapped your hands away, not allowing you to pull your skirt over your pussy. “I said,” he repeated, his voice lower this time as his darkened gaze caught yours. “Did I say you could cover up?”

You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. “No, sir.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and the hot tears of embarrassment were quickly replaced with the warmth of his praises. “Now, lay back down and keep your legs open.”

“Eddie—” you started again, your stomach dipping when you noticed the mess you made. Not only were you soaked, but so was he. His clothes now stained darker, along with the blanket beneath you but he didn’t seem to care.

“Shhh,” he hummed as his hands rubbed up and down your thighs, completely uncaring of your arousal leaking and dripping down your thighs. “Only wanna hear your pretty moans, honey. Wanna hear how good it feels.”

“It?” You questioned breathlessly.

His grin was vindictive, almost sinister. “Wanna see you do it again f’me, baby.”

Your eyes widened. “But—”

“Nuh uh, what did I say?” He chastised softly, gripping your thighs until a soft whimper left your lips. “Now, either you let me hear those needy noises or I stuff something in that pretty mouth of yours to keep you quiet. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now, open those legs and let me see my pretty girl.”

#cece's smutober #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot #stranger things smut

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steddie-as-they-come · 7 months

Text

ok listen so i saw this tiktok where this girl was at a concert and the singer gave her his ring to hold for a song and then didn’t take it back and i knew i had to steddie-fy it. enjoy!

Steve didn’t know what he was doing there.

Robin had dragged him along to this bar to chaperone for her date with some metalhead girl, but sometime during the night she had disappeared into the bathroom to go make out with said girl, and Steve had been left alone at the front of the crowd.

Look, he never said he was a good chaperone, alright?

And now the next band was coming out.

Corroded Coffin stepped onto the stage, and Steve felt his mouth go dry.

The guy in front, the lead singer, was the hottest fucking guy he had ever seen.

He had dark, curly hair, was dressed in skinny-as-hell jeans, and his shirt had the sleeves cut off, as well as most of the seams on the side. When he raised his arms, Steve caught a glimpse of ink under the shirt.

The guy wrapped a ringed hand around the neck of his guitar, smiling devilishly at the crowd. “Ready for the most metal concert ever?”

The crowd screamed their approval, and Steve screamed along with them, not knowing what the fuck he was doing. He knew he looked so out of place among them, his soft yellow sweater a spotlight against the sea of black clothing and silver chains.

The singer strummed an experimental note, then frowned down at his hands. “Dammit, wore the wrong ring today.” He slid a ring off his right knuckle, then peered at the crowd. “Here.”

He pointed at Steve, whose heart froze. He tilted his head. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He lobbed the ring at Steve underhanded, who caught it gently. “Hold that for the rest of the show, alright, pretty boy?”

The guy backed up and started the count for his band, but Steve didn’t even hear when they started to play. He was too busy staring at the ring, turning it over and over again in his hand. It was a cool silver, with an amber stone inlaid in it.

He slid the ring onto his pinkie.

“Holy shit, Steve!” came a familiar voice in his ear. It was Robin, hair messed up and makeup smeared. “These guys are good!”

He laughed. “I see you had fun.”

“Steve. Steeeve. She is so fucking hot, dude.” Robin said, splaying over his shoulder. “She went to- where’d you get that?”

She was looking at the ring.

“Uh,” Steve said dumbly. “He gave it to me.” He pointed up at the lead singer, whose hair was flying everywhere as he belted into the mic. His voice was amazing, like a wrecking ball crashing through Steve’s heart.

“No fucking way.” came a voice from Steve’s other side. Robin’s date, Emily or Amelie or something like that, he couldn’t quite remember, said. “Eddie Munson gave you a ring?”

“Yeah?” Steve said. He plucked the cup out of her hands and passed it to Robin, who drained it. “Why?”

“Because he never takes them off. There’s band interviews of them where his band mates are complaining because Eddie won’t share. And he just gave you one?”

A particularly loud stomp broke them out of their trances and made Robin fall off Steve’s shoulder. Eddie must have seen they weren’t paying attention, and decided to make them pay attention, by jumping and landing right by Steve’s head.

Steve jolted back up, staring directly into Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie winked.

Steve felt his face grow hot, and even though he tried to tell himself it was only the stage lights reflecting onto his face, he knew that wasn’t it.

Corroded Coffin may not have been Steve’s taste in music, but he couldn’t deny they were good. Eddie, of course, stole the show, his undeniable stage presence drawing everyone in.

Including Steve, of course.

By the time the set was over, Corroded Coffin packed up their shit and left the stage. Steve was preoccupied with getting home.

As the two of them exited the bar in a stream of other patrons, he looked down at his hand.

The ring Eddie had given him was sitting innocently on his pinkie, twinkling up at him.

“Shit.” he whispered.

“What?” Robin asked. “Steve, what is it?”

“His ring. I think I was supposed to give it back at the end of the show.”

“Aw, really?” Robin said. “And here I was thinking he proposed.”

Steve shoved her, then dragged her out of the way of the doors. “Shut up, I gotta return this before he reports it as stolen.”

“I think the only thing that’s stolen is my heart.” someone said from behind him.

Steve whipped around.

Eddie.

“That was…really, really corny.” Steve said, trying to regain his footing. His entire brain was screaming “HOT BOY” at him, so it wasn’t really working. He thought he made a valiant effort, though. Robin had slunk off to hide somewhere and watch from afar, the traitor.

Eddie shrugged. “Eh, opportunity came up, had to take it.” He held out his hand to shake. “Eddie Munson.”

Steve took it. “Steve Harrington.”

He slid the ring off his finger and made to drop it into Eddie’s hand, but Eddie held up a hand. “Listen, I’ve decided you can keep it, but only if I get your number in return.”

“Really?” Steve crossed his arms, balling the ring into his fist. The cold metal pressed against his palm. “I’ve heard from one of your fans that you don’t even share your rings with your band mates. Why do I get one?”

“Let’s just say I’m curious about why a guy dressed like he just got out of a PTA conference is in my metal audience.” Eddie said.

Steve looked down at his sweater. “Okay, listen, it wasn’t a PTA meeting.” he said. “It was a bake sale.”

Eddie laughed. “Even better, Jesus. You’ve got to tell me more.”

“I’m free for lunch around one?” Steve offered.

“Perfect.” Eddie tapped his phone and offered it to Steve to put in his contact. “Text you soon, pretty boy.”

Steve was so preoccupied with watching him walk away, he didn’t realize he still had the ring.

#eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington

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lesservillain · 3 months

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older!alpha!steve harrington x younger!omega!reader

cw: SMUT, omegaverse dynamics, unprotected piv, modern setting, steve is a divorcee and single dad, steve is in his early 40s and reader is in their mid to late 20s an: this is just a self indulgent lil one shot bc i love older men ugh

“She was totally checking you out, by the way.”

Steve pushes the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his attempt to hide the pink that dusts over his cheeks at Robin’s comment.

“What? No she wasn’t. Don’t do this today.”

The plastic of the menu bends in Steve’s grip by Robin’s ringed fingers. He tries to focus on the suns glare hitting the laminated paper rather than his best friend’s knowing gaze. He hates that she does this to him.

It wasn’t their first time at this diner, nor was it their first time being waited on by you. What started as Robin’s attempt to get her depressed best friend out of the house after a quick but painful divorce has turned into a regular bi-weekly Sunday outing for the pair. And thanks to Robin’s commitment to a bit, she makes sure to arrive before Steve every time to sit in your section, all because she caught Steve checking you out one time.

“Why don’t you believe me that she likes you?”

“Robin—”

“Steve.” The tired battle of lifting Steve’s confidence was one that Robin refused to lose. “How many times do I have to tell you that you still got it? A little gray hair and a dorky mustache is, like, the new six pack abs for girls in their 20s.”

“Oh, god, do I need to have Hailey touch up my hair already?” Steve’s hands fly to cover the sides of his hair where his grays tended to show the most. The sudden movement sent his menu flying down to land on the floor next to him.

“Shit—”

“Here you go—”

Skin meets skin when you went to grab the flimsy plastic at the same time as Steve. A shock wave runs from Steve’s finger through the rest of his body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hazel eyes jump up to meet yours, and he can feel the breath from your gasp on his cheek. You shoot up, frozen in place as you look down at him. The tension is palpable between you.

Suddenly, you bolt, leaving Steve still leaning over his seat as he watches you take off out of sight.

“What was that about?” The tone in Robin’s voice had Steve sitting up straight, annoyance clear in his expression.

“What was what, Robin?”

“Um, are we just going to ignore that pheromone drop you just did?”

Steve shifts in his seat, eyes wide as he looks around the diner. A few heads were turned to him, mostly older alpha’s with death glares as their marked omega’s sit blissfully unaware across from them. “Sorry.” He says in a hushed apology, shrinking back into his booth seat.

“Well, at least we have confirmation your girlfriend is an omega,” Robin says over a sip of her coffee. Steve’s ears perk up, but he does his best not to show his interest in the topic of you.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes. “I honestly probably just scared the shit out of her. Did you see how fast she ran off?”

“I’m sure you were watching.” Steve’s head falls back with a scoff, making Robin giggle at his embarrassment. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.”

“Thank you.”

“Are we ready to order?”

Robin and Steve turn to the waitress at the end of the table, immediately noticing she’s not you. They give the girl their order, and Steve can’t help but feel some type of way about how you would have just asked them if they wanted their regulars. With a heavy sigh Steve stares at the table’s vintage pattern until Robin calls his name. Her expression is soft, knowing in a way that is both relieving and disheartening.

“Maybe she’s on a break?”

“She hates me.”

“She does not hate you.”

“Yes she does. I’m a grown man who couldn’t control his pheromones all because a pretty girl touched his hand? We should probably just leave.”

Robin grabs Steve’s arm with a laugh as he attempts to make an escape from their booth. “Steve, it’s fine. I doubt you’re the first person that’s done that to her. Just relax.”

Steve sighs and nods. “Okay, okay. I’m good now.”

SPACE

“So you’re good to pick up the girls from practice this week, right? I’m hoping that this project will be wrapped up by Thursday--”

“Of course, Steven,” Robin says as she opens her car door. “You think I’d ever turn down the chance to spend time with one of my favorite nieces?”

“I just want to make sure. I don’t want to give Becca any ammunition against me, you know.” Steve’s hands flex, thinking back to the argument him and his now ex wife had those months back.

Robin opens her mouth, but decides against whatever she had to say, simply nodding instead. “I’ll see you later, Steve.”

Steve nods back, watching as Robin gets in her car and drives away. He leans back to see her car disappear down the road before swinging his own door open and leaning inside. Reaching into his center console, he pulls out a pack of smokes and a lighter, bringing the butt to his lips and flicking the lighter. The flame refuses to stay, however, the clicking grating his ears with every failed attempt causing him to curse.

“Need a light?”

Steve spins around, bewildered, large hazel eyes like saucers when they land on you. A bright pink lighter sits between your fingers, and with a flick the flame emerges, waiting for him to lean in. He puffs until the heat hit his throat, pulling back to take in a deep drag, letting the smoke blow upward above him.

When he looks back down at you, you’ve barely moved. Eyes lidded slightly and lips parted just so, almost like you were mesmerized by him. It makes Steve chuckle out of nervousness, not used to being ogled at his “big age” as his daughters would say.

“Thank you,” he says with a smile that seems to bring you back to this planet, eyes blinking rapidly before you pull out your own pack of cigarettes.

“Yeah, of course.” Your eyes flicker up to him for a moment before giving yourself a light.

“You’re too pretty to be smoking,” Steve says passively, smoke billowing out between his own lips.

You look up at him through your lashes. For a brief moment you look annoyed at his comment and Steve is sure he fucked up again. The words of his oldest going on about how men shouldn’t comment on what women do rings in his ears and he wants to slap himself.

“Well, I could say the same for you.” There’s a teasing lit in your words, but the cute shuffle and bounce combo that you do gives Steve butterflies as it fuels his delusions.

Channeling his former self, his mind shifts into King Steve mode after 20 years of retirement. He takes a step into your space and internally celebrates when you don’t move away. “Awe, you think I’m pretty?” The tone of his voice surprises him, coming out more sensual than he intended. But your reaction tells him that he must be doing something right.

“You’re definitely nice to look at.” Your words come out even but breathy. Was he really having this effect on you? Maybe Robin wasn’t wrong about him still having it in him.

“Oh, so you like to look at me?”

“Only for about an hour every other Sunday.”

Steve sucks in a breath. The way you’re looking at him right now is making him have thoughts that aren’t appropriate for the very public parking lot of your workplace. But he can’t get over the fact that you’ve been looking at him of all people.

“Is-is that so?”

“Mhm,” you hum, taking a drag of your cigarette and blowing it out. “Would be nice to look at you for an hour from a different angle sometime.”

Steve coughs on his hit, completely thrown off by your forwardness. But you don’t seem to be deterred, rather you close the gap between the two of you, chests touching as you look up into his eyes.

Lips move in a feverish kiss as Steve pins you against his front door, keys fumbling in his hand as he attempts to unlock it while keeping the two of you connected. You giggle against his neck when he pulls away, leaving a few kisses against his skin as he finally gets the door open. His hands fly to your hips, walking you backwards into his home where his lips crash into yours once again.

“Nice place,” you say as he moves to leave heated kisses against your neck.

“Thanks,” he says between nips on your skin. A low groan pulls from his chest when he feels your hand slide down to palm at his crotch. A smirk forms on his lips at the little gasp you let out when you feel his size, and he bucks his hips into your hand playfully.

In one swift motion he lifts you up and over his shoulder, delighted by your laughter filled squealing as he carries you to his bedroom. Kicking the door open with a gentle shove, he walks you over to his king size bed and plops you down on the comforter. The huge smile and wild look in your eyes spurs him on, all the blood in his body rushing to his dick when you reach your arms out for him.

Steve pulls off his shirt with haste, and your eyes fix on the healthy patch of hair that covers his chest that tapers down his stomach to where it disappears into his jeans. He feels a little self conscious under your gaze, but the way your tongue darts out of your mouth, licking across your bottom lip has him climbing over top of you to chase it with his own.

Hands move between your bodies and clothes go flying until the two of you are fully exposed to each other. Steve’s hard, leaking cock presses into your thigh, laying heavy against your already hot flesh. Your fingers run through his soft locks as his mouth attaches to your breast, nipping and biting until his mouth reaches your hardened nipple.

While his mouth pays your sensitive chest attention, his large hands have wandered down between your legs and began running his fingers through your folds. His fingers skim over your clit with each stroke, sending little jolts through your body.

“God, you’re so wet,” he breathes out, his blown out pupils meeting yours.

“Just for you,” you say with a smirk, one that turns into an open mouth moan when he finally plunges a finger into your waiting cunt.

There’s no mercy as his fingers move inside of you just right, hitting that spot with a curled finger over and over. Your hands grip his shoulders, instinctively trying to push him away but he doesn’t relent. He just watches the way your face contorts as another thick finger joins in stretching you out for him.

“So beautiful.” Steve doesn’t even realize he’s said it out loud, but he can’t think of another word to describe the way you look under him. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

His praises send you over the edge and you cum hard on his fingers. The way you squeeze his fingers mixed with the smell of your pheromones releasing has Steve’s cock twitching in anticipation. When you come down from your high, your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and pull him in for sloppy, appreciative kisses.

“Mmm, gonna need you to fuck me now, big boy,” you say into his ear, tongue licking at his lobe in a way that makes his hair stand up on the back of his neck. Your soft hand slides down between the two of you to grab his cock and pump it a few times in your hand. “Do you have any condoms?”

Steve freezes above you.

“Um, well no…” he stutters. “Me—uh, my wife— ex wife—,” he looks at you directly with his clarification, “she had her tubes tied so we, um, we never used them so I don’t have—”

You put a finger over Steve’s lips, hushing his babbling immediately.

“It’s okay,” you say with a sympathetic look, “I understand. We can stop…or.”

“Or?” Steve asks.

“Or, if you don’t care…then I don’t care? Just pull out?”

Steve felt like he was going to bust in your hand as it worked his aching cock. Deep down he knew it was irresponsible. But the way you were making him feel was lowering his inhibitions. And when was the last time he’d ever been reckless?

“O-okay,” he swallows dryly, “I’m okay with that. But, um, I do want to be transparent with you.” Your head tilts to the side waiting for his response. God, could you be any cuter? “I, um, I haven’t been with an omega in, like, 20 years. So, I just—just know I’m not sure how long I’m going to last, you know…”

“Your wife—”

“Ex wife—”

“Ex wife, she wasn’t an omega?”

Steve shakes his head. He’d never been one to care about second gender dynamics. Sure, there were elements to their alpha x beta relationship that didn’t fulfill him like an omega would, but he loved Becca all the same during their relationship.

You go quiet for a moment, and Steve is sure he’s completely ruined the moment between the two of you. He’s mentally preparing himself to take you back to your car, but you suddenly move beneath him in a way that flips him on his back. He watches as you straddle his lap, your dripping cunt hovering just above his cock where you still have your hand wrapped around it.

“You poor thing,” you say with faux perturbance, lowering down far enough that you can rub yourself against his length. “Gone all these years with no omega to make you feel good?” Steve nods dumbly, completely entranced by the dynamic shift between you. “Do you want me to fix that for you? Wanna fill me up with your alpha cock?”

“Yes—yes, please.” His voice comes out a pathetic, whiny plea as his glassy eyes stay laser focused on yours.

Without warning you sink down onto his cock, both of you moaning out at the sudden connection. Even with him stretching you out on his fingers and the amount of slick your body produced, your tight cunt still squeezes Steve like a vice as you take each inch of him like a champ. You move up and down, working yourself open on him and Steve can barely stand it, wanting to grab your hips and move you himself. But Steve breaths through it, nostrils flared, until you’re seated completely against him, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Hooooly shit,” he breathes out. Steve needs a second to keep himself from cumming too soon, but it’s a second that you don’t spare him as you begin to bounce on his cock. Leaning over him, your hands rest against his chest, giving him the perfect view of your tits as they bounce in his face.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you moan out, brows pinching as the head of his cock reaches deep inside of you. “Even for an alpha, you’re s-so fucking big.”

Steve finally lets his hands grip on your hips, but instead of moving you how he wants, he fights against you to still your movements.

A pout forms on your lips as you look down at him, and Steve wants nothing more than to shove his cock in your mouth to get rid of it. But, you feel too good wrapped around him so he takes his thumb and pushes it past your lips instead. Immediately you begin to suck and mouth on it, slowly grinding your hips against him to get any bit of friction between you.

When he pulls his thumb from your mouth, it lands on your clit to rub slow circles into it. You whine at the stimulation, trying to buck your hips faster in order to chase your high.

Loosening his grip, he lets you move against him again. Steve watches in awe at the way you come undone above him, picking up the pace on his thumb as you move with little rhyme or reason. He feels your body stiffen, jaw dropping with a silent scream as your cum all over his cock, your slick coating his balls and dripping down onto the bed sheets underneath you.

Steve is generous enough to give you a second to come down before he’s pulling you off of him and back onto the bed. He watches the way your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath, the far off look in your eyes fading away as you look up at him with a satisfied grin.

“Did so good, sweet girl,” Steve says between peppered kisses against your face, making you beam. His gentle hands maneuver your limp body until you're flat on your stomach. He rubs up and down your back until his grip lands on your ass, kneading at the flesh there and spreading you apart for him to admire.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Steve praises. Your body jumps when you feel his fingers run through you again, followed by an almost pained groan. Looking back over your shoulder, you see Steve’s fingers in his own mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he savors the way you taste. “Fucking amazing. Forgot how good omega pussy is.”

You hum at his words, finding the energy to raise your hips to present yourself to him, wiggling them back and forth. “Why don’t you come get some? Straight from the source.”

Steve’s eyes go wide with shock. “Really? That’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” you say with a chuckle. “Why would it not be?”

Steve wants to bring up how his ex would only let him go down on her when they had the time, which wasn’t often for two full time parents. But, he didn’t want to bring the mood down by bringing up his wife or how he felt like he might have been bad at it since she never wanted it.

“I just, uh, wanted to make sure. That’s all.”

“Okay,” you say, moving your hips playfully, “Less talking and more doing then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve salutes before diving in tongue first. The taste of you is like divine nectar in his mouth. Something he could see himself getting addicted to if given the opportunity.

Flattening the thick muscle, he pushes it between your folds and licks a long stripe from your clit to your hole, letting the tip catch on it teasingly. He feels your body shiver under him, sending a confidence boost through his veins that encourages him to keep going.

Another quicker swipe through, but this time he lets his tongue slip into you completely. His thumb makes its way back to your clit, working it in tandem with his tongue in a way that makes you dizzy. Then, they switch places, his lips wrapping around your bud to lick and suck while his fingers curl inside you, his nose right up against your slit.

Steve feels the way you squeeze around him, familiar enough now that he knows your third orgasm is quickly approaching. But the thought of not feeling you cum on his cock has him pulling away from you all together. He laughs when you let out a whine, only for it to turn into a moan when he pushes the head of his cock inside you. He watches the way it pops in, disappearing in your tight cunt as you suck him in.

He wants to take his time with you, but the way you push back against him has him laughing. “Okay, I’m sorry, sweet girl. No more—teasing.” He punctuates the last word with a snap of his hips, thrusting all the way inside of you. His heavy balls audibly slap against your clit.

Steve manhandles your hips until they’re just where he likes them and begins to pound into you. Not too aggressive, but hard enough that his bed frame hits the wall with every thrust. Your vocalizations echo off the walls in competition, and he’s never been so thankful that his kids were staying with their mom for the weekend, because he doesn’t know what he would do if he had to tell you to stay quiet like he was used to.

“Fuck! Fuck! Steve! Oh my god, fuck me, Steve!”

Steve is sure he can taste blood from how hard he’s biting his bottom lip. His mind feels like it’s turning to mush again, pussy drunk from how right it feels to be inside you. Biology be damned, but he couldn’t deny it.

Slumping forward, Steve’s arms wrap around you and pin you to the mattress below him. His nose presses into the back of your neck, nostrils flaring again as your sweet scent fills them up. Drool spills from his mouth and onto your skin, and every fiber of his being is screaming at him to bite down onto that sensitive spot. He lets a canine drag against it, and he sees the goosebumps forming on your skin.

“Oh, fuck!”

Steve feels you cum on his cock, body shaking and eyes rolling back as you cry out. It’s all too much for Steve, bringing him to the edge where he’s about to cum himself.

He goes to pull out, but struggles as your body pins his arms under you. “Shit, shit!” He panics, only managing to pull out about halfway, unable to stop himself from cumming inside of you.

Steve knows that he should feel bad, and he probably will once he finally stops cumming. But, at the same time, he’s pretty sure he’s never cum so hard in his life. And before he knows it, he feels the blood rushing into the base of his cock where it begins to swell. He pulls out of you just enough that his knot sits snugly against your hole, practically begging to be inside of you.

“Holy shit, did you knot?” You pant against his bed sheets, turning your body to look back at him.

“Y-yeah,” He pushes himself off of you, sitting back on his knees. He looks at the way his knot is pressed against your entrance, feeling only a slight resistance when he rocks forward a bit.

“I’m surprised you pulled it out,” you say, giving him a look that he isn’t sure how to read. Heat creeps all over his body as the guilt starts to set in.

“I was trying to pull all the way out, I promise. I’m so sorry. We can stop at the drugstore on the way back to your car and—”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay.”

He feels the way you push back into his knot, rocking back and forth on his still hard length while his cum subtly starts to leak out of you.

“Yeah?” He asks again, eyes locked on his knot as you work yourself open on it. You’re so tight, but he can feel the resistance starting to give. Maybe if he just…

“Oh my god!” You squeal out. With one hard thrust, Steve was able to push his knot fully inside of you until it locks in place. Whether it be the natural connection between an alpha and an omega or, if your pussy was just that good, Steve can’t help but cum again, filling your already stuffed pussy up with more of his seed.

“It’s…it’s..”

“What is it, Stevie baby,” you ask in a sugary sweet voice, mind clearly on cloud nine from the soft look on your face.

“It’s just, it’s been so long…so long since I’ve felt like…”

“Awe, come’er,” you motion for him to lay with you, and Steve follows your command, taking you in a strong arm and maneuvering you both comfortably onto your sides. Underneath the covers, the two of you hold each other like you’ve been doing this for years rather than being a random Sunday afternoon hookup. The hairs of his mustache tickle the skin on your shoulder where he leaves kisses over and over again.

The two of you are quiet as you lay there in his bed. Steve’s mind races as the post nut clarity kicks in. Guilt plagues his brain first, but not in the way he thought it would. He thought he would feel guilty about sleeping with someone he didn’t vow his life to almost 20 years ago, but that’s not the case. Instead he feels guilty wishing he’d not wasted all those years with someone who couldn’t make him feel like this. All those years of putting her needs first…

“Are those your daughters?”

Steve’s head pops up to look over yours. Following your gaze, he sees the picture in question—well, he can’t see it clearly, his glasses being lost in the shuffle to get here. But, he knows what picture you’re talking about. It’s a picture of him and his two daughters, Hailey and Kristina, at their soccer tournament when they were 9 and 7 respectively. Their team had won 2nd place, but the both of them didn’t care because their dad had shown up to watch them play. It’s one of his favorite pictures of the three of them.

“Yeah, those are my girls,” Steve says with pride.

“They’re cute.” You look back at him with a smile, “They definitely get their looks from you.”

Steve feels the heat on his cheeks and ducks his head. “Thank you. Do, uh, do you have any kids?”

“Nope,” you say with a shake of your head. “Well, not yet at least.”

“Again, I am so, so sorry—” You bark out a laugh at his embarrassment and Steve tries to ignore the way you squeeze him.

“I’m just teasing, Steve.”

“Oh-okay,” he settles, daring to squeeze you a little tighter to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” you say excitedly, taking his hand in yours and rubbing circles into the back of his hand.

“Well, okay actually it’s, like, a series of questions. But, I guess the first one is…why me?”

“Why you? Like, why did I sleep with you?”

“Yeah…”

“Um, partly because you’re, like, really, really hot.”

Steve laughs at that, “Should’ve seen me when I was your age.”

“I’m sure you were super hot then, too. But you look like one of those guys who gets better with age.”

“Thanks…”

“Anyway, I also slept with you because you’re always really nice when you and your friend come in. I thought maybe you were, but honestly I couldn’t tell if you were flirting with me or not. I also wasn’t sure if you and her were dating and I didn’t want to embarrass myself so I never said anything. But when you pheromone bombed me earlier…I had to take my break because I thought I was going to go into heat.

“Jesus, I’m sorry about that, too,” Steve internally scolds himself for forgetting about that. “Forty two years old and I can’t even contain myself. Acting like I’m a newly presenting alpha again.”

“It’s okay…honestly it was kinda hot. That’s why when I saw you leaving, I thought ‘Fuck it, might as well shoot my shot.’ Glad I did.”

Steve is trying his damnedest to stay collected, he really is. But the more you talk about wanting to pursue him, the more he feels like he needs to get away from you before he falls for you. He knows it’s just the pheromones and the fact that he hasn’t felt wanted since Becca left him, but damn does it feel good to have someone want him.

He feels you snuggle back against him. You look over your shoulder at him with a sly expression.

“Ready for round two already?” You say with a teasing lit. His eyes go wide.

“What?” He asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I’m just kidding,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him. “Just felt like you got harder when I was talking about how I wanted you.”

Steve sucks in a breath. “I mean, if I can get this knot to go down enough…” It’s been a long while since Steve’s been able to go for a second round. But, he’s pretty sure he’d do anything you asked him right now.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind this for a little bit longer.”

The two of you ended up fucking for a good majority of the afternoon. At some point Steve fell asleep inside you, leaving you to scroll through his barely touched instagram until his knot went down again. He warned you that pictures of his wife were still on there since he didn’t know how to delete them. But when you told him you didn’t care about his past he ended up fucking you again, which is how you ended up in the position you’re in now.

When Steve rouses from his nap, he’s sad to find you not in bed with him. It felt good having someone to share his bed with again. A king size mattress is too big for only one person to occupy Steve has thought many nights now.

Steve puts on a pair of gray sweats and a tee shirt and searches the house for you. He gets a little nervous when he doesn’t find you anywhere. With a slight panic, he runs back to his room and checks his clothes from earlier. When everything was still in his pockets he grabbed his phone to see if you’d texted him that you were leaving. That was until he remembered that he never asked for your number…

Plopping down on the edge of the bed, he grabs his phone and taps the screen. The picture of Hailey and Kristina opening gifts at Robin’s house over Christmas break comes up, making him smile. But when he looks at the bottom of the screen, he sees the little notification bubble and scrolls up.

His eyes widen when he sees your name attached to a text message. He opens the message quickly, squinting his eyes to see the screen without his glasses on.

wanted a smoke so I’m sitting in your car hope that’s okay ♥️

Steve is up instantly, grabbing his coat and house slippers before pushing out the front door. He saw you in his passenger seat, bundled up in your coat with a cigarette still lit between your fingers. You were on the phone with someone, distracted as you looked out the front window. He could hear you speaking with someone through the cracked window.

“Yeah, the older guy. The divorced one…Girl, oh my goooooood…I will when I see you later. He’s so hot though…I don’t know. I kinda hope so. Like I’m sure my parents would be so pissed if I started dating a guy in his 40s…I don’t know. But girl we went at it for hooouuuursss, so I hope so.”

Steve was sure his face was the same shade of red as a tomato. He could hardly believe a girl was sitting in his car talking about how much she liked him to presumably one of her friends. And you were talking about dating?

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

The words come out on their own. Your head snaps to look at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. You mutter a quick good bye to your friend and open the car door.

“S-sorry, I was talking to my friend. What did you say?”

Steve debated on back tracking. There’s no way you could be serious about liking him, so why embarrass himself, or even scare you off by taking things further. You were right, you were old enough that your parents wouldn’t approve even if you both wanted it. As a father of two girls, he can’t help but think about how he would feel if one of them brought home someone at least 15 years older than them…

“Steve?” The way you looked at him had him folding in an instant.

“I asked if you wanted to go on a date with me.”

A smile played at the ends of your mouth. “Really?” You ask coyly. “This isn’t just some little fantasy thing for you? Older man hooking up with a younger girl to make himself feel better?” Steve shook his head.

“God, no. Those aren’t my intentions at all.” Steve’s hand reaches out for yours, which you gladly take, swinging them between the two of you. Steve clears his throat before looking you in the eye as he speaks.

“I’m not the type of guy that does…” He gestures vaguely towards his house. “Does the hook up thing. At least I haven’t been in a good while.”

“I knew you were a player when you were younger,” you say with a cheeky smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He laughs.

“I saw a picture that your friend Robin tagged you in on her instagram of the two of you back in the day and…” You gave him a look that made him duck his head.

“I guess you could say that I was a bit more debaucherous back in my early twenties. But, I think the longevity of my marriage should stand as testament that I am capable of being a loyal, faithful partner to the right person.”

“And you want to see if I could be a candidate for that “right person” position?”

“Mmm, that sounds like you’d need to convince me.” He pulls you into him, looking down at you as you’re pressed against him. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve already got me hooked on you. Just need to prove to you that this old man is worth keeping around.”

The way your smile crinkles your eyes as you look up at him has Steve’s heart fluttering. And when you reach up to kiss him, that fluttering swells into a blooming warmth that runs through his veins the second your lips touch.

“Well, when and where does this “old man,” you echo his words with finger quotes, “want to have this date, hmm?”

The two of you iron out the details over a smoke in Steve’s warm car, and continue to talk well past the setting of the sun. Eventually, Steve takes you back to your car, where the two of you make out parked next to it until you’re pretty sure you hear your closing coworkers coming out the back door from the end of shift.

Steve makes you promise to text him when you get home to make sure you got there safe. You throw a casual “sure thing, dad” at him, and as he watched you get in your car he has to question himself as to why he liked you calling him that…

thank you for reading.

#steve harrington #alpha!steve harrington #alpha!steve harrington x omega!reader #older!steve harrington #older!steve harrington x reader #older!steve harrington x younger!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #omegaverse #a/b/o

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

Text

count on your courage

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is what makes you brave'

rated t | 1,508 words | cw: coming out (one goes horribly wrong offscreen, one goes perfectly right), steve gets kicked out | tags: wayne munson is the best uncle, secret relationship, steve has bad parents, hurt/comfort, wayne adopts steve

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Steve should've gone to Robin's probably.

But when you're in a state of shock after being kicked out of your house because your dad found a handwritten love note from your boyfriend, you don't always think clearly.

He was sitting outside the trailer, on the gravel driveway, rocks digging into his ass and thighs, thinking about how uncomfortable the back seat of his car was for sleeping. He managed to grab his sandwich bag of savings, which was barely enough for a motel for a couple of weeks, but maybe he'd find a place that would be more understanding.

After Vecna, most places were open to any arrangement on payment as long as they got something.

"Steve?" Eddie's voice filtered to him from the front door of the trailer.

It wasn't until he heard Eddie's voice that he realized Wayne's truck was parked next to Eddie's van, which meant Wayne was home, which meant Wayne would be confused as hell.

Eddie's hands were on his shoulders, worried and tugging him out of his own thoughts.

"Hey," Steve said.

"What're you doin' here, Stevie? You said you weren't comin' over because you have an early shift tomorrow," Eddie's eyes were wide, and Steve realized he must assume there's an emergency.

"Oh. I did say that." Steve sighed. "I actually don't know why I came here."

"Shit, Steve. Did you hit your head? Is it...you know?"

"No. To both. Just-" Steve didn't want to alarm him, but he did have to say what was going on. "My parents kicked me out. Well, my dad did. My mom just kinda...let him?"

"What? Jesus Christ, Stevie. Come inside, you're shivering," Eddie pulled him up so he was standing awkwardly in front of him. "How long have you been out here?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. Which was true. He knew his parents got home around five, and his dad had stormed out of his office around six, yelling about Steve's belongings being where they shouldn't be. It didn't take long after that for all hell to break loose. "What time is it now?"

Eddie looked down at his watch. "A little after nine."

"Huh. I guess close to two hours."

Eddie cussed under his breath, then wrapped an arm around Steve's waist.

It's not like they had to worry about being seen; What used to be a full trailer park now mostly consisted of the Munson's new trailer and Max's trailer that was only inhabited for a few hours a night, if that.

"Ed? Everthin' okay?" Wayne called from the porch.

Steve looked up, panicked.

It's not that he hadn't been around Wayne plenty of times, especially while Eddie was in the hospital. He'd run into him a few times at the trailer as he passed through the kitchen to pack his lunch for work or when he was heading to bed when Steve was picking Eddie up for work.

It was more like he felt like everything was written clear across his face, and if Wayne found out about him, he'd find out about Eddie, and what if he kicked Eddie out?

They couldn't both be homeless.

Eddie didn't verbally respond, but he must have done something to let Wayne know everything wasn't okay.

"C'mon in then," he gestured, opening the front door for them both to walk through. "Get that blanket off my chair for him."

Steve didn't know why he needed a blanket, it's not like it was even cold.

But as he was gently pushed down onto the couch, he noticed how much he actually was shivering, and realized he must've forgotten his jacket in his haste to leave his house. It wasn't winter, but the chill in at night was too much to be outside without a jacket.

The blanket was soft, and smelled a lot like Wayne's cologne, the one he insisted he didn't wear, but Steve could always smell just a hint of it lingering in the air after he left the room. It was a comforting smell, one he'd gotten used to in the background. One he'd come to associate with Eddie, and calm, and home.

He could hear Wayne and Eddie whispering by the kitchen counter, but couldn't quite focus on the words they were saying.

Wayne sat down across from him, right on the coffee table, like it wasn't a piece of furniture specifically designed for holding things that were never touched. Eddie sat down next to him, leaving no space, and no way to mistake how close they were.

He tried to scoot away, just leave a few inches of space so Wayne wouldn't question it. Eddie's hand on his knee stopped him.

"You wanna tell me about what's going on?" Wayne asked softly.

"I'm fine-"

"I didn't ask if you were fine. I asked if you wanted to tell me what was goin' on." Wayne's voice was gruff, but his face was open, his body leaning in closer to them so he could listen to what Steve had to say. "You ain't gotta tell me everythin', but if you're gonna be stayin', I'd like to know why you look scared outta your mind."

Eddie's hand moved to his back, rubbing in circles, comforting. "It's okay, sweetheart."

Wayne didn't even flinch at the pet name.

Maybe he was just used to Eddie being a bit too loose with his words, or maybe he actually knew.

"My parents um," Steve silently asked Eddie for permission to say more. Eddie nodded. "They found a note from Eddie to me. And they figured out some stuff about um..."

"It's alright. He knows about me," Eddie said softly.

"Go on, kid," Wayne said.

"They found out that he's my boyfriend from the note, and they didn't want their letdown of a son in their house anymore. I had to grab what I could in just a couple minutes and get out."

Wayne's hand rested on his knee now. "Thanks for tellin' me, son."

Steve broke.

The tears came so quickly, so viciously, he couldn't breathe. Eddie's arms wrapped around him, pulled him tight to his chest.

Wayne's hand was on his back, an extra comforting weight as he let the events of the evening sink in.

His parents didn't love him, didn't want him, didn't even care to hear about how lucky he was to finally have someone who got him.

But Wayne was here, showing him acceptance.

Eddie was here, holding him and loving him through this.

And when Robin heard, she'd be by his side, making threats that would make him laugh.

Eventually, he would tell the others, maybe even Hopper.

But for now, he held the courage Eddie gave him close to his chest, used this as a practice run.

"I'm gonna make us some hot chocolate. You got any stuff in your car to bring in?" Wayne asked.

"Just one bag."

"We'll get it in the mornin'. You can borrow some of Ed's clothes tonight. And you let me worry about gettin' your stuff. Me and Jim can handle it." Wayne stood up and started walking towards the kitchen. "And Steve?"

"Yeah?" he pulled away to wipe his eyes and look at Wayne, who was smiling at him.

"I don't expect ya to pay rent, but I do expect ya to help with chores. Your days for dishes can be Mondays and Thursdays and you'll be in charge of groceries one week a month. Sound okay to you?"

He blinked back at Wayne, confused.

"You can share a room with Eds, but remember the walls are thin."

"Wayne!" Eddie choked out.

Steve laughed, genuinely happy on a night when he was sure he'd be miserable for days to come. "We'll behave."

Wayne knocked once on the doorway and walked out of sight.

Steve turned to Eddie and kissed him once on the lips, a quick peck.

"You okay with me living here? Wayne kinda just invited me without talking to you," Steve felt himself blush.

"I want you to be safe and happy, right here with me. With us. If that's what you want."

"Yeah. I want that," Steve rested his head against Eddie's shoulder and sighed. "I'm tired."

"You were brave tonight. Takes a lot outta ya." Eddie kissed the top of his head. "I should know by now that I can always count on your courage, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Took me three years to admit to Wayne that I was gay. Took you three minutes," Eddie let out a quiet laugh. "You amaze me."

"You're being sappy," Steve said into his shirt.

"Let me be a little sappy."

Steve could hear the words he wasn't saying, had felt them plenty of times over the last couple of weeks, maybe months. The 'I love you' that was hidden under sappy words, hidden under the blanket wrapped around him being adjusted by worried hands, hidden in hands that were always touching him to remind him he wasn't alone.

They might be hidden now, but they wouldn't be for long.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is what makes you brave #coming out #secret relationship #hurt/comfort #wayne munson #steve has bad parents

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steddiewithachance · 6 months

Text

Vampire Pancakes

A response to this writing prompt. Thought it was too cute, had to write it! @dwobbitfromtheshire

🥞🫐

No one really knows what to do with Eddie right now. Everyone is jittery around him, going so far as to hold their breath when he so much as twitches. Even Dustin is squinting at him with calculating eyes; he's analyzing Eddie for threat.

Eddie will continue to courteously ignore the hand that Nancy is keeping stationed on her belt conveniently close to the little pistol everyone knows she's hiding. It doesn't matter that Eddie helped them kill Vecna, or that he saved Baby Byers' life. It doesn't matter when he has sharp teeth, dark eyes, and a thirst for blood. He can't blame 'em for being scared.

Eddie thinks about his dad. Wonders if even Al would see Eddie as a monster now.

Eddie got picked on a lot as a kid and he'd often come home from school tired and weepy. Al would look up from the couch in that black tank top he always wore. He'd set down whatever he was smoking to pat the spot next to him.

"What happened Ed? Was some little shithead mean to ya?"

Eddie would nod and slump into his father's side, eyes burning from the spicy, smokey air. When Eddie pressed his face into his dad's arm, Al would pull back and pat his head with sorrowful eyes. Al didn't really know how to comfort a kid or maybe he thought that being distant was in Eddie's best interest.

"You're too soft, Ed. Ya gotta make those kids think you can pack a punch. Chin up, eyes mean, shoulders back. Make 'em intimidated, make 'em fear ya."

So like any kid who thinks their dad's word is law, Eddie listened, or tried his best at least. But his dad never said that mean eyes, dark clothes, and loud music would get him accused of witchcraft by a bunch'a angry jocks and chased straight into hell.

Now his sheepies -his kiddos- are looking at him like they're scared, like they can't trust him and that is a fucking gut punch. Because pretty early on in his high school career, he decided that his purpose was gonna be standing as a shield for other kids like him. He wanted to be a source of safety and warmth in an otherwise cold and unforgiving storm.

Being feared is lonely and sad, Eddie has discovered, and he worries this is his new permanent reality.

Eddie quietly sits through his friends hammering out the logistics of a nighttime schedule to organize sleeping shifts so someone always has an eye on him. It's sick. Eddie has to excuse himself to cry about it. He has no uncontrollable urges to eat anyone here, Steve does smell appetizing, but he wouldn't jump the guy.

He can still eat human food apprently, it barely does anything for him, but it's something. Eddie thinks it's enough to quell any feral urges he may or may not get. He thinks the party is being unreasonable about their safety precautions, but really, he'd probably do the same if there was a monster in the same house as him.

🥞🫐

It's a long night, he can't fall asleep but he'll pretend to so that everyone can relax a little. The changing of the guard chafes at him and makes his lip quiver. He bites his lip to prevent a wounded sound from slipping out when Robin nudges Steve awake and says it's "his turn on hell shift". Eddie jolts because he remembers he has real sharp teeth now, and biting his lip does, in fact, hurt like a bitch.

"You're not asleep, huh?" He hears whispered into the air of the big living room after Robin has settled back into sleep. It's Steve's sweet and melodic voice.

"I'm trying." He responds, brokenly.

"Wanna get some fresh air with me for a minute? I need'a smoke." Steve is already shrugging the sheets off of him and carefully stepping over his sleeping friends towards the back door. Eddie doesn't think he has a choice, but to follow. Stepping out of this stuffy room does sound like a relief though.

Eddie makes the same journey through the sea of teenagers sprawled across Steve's floor and out the sliding glass door. When he steps onto the patio, all of the crickets stop chirping around him. The night goes silent. What the fuck? Is that because of him? He loves the sound of crickets, though.

He walks over and curls up in one of the Harringtons' fancy-loungy-pool-chairs. Steve stays standing, leaning artfully against the side of his house next to the glass. He flicks open his lighter and the small flame illuminates his square jawline with a warm glow. He's so achingly handsome. He's like a movie star, or a model.

"You okay?" Steve asks conversationally.

"Not even a little."

Steve sighs and pushes off the wall to walk towards Eddie's chair. He sits at the foot of it and swivels so he's looking at Eddie.

"I'm really sorry Eddie. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling. I won't pretend to." Steve sets a hand on Eddie's ankle and Eddie could cry from the small gesture of comfort that he's practically writhing for. "I feel like what happened to you is all my fault. I know that 'sorry' wont cut it, but for the record, I am. Completely and utterly sorry." That's a silly thing to think.

"It's not your fault, are you kidding? How do you reckon it's your fault?"

"Sending you with Dustin? Alone? Putting all that responsibility on you?" Steve looks down at his cigarette with disgust. He twists it into the cold concrete next to his socked foot and looks back at Eddie. There's no fear in his expression, and for once Eddie is grateful for his reckless bravery.

"It was the best plan and we all agreed to it. Don't sweat it, Harrington." Eddie feels like he's not all there. Feels like maybe if he was more composed he could comfort Steve better, but he's hungry and dazed, sad and tired. Steve nods solemnly, and clears this throat.

"And about everyone being kind of on edge... It'll pass. I think they're all thinking about when Billy Hargrove got possessed by the mind flayer and went homicidal on us. He tried to kill all the kids."

Eddie desperately wants to hear all the other Upside down stories one day. He keeps trying to stitch together all these scraps of lore that keep getting dropped on him. He has no right to ask about something so traumatic, so he'll just be patient and wait for more lore to drop.

"Everyone's just being cautious. Vecna's dead though, so I'm not really sure who they think would possess you." Steve finishes and squeezes Eddie's lower calf where his hand rests.

"I get it. Kinda hurts my feelings, but I get it." Eddie mumbles and feels his eyes getting heavy. He wonders if he could fall asleep out here. Maybe if the crickets were still chirping and it wasn't so goddamn quiet.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." It's fine, this might not even be the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

🥞🫐

In the morning Eddie curls himself into Steve's little kitchen nook. Eddie kind of loves the window seat, it's something his mom would have wanted, Eddie theorizes. She was always looking out windows, probably daydreaming about escaping. Eddie does it too.

The kids seem warmer this morning. There's no more hushed whispers or pointed looks. They're talking and moving around the house less cautiously. Hopefully, the stiffest interactions and the worst of their distrust is behind them. Nancy's still watching him like a hawk though.

Steve shuffles into view, his socks are bunched up around his ankles. It's cute.

He holds out a plate for Eddie with a dumb smile on his face. When Eddie reaches for it, he sees a stack of pancakes and the top pancake has a little face made out of blueberries and two whipped cream fangs. It's a vampire pancake. Steve made Eddie a sweet little vampire pancake.

"Oh my god, you're so adorable." Eddie squeaks and makes a grabby hand for the fork Steve's holding. Steve blushes and hands over the fork.

"Do you like it?" Steve asks coyly. The pancakes feel like a hug, they feel like an apology that Steve doesn't even owe.

"I love it, chef." Eddie pokes at the pancake-vampire's cheek. "I don't know if I can eat him. He's too cute." Eddie giggles. Steve looks up at him with bright sparkly eyes. God he's perfect. Eddie's hungry for him in five different ways.

Robin and Dustin come up beside Steve to look down at the plate.

"I want one!" Dustin announces loudly. Steve turns around and heads back to the stove, he looks so proud of himself.

"You can have normal pancakes. Those are special for Eddie." Steve says with a wink. Dustin looks down at Eddie and pouts at him as if Eddie has any say in who gets what kind of pancake.

"Dustin had to watch it all happen, he should get one too." Eddie tells Steve earnestly while Steve is pouring more batter into the pan.

Dustin gloats and yells "Exactly! Thank you, Eddie."

And it feels like things are gonna be okay.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie fluff #soft steve harrington #steve harrington is a sweetheart #kas eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #vampire eddie x steve #writing prompt #steddie microfic

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starkidmunson · 2 months

Text

glitter & crimson

Steve blinks, looks around and processes that he’s in a hospital. He doesn’t remember getting here, which isn’t a great sign. It also doesn’t look familiar; definitely not Stroger, Sinai, Northwestern or even Hawkins Health. He takes a few deep breaths and relaxes a bit when the movement doesn’t hurt his chest. Checks his arms next, lifting both out, bending at the elbow, turning his wrists and flexing his fingers. Once he’s sure everything is accounted for, he moves onto his legs. He’s still wearing his uniform pants, though his shin, knee pads and skates are missing. He can bend his knees and wiggle his toes, and his ankles twist back and forth easily. Next, Steve opens his mouth, and his jaw hurts on the left side a little, but not an exuberant amount.

Robin clears her throat and he jumps a little, turning to look at her with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room. “Finished your self-assessment?” She asks, and he feels his face heat up. “What do you remember?”

Steve fights through the brain fog— again, not a great sign— before he settles on his last memory.

“On the ice at Crypto?” He asks. She doesn’t answer, waiting for him to elaborate like she always does when he has concussions. “I, uh. Think it was the second period? I had just swapped in, I think? I was chasing the puck, got it, passed it off, and…” he trails off, frowning at his hands, stained a red-brown color. It was caked around his fingernails, thicker in the creases of his skin. “And Billy hit me. Right? That’s what happened?”

“Well, you remember more than I expected you to.” Robin eventually sighs, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. “They’ve got you on concussion protocol.”

“Fuck,” Steve grumbles, reaching his hand up with the intention of rubbing at his eyes, but Robin catches his wrist and stops him.

“Don’t touch your face.” She’s stern, and Steve frowns. Nothing hurts on his face, besides the little twinge in his jaw. But then it clicks that he must be on some type of painkiller.

“Morphine makes me throw up.” He says, and Robin gives him a soft smile.

“I know, babe.”

He’s quiet for a long moment before he lays his head back and sighs. “How bad is it?”

“You’re going to need quite a few stitches, but they ran scans when we first got here to see if anything in there is broken,” Robin explains, and Steve groans.

“So it’s pretty bad, then.” He absorbs this information, efforts to retain it and not lose it into the brain fog.

“You skated off the ice on your own, if that’s any consolation.” Robin gives him a small smile, which Steve tries to return because it does make him feel better. But smiling seems to spark more pain than opening his mouth had, and he can definitely feel the pull of whatever bandages are attached to the side of his face.

Someone knocks at the door, and Steve prepares himself to be overwhelmed by medical terminology from some ER doctor looking to over-explain whatever is happening with his face, but he’s surprised to see Eddie there, instead.

“Oh, hey,” Steve mumbles, frowns and pats his pockets. “Sorry, did I text you? I don’t remember.”

“Eddie texted me, I told him he could come,” Robin says, and Steve visibly pauses his search to look at Robin, then toward Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie offers, soft and quiet, looking a little paler than usual. “I, uh. Saw what happened. Worried about you.”

“Steve doesn’t remember everything yet, so don’t tell him what happened. Not for a few more hours, at least.” Robin explains, before tapping the seat beside her. “I pulled this over so you could sit with us while we wait for the doctors to come back with his scans.”

“It looks better in person than it did on TV,” Eddie says as he moves closer, eyes trained on the left side of Steve’s face.

“Feels heavily packed.” Steve mumbles, rolls his jaw again, and lets out a little groan when it cracks.

“Stop that,” Robin chides, smacking at his hand gently. “Max did as much as she could to stop you from bleeding out from your face, stop trying to hurt yourself more.”

“M’not, just feels weird,” Steve mumbles back before he looks over at Eddie again. “Not sure this is going to be the most interesting way to spend your night, Eds.”

“If this is where you’ve got to be tonight, then I’ll be right here with you.” Eddie offers and Steve feels his cheeks heat up, though he’s not sure it’s noticeable because he doesn’t know what the fuck is happening with his face.

It takes what feels like an eternity for a doctor to finally come in and explain that the bone connecting his upper jaw to his eye is fractured, and the team will have to monitor how it starts to heal to see if he needs surgery. Steve asks Robin and Eddie to wait in the hallway while he gets the stitches; he’s told there are nearly 80 running through his eyebrow, around his eye socket and down into his left cheek. The bulkier part of the wound is covered with a bandage, he’s given a prescription for painkillers, and then discharged into Robin’s care. Despite her attempts to explain she has an idea of what she’s doing, she’s given a pamphlet with the signs and symptoms of a concussion. Eddie elects himself to direct Steve’s Hospital Policy wheelchair to the garage, where he’d parked his rental.

“Where to?” He asks.

“Crypto.” Steve answers before Robin can, and she frowns at him.

“They’re not going to let you play, and the game is almost over, we should just go back to the hotel.” She offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“Crypto. Please. I… even if it’s just to prove a point, I need to go back.” He holds eye contact with Eddie, who notices the start of a few bruises likely to join forces around his eye in the next few hours and days, and Eddie sighs and nods.

The drive back to the arena is short; the longest part is waiting for the security guard to scan Robin’s team-issued badge to get them inside. Steve leans up to tug at Eddie’s leather jacket once he’s parked. “Not gon’ make you wait in the car, come in with us. Won’t be long, promise.”

Steve moves right out to the rink, opens the door to the Blackhawks box and slides inside easily. There’s a moment when nobody has realized he’s there, and he grins as he taps the coach on the arm, pulling his attention off the ice for a moment. Controlled chaos erupts then, as his teammates celebrate his return. There’s hugs and shoulder pats and hair ruffles all around. When the final shift changes with just minutes left on the clock, they manage to take the lead and secure the win.

Back in the locker room, Steve packs up his bags with the rest of them, offers his congratulations, as Robin hands over his discharge paperwork to the team medics. Eddie’s hanging back by the door, visibly caught off guard when a few players offer him fist taps and polite greetings, before Steve is pressing a finger into his chest.

“Told you I needed to come back. S’good for morale and shit.” He mumbles, slurring and can’t tell if it’s from the injury or the painkillers, but Eddie smiles back at him and rolls his eyes.

“You’re a handful.” Eddie teases, and Steve tips his head thinking for a moment before a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’ve no idea how much of a handful I am.” Steve teases back, watches as Eddie’s face lights up with delight before he snorts out a laugh.

“I think you need to try and rest off the painkillers, Big Boy.” Eddie decides, and Steve shrugs because, yeah, that’s probably not the worst idea.

“But can we get food first? I’m starving.”

He manages to convince Eddie and Robin he can stomach Jack in the Box, orders a ridiculous amount of food, then only manages to eat his fries before he falls asleep on the sofa in the hotel room he’s sharing with Robin.

~~~~~

Eddie swipes a taco Steve had ordered, and joins Robin on the balcony of their room after Steve falls asleep.

“Does he always order fast food like a stoner?” He muses, crunching into the hard shell, earning a laugh from Robin.

“Only when he’s genuinely high. Pain meds hit him a little harder than weed usually does, though.” She explains around a french fry.

“He can smoke?” Eddie asks, surprised. He might not know much about sports, but he was pretty sure there were usually rules in place about drug use and random testing to check for anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, the league doesn’t really care unless their levels are abnormally high. But a lot of players use weed for pain management because the game can be brutal on their bodies, even without assholes like Hargrove on the ice.” She looks back into the room toward where Steve is sprawled out, snoring softly.

“I didn’t see Billy on the bench or on the ice when we got back.” Eddie offers, though it appears to be unhelpful information as Robin nods.

“He was hit with 5 minutes in the penalty box and a game misconduct, which ejected him from the game. Blackhawks are working with the league to figure out if it’s possible to prove it was a premeditated attack to see if they want to press charges against him, or if they’re just suspending him for a few games.” Robin drops her voice quieter like she doesn’t want to risk Steve overhearing, even though he’s sound asleep in another room.

“Do you think that’s what happened?” Eddie asks though he feels like he already knows the answer. Steve getting caught up in his head about this game, saying Billy is the reason the Kings are his least favorite team. All signs are pointing to a highly likely yes that Billy was retaliating for something when he hurt Steve.

Robin’s quiet for a moment, looking off into the city. “Yeah, probably.” She mumbles.

It’s weirdly soothing, the silence they’re sitting in, split by the sounds of the bustling city below them and Steve’s soft snoring inside from behind. Despite hardly knowing either Steve or Robin, Eddie feels he knows enough to be comfortable in this strange moment he’s found himself in with both of them.

~~~~

Steve wakes up a few hours later, feeling nauseous and achy. Robin’s nowhere to be found, but Eddie’s lying across her bed playing a game on his phone.

“Hey, you’re up,” Eddie smiles when he notices Steve moving around, so Steve sends a little wave in his direction. “Want me to grab you ginger ale or something from the vending machine?”

The question doesn’t fully process in Steve’s head; drowned out by the white hot pain and the urge to vomit he’s biting back. Instead of answering, he rubs gently at his right eye, still flinches, and tips his head to the side. “You stayed?”

“Well, yeah.” Eddie shrugs, sitting up so his back is against the headboard of Robin’s bed. “Told you I was going to be wherever you had to be tonight.”

Steve lets the response sink in, resists the urge to cry at how fucking sweet the guy across the room from him is, and lets out a heavy breath. “Ginger ale might help,” he eventually decides to answer.

When Eddie returns with the soda, munching on a bag of chips, Steve accepts the drink but raises his next question. “Where’s Robin?”

“She got a call from Max about an hour ago? Asked me to stay with you, but I was already planning on that.” Eddie answers, before offering the bag of chips in Steve’s direction. He shakes his head, pushing the bag back toward Eddie. The smell wasn’t making him feel less like throwing up, and the salt was sure to inevitably burn the split skin near his mouth now that he was feeling more of the injury.

“S’wrong with Max?” Steve asks, again, and Eddie gives him a grin.

“You really like to play 20 questions, huh?” Steve can’t be blamed if it takes him a moment to realize that Eddie’s referencing their previous conversations and picking on him, and flushes when he’s worked it out, but Eddie just laughs softly. He puts the bag of chips down, cracks the cap on the soda open, and plops himself down into the chair next to where Steve had been lying on the sofa. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Max, Robin didn’t elaborate past saying she called and she had to go to her.”

“S’probably freaking out about Billy,” he doesn’t mean to make the observation out loud, but Steve can’t take it back once it’s out in the world. Eddie raises an eyebrow, and Steve sighs, rests the cool soda bottle against the bandage over his cheek, and offers the short version of the explanation. “They’re step-siblings. Ex-step siblings?” Okay, maybe it’s not the shortest explanation, but Steve’s concussed. “Whatever you call the kid your ex-step dad had before he married then divorced your mom. They’re that.”

Eddie’s clearly amused at Steve’s delirium, which is mildly frustrating, but Steve allows it because he’s not being mean about his confusion. “I didn’t realize Max was related to Billy.” He observes.

Steve nods, takes another sip of the soda. “Yeah, but like I said, only on a technicality. They don’t really talk anymore.”

“Because Billy’s an asshole?” Eddie guesses.

Steve deflates a little, thinking about it before he shrugs. “Because of me.” He answers, simply, with no explanation. He can tell that Eddie’s itching to ask for details, but he doesn’t. “You aren’t going to ask?”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready to.” Eddie shrugs and Steve feels a little part of himself burst into flames. He decides he wants Eddie to know, to have the background and all the information, to understand the choices Steve has made and what has led them here to this too-expensive hotel room in a city neither of them particularly cares for, with nearly a hundred stitches in Steve’s face.

“He was on the Blackhawks roster when I was drafted. And we had history from school and juniors, but we worked well together. And after a game we’d both played particularly well in, Billy came to my room and we, uh. Celebrated.” Steve explains, trying to find the best way to put things in order to explain the nature of their relationship as he picks at the wrapper from the soda bottle Eddie had gotten for him. “It became a thing, for a while. Win a game, hook up after. But then Max caught him at my place and he melted down. Cut contact completely with me, gave me a black eye at team practice the next day, and pushed to get traded. Does everything in his power to make my life hell when we’re on the ice together, now.”

Eddie’s quiet for what feels like a long time, but Steve’s sure his sense of time is skewed given his entire perception of reality feeling ever-so-slightly off-kilter. “So, you’ve hooked up with Billy Hargrove?” The comment earns Eddie a big frown, and Steve watches as he scrambles to continue. “That came out wrong, I didn’t… I just meant… I didn’t know if you actually liked guys, I guess. Not that you owe me an explanation about that.”

Steve considers his answer for a long moment, thinks about what to do. He wants to reach out and take Eddie’s hand, press it to his jaw, come out with confidence and pull the other in for a kiss. But it’s unrealistic, not how his brain is going to let him do things anyway, so instead he says, “I’m out as bisexual to everyone who counts. Robin, the Party. And now you.”

Eddie visibly softens, a small smile settling on his face. Steve takes another sip from his soda and rests his head back, only to hear movement, then feel the sofa dip beside him. When he opens his eyes again, Eddie is beside him, still wearing a soft smile. He throws his arm over the back of the sofa, behind Steve’s head, and taps his shoulder gently. “C’mon, lay back down. You gotta rest up.” He says, gently.

And Steve doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get most of the interactions he’s had since Billy knocked him for a loop, but he also doesn’t want to question the invitation. Instead, he buries the uninjured side of his face against Eddie’s t-shirt and lets his steady breathing, warmth and the faint scent of expensive but not overwhelming cologne ease him back off to sleep.

#hockey player!steve #rockstar!eddie munson #stobin #platonic stobin #anti billy hargrove #glitter & cimson #starkidmunson writes #stranger things hockey #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #robin buckley

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