#I think that's when Steve actually starts crying because it sounds too good to be true | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strangersteddierthings · 5 months

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Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

#steddie #my fic #wayne pov #wayne munson #eddie munson #honestly this didnt go the way i thought it would #so there will be a third and final part. Wayne's gonna make it right because he's a good uncle. A good dad.#SPOILER: steve doesnt even show up in this part so im not tagging him

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flowercrowngods · 10 months

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this wouldn't leave me alone, so have my thoughts on a steve-centric "who did this to you?" steddie concept inspired by @imfinereallyy (i hope this is okay, even though it's uhhh nothing like what you mentioned)

When Eddie gets to the boathouse, he immediately notices that something is off. The door is cracked open but he can’t hear anyone talking or moving stuff around. No one ever comes here — it’s been his hideout spot since the ripe age of thirteen when he’d had hist first real fight with Wayne.

No one comes here. But now the door is cracked open and Eddie stares at it for a good minute as though that would make it come to life and tell him who’s inside so he won’t have to look and deal with whoever decided to steal his spot. He’s really not in the mood to start any shit today, or to be called all sorts of names — most of which aren’t even half as true as people fear.

His first instinct is to leave, find somewhere else to hide from this miserable world today, when he hears it. The sound of sniffling, followed by wet, heavy breaths.

Oh. It sounds like someone’s crying. In his spot.

Maybe it’s some girl who got her heart broken, some dude who lost the last bit of faith in his family, or some kid who—

Ah, fuck it, he’ll just come back later. Not his problem. Definitely not his problem. And it’s definitely not guilt or worry that gnaw at him as he turns on his heel to leave.

But then there’s a groan. A pained groan. Someone’s in pain, and crying in his spot, and Eddie really shouldn’t make that his problem. He shouldn't. Nopbody cares when he's crying and in pain either! But fuck if he won’t be thinking about it for the rest of his life if he turns his back on whoever it is. Maybe they need help.

They most certainly sound like they do.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie is already at the door before he can think about it too much.

“Hello?” he asks the darkness, and immediately the sniffling stops.

Silence falls, but only for a moment before whoever it is has to draw shaky, wheezing breaths that make Eddie swear under his breath.

“Listen, I know you’re here.” He’s taking slow, deliberate steps, his eyes roaming he mess of boats, tools and tarp he knows so well. “And I’m not trying to start anything. Tell me to go away and I will. But I have a first aid kit in my car and, uh, you sound like maybe you need it.”

There’s no response, but the wheezing breaths turn into whimpers with every second that whoever it is tries very hard not to make any noise, and Eddie’s heart starts to race in his chest. He can feel worry and panic starting to rise. And overshadowing it is an overwhelming sense of dread.

What the fuck is happening?

He tries to be careful but his mind is racing and his limbs are starting to feel like lead. His wary steps become heavy and clumsy, and then he accidentally boots something that makes a terrible, horrible noise, breaking the eerie silence. Eddie cringes and is about to apologise, when finally there is movement in his peripheral vision.

And then he sees him. There, hidden in the shadows between a boat and the far wall, his face breaten and bloodied, his eye swelling around a nasty bruise. Wait, do bruises bleed? Should they look black like that? Is it a cut? Something worse?

Even after years of constant bullying and goading in middle school and high school, he has never actually seen someone look like this. With their face completely smashed in. It makes him freeze for a horrible, horrible moment before he saps out of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, hurrying over as fast as he can, stumbling over tools and tarp as he does. Something falls to the floor with a loud clunk and it makes the boy flinch again. Eddie curses. “Sorry, shit, sorry!”

He makes it to the boat rather quickly, crouching down in front of the boy a few feet away so as not to spook him, not to crowd him. And then his heart only plummets further, because he knows this one.

Steve Harrington. The boy who’s come to school with many a black eye over the past two years — but never this bad. The boy who’s been looking like the world might be about to end each time he rounded a corner in school; ever since things started happening around Hawkins. Since the Holland girl died and the Byers boy disappeared.

It fascinated Eddie, the way Steve fell from grace. The way he turned quiet, and showed up with healing bruises. There are stories woven around it, because teenagers like to gossip and word spreads fast, and Eddie always listened with rapt attention as Harrington turned into a bit of a myth. A legend. A ghost story.

But fascination is not what he feels right now, seeing Steve like this.

His eyes are unfocused and Eddie knows about the danger of head injuries. He knows about the consequences of blood loss, he knows that Steve will be warm to the touch even though he’s shivering already, and… Fuck!

“Shit, Steve,” he rasps, not daring to speak louder lest he spooks the boy. Of all the reasons he’s had to be afraid of talking to Steve Harrington, this one might be the cruellest. "I..."

He takes in his wounds, his bruised and scraped knuckles where his hands are wrapped around the knees he’s pulled to his chest, and his split lip that he keeps biting.

Eddie swallows before he asks, “Who did this to you?”

But Steve just shakes his head clumsily. Sniffles again, and then his breath comes in wet heaves, and Eddie worries for a moment that he’s going to throw up now.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s just staring. Eddie isn’t even entirely sure he can see him, or maybe he did and then forgot, or maybe he’s fading. Eddie should do something, he should get help, he should—

“Steve,” he says, and dares to touch him when he doesn’t react.

A light touch to the knee shouldn’t make anyone flinch like that, but Steve’s whole body jumps, and then the shivers and the wheezing get worse. It almost sounds like a whimper, and Eddie curses again. Feels like crying now, scared and helpless as he is.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay, I— Jesus, okay.” He swallows hard, trying to think, willing for the panic to subside and a plan to form. “You’re okay. I... I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab the first aid kit. I have it in my car. It’s not, it’s not far. And a blanket. So you'll be warm again. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move, don’t…" He gestures wildly, caught between reaching out and pulling away. "Don’t move.”

Eddie takes a wavering breath and moves to stand on numb, tingly legs, nearly missing Steve’s, “Can’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper, hardly even a wheeze. It’s like he’s just breathing out words because everything else is too much effort.

Right. Right. This is messed up and Eddie’s panicking, but Steve will be okay. Because things like that don’t happen, not here, not today, and not to Steve Harrington.

Except this is Hawkins. Where Will Byers disappeared and Barb Holland died and many people are missing and weird shit just ends up happening everywhere even though they’re all just kids. They’re just kids. And Steve’s not even conscious enough to realise that right now.

Eddie all but runs outside, sprinting to his van with a speed that would make the coach swallow his stupid whistle if gym class only mattered right now. It doesn't. Nothing matters, because Steve is... He's hurt. And there's no one else around to help.

Grabbing the first aid kit, a bottle of water and a thick blanket he always keeps spread out in the back of his van, he makes it back to the boathouse in no time.

He wasn’t even gone for three minutes, but still he sighs in relief when Steve is still awake. He even looks up. Blinks. Frowns in what can only be confusion and makes Eddie's heart fall.

“Munson?”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. That’s messed up, it’s fucked up, it’s— Focus, Eddie!

“The one and only,” he says, voice shaky and his smile not fooling anyone. He wraps the blanket around Steve, whose eyes are unfocused again, though he tries so hard to blink it away.

Brave boy, stupid boy. Head trauma isn’t blinked away. Though Eddie is inclined to let him try. Maybe he’ll find a way.

“Here.” He hands the bottle over to Steve, who grabs it with clumsy hands. He can hold it, but he can’t get it open — again, not a good sign.

Eddie opens it for him, then turns to his first aid kit. It seemed like a great idea five minutes ago, but he’s petrified now. It’s too dark in here and he can’t really see the wounds, he doesn’t know what to use, what’s in there, he doesn’t, he can’t, he—

The bottle, empty now, is handed back to him, bumping into his hand, tearing him away from his spiralling thoughts.

“Thanks,” Harrington breathes, and there’s a small smile visible in the darkness. Eddie just nods and takes it with hands that are still shaking.

“I wanna help you,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “But I don’t know how. You gotta tell me where it hurts, Steve.”

A beat. “Everywhere.”

Eddie sags, falling back to sit opposite Steve, frantically rubbing at his face. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles, but it sounds so wet with tears and pain, Eddie never wants to hear it again. “Thought I could do it.”

He’s talking. That’s a good thing, right? He can’t pass out as long as he’s talking. That’s how that works, isn’t it? So, Eddie asks, “Do what?”

“Doctors told me,” Steve sighs, his voice slow and slurring. “Told me to... to stay out of fights. Stay out of them. Said I had to make sure my head won’t—“

He makes a motion with his fist, and Eddie thinks he’s simulating a punch, disoriented as it is. It makes his heart fall. Is that what happened? Someone beat Steve to a pulp? Again? Just like that?

Eddie is so stuck on that thought, trying to piece together the puzzle, that he almost misses Steve’s mumbled speech.

“Y’know, th— Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.” He says it to matter-of-factly that Eddie’s heart stops for a second.

What the fuck happened to Steve Harrington? Not just today, no. What happened to him?

What happend to make him look up at Eddie Munson, out of all people, with glistening eyes so endlessly scared, and say, “I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture. I can't—” A wheeze, a keen, a whimper, and Harringtin pulls at his hair, uncaring that he's making things worse.

Meanwhile, Eddie is stuck on his words. Because what.

“Can’t, can't die now ‘cause Tommy thinks he’s so… He’s… He’s just sad, man. Griev'n' and confused. But Billy’s gone, an'— And now I’ll…”

Steve looks at him now, his eyes shining with tears and something that Eddie’s written poems about and created characters around. This expression, like the world will end. And inspiring as it is, it fucking breaks his heart now.

“They said my brain is hurt, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows the hurt and the fear and the complete overwhelm he's feeling. Steve is telling him things that Eddie doesn't know how to handle.

“You won’t die, Steve,” he says in as gentle a voice as he can muster right now, because that's the only thing he knows.

And he won’t, right? People don’t just die. Not from taking a punch, not when they just graduated high school, not when they’re Steve Harrington. Right?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve breathes. “That’s good.”

Eddie wants to hug him in that moment. He never knew that this was possible, wanting to hug Steve Harrington, wanting to wrap the blanket around him even tighter and keep him safe and convince him that he won’t die.

And then the rest of what he said catches up with Eddie and leaves anger in its wake.

“Hagan did that to you?”

Steve nods. “Started going off about Billy.”

Eddie’s blood freezes at that name. "Hargrove?”

Another nod, though Steve doesn’t look too happy about moving his head, and he groans quietly. “They were friends. Tommy is angry. Grieving. Con— Confused. He was just saying shit, like it’s my fault. And it is. Kinda. But Tommy’s, he, he’s... Just saying shit. And then he punched me. A lot. And he didn’t stop. And now… is now.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes dumbly, carefully bandaging the glaring wound at his temple, needing to start somewhere. “Now is now.” His blood is still frozen as he tries very hard not to listen to Steve. Nothing that Harrington says has any right to matter anything to him; they live in two different worlds. If Harrington confesses to murder while severely concussed under Eddie’s watch, then there are no witnesses to drag either of them through the mud for it. Eddie is just gonna forget about it. Or try, anyway. “But you’re… Shit , Steve, you’re really hurt.”

Steve blinks. Pauses. And Eddie thinks he’s lost him. But then, “Yeah. I’m always hurt.”

And that, in this little voice, is like a gut punch. Because Eddie knows something about always hurt. “What?”

“What?”

There is ice in his veins as he asks, “Who’s hurting you, Steve?”

Steve looks at him, opening his mouth once, twice, like he’s about to say something and Eddie holds his breath. But then Steve’s eyes droop and he shrinks in on himself a bit more.

“Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.”

Know what, Harrington? Eddie can barely breathe anymore.

“’M tired, Eddie,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“Hey, hey, no!” Eddie reaches out, catching Steve’s head and preventing it from colliding with the floor as he’s slumping and falling over.

And just like that, the panic is back, frantic but determined this time. He’s going to get help; there’s nothing he can do with his lousy first aid kit, not when Steve keeps going in and out of consciousness like that. Not when he can barely see anything or clean the wounds properly.

He’s going to get Steve to a hospital and allow them both to forget this ever happened. Because Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson don’t breathe the same air or share traumatic stories in a boathouse like this.

He’ll get out of Steve’s hair the second the hospital doors close behind him, and get out of whatever trouble someone like Harrington could be in. Eddie doesn’t even want to know. He doesn't want to be part of his ghost story.

But as he’s scooping him up and helping him out of the damned boathouse, clumsily preventing him from stumbling over his own feet or tools or tarp or planks or whatever fucking shit is littering the floor of this godforsaken place, he can hear Steve speaking quietly.

"Where‘re we going?"

And even though a second ago he was determined to take Steve to a hospital, there is only one place on Eddie's mind right now. Only one place he knows where he won't be scared anymore.

"Somewhere safe," he says, tightening his hold on the boy even though his hands are shaking now, too. He looks over his shoulders the moment they're out of the boathouse, stupidly worried that whoever did this to Steve – Hagan, apparently – would still be around, would follow them and do the same shit to Eddie.

"Safe?"

"Safe."

"Okay," Steve sighs, like he believes him. Like he trusts him. Hell, they've never even spoken before, but something inside Eddie breaks at the little sigh, at the way Steve goes slack in his arms. And even more at the little, "Thanks."

If Eddie's eyes are filled with tears and the hands around the wheel are clenched so tight to hide the way they're shaking, then Steve is not conscious enough to comment on it.

(addendum 7 december) onwards to part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is somewhere between s3 and s4 obviously #but also i just re-read the op post and realised that this is nothing like what they wished for so uh. sorry? never trust me with prompts y #who did this to you #hurt steve #steve harrington whump #pre-steddie #sorry op maybe i'll try again and get it right this time but uh. yeah #dio words

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luveline · 1 month

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hello my love!! could you maybe show us what bedtime is like in the kbd universe? thank you, you’re incredible <3

kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader get their small family ready for bed. 3k

“She looks so pretty,” Avery whispers.

Steve struggles to pull the hem of his sock over his ankle, crossing his legs to match her as she snaps an apple slice in half with her fingers, the juice wetting her pyjama top, her torso swaying as his knee bumps into hers. “Who?” Steve asks, blinking.

“Wren,” Avery says, leaning back to let Steve see the baby where she’s napping in her bouncer. Avery shoves a chunk of apple in her mouth. “She’s pw-ery.”

“Try not to talk with your mouth full, you might choke.”

Avery nods, closing her mouth to chew up the rest of her food with chipmunk cheeks.

Steve draws a little heart into her knee. She has a bruise from falling up the stairs a few days ago like a purple ink blot just under her kneecap, but she hasn’t complained. She didn’t cry when she fell, she just got back up and asked for a Capri-Sun. Steve’s surprised she’s so hardy, but she’s getting older. He’d sort of been hoping she’d want him to kiss it better.

“She’s pretty like her big sister,” he says.

“I’m glad she’s stopped crying all the time.”

“Me too.” He takes one of the smaller slices from her plate to eat, wiping juice from her cheek as he does.

She grins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You all done?”

“Yep.”

“Not hungry anymore?”

“Nope.” She grabs her plate before he can. “I’ll put it in the sink.”

“Thanks, beautiful.”

She jumps up with her empty plate and does a spin, saying, “Who, me?”

Steve laughs like an idiot, still chuckling to himself as the sound of her plate hitting the kitchen sink reaches his ears. Wren, finally out of her sleep regression (for now), doesn’t wake. All good signs of a good night.

Steve lets his head fall back onto little legs. “What about you?” he asks Dove, the second youngest daughter, where she sits behind him on the couch.

She hums under her breath, her hands quick to weave into his hair, petting it away from his face. He waits for an answer he doesn’t get, closing his eyes and turning his face into her knee. Her giggles are treacle sweet. “Don’t sleep,” she protests.

“I’m tired.”

“It’s not bed time.”

She’s not gonna like what Steve’s about to tell her, if that’s the case. She had a screaming tantrum last night about bed time where she threw herself on the floor and whacked her hands until her palms turned bright red. He’s not wanting a repeat.

“It is bed time,” he says gently, though it’s not for another half an hour, “but, I was thinking, because you’ve been so good today you’d stay up extra. Maybe even have hot cocoa before bed.” Steve turns to meet her eyes. “How’s that sound?”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes blowing wide with excitement. Steve is starting to wonder if she’s not as mini-me as he used to think, growing into sweeter features as she leaves the baby-toddler stage and starts to look like a kid. He loves it.

“That sound fun or what?”

She dives at him. He has enough sense to have twisted and catches her before she can break any of his teeth. “You are the best daddy ever!” she declares seriously, almost tipping over his shoulder.

He lets her dangle for a second, then yanks her back topside. “You’re my best girl, that’s why. Let’s go make the drinks. Actually, we better go see who else wants some.”

You and Bethie are attempting some last minute crafts at the dining table, and you’re very interested in hot chocolate but Beth doesn’t like it and so, doesn’t want any. She does seem interested in a glass of milk with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, so it’s nearly the same thing. “Careful,” he says, putting the half a pint of milk down in front of her birdhouse cautiously, “you don’t wanna spill that, baby.”

“Who says she’s gonna spill it?” you ask.

“Don’t start with me,” Steve warns.

You smile to yourself. You’ve a spatula for PVA glue in your hand, skins of glue dried to your fingertips flecked with splinters of wood. Lollipop crafts felt like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but then he didn’t actually want to do it, and you’d been kind enough to step in. I’m sick of mess, he’d confided.

Well, you’d said, somewhere between a quick kiss pressed to his shoulder and your hand rubbing it away, you probably shouldn’t have asked me to have so many kids.

I love mess, he’d corrected immediately. Love to make more of it someday.

“We’re nearly done in time for bed,” you assure him now.

“I told Dove she could have an extra half an hour.” He winks at you clumsily.

“Oh, really? Well, maybe Beth and Avery should get some extra time too.”

Beth dunks her cookie into the top of her cup. “No thanks. I’m tired. Can I sleep with Avery again?” she asks, milk dribbling down the sides of the glass to darken the coaster underneath.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Steve says. “Wait, where is she? I thought she was in here.” Something grabs him by the legs, a sudden clutching that activates a heat in his eyes and spine he can’t explain. He flinches sideways into a cabinet and almost steps on a rather small limb. “What the fuck.”

“Boo!” Avery says, laughing brightly as Steve rights himself on the counter.

“Avery! Did I step on you? I’m sorry,” he says, immediately bending down. “What were you thinking? I could’ve really hurt you!”

“Daaad, I was just pulling a prank,” she says.

He checks over the arm he was so sure he’d stepped on. “You okay?”

“She’s fine,” you say. “Yeah?”

“I’m fine!” She hugs his legs again. “You said a super bad word.”

He was hoping everybody missed that. “Dove–”

“Dad,” Dove interrupts, kicking her little feet exactly where he left her sitting on the dinner table by your left, “bad words make me cry.” She says it all clunky and clumsy, having heard it enough times. Her Aunt Robin has a potty-mouthed girlfriend, and Steve can’t do damage control quick enough sometimes.

“No, it’s when you say bad words daddy cries,” Avery says.

“I didn’t say one!”

“I know! I just mean it’s not when dad says it.”

“What?” Dove asks. “He did says it.”

You’re grinning. You love when Dove confuses herself, all kids go through it, where half the time they don’t know what they’re saying until you help them along, but you love Dove’s new phase especially because she’s always been so serious. “What Avery is telling you, baby, is that daddy doesn’t get upset when he says bad words because he’s a grown up.”

“So when we’re older we can cuss too?” Bethie asks.

Steve’s jaw drops. “No, Beth! No, none of you need to say bad words, and I don’t either, and I’m really sorry. Can we forget about it?”

Steve makes hot chocolate and helps you clean the sorry mess you’ve made on the table, and, after some light teasing, everybody forgets he’d reacted so violently to Avery’s surprise. Well, almost. Dove is the first to succumb to a case of the sleepies despite being otherwise reluctant to give in, sitting on his thigh, marshmallows still whole in her drink. She’d barely managed four sips.

Steve cuddles her to his chest, covering her ear where she nuzzles against him from the sounds of your and Avery’s giggling. “He went pale,” you’re saying.

Beth offers Steve half of one of her cookies. “You didn’t,” she says.

If he didn’t have his arms full of Dove he’d scoop her up. “Thank you, Beth. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Alright,” you say, twining your fingers and sliding them behind your head, your neck and back clicking audibly in the quiet of the Harrington house winding down, “I think it’s bedtime. Are you done with your drink?”

You rinse the cups. Steve ferries Dove upstairs, has her down and tucked in in record time, soon enough to catch you as you and the rest of the girls make your way upstairs. Beth and Avery are beautifully silent, weary of their sensitive baby sister where she’s cradled to your chest.

You attempt to put her down in her crib in your room, but Steve gets the feeling you aren’t successful when a crackly cry breaks out.

“Oh, no,” Avery says.

“It’s fine. Let’s go brush our teeth, okay? Mommy has it.”

They brush their teeth. Steve wipes their faces down with a damp hand towel and has a moment of gratitude just touching their faces. They both look so loved, the way their eyes crinkle, the way they lift their chins, all too happy for Steve to do it. He loves these moments of being a dad most, he might say, second only to getting to talk to them, especially now they’re both holding conversation. They talk to each other none stop; Beth talks to Avery ten times as much as she does anyone else.

“Are you having a sleepover again?” Steve asks.

Beth turns to Avery pleasingly. “Can I? Please, please, please.”

“Yes!” Avery says, big sister extraordinaire. She wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders, taller, more aware of herself as she presses her cheek to Beth’s and mumbles, “Of course you can. I love you. I want us to have sleepovers every night.”

You emerge from the bedroom victorious, heading into the bathroom as he and the girls come out. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” you say.

“Gonna get Beth changed.”

“Okay, I put her nightie on the foot of her bed earlier.”

It’s routine but not without enjoyment. He makes sure they’re both comfortable in the night's sleepwear and takes care of their hair, before giving Avery’s room a quick half-clean and shaking out the sheets on her bed. Avery has the second biggest bedroom, though Bethie’s is nothing to turn your nose up at, and it gets Steve thinking as they climb up into Avery’s single bed.

“I think it’s good for you guys to keep your separate rooms for now,” Steve says tentatively, “but what do you think about sharing?”

The plan was that Dove and Wren would share, but if Avery and Beth are getting along so well, it might not hurt to ask.

Beth gasps. “Our bedrooms?”

“Like, you and Avery could both sleep in here. You have a bunk bed, or we could get you a big one to share, and you could share teddies.”

“I don’t want to share my teddies,” Avery says.

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you.” Steve squints at them both. “Bad idea?”

“I want to share,” Beth says immediately.

Avery has a better understanding of what that will mean. “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “Your rooms are yours, okay? Maybe we can just get you a bigger bed anyways, Ave. You’re so tall now, in a couple of years you’ll be ten feet tall and we’ll have to bend you in half to get you to school.”

This is the funniest thing a man could say, apparently —both Beth and Avery burst into girly giggles that ring down the landing. Beth sounds like she might be sick. She laughs so much, falling into Avery’s side as her big sister says, “Dad, that’s silly!”

“I can show you, if you want. We’ll practise making you into an Avery flavour pretzel, c’mere.”

She squeals and climbs over Beth’s legs to huddle in the corner of her bed. Steve doesn’t so much as touch her legs and she’s laughing again, panicked, hyper laughter like she can’t decide if she wants to be folded or not. He presses his finger over his smile. “Shh, shh, we can’t wake the babies.”

“Sorry,” she laughs.

“My fault. Don’t be sorry.” He gives her leg a squeeze. “How about we start to tuck you in, girls? Do we have everything we need?”

Beth wants a few things from her own bed, but besides that, they’re ready. Well, they’re supposed to be ready, but Steve wound them up and it’s his own fault, he can’t even complain when they beg him to watch a movie. What’s the harm? he decides, turning on Avery’s TV and pushing their favourite tape into the VHS player.

“The effect FernGully has on the new generation is amazing,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’ve changed into pyjama pants Steve’s sure you’ve had since you met him and a tank top with straps falling down your shoulders. He wants to pull them back over the curve of your shoulder, but he’s trying to be less smothering.

He fluffs the pillows behind the girls’ backs. “It’s the boy. What’s his name? Dennis? Daniel?”

“Neither.” You put a fallen teddy back on the bed and turn on Avery’s star-shaped night light before flicking off the big light above. The TV glows green on their legs.

“Gonna lie down?” Steve says, gentler now, easing them in.

Avery flops back. Beth curls in on her side, and it reminds Steve of you and him. He can sleep any which way. You’re slightly more particular, but you’re happier curled on to him. He really loves how close they are as sisters, and he has to give Avery some credit, because while Beth is exceedingly easy to love, she’s a clinger, she worships her big sister, which must get heavy from time to time.

Avery pulls the blankets up over them before Steve can do it himself. He sighs, tucking them both in. Blankets pushed gently under their sides, hair brushed back from their little faces, he says, “Love you, Ave. Love you, Beth,” kissing their foreheads in swift succession. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Love you, daddy,” they say at the same time.

You touch his arm gently before leaning in for your own kisses. You’re slower than he’d been, turning their faces in your hand one after the other to place identical kisses on their cheeks. “Love you, sweetheart,” you say to Avery, and, “Love you, baby,” you say to Beth. Steve holds your back as you do. “Have good dreams, okay? And don’t mess with the TV. One movie tonight is enough, you’ll wake up with sore eyes.”

He steals another kiss from both of them and then you’re closing the door behind you, the house much darker and quieter than it had been only ten minutes previous.

“You want a glass of water?” Steve says.

You catch his hand. “I got you one.”

Neither you nor Steve bother with anything but bed. He draws back the blankets and you climb in, only stopping momentarily to make sure that Wren’s alright in her crib. You curl in the middle of the bed and wait for Steve to force his way beneath you, which he does, your face resting on his shoulder, your leg stretched across his. Your hip is a lump in the blankets. He lets his hand fall atop it, whistling a tired breath through his teeth.

“Mm,” you agree, stretching out, curling in tighter.

“I know,” he says. Can’t forget his best girl, can’t not think about how much he loves you when it’s you and him alone. Mostly. “You alright?”

“Fine. Tireder than I thought.” Your eyes close, lashes brushing his chest. “H?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine, honey. Was just asking you,” he mumbles. His pillow feels like a cloud beneath his head, the mattress even better, and the sheets are a brushed cotton that’s amazingly soft on his skin.

He turns his nose down onto you for a not so secret sniff.

“Feels too good to be true.”

“My turn tonight,” he says.

“No, baby, it’s my turn.”

“That’s fine.” He’s not as tired as you, or at least not half as achy. If Wren wakes up crying (not definitely going to happen) or Dove has a late night startle (even less likely, though not impossible), he’ll take the burden tonight. “I wanted babies and I got ‘em.”

“I want them too,” you say.

“Of course you do,” he says, rubbing your forehead with the tip of his nose affectionately. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Less when they wake me up,” you joke.

Steve feels up your side to your shoulder for a sleepy cuddle. You don’t realise how soft you can be, how warm you are pressed against him like this, how grateful he is to hold you. Maybe you can read his mind, or maybe as just pure evidence of such a feat, you cup his upper arm in your hand and begin to draw shapes over his skin, breaking the pattern with fleeting scratches. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, honey. I’m sure. You go to sleep now, okay? It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he whispers tenderly. “You don’t have anywhere to be.”

“‘Cept here,” you whisper back.

“Love you.” A brush of his lips to your eyebrow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. He swears he’s gonna stay up for a bit and count your eyelashes or something, maybe pen you a love poem, write a note about your lips and how they pout when you’re nearly sleeping, but he forgets to when you press your face into the curve of his neck and kiss it clumsily. You fall asleep at the same time, the girls laughing in whispers just a few feet away behind the wall.

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ikarakie · 1 year

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what if they won? what if steve was trying to get the injured eddie out of the upside down as the gates were sewing themselves back up again? what if he knew that not everyone could get out safely, so he sends robin and nancy through. then he sends them eddie and hoists dustin after him and by the time everyone else is through, he knows there's no time.

dustin screams. he curses him out and sobs as the gate closes between them. steve promises it'll be fine, just take care of eddie, he'll be fine, but they both know he can't know that. robin looks so betrayed, so heartbroken, he can't bear to meet her eyes. just looks to the floor and tries to tune out their pleads until the gate's shut for good and he's all alone.

maybe he hadn't really thought it through. just figured his chances were better on this side than trying to squeeze through an actively closing gate and possibly being torn in half between worlds. decided that, out of all of them, he was the one who deserved to go back the least. they all had families that actually cared, that were waiting for them. they had each other, and soon enough they'd forget about him. it was all for the best.

but it still hurt. he still sat in the upside down version of eddie's trailer and wept. wished to tell dustin he loved him like a little brother, wished to kiss robin on her head one more time, wished to know if max was okay, wished that he and eddie could've become real, proper friends.

wished to know if there was something else eddie had wanted to tell him before they split off. if he'd misread things, especially after he'd pushed so hard for him and nancy to get back together. but none of that mattered anymore, because he was stuck here now.

after a few hours of crying and wallowing he gets his ass up and decides he's gonna at least try to survive for a while. he decides to stay in eddie's trailer. doesn't feel like he could make it to his own house, and doesn't even think he wants to. though he does trek to the nearest convenience store (and cries there, too, because he remembers bringing max and the kids here for snacks so many times). picks up whatever non-perishable food he can carry and then holes up.

he thinks of little will byers. cries some more, for him. so small, all alone in this place. how strong he was, how he was braver than steve ever would be, even at his young age. thinks he'd like to tell him that, if he ever could.

he's not sure how long passes. maybe days, maybe weeks. not like it's easy to tell how time goes down here. he would say he lost hope, but he never really had any hope to lose. he never intended for anyone to come and get him, made his peace with the fact he'd die here when he watched the ceiling gate close back up again. it's pathetic, how he mopes around and sits in a single spot for days on end. staring at the walls, not moving a muscle.

that's how she finds him. when he hears the door to the trailer jiggle, he just sort of thinks: ah, this is it. something's come for me. wonders if his parents will come to his funeral, if he even gets one.

it slams open. he doesn't even turn his head, doesn't want to know what it is that'll have him. just closes his eyes and waits, listens as it quietly comes towards him. crouches between his legs and- and takes his hands- what-

"steve." he opens his eyes and the floodgates start up again because it's el. her hair's buzzed again, which breaks his heart because he'd been the one to show her how to take care of it when she was growing it out. knew how proud she was of how long it'd gotten. but she's smiling so brightly, like she's won the lottery.

"el?" he asks, and he's shocked at how broken he sounds. "why are you here?"

"i have come to take you home." she says, rather matter of factly, leaving exactly zero room for argument. there's a fierce determination in her eyes, and she squeezes both of his hands.

but it's so dangerous here, he wants to say, you could've gotten hurt. why go through all of that for me?

and maybe she's been hiding mind reading powers from them, because she adds, "everyone misses you. i would have come sooner, but it took a while to get back to hawkins." then, she smiles. "i think they would have found a way even if i didn't, though."

it's like it all hits him at once. they've missed him. they've all been... looking for ways to come get him, this whole time. however long it's been. they didn't just forget about him like he wanted expected. the very idea suddenly seems so silly.

he takes a shaky breath. "well, in that case, let's not keep them waiting, yeah?" she smiles, big and happy, and nods.

part 2

#PART 2 EDDIE POV COMING SOON #stranger things #prompt #steve harrington #imagine #steddie #stranger things prompt #eddie munson #steddie prompt #steve and eddie #steddie fic #steddie hc #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington ficlet #steve and el

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rainylana · 11 months

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“It’s time to go to the doctor, baby.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: an evening at steve’s takes a turn for the worst.

warnings: undiagnosed bipolar, disassociation, depression, language. i have bipolar so this is my experience, it might be different for anyone else so please bare that in mind. it can vary from person to person. i hope this reaches the right audience. having bp is life altering, but we get through it! you’re not alone <3

You only went because you knew how excited Eddie was to see his friends, and you had been too, but when you woke up, you knew it was going to be another one of those days. Something was wrong with you. You didn’t know what, but you knew it was bad. Your body was changing and not for the better. You were too scared to go to the doctor, petrified of what could potentially be wrong with you. Your worst fear was finding out maybe you had cancer or some life threatening disease.

Eddie knew to some degree that you were suffering, but you didn’t let on how much it bothered you. As far as he knew, you were just depressed, in a phase that you would eventually get out of. Neither of you knew how serious it actually was. All day you’d done your best to keep your head high and a smile on your face, and you’d done very well considering.

You were hanging out at Steve’s watching the new Friday the 13th, both Robin and Dustin where there. You tried your best to pay attention to the screen in front of you, but you couldn’t remember what had even happened in the previous scene. Eddie was to your left, hand on your leg, and Dustin was to your right munching on popcorn.

You felt so drained, but not like a tired kind of drained, the worst type of exhaustion you could ever imagine. It was like being run over by ten trains, thrown into a volcano and being punched by a wwe wrestler. That kind of exhaustion. The kind where all you wanted to do was lay on the floor, despite the fact the room was full of people. You couldn’t pay attention to the tv, you kept forgetting what was happening. You didn’t even feel like your body was present, your mind somewhere off far away in wonderland or oz.

It scared you when this happened. Eddie’s hand on your leg felt fuzzy and unreal, Dustin’s shoulder that brushed against yours felt nonexistent. You felt nonexistent. You felt as if your soul was suspended in the air and you were looking down at your body. But how could you explain that to Eddie? He’d think you were crazy, surely! So you suffered in silence.

This had been going on for almost six months. The only person who knew was Eddie. He’d been trying to convince you to go to the doctor to get out on some sort of medication for depression, but you felt ridiculous. It surely had to be all in your head. But tonight, it was starting to take it’s toll on you, the exhaustion.

You felt this overwhelming amount of dread cover your body, like a dark cloudy blanket that dampened your mood like rain. You wanted so badly to cry, but you couldn’t muster up the tears.

“Snack break, anyone?” Steve asked, pausing the movie with the remote.

“Got any of those nacho cheese chips?” Eddie patted your leg.

“You mean doritos?” Dustin laughed, giving him a sideways glance.

All three of the boys laughed and ventured off to the kitchen, leaving you sit in your silence. It felt so good. The tv off, only a flicker or two of static. You felt your brain relax, and you allowed your tears to fall. Your breath hitched in your throat and your face crumpled together. You covered your mouth so no one could hear you, your fingernails digging into your lips.

It took you over, and even though you were sitting on a perfectly good couch, the floor was just calling your name. You crawled off the couch, sinking down to the cold, hardwood floor and curling into a tight ball. Your body relaxed into it’s dead weight, and you let out a whimper that made you shiver.

Their voices sounded underwater, their footsteps vibrating the ground beneath your ear, sounding like loud thumps. You could hear their laughter and giggles, high fives, all muzzled and fuzzy like the tv screen. You could hear Eddie’s voice get closer, high pitched and alarmed. You felt his hands grip your body, trying to pull you up off the floor, but your dead weight wouldn’t allow it. You blinked tiredly, not wanting to communicate with him. You could hear Dustin and Steve come closer.

“Baby,” Eddie shook you, face close to yours so he could search your eyes. “Y/n, what happened! What’s wrong?” He panicked, looking you over for any injuries.

He frowned at the sight of your tears, quiet ones that rolled over your nose. “Sweetheart? Talk to me, angel. Are you alright?”

His palms swiped your cheek to collect your tears, petting your hair and trying his best to lift you off the floor.

“Tired.” You managed to mumble, crying lightly with your hands tucked to your chest. “I’m so tired, Eddie.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Is she okay?”

“What happened?”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

He ignored the panicked voices of Steve and Dustin, holding his hand to shush them. “Tired?” He said gently, lifting you up into his lap. “Why are you tired, honey?”

You shrugged your shoulders, moving your eyes upward so you could see him. “Something’s wrong with me.”

It clicked to him then what you were referring to, and his face dropped, leaning his forehead to yours as he sighed deeply. “It’s time to go to the doctor, baby.”

You didn’t argue this time, nodding gently. “Yeah.”

He gave you a kiss on your cheek. “Wanna go home? You want me to carry you?”

You allowed him to lift you up in his arms, burying your face in his chest as he opted to leave your shoes at the door. He’d come back and get them tomorrow. He gave a farewell and an apology to his friends, saying he’d explain later as he took you out to his van.

He held your hand on the way home with you laying on the seat, head in his lap. When he got you both home, he carried you inside and laid you on your bed, helping you out of your clothes and into your pajamas. He tried to get you to talk, to open up, but you couldn’t muster up much. You kept saying you needed to rest, you needed quiet.

Eddie was as scared as you to find out what the doctor would have to say.

#lana’s shit post #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson angst

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steves-strapcollection · 11 months

Note

47. “When I picture myself happy… It’s with you.” 💕💕

YES! I'm still working on asks from THIS ask game, and I absolutely will be happy to receive more (since I'm using these prompts as exercises to write short shit without context to overcome my pathological need to write So Much Context)

[ NOW ON AO3 ]

There was something distinctly heartbreaking about playing wingman for the guy who made you believe in the entire concept of soulmates, Eddie thinks as he leans against the trunk of Steve Harrington's Beemer. It's not even that he thinks they're soulmates, but what the dude has with Robin is really convincing. And maybe Eddie is pretty sure Steve is his soulmate, even platonically, even if that thought makes his pining ass want to vomit.

He refuses to pine after a straight man for eternity, and yet...

What's stupid is that Eddie is a shit wingman, so it doesn't even make sense that Steve keeps taking him out with him to bars and shit. Half the women that wanted to even approach Steve were afraid of Eddie, and the other half were fucking mean to him which lost Steve's favour immediately which... hey, Eddie couldn't complain too much about that.

But still, that meant that Steve was striking out every single time and Eddie was feeling bad about it because he was happy about it. He got to spend a whole evening with Steve and sometimes they would spend the night together because Eddie's place was closer and Steve was too tired to drive all the way home. Eddie could pretend this was a real date, that Steve Harrington was dating him.

Jesus H. Christ, he was pathetic.

Steve sighs next to him. "Why is this so hard?" he asks, and at Eddie's questioning look, Steve elaborates, "Dating, getting laid, whatever you wanna call it?"

Eddie huffs a laugh, and shrugs. "Well, I mean, I think I've got it worse in that department, Stevie," he mutters, taking a drag of his cigarette. Steve's known about him being gay for months now, which makes it even more wild that the man still shared a bed with him and took him out to bars almost every Friday night. Tossing his cigarette onto the asphalt and stubbing it out with his boot, Eddie asks, "What are you even looking for?"

Steve pauses, staring at the ground. "Someone who makes me happy, who gets me, who wants to be with me, the real me, y'know?" he asks without even looking at Eddie, which is good because Eddie's sure the way his heart was breaking would be visible from fucking outer space.

Me, that's me, Stevie. Choose me. That's what Eddie wants to say, to shout and scream and even stomp his feet a bit because it's not fucking fair. He's all those things and more and he wanted to be that for Steve.

"Think you might be putting too high of standards too early on these poor girls, Stevie," Eddie laughs instead, grinning crookedly over at Steve and stopping short at the intense gaze being leveled back at him.

"See, that's the thing, Eds. I'm starting to think I've been looking for that in all the wrong places," Steve says seriously, shifting so he's standing in front of Eddie.

And Eddie is sure he's dreaming. He's actually fast asleep and he's going to wake up literally any second and this was all just some terrible dream thought up by his awful, gay, pining, stupid brain. Because it actually sounds like Steve, the love of Eddie's life, is about to confess something huge to him.

"What makes you say that?" Eddie croaks out before clearing his throat, glancing at Steve's lips before meeting his eyes.

"I've always had these big dreams about my life, what it'd look like if I wanted to be happy, and before I always thought of these grand things that involve a wife and a whole pack of kids," Steve says and Eddie feels his already shattered heart break even more.

Eddie manages to laugh, though, even if what he really wants is to crawl into bed and cry. "Okay, so now you're raising the bar even higher on these poor girls?" Eddie asks, shoving Steve's shoulder with his fist.

Steve isn't swayed. "You don't get it, Eds, that's not what I want anymore," he says, running his hands back through his hair. "That isn't what I imagine when I think about being happy."

"Then what do you imagine?" Eddie asks because, apparently, he's a huge fucking masochist.

"Eds... you're really going to make me say it out loud?" Steve asks, almost teasingly, and then he steps just a little bit closer.

Eddie's heart stops, once again struck by how not real this has to be. "Yeah, I'm gonna need you to say it with your outside voice, Stevie," Eddie says. "I'm not a mind reader."

Steve sighs heavily and puts his hands on his hips as he visibly considers his next words carefully. Something comes over his expression that takes Eddie's breath away, something fierce and brave and beautiful, and now the full force of it was turning on him when Steve's eyes meet his.

"When I picture myself happy," Steve starts, stepping close enough that the heat radiating off of him begins to warm Eddie's chilled skin. Steve lifts a hand to cup Eddie's jaw as he says, "It's with you, Eds."

Eddie blinks owlishly at Steve. "What?"

"I think I'm--I've been into you for months, and when you came out to me I got so hopeful, like I actually maybe stood a chance, which is obviously stupid. Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're into me but still," Steve rambles a bit as Eddie tries to form a coherent thought. Steve chews on his bottom lip and asks, "Eds? What do you--is this, like, okay?"

Eddie slaps himself in the face, just hard enough to sting, and Steve jumps.

"Eddie, what the hell?" Steve asks, bewildered.

"Sorry, just checking that I'm not dreaming. Pinching wouldn't've been enough to wake me up from a dream this good," Eddie breathes, twisting his hand in the front of Steve's polo and pulling him close. "You mean that, Stevie? You want me?"

"More than I've wanted anything in my life," Steve confesses easily, and he stumbles when Eddie gently shoves him back.

"Then take me home and we can make out about it in private, yeah?" Eddie suggests, grinning as he scrambles to get into the passenger seat of the Beemer.

When Steve gets into the car, he's grinning, and Eddie leans across the center console. "One kiss for the road?" he asks, batting his lashes up at Steve.

"Absolutely," Steve agrees, and then their mouths slotted together perfectly, like they were made to be kissing each other all along.

And yeah, Eddie was really starting to believe in soulmates actually...

Thank you again for sending me this ask!!! Send me more of these fun prompts? Also, if you like my writing, please consider checking out writing blog -> @gerrystamour

#steddie #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #gerry writes #gerry drabbles

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stevieschrodinger · 6 months

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Part Two

Part One

Eddie sits in his van, and he cries about it. He cries so much the already tangled mess of yarn in his hands becomes nothing but a colourful blur. He knows a lot of this is hormones; his neglected Omega falling further and further into depression.

If he neglects his Omega much more, another heat spent alone might actually kill him. Eddie vaguely recognises he's far enough gone that simply not waking up one day sounds kind of nice.

He bought the most expensive yarn he could afford. He knew it wasn't good enough for a pups blanket, but he just couldn't afford the nicer stuff. Yarn is fucking expensive.

So yeah, he got the cheaper stuff, attracted to the colours as much as anything, even knowing he'd have to double it over to make it thick enough to knit. And that was how the trouble started because doubling it over meant unspooling the whole thing.

And now it's just another thing Eddie has fucked up.

He's not a good Omega, he knows that, he's been told it his entire life; too brash, too loud, too imaginative, not good at cooking and cleaning and organising and all the stuff Omega are supposed to naturally be good at.

Which if he didn't care, then it wouldn't matter, but Eddie wants a pup. Wants one like it's a burning urge inside him. Wants to carry one, wants to make another person who's a part of him. His Omega whines and whines and whines and Eddie wants it. Wants it enough that he tries to be a good Omega; he just always fucks it up.

And that makes it so much worse.

Some of the Omega in senior year are already mated, already walking around with bites proudly displayed on their necks. Fancy Omega with good breeding and nice families who have chosen Alphas for them. Which, sure, Eddie's not sure he'd like to have an Alpha picked for him, but to have a pup of his own? Eddie would put up with a lot.

One girl is already pregnant, everyone congratulating her and celebrating with her; as soon as she started to show Eddie found he couldn't even look at her any more, the envy was eating him alive.

But it'll never be for him.

They're supposed to make pup blankets in Omega class and Eddie can't even afford the fluffy yarn. He's already failed.

And then Eddie nearly shits himself when someone bangs on the driver side window. He's been ugly crying, and he tries to wipe his eyes and snotty nose to see who it is, winding the window down. Steve Harrington; fucking wonderful.

"Hey, man, look, are you, okay?"

"Fine," Eddie answers, clearly not at all fine, one hand smeared in snot and the other wound so tight in the fucked up yarn his fingers are turning white.

Steve sees it, "do you, want a hand with that?"

"I don't think there's any saving it." Eddie says, defeated, but it was unexpectedly decent of Harrington to offer so he tacks on, "thanks."

"I was just here, late, you know, shooting some practice hoops, maybe if we go in the gym we could spread it out, maybe?"

Eddie just stares at him for a minute, because this is the nicest anyone's been to Eddie for ages and it's coming from and Alpha which just makes it that much worse so Eddie just...nods. Finds himself following Harrington into the gym.

They work in silence for a while, and at Steve's suggestion, they do end up cutting the yarn once to make it easier.

"Thankyou."

"No worries man, I knew we could do it, what's it for?"

"Omega studies," Eddie mumbles at the gym floor, "pup blanket"

"Ah, right, that's cool, Why'd you pick it? I like the colours."

And in what universe is Steve Harrington making idle conversation with Eddie Munson, "was all I could afford," Eddie admits, shame faced.

"They make you buy it?" Steve's frowning, "even though it's for a grade?"

Eddie just nods, and then shrugs.

"Oh, well what did your Alpha think?"

Eddie snorts, can't help it, the ridiculousness of it, "I don't have an Alpha," Eddie declares, much more loudly than he'd really ment to.

"Oh. I just figured...I mean you're so pretty. You must get plenty of offers."

Eddie just...stares at Steve. He must have fallen and hit his head, surely. It's the only explanation for what's happening here, Eddie laughs again, "sure, if I want to get on my knees in the bathroom." Which is true, Eddie gets plenty of offers, just not any he'd like to participate in. He's going to loose his virginity to an Alpha who cares for him, in a nest that Alpha built, even if it kills him.

Which it just might, if he goes through another heat alone. He sees the way Wayne looks at him, the worry in his eyes. He knows he's not well, but he's just going to ignore it. There's nothing else to be done.

"Oh," Steve says, he looks uncomfortable but then he ploughs on anyway, "you do smell...well, I...I can tell you're maybe not doing so hot."

Great. Time for Eddie to fucking bail on this. He's hit his limit on Steve Harrington pity for the day.

It's the next day when Eddie finds a paper bag hanging from the windshield of his van. There's five skeins of yarn inside; dark blue, a little sparkly, and the softest thing Eddie's ever felt. He looks around to see who could have done this; across the car park Steve Harrington gives him a shy, two finger wave.

#eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #alpha steve harrington #omega eddie because he's so pretty #omega eddie munson #pre getting together #suicidal ideation #ao3 author #ao3 writer #fan fiction #my fic #ficlet #knitting

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bleedingoptimism · 11 months

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𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆

Robin laughs as she stares fondly at her friends. It’s been a slow day at Family Video, with people deeming it too hot outside to be locked up watching movies.

Except for Eddie, who showed up early in the afternoon but then never actually left because the AC was having a good day, and since it was nice inside the store, he decided to stay with them until the sun was a little less punishing.

She’s listening to Eddie explain to Steve why it's imperative he reads The Hobbit instead of just watching the 1977 movie, like Dustin suggested, saying he needs the whole experience to really appreciate it.

Steve is giggling, like actually giggling right now, looking intently at him as Eddie talks and gestures and openly flirts with him.

And as Robin is watching them something suddenly clicks for her and she thinks ‘oh shit’.

She carefully inspects the way her best friend gazes at Eddie, the way he tilts his head, looking confused but flustered at the same time whenever Eddie leans his head towards him, smiling and lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

When Eddie finally leaves half an hour before closing time Steve sighs and smiles like a dingus at the door for 30 seconds after, and Robin wonders why hasn’t he told her about it but then she realizes maybe he doesn't know.

“Steve…” she starts, trying to figure out the best way to ask this, “you’d tell me if you really liked someone right? Really liked them? You’d tell me, right?”

Steve looks at her confused for a second before understanding dawns on him and he looks self-conscious, so Robin keeps talking,

“You’re my other half, we tell each other everything,” She tries not to sound crushed because judging by his reaction Steve knows exactly what she’s talking about and he didn't trust her with this secret, but she fails spectacularly to keep her voice steady.

Steve looks at her, his face morphs from guilt to sorrow and his eyes are suddenly glassy, he blinks and a tear falls down his cheek. And Robin freaks the fuck out.

“Wow, wow, wow, wow, it's okay, it's okay.”

She hugs him, crushes him against her, and puts his head on her shoulder, one hand stays on his hair, while the other draws little circles at the center of his back in soothing motions.

Steve breathes deeply and calms down, he doesn’t start crying but it comes close.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells her, lifting his head to look at her. Robin doesn't say anything, just hums, wiping that lonely tear off his cheek.

“I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” she says not unkindly. “I’d tell you I get why you didn’t, but, it’s me. It’s us,” she grabs his shoulders and squeezes. “You should’ve told me so I could be there for you.”

“I was scared. I am scared. I'm scared saying out loud will make it real.”

Robin drops her hands from his shoulders all the way to his hands and takes them. “I know, but,” she sighs and smiles at him moving his hands with hers from side to side.

“When I told you about me it was scary, yes. But it also felt good! Like, a weight I didn't know I had been carrying all my life was lifted, and you made me feel safe that day and every day after.”

He smiles shyly at her, and she keeps talking. “When we talk about girls and you ask for my opinion and we joke about it and stuff, you make me feel loved and like there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Her voice breaks out of nowhere and Steve hugs her again, and this time he doesn't let go.

Robin puts her chin on his shoulder and slowly sways them from side to side. “This might be shitty of me, but I'm actually excited I get to be here for you too.”

Steve laughs brokenly and whispers, “Yeah?”

She breaks their hug and nods at him, smiling. Steve sighs again, smiling sadly back at her,

“I’m sorry I didn't say something sooner.”

“It's okay. I’m sorry I pushed.”

Steve smiles again, contentedly this time but something flashes through his eyes as he frowns going back to looking scared,

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Not really,” she lies, “It’s just cause I know you so well.”

He looks so relieved she feels bad about her little white lie so she amends, “Anyways, you are not more obvious than him, that’s for sure.”

“What?!”

𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱

part 1: ❤️

part 2: 🧡

part 3: 💛

part 4: 💚

part 5: 💙

part 6: 💜

part 7: 💗

☕🥐💕

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #i wrote something

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eddiemuonson · 7 months

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Taste this Moment - Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Summary: You wake up next to Steve after having too much booze, without any memory of the night before. You have a secret behind your excuse of telling people you were a virgin.

Warnings: Slight mention of sexual abuse, smut, flufiness, cursing. 18+ DNI

Word count: 3.9k

You woke up with a crushing headache, the pain was pounding all over your head as you tried to adjust your sight to the light coming from the window.

You had just realized you were laying on a bed that wasn't yours, along with someone who seemed to be deep into their sleep on your side.

There was a party the other night you went to with your friends, everyone included besides the kids, obviously. You knew you had a lot of alcohol, but now you weren't sure how you ended up there.

Only then you noticed you were wearing your lingerie and nothing else, the body next to you moved and you realized it was Steve Harrington.

Oh shit, what have you done? You let a groan out of your mouth as Steve uncovers himself, leaving his bare hairy chest on sight.

He was only wearing his boxers and it came to you the only possible answer to that was something you were definitely not expecting to be.

If it happened, how would you feel knowing your first time was with Steve and, on top of that, you couldn't remember shit?

You looked at each other trying to collect memories from the night before but it was just all blank. Fuck. You let out an ironic chuckle and he raised his eyebrow to you.

"Did we have sex? Because I don't remember a thing. And shit, this is beyond fucked up", you say as you start looking for any piece of clothing only to find a t-shirt that wasn't yours.

"I'm not sure", he said as he gets up and starts looking for his own clothes.

"Okay Harrington, but what could've made us do that besides the alcohol?".

"Uh, ouch?", he looked at you and mourned. "Am I not good enough for that?"

"I didn't mean it that way. I want to know what lead us to Nancy's bedroom", you couldn't find any pants in there so you went to the wardrobe, but you didn't want to steal them.

"This isn't her room", his tone could barely be heard and you scoffed.

"So we fucked. In a bedroom that isn't hers. What else?", you try to stay focused on not snapping.

"I don't think this not being her bedroom is the issue here, (Y/N). Now, how are you so sure we had sex?", he fixed his hair in front of the mirror and stared at you through it.

You were almost naked, sure. But you and Steve didn't even have a thing, you never kissed. You never even had a date. You were just friends, not that close, even.

Why, on earth, would you have sex in someone's bedroom either way?

"Our clothes are missing, for starters. We had a lot of alcohol, most people become vulnerable when they drink a lot", you explained.

"I'm pretty sure I would remember having sex. I always wear protection", Harrington sounded like he was somewhat hurt.

He started looking for his wallet but his jeans weren't even there. Maybe he was actually making a good point.

"So tell me. Why would it be so terrible to have sex with me?", he asked as he sat on the bed.

"It's because I've never actually had sex before", you couldn't even look at him. You thought he would laugh at you, make fun of you.

"Ohhh", he responded. "Well, if it's any comfort, sometimes first times aren't even that good".

"That doesn't help shit, Steve!". You worshiped your body too much to fuck someone else, or do that anywhere at any time.

"Shit. I'm sorry, really. I don't think we really did it", he made sure he was comforting you.

You were about to cry. You were too sentimental, you didn't want your first time to be like that. He isn't the problem, the situation is.

"Promise you'd wear protection?", you ask shyly. He gives you an honest chuckle.

"I always do. That's not an issue for me", he reassured you.

Somehow you found yourself feeling softness for him, for the way he usually treats other girls and the way he was being gentle to you.

"I'm sorry I overreacted", you bit your lower lip and he gave you a side smile.

"That's fine. I understand how people care for their first time", Steve rested his hand on your shoulder.

After a while you found your clothes drying in the backyard, which made you both confused, actually. Nancy explained you both and other people jumped in the pool at some point.

You slept with your lingerie because that was the only piece of clothing that dried faster. She also told you Steve slept with you because you were feeling sick.

But still, you couldn't remember a thing from the other night. Neither did him, he just wasn't feeling sick because he was used to having a lot of alcohol.

He made a mental note to not ever drink that much anymore.

"You keep my shirt on. It looks good on you anyway", he said before you changed the fabric.

You couldn't hold a smile at him and he mirrored you.

"I'll give it back soon".

♥️♥️♥️♥️

You arrived at the Family Video holding his folded shirt and a few VHS you had rented. It was a Monday morning and the place always had a few people in.

Steve and Robin were working hard already and they barely saw you coming. But as soon as he crossed eyes with you, he made a gesture meaning he would be with you in a moment.

Harrington stood against the counter as you placed the tapes above it along with his clothing.

"Thank you. How were the movies? Did you like the teddy bears?", he asked playfully. He knew he was making an old joke.

"They're Ewoks. And Star Wars is amazing. You should watch it sometime", you laughed.

"Maybe we could make a movie night with the others and watch it", he offered.

"That sounds like a good idea", you smile.

"I was wondering if we could meet for lunch. I've got a few things I remember from the other night". Steve looked a bit shy, especially knowing how weird it was when you woke up next to each other after too much alcohol.

"Uh, I thought Nancy explained you took care of me because I was sick?", you were beyond confused.

"Yeah, you were. But there were some other things. Don't worry though, they're not about you being.. you know".

"If you say so. I'll meet you at the diner then", you smiled before waving him goodbye.

It was 20 past midday when you entered the diner and spotted him sitting on a table close to the door. He was sipping on a cup of soda as you approached him and took a seat.

Steve was actually practicing how he would start this conversation without being too invasive. His memories were a bit foggy but he remembered something really important you told him. And it was actually about your sex life.

He didn't realize he spent about a minute dozing off, only to see you snapping your fingers in front of him.

"Vecna caught you there?", you try to make a dry joke and he rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, I got carried away".

"Those bats almost ate me alive, alright?", he sounded offended but he let that go. "Look, the reason we actually woke up together was because I took you there so you could rest".

"You were really drunk, almost passing out on the toilet after you threw up, so I took you there. We were already wet from the pool so I just didn't care about the underwear, really".

You were paying attention to the details, you could barely remember anything from that night, not even vomiting your guts out from the booze.

"But when I put you in the bed, you started rambling about some guy you met in high school. I figured, since we were there alone, maybe you thought we were going to get some right there. You said he was nice to you but he.. corrupted you", Harrington were careful with the words as he tried to gather every little thing.

But for you, inside, it was like all the flashbacks from that day in middle school rushed back into your head. There was a reason you said you were a virgin to any guy you were about to get laid with.

There was a reason you were so defensive about your body when you realized you were in a bedroom with him.

And worse, you didn't remember anything. It was enough already to have been defenseless in a position you didn't want to anymore. The way that guy used to touch you made your skin crawl.

"Hey, are you okay with me telling you that? I mean, I can stop. I figure you already know what I'm talking about", Steve grabbed your hand carefully.

He was gazing at you with an intense look of compassion and it made your heart flinch. Not romantically, but because that was something you cherished about a guy.

"I, uh, I think it's fine. Did I talk about it too much?", you felt your eyes burning over the tears that wanted to fall but you held them back.

"You said he didn't take care of you. Said he made it feel like it was some kind of porno or something". Steve was an adult and that, for him, sounded pretty much like some disgusting weird kink.

Something he was never actually interested in, never actually found of. It hit you like a train wreck that you would say too much about something so personal to him, but you couldn't control the alcohol in your blood back then.

But the way he was reacting to it, and how he was talking about it made you realize he was too mature. It would actually make you feel less heavy from how you used to.

"Yeah. Gosh, that was like almost 8 years ago. I didn't tell many people about it. I went to therapy for a long time, but I guess that's something we don't get over with", you gave him a sick smile.

He was still rubbing your fingers with his thumb, just listening to you.

"You didn't seem like it. But I wasn't going to mention it to anyone either way. I just thought it would be decent if I let you know", Harrington was being such a gentleman to you and it melted you.

"Where have you been all my life, Steve?", you ask jokingly, but it catches him off guard as he smiles, shy.

"If you knew me back then, you'd see how much of a dick I was. Never to the point of being disgusting like that. But in more of a douchebag way", he responded and you both laughed.

He gave you a ride to work and it felt like the entire drive was filled with some embarrassment. It was too much of intimacy in such a short period of time there.

"Call me if you need a hero", he said before you left the car, giving you a smirk.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

You spent the entire week thinking about what in the holy hell made you remember that terrible, disgraceful day. It had distracted you most of the time, because you surely weren't intimate like that with Steve.

Maybe it was a sign of some sort of kind, maybe it was just because you can't keep your mouth shut when you drink too much. Either way, not remembering what you said gave you comfort. Because you didn't want to remember that.

You didn't want to replay it in your head again, how that day the guy you used to like made you feel like you were a playdoll. Worse than that, you didn't have a voice to stand out, so you let that happen.

It struck you how many guys you've met after that and, although they were really charming, polite and caring like Steve is, they couldn't get through you. They couldn't make themselves cross the other line, you never let them.

Maybe you shouldn't be thinking about how much you wanted to be taken care of by Harrington at that moment, but you were. You didn't give a shit if he wasn't going to make a big deal out of it, but you liked the idea.

You liked to think that, unlike you were thinking, he would definitely accept it and give you some comfort. Hell, even Eddie would, but you weren't thinking about him.

If you were to honestly give yourself to someone, maybe he was the better choice after all.

He made sure to check on you the past days, which made you feel soft for him. You laughed at your own thoughts. You never even looked at Steve that way.

When Friday came, you invited him over to have dinner and watch a movie. You were trying to introduce him to different genres and you were about to watch Lord of the Rings.

You lost track of time because you weren't actually paying any attention to the TV anymore, but you were also trying not to be too obvious.

"So that's Mordor Eddie was talking about. I had no idea he was-", Harrington cut himself as he caught you looking at him, you didn't have time to deviate. "What?", he chuckled.

"What, what?", you retorted, trying to look naive.

"Do I have something on my face?", Steve tried not to blush, because he noticed you WERE staring at him, like, deadly.

"Not that I can see". You were obviously not responding well to this. He moved his torso to face you and you started to burn.

"What happened?".

"What, can I not look?", you tried to be defensive and he smiled.

"Yeah, no, you're just looking too much", he was not cooperating. He didn't have any intention to either way. "Do you like the view at least?".

That caught you off guard and your face went as red as it could. You flushed so hard, you didn't have time to digest when he grabbed your chin.

"There's something that really gets me. It's how you always easily blush at things", he pointed out and your face started to burn. "Not that I look intensely like you do, but I notice it".

"Where are you getting at?", you question as you miscalculate his route and stares at him facing you only a few inches.

"Can I?", he whispered as he got closer to your mouth. Your entire body was now on fire and you felt your hands sweating. Holy mother of God, what is that?

Your buzzing ears didn't let you hear yourself when you agreed, but the way he tasted like beer left you lightheaded for the first few seconds. His cold tongue from the liquid explored yours and you shivered under his touch.

The hand that was once on your chin now rested against your cheek, as his other one grabbed your neck. He was definitely going to feel your skin shiver, but what the hell could you do?

Your mouths were in sync as you deepened the kiss and you couldn't express how you were feeling inside. It was obviously something you needed, mostly because you haven't kissed in a while. You just couldn't open yourself with ease for anyone.

Steve was soft, he would grasp your tongue between his teeth and roll his tongue around yours with tenderness. His cologne was beyond strong and it got stuck in your nostrils, making you crave for his taste even more.

He didn't want to rush you into anything, considering he knew your past, he didn't feel like he wanted to make you do anything unless you wanted to. But you really wanted to. You were craving for it and your core made sure you wanted it.

You started crawling above his body and sat with your legs across his, still moving your lips now feverishly. Harrington only stopped it halfway because he was surprised with your attitude.

"Are you sure?", he asked, his hands now both holding your waist. His soft brown eyes facing you with both desire and kindness. You nodded and he deepened the kiss once again.

You were the first to make him take his shirt off, still impressing you how his hairy chest was some piece of heaven. Not only did he notice you were eating him with your eyes, but he made sure to get rid of your own shirt.

The good thing about you sitting on his lap is that it was harder for him to get a boner, because you were pressing against his member.

He didn't have time to think of anything else before you snapped your lips against his again.

Steve was panting, his husky voice mumbling shy groans as you craved for each other. This time he rolled you around the floor, where your blankets were, and used his hands to travel against your warm body.

The heat between you grew alarming when you stared at his hard crotch, pressed against his jeans, begging to be loosen asap.

You grabbed it without warning and you heard him gasp against your mouth, your core flinching at his sounds.

Your soft but out of rhythm rubbing made him thrust against your hand, he was starting to lose his mind, and you noticed you didn't want this to wait any longer. You just needed to feel him, you needed to feel his warmth.

He gently stripped your sweatpants off and gave you sweet kisses on your inner thighs, across your stomach, your chest, until he reached your mouth.

You were out of breath just by the feel of his lips on you. He took his jeans off and gave you a dirty smile when he caught you looking, your cheeks were red by the sight of his cock.

You gave him a handjob before he could take his boxer off, he gasped for air as he just enjoyed your touch against his throbbing arousal, rubbing his hands against his hair.

The way he reacted to you made you feel like you were deserving, it made you feel like you were actually meaning something in this moment.

Steve wasn't a sex addict, he really enjoyed fucking, but this time with you was overwhelming, it was heart warming.

He leaned over to take your bra off and kissed you all over, nibbling on your skin as he threw the fabric away, which made you laugh. Steve was trying to make you feel comfortable, he needed to make sure you felt like you could trust him and not be afraid of him.

He didn't know your limits, he wasn't sure if he could eat your nipples like he wanted to, so he just kindly sucked on each and heard you deflate your lungs with all the air.

You arched your back when his cock rubbed against your core, both of you trying not to make obscene sounds.

"God, Steve", once again you melted down at his touch and he hummed. His tongue lingering on your nipples as he squeezed your tight harshly, his short nails digging on your skin.

When you couldn't take it anymore, you took your lingerie off while watching him do the same with his underwear after getting his wallet. Your heart fluttered at his action, it was adorable to see him show it off for you.

"Just to make sure", he stated as he started to wrap himself up. Harrington leaned on you again, placing his hard cock over your cunt, slightly spreading your slit.

"Are you okay with this?", he asked. You weren't really processing everything clearly and, again, you just nodded. "I'm not going hard on you", he warned you.

His tip gently entered your walls as you hissed against his ear. Steve didn't even want to hold back his moan as he dug into you fully. He just wasn't one to actually surpress his emotions and his vocals made sure of it.

The entire room was filled with soft noises and moans as he thrusted you kindly. Steve wanted to enjoy every inch of your core, but the pleasure of doing it so slowly actually made you flinch against him.

He let out a lout groan and it sent shivers down your spine. You couldn't remember the last time it was so delish, because you didn't want to remember the last time you actually had proper sex. It was probably just some banging out of your own frustration.

It was different with him, though. Because now that he knew about your trauma, he wouldn't want to do it roughly, he wanted you to remember his touch.

You felt like you were losing your mind with the sharp breath and the panting, your sweat mixing with his, the sound of skin on skin loudly echoing in the room.

Harrington started pounding on you faster but still wanted you to feel every inch of his cock, your walls clenching every time he would hit a spot with his tip.

He wrapped one of his hands arond yours as he kissed you, muffling his hums.

Your sloppy kisses became feral as his thrusting started to deepen and race even more. You felt your body was ready for the impact, because his skin was deliciously rubbing against your clit, your hips involuntarily thrusting against his.

"Yes, Steve", you whispered close to his ear and he hissed against your warm and sweaty skin. He held one of your thigs around his arm as he pounded on you harder.

His face was flushed, his hair was messy and sweat was dripping from his chest.

The way you looked at him was triggering enough for you to reach your release. It was ten times better than you expected, it was a out of breath climax you've never experienced before.

You buried your nails against his arm and he flinched with your touch.

"God, I'm coming", he groaned as he started to gush against himself inside you. You were both panting as Harrignton kept his cock inside of you, leaning against you just to give you a comfort kiss.

Your kiss was now passionate, slow and gentle. He rested his hands on your waist while exploring your mouth. You could still feel your cunt throbbing and you were feeling too tired from the way you were breathing.

You noticed how good his shampoo smelled and decided you could live like this forever. If you could picture a moment like that before it even happened, you wouldn't believe it would be so great like it was.

He pecked your lips before leaving your body and got rid of the protection. Before leaving, he made sure he covered your body with one of the blankets, making you smile with the action.

He only dressed his underwear and sat next to you after you put on his shirt. It's become your thing now, just wear his clothes whenever they're thrown around. He stared at you for a moment and you chuckled.

"You said it looked good on me", he nodded. Steve wrapped your neck around his arm, resting your head on his shoulder before rewinding the movie so you could actually watch it.

When you invited him over, you weren't sure he would want the same thing as you. But it turns out that, even if he didn't, now he would want more of that. And not because he feels sorry for you, but because he has a soft spot for you.

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

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morganbritton132 · 1 year

Note

I need to see more of Steve "on the good stuff" because he'd 100% flirt heavily with Eddie, ask if he's single and then start crying when Eddie says he's married

The first thing Steve does when his eyes snap open post-opt is look at the blurry white walls and the blurry white ceiling and mumble to himself, “Not again.”

The first person he sees after his surgery is Robin because as soon as he made a sound, she thrusted herself into his line of sight. She is all hands as she rambles on about where he’s at, why he’s there, that it’s definitely, one hundred and ten percent, I promise not an underground bunker ran by Soviet spies. She says that he’s safe, that he broke his ankle and had to have surgery, and that he shouldn’t hit anybody, “Did you know that they have that in your file? They put that you hit people, Steve. Babes, that’s such bad marketing.”

“Robbie,” Is the only thing Steve took from her rambling but that makes Robin beam, so he smiles too. His mind is still sleepy and hazy from the anesthesia, but he tries to make sense of all of her words and concludes, “They stole my ankle?”

Eddie steps in before Robin’s got him upside down and confused, and squeezes the hand that he’s been holding for the last hour. Eddie presses a kiss to Steve’s knuckles and Steve looks instantly offended, yanking his hand away, “Cuse me.”

“One day,” Eddie says, fishing out Steve’s glasses case from his pocket, “I might be offended that you never recognize me.”

“Munson?” Steve asked, blinking at him when Eddie slid his glasses on his face. You can tell the exact moment that Eddie came into focus for Steve because he takes a sharp intake of breath. “Eddie.”

“The one and only, big boy.”

Eddie’s still leaning over the guardrail so he’s close enough for Steve to touch, so Steve does. With all the grace of someone who just wake up from surgery, Steve puts both hands on Eddie’s face and pulls him closer. He’s just looking at him all drugged and mystified, “Wow, you’re gorgeous.”

Robin snorts but Eddie’s focused on Steve. He’s got a blush working up his face but he’s got the biggest grin on his face too, “You think so?”

“Great smile, great hair,” Steve tells him, touching just the ends of Eddie’s smile. “Kind eyes. Wow, you’re – you… I think I love you.”

“That’s good,” Eddie laughs, pulling Steve’s hands off his face so he can hold them. “That’s pretty good news actually.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re married, Stevie.”

“We’re married!”

The thing with waiting for anesthesia to wear off is that things do not stick in your brain. They spend the next hour or so reminding Steve why he’s at a hospital, that Dustin’s safe, that the doctors did not steal his ankle, and that yes, he is married. Steve is shocked and amazed every single time.

#it does not end up on Tiktok but it does circle the party group chat #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson tiktok saga #robin buckley

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livwritesstuff · 2 months

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Angsty question- feel free to ignore if you want.

Historically, dads yelling has always been a very not-good sound. Especially to girls.

What happened the first time Steve or Eddie (or both) yelled? Not even at the girls; it could’ve been a heated argument they were having.

How old were the girls? What did they do? How did Steve and Eddie feel? What did they do?

oooh okay i definitely took my time mulling over this one bc i wanna make sure i’m getting my wording right

(and reading this back i’m realizing i kind of don’t really answer your actual question hope that’s okay lol)

I think a really important facet of this is that (in this ‘verse) Steve is a licensed and practicing trauma counselor. Not only does he know how harmful (and counter-productive) yelling can be, he also knows all sorts of other methods for communication that are just better.

It’s not that the girls don’t ever piss him off or do stupid shit and get in trouble – he just knows way more effective ways to get them to realize oh shit, I fucked up than by yelling at them.

(I think if anything, he could be a stress-yeller, but by the time he and Eddie start fostering kids, he’s been through so much shit that he doesn’t really ever hit that stress threshold anymore).

And then, I think with Eddie, he’s still as dramatic as ever even in middle-aged adulthood, and I think he gets loud about things pretty much regardless of the emotion behind it, so the girls aren’t super phased by it if/when he does get loud from a place of anger or frustration. I also feel like Eddie tends to defer to Steve when it comes to the heavier parts of parenthood, precisely because he knows that Steve is coming at it from a place of clinical expertise in a way that he himself isn’t. Steve isn’t a yeller, so neither is Eddie. Maybe if Steve had been more inclined to yell, Eddie would be too.

Same thing applies with Steve and Eddie’s communication with each other – they don’t really get into screaming matches over shit, but when they do argue or have disagreements or conflict or whatever, they get mean, and I think this is where there could be some problems.

Like, they can throw some serious barbs at each other when they want to (and they’ve known each other for a long time so they’ve got plenty of ammo), and when the girls are little, it’s easy to forget in the heat of the moment that they actually can understand what their dads are saying.

Hence why, a few hours after an argument (about nothing – they were just both in pissy moods at the same time, and with Hazel not even five months old yet they’re not really getting much sleep which doesn’t help things at all), Steve finds three-year-old Robbie crying in her room, and when he asks her what’s wrong, she whimpers, “Moe said you and Daddy are gonna get a divorce.”

And, fuck, Moe is only six, and Steve didn’t know that she even knew what divorce was (though it’s possible he and Eddie had gossiped a little too close to the sun about one of their neighbors’ divorce earlier that same week, so maybe that one's on them), and the notion that her brain had been able to make that connection from the things she'd heard earlier had Steve feeling like the worst guy on the planet.

Then, when they sat down with the older two girls to make sure they knew that everything was fine and no one was getting divorced, it only got worse because Moe started repeating back to them the shitty things they had said to each other, and there’s a special kind of shame in hearing word-for-word the vitriol he’d directed at Eddie – who he loves; no argument could ever change that – coming out of his kindergartener’s mouth.

Yeah, so anyways, I don’t really think yelling would necessarily be an issue with them, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t some real flaws in their communication that stick with the girls.

#eddie: do you think they’d even let us get divorced #eddie: they only just made gay marriage legal – do you think they’d even have the protocol in place for gay divorce #steve: please don’t joke about that right now. read the damn room for once.#liv’s steddie dads verse #liv says stuff

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gerrystamour · 1 year

Text

i could be honest, i could be human [Chapter 3]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST PART ] [ NEXT PART ]

Summary: “God actually hates me, He has to,” Steve muttered darkly, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. “Kinda rich, coming from God’s favourite Golden Child,” Eddie said, coming around in front of Steve. Seeing his tears, Eddie’s grin faltered. “Shit, who hurt you, Harrington?”

Chapter Three: October 1984

If it didn’t suck so much, Steve would probably laugh about his situation.

Once again, he felt sorry. Not for himself at the moment, even if it felt like he had been gutted, his chest hollowed out with a dull knife. Mostly, he felt sorry for hurting Nancy all over again. The first time he hurt her, it was him being cruel because he was hurt. This time, it was him trying so hard to make things normal for both of them again.

Maybe he felt a little sorry for himself, he thought sadly, his heart heavy with hurt.

He sat at the far side of Tina’s backyard on a bench that faced the forest, smoking a cigarette and trying really hard not to actually cry.

“Hey, Steve?”

Looking up at the sky, Steve blinked rapidly to compose himself before he glanced over his shoulder. “Hey Jonathan, what’s up?” he greeted, his voice only a little shaky.

“Is everything—I saw you come out here, and Nancy is—?” Jonathan stopped abruptly when Steve blinked a tear loose and it streaked down the cheek he could see.

“Shit,” Steve hissed as another tear fell and he scrubbed at his face roughly. “Fuck!”

“Is there some way I can help?” Jonathan asked, soft and genuine, and Steve wished he could be mad at him. If this happened a year ago, he definitely would have snapped at him, maybe even hit him just for seeing him cry.

Blowing out a gusty breath, Steve nodded. “Can you get Nancy home? She’s had a lot to drink and she doesn’t want me—my help,” he said quietly.

“Hey, don’t say that, she loves—” Jonathan started, and Steve cut him off with a sharp sound.

“Jonathan, please. I don’t—just… Make sure Nancy gets home okay?” Steve nearly begged, pinching the bridge of his nose as another stupid wave of tears welled up.

“Yeah, man, totally,” Jonathan said and he grabbed Steve’s shoulder with a gentle firmness that went a long way toward comforting him. “You okay to get home too?”

“I live down the street, man, I’m fine,” Steve chuckled, his voice still wavering and a bit watery.

“Oh, right, I guess I forgot,” Jonathan laughed, and that actually brought a bit of a real smile to Steve’s face. He must have been doing something right over the past year for Jonathan to forget that his parents were rich. “See you at school?”

“Yeah, see you at school,” Steve replied with a nod, patting Jonathan’s hand where it still held his shoulder before the other boy let go.

With a heavy sigh, Steve leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hanging his head while his forgotten cigarette slowly burned down. He had been quitting that stupid habit, which he’d only picked up in the first place because Tommy smoked. Nancy always made a face when he would lean in to kiss her, even hours after he had smoked, so he gradually just stopped entirely. Of course, now that he was apparently cut loose from that relationship, he was back to his old habits. Would he go back to being King Steve, supreme asshole of Hawkins High? Reclaim his throne from that piece of shit Billy Hargrove?

Was he only a good person because he thought Nancy Wheeler was in love with him?

A new wave of tears welled up and he choked around a sob that stuck in his throat like shards of glass. He let the tears happen this time, staring listlessly down at the ground between his feet, miserably trying to figure out where his performance for Nancy ended and his actual personality began.

When he couldn’t immediately determine that answer, he let out a sighing sob.

He was probably too drunk to be thinking about it.

A shoe scuffed the ground just behind Steve and he tensed, screwing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course Jonathan didn’t actually walk away, too soft to leave his former-bully and sort-of-friend crying on Halloween.

“Byers, I swear to God, if you don’t go take care of Nance like I asked, I’m going to barge into the dark room every time you’re in there until I graduate,” Steve threatened half-heartedly. He somehow already did that more often than he cared to admit, but that was neither here nor there.

“Not Byers, Your Majesty.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve hissed, sitting up to take a long drag from his cigarette.

Eddie chuckled behind him. “Damn, you’re bad at this, Harrington. Guess again.”

“God actually hates me, He has to,” Steve muttered darkly, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

“Kinda rich, coming from God’s favourite Golden Child,” Eddie said, coming around in front of Steve. Seeing his tears, Eddie’s grin faltered. “Shit, who hurt you, Harrington?”

Steve bristled, and the thought of telling Eddie anything about what happened in that bathroom… he would legitimately rather take on a Demogorgon again.

“Can we just get this over with, Munson?” Steve asked tiredly, wiping the tears off of his cheeks. To his frustration, they were immediately replaced with fresh ones.

“Get what over—?”

“Y’know, where you laugh at me, call me a bitch or a pussy, and then leave me alone,” Steve said, trying for angry, but he was apparently too sad to muster it and just sounded depressingly resigned.

When Eddie didn’t immediately say anything, Steve met his gaze. The other man’s expression was startling, honestly. It wasn’t the gleeful, delighted expression Eddie had worn outside The Hawk, or any variation of the smiles that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face. He looked… afraid?

At least that would be how Steve would normally identify the wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. Then again, Steve had determined over the past year of casually noticing Eddie that wide-eyed was more like his default setting.

Eddie finally shut his mouth to clear his throat before shaking his head. “Nah, man. It’s only funny when you’re bleeding,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket.

“What?” Steve scoffed, sneering up at Eddie.

“I don’t like laughing at people who’re crying,” he elaborated with a shrug. “It feels like punching down, even if they probably deserve it.”

“Gee, how fucking kind of you,” Steve grumbled, tossing his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it with his shoe.

“Seriously, Harrington, what’s this all about?” Eddie asked, and Steve hated how genuine he somehow made his voice. Like he actually cared. “Did Byers do this too?”

“Jonathan?” Steve laughed, shaking his head and chewing the inside of his cheek. “Nah, he was just checking on me. I was like this before he showed up.”

After a few moments of silence between them, Eddie sat down next to him and leaned back, spreading his long arms across the back of the bench. “If it wasn’t Byers, who was it?” he asked before affecting a knowing look. “Was it that dick, Billy? Did losing your title as King Douche of the Keg do this?”

Steve laughed and something fluttered in his chest at Eddie’s pleased expression. “For the record, no, this has nothing to do with that bullshit—” Steve cut himself off, sighing heavily and tipping his head back to look up at the sky again. Nancy’s words came back to him in a rush, about the party being bullshit, him being bullshit, their love being bullshit. Steve shook his head and said, “it doesn’t matter. I did this to myself.”

“You… made yourself cry?”

“Yeah, because I’m just… bullshit, y’know?” Steve said, frowning as he idly tried to identify whatever constellations he could remember.

“Well shit, Harrington. I could’ve told you that years ago and saved you the drunken epiphany,” Eddie teased, lifting a hand to shove Steve’s shoulder lightly and knocking another proper laugh out of him.

“You’re not wrong, Munson,” he murmured with a little smile. Despite that, more tears spilled down his cheeks and he hissed, “fuck, I hate this. I just want to go home.”

“How about you just go home then?” Eddie asked as he draped his arm around the back of the bench again.

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can’t go home like this,” he replied.

Eddie tilted his head. “And… why not?” he pressed, and Steve jumped when he felt Eddie’s thumb begin to idly stroke the cap of his shoulder.

It was a motion that seemed thoughtless, like it was just what you did when your hand was resting near someone else. It was weird for a guy to be doing that with him, and Steve knew he should probably pull away, but it felt… nice, especially with how upset he was.

“Hello? Earth to Harrington?” Eddie crooned in his ear, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what?” Steve said, shaking his head a bit.

“I asked why you can’t go home like this,” Eddie reminded him, an eyebrow raised.

‘Because my dad might still be up.’ “I just can’t, Munson, drop it,” he finally replied, fear and shame twisting in his gut along with his heartbreak. When he returned his gaze to Eddie’s, the expression on his face was a mixture of skepticism and understanding.

Silence stretched between them, Eddie’s thumb switching from rubbing Steve’s shoulder to lightly tapping out a beat. “Want a joint?” Eddie asked suddenly, and Steve blinked at him in confusion.

“I don’t have cash on me, man,” Steve managed to say after a moment when his tipsy brain caught up. “I wasn’t planning on—”

“I’m not trying to sell you anything,” Eddie interrupted, shaking his head. “I was going to smoke one anyway. We can share.”

Steve glared suspiciously. “What’s the catch? There has to be some kind of catch,” he accused. Finally, Eddie’s mean smirk rose to his face.

“Why? Because there’d be one if you were offering?” he asked and Steve reared back a bit at that, properly angry.

“What? No! People who don’t like me generally don’t offer me free shit, Munson,” Steve bit out as he stood up to glare down at him.

Eddie glowered right back up at him, his mean smirk slipping. “I just felt bad for you. Was trying to be nice,” he said sullenly, and Steve felt a little bad for snapping at him. Only a little, though, because pity? From Eddie “The Freak” Munson? That was enough to fire him back up, even if he withered at his own unkind thoughts.

“I don’t need or want your pity, Munson,” he practically growled, hands balling into tight fists at his sides.

“Then why’re you out here crying?” Eddie snapped, his face twisted in a mean scowl.

“In here feeling sorry for yourself, Stephen?” The sound of belt snapping. “I’ll give you a real reason to cry.”

Steve swatted at an imaginary bug to disguise his flinch. Eddie was watching him with those stupid, wide brown eyes that seemed to notice and understand too much. He didn’t want to give him more ammo, more ways to get under his skin.

“Yeah, I was crying out here alone for pity,” Steve spat sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he turned around to leave. He would take his chances calming down in the forest, maybe get eaten by a Demogorgon or something. That would definitely spare him any more embarrassment.

“Harrington, wait.” A hand closed around Steve’s wrist, the grip firm enough to stop him but immediately gentled so Steve could pull away if he wanted. The cool, slender fingers and cold metal of Eddie’s rings against his wrist were grounding, kind of comforting, so Steve didn’t immediately pull away. Again, it struck Steve as something that was probably weird for two guys to be doing, but the physical touch did wonders to settle his head a bit.

“What?” Steve asked, his anger and embarrassment slowly bleeding out of him.

“I offered because I figured it might help you calm down, that’s it,” Eddie said, his big brown eyes looking up at Steve earnestly. “I do actually feel bad about you crying, because I mean it, I don’t like seeing anyone crying. And feeling bad isn’t always pity, y’know?”

Steve thought back to all the times he had insisted Jonathan share his lunches with him over the past year, always making excuses about not liking half of it or lying about eating too much breakfast. It was never out of pity that he did that. He had genuinely cared and wanted to share because he had enough to do so.

All of the anger left Steve at once, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted. Numb. “I can’t just accept free shit from you, Munson, even if you want to pretend to share it with me,” he said after a few moments with a tired smile, then he shrugged. “That, and I can’t go home high either.”

Eddie watched him unblinkingly for several moments before he nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. Makes sense,” he conceded, his thumb idly stroking the inside of Steve’s wrist.

The gentle touch sent goosebumps up Steve’s arm, right up the side of his neck and onto his scalp. His eyes flickered down to watch the movement, getting lost in it. There was a weird, warm weight that settled in his gut as he watched that thumb shift, each sweep making that feeling crawl up into his chest. Heat rose to his cheeks and that embarrassed fluttering returned to his chest.

Pulling his wrist away suddenly, Steve cleared his throat. “Thanks, though. For the offer,” he said, the words a bit stilted. “And I guess for getting me to stop crying after all.”

“Oh yeah, I guess I did,” Eddie laughed, and Steve was taken aback by how big his true smile was up close. How bright Eddie’s eyes lit up with it, and how deep the dimples formed in his cheeks. Steve had only ever seen that smile from across the cafeteria, and he had never had it directed at him. “How’d I manage that?”

“Being a dick, mostly,” Steve retorted, his tone teasing. The joke landed just the way he had hoped, keeping that huge grin on Eddie’s face as he laughed. The embarrassed fluttering got stronger in his gut.

“I’ll be a dick to you any day of the week, Harrington. Whenever you need it,” Eddie said, winking up at Steve when he scoffed.

“How generous of you, Munson,” Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes before taking a step backward. “See you around?”

Eddie’s grin settled into a smile. “You know it, Harrington,” he replied, spreading his arms wide along the back of the bench and tilting his head.

Steve glanced down the long line of Eddie’s body before clearing his throat. Waving awkwardly, Steve turned around and quickly left, practically jogging home.

When he got there, the house was dark and silent, his parents already in bed. No doubt he would have to deal with a lecture the next morning, but he would just get up early for a run and hopefully avoid them before he went to school. He paused in his plan, trying to do the mental math to figure out how early he would have to wake up to have time for a run and have enough time to pick Nancy up before school.

Steve abruptly stopped that train of thought; did he even have to pick her up? Should he?

The thought of showing up at her house in the morning to give her a ride to school after what she said was nauseating. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his composure if he had to be alone with her in his car which would be humiliating at best.

And what if she didn’t even remember what she said?

No, he wouldn’t be able to handle that first thing in the morning. He shouldn’t be expected to handle that first thing in the morning.

A spark of anger finally ignited inside him at that thought.

Steve was fucked up from everything that happened last year, too. Maybe not the same way Nancy was, but his pain mattered, too, didn’t it? And yeah, maybe the way he had been dealing with it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t any worse than how Nancy was, right? It was completely reasonable to try to find some normalcy, to move on, to try to stop seeing a dead girl every time he looked at his pool, or glanced at the woods behind his house. It was reasonable and sane to just try to survive his senior year.

Steve didn’t have to feel bad for not mourning Barb or carrying the guilt of her death the same way as Nancy. He didn’t have to feel bad for being scared of the people who made them sign confidentiality paperwork while armed guards stood over them. He didn’t have to feel bad for just wanting to keep his head down, graduate high school, and get the hell out of that town.

Despite all of those self-righteous thoughts, Steve went to bed feeling sick to his stomach with his guilt and shame, thinking of all the ways he could have done better by Nancy, no matter the cost to his peace of mind.

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #stranger things fic #gerry writes #i could be human fic

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fandsart · 10 months

Text

To Be Friends

I’ve exaggerated some of Nancy’s negative character traits slightly in this story, but it’s also for the sake of her developing past them.

Robin usually sits alone, as sad as that is. It’s whatever; she’s comfortable with it. She can usually get some reading done without any interruptions. But it’s the first day back at school since they took down Vecna, and she’s pleasantly surprised when Nancy sits across from her. They smile at each other, a little stiff without a common goal they’re trying to work for.

“You packed a lunch today,” Nancy states awkwardly.

“Actually Steve made this for me. He always dotes more after, uh… notable events. Sometimes it’s just a particularly bad nightmare. One time Dustin popped a bike tire and Steve bought him a helmet after it was fixed. He gets spikes in paranoia when he’s reminded how easily things can go wrong.”

“That does sound like him. You should try dating him.”

Robin’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Is that a real suggestion?”

“Oh! No, I just mean that he doted on me all the time when he was dating me.”

“Yeah, he’s a real sap.”

There’s a lull in the conversation before Nancy speaks up again. “It is surprising you aren’t a couple. You’re both very attractive.”

“Uh… so? I mean, thank you? I mean… I’m not interested. He’s not my type.”

Nancy hums. “Don’t worry. I understand.”

“You… do?”

“I actually have dated Steve. It probably would have been smarter to be friends first. You’re smart that way.”

“... Thank you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m sure you’re well aware of the bullet you dodged.”

Robin chuckles uncomfortably. “Maybe? I guess that depends on what exactly you’re referring to.”

“You said yourself he tends to dote. It’s so much more extreme when he’s dating you. I don’t need to use his jacket for the one minute walk from the school to the car. I don’t need him opening doors for me. I can do that myself.”

“Uh-huh…” Robin says, trying to keep her eyes from squinting.

“And he gets so clingy. And emotional. I swear sometimes it was more like he wanted me to be his mom than his girlfriend, which is honestly so privileged. He cut off his friends for me, so it became my job to comfort him about it?”

“He was friends with them for a long time, and he didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. He’d kind of just cut off all his other friends,” she tries to joke.

“They were assholes,” Nancy says, maintaining seriousness. “He shouldn’t have been so caught up on them.”

“If he didn’t realize just how shitty they were until you, then he must have had a lot of good experiences with them too. A lot to be conflicted about.” She knows this is the case, because Steve’s talked to her about it too.

“He shouldn’t have been friends with them in the first place.”

“So why did you date Steve for so long? Like a year, right? If he was such a shitty boyfriend? You shouldn’t have been dating in the first place?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because Steve was popular. Everyone loves him, but the only other person I thought might want me was too preoccupied to look at me. I waited a month with nothing. Can you really blame me for wanting to feel wanted and liked after my best friend died?”

“No, but I can blame you for using that as your excuse while apparently hating anything he did because he wanted and liked you. You literally started your complaints about how doting he can be.”

“What, like you don’t think it’s annoying?” And Robin knows what she means by that, but ‘annoying’ would never be the word she would use to describe it. Just… overwhelming sometimes. But understandable. “Besides, that was more of a pet peeve. You were the one who brought that up. There’s a reason I moved my complaints to him crying over his positive choices.”

And that startles Robin a bit. “He actually cried over it?”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “It was a hyperbolic idiom. But my point remains. Everyone loves him, but he was just upset that those two assholes didn’t anymore.”

“If everyone loves him why did no one turn up?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You say everyone loves him like he could have anyone, but you were all he had after Tommy and Carol immediately turned on him for pushing back one time.”

“You know what, that’s another thing. Why even be upset that someone who was willing to turn on you that quickly, did?”

“Well under that logic Steve should hate you then, shouldn’t he?”

“Oh, is that what this is about? Fine, go shoot your shot. I’m sure he’d love to have you. But don’t come crawling to me when he becomes too much for you.” With that she gets up from the table and sits at a newly vacant table.

Robin’s never ditched school before, but now she wants nothing more than to bike over to family video and hug her favorite person.

↞⬡+¤+⬡↠

She manages to talk herself out of skipping. She only had 2 and a half hours of school left after lunch, and none of the classes left were her best. Steve would take his break to pick her up anyway, so why put in the effort to bike all of the way there? Still, she has such a hard time concentrating on the last classes.

When she finally gets out, Steve is already parked in his usual spot, and she plops down into the seat.

“Bad day?” Steve asks.

“You know how you were hoping we could have some kind of outing with Nancy and Jonathan before the latter has to go back to California?”

“Yeah?”

“Scratch that. We’re not doing it.”

“What happened?”

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to be the one to tell him, but she also isn’t going to keep this from him. “Nancy told me that she didn’t like dating you, basically.”

“Oh, yeah, I know that.”

“And what, you're just ok with hanging out with her now?”

“I mean, it’s not her fault. She tried to like it. It’s not her fault she didn’t.”

“But it is her fault for not telling you how she felt about it. Let you think everything was fine. That’s leading you on.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not like she was trying to do that. And it’s not like hanging out with her now would involve any kind of hope that we’d get back together. She didn’t like me as a boyfriend, but we can still be friends.”

“How do you know she likes you as a friend? If she lied to you about liking you as a boyfriend.”

“We should get to work before my break is up,” he says, putting the car into gear.

They don’t talk about it after that. They don’t talk much at all for the rest of the day.

↞⬡+¤+⬡↠

Robin doesn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria after that, not wanting to deal with Nancy again. She doesn’t necessarily know that Nancy would try to start up that conversation again, but even just seeing her in the hall sours her mood a bit, so she doesn’t need to be dealing with that.

So she’s sitting in an empty classroom eating lunch when Nancy finds her.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Robin glares. “Is this not mutually beneficial?”

Nancy sighs. “Look,” she starts as she sits in the seat beside Robin, “I’m not great at taking criticism. I’m a very defensive person. I’m not good at admitting when I’m wrong, but… I was, so…”

“So…” Robin prompts.

“So you were right. I just… needed to sit on all the points for a while before I could calm down enough to actually consider them.”

“Ok. But what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m… apologizing?”

“For what?”

Nancy rolls her eyes, but answers anyway. “For snapping at you, and not listening to what you were trying to tell me.”

“Ok. So what about Steve?”

“What about him?”

“Are you going to apologize to him too?”

“For fighting with you?” She lets out a confused breathy laugh. “I know you guys are close but is that necessary?”

“Are you serious right now?”

Nancy blinks a few times before jolting a little. “Oh! I was too focused on- yeah, I should. It’s just been so long I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“Do you want to be friends with Steve?”

“What do you mean?”

“He still respects you, and wants to reconnect after… everything. I don’t want you to let him drag you to hang outs because it’s easier than denying a simple request, then blowing up at him about it later. Again. I don’t know if he’d come back from it a second time.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Nancy sighs. “If I want to be friends with him. I feel like… he carries an association… The whole year I was with him I was in mourning, and we only reconnected recently because of, as you worded it, ‘recent events.’ I just… every time I’ve been with him in one way or another… something bad was going on. I feel like being friends with him would just leave me on edge all the time.”

“Make sure he knows that then.” She picks up her now empty lunch tray and moves to leave the room.

“Wait, Robin!”

“Yeah?” she stops by the doorway.

“Can we still be friends?”

“I don’t know… But we can be more than not friends.”

“Yeah… I’d want to be more than ‘not friends’ with Steve too.”

“Make sure he knows.”

“Yeah…”

We never really see how Nancy responds to being wrong, because she’s never written to be. My headcanon for how she responds to it is that she gets really pissed, but after sitting on it for a long time she has a hard time denying when there’s an imbalance. She’s logical enough to know what’s right, but she’s stubborn, and bias towards her own perspective, so things like this do need to get pointed out to her and it takes her a while to come around.

#platonic stobin #stobin #platonic with a capital p #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #anti ronance #fanfic #ficlet #stranger things #fandsart

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luveline · 10 months

Note

Hello!! For the zombie au, I would love to see something (no pressure at all tho - I love you and any of your writing regardless ❤️❤️) where the reader gets overwhelmed at the camp and goes off on her own for a bit, causing Steve to go absolutely insane with worry in the meantime. Totally up to you whether something dangerous actually happens or not. Thanks a ton either way!!

thank you for your request! i didn’t make him as worried as I could’ve potentially so please request again if this isn’t quite what you meant! zombie au steve x fem!reader

There are three different children having tantrums at breakfast. You wince at the sound, hands at your knees and squeezing, looking for relief. You have a headache the size of Mount Everest, in the midst of recovery from a cold that had you weak with fever and aching, and this isn't what you'd pictured when you crawled out of your tent this morning.

Steve had been snoring, and Robin's newly adopted cat had been restless, climbing up and down your bodies like you were nothing more than lumpy pillows, and combined with your headache it had been a little too much to bear. Rather than wake either of them to amend their problems, you saw no harm in getting up for a walk and a moment's respite in the small communal area of camp near the fire pit.

The fire hasn't been lit. For a while you'd all operated on nocturnal time, worried your smoke trail would attract the unkind, but it hasn't been a feasible plan to stay that way with so many young children living in the commune. These days you make very small fires when you need to warm food or boil water, and you try to stick to dry wood to minimise the amount of smoke.

You're not sure what's causing the tantrums, perhaps they're setting each other off, but things are starting to get too much for a second time. Without a friend at your side, it's easy to fall into despair. You're sick without medicine, you've been sleeping on the floor outdoors for weeks and it's making you incredibly sore. The children are here and alone and most of them are orphans now because the unspeakable happened and it keeps on happening. Your life is a tragedy novel, the situation is dismal, and you're not sure life is ever going to get better.

You stand up and walk for the river. The sound of rushing water will cover everything else, at the least, and there's a tree you can climb with minimal effort, a branch you can perch on that's high enough that nothing can reach you while you're overstimulated and distracted.

Today could be a good day. You need to clear your head first, is all.

—

Steve frowns at the empty blankets beside him. He'd prefer you didn't leave without waking him, 'cos he won't be able to breathe properly until he knows you're okay. He wishes he lived in a world —that you all did— where you could go wherever you liked without telling him and he wouldn't need to worry. He hates that he needs to know where you are.

He wiggles his toes in his shoes, trying to wake them up as he stands from the tent and casts his gaze over the camp. There's a little boy crying near the single fold out table they have. A man scoops him up and starts to rub his back, shushing him. A gaggle of girls laugh beside a small fire, camping pans and cans of soup in tongs held over the flames. Dustin and Will are already up, coming back from the river with a bucket between them.

"Hey," Steve says, jogging up to them. He looks around. "Seen Y/N?"

"She wasn't by the river," Will says.

"But we caught you guys a fish," Dustin says.

Steve looks down into the bucket, where a few smaller carp lie dead. "Oh, nice going. You didn't stab them, right?"

"We're humane," Dustin says. "You have to debone your own. We're not doing all the work."

Steve pats his shoulder. "Hey, thanks. Just as soon as I find Y/N."

He doesn't find you soon. You aren't at the campfire. You aren't in the general area surrounding it. You aren't in someone else's tent, and he's sure they all think he's a control freak for checking.

He tries to calm down. Chances are you needed the bathroom and wanted privacy. He isn't freaking out, he isn't freaking out, really, he's just– he's thinking logistically, because nothing good happens where he can't see you.

Steve turns in a frantic circle, eyes everywhere, searching for your hair, your big coat.

He's about to admit defeat and start shouting your name when you chirp up from behind him. "Hey, handsome. Fancy seeing you here."

He turns, sees you all in one piece in your big warm coat, your clean face shimmering with damp.

"Oh," he says, feeling like he's been punched, "those losers lied to me. You were by the river?"

You trudge over long grass to nudge him. "Just for a bit. My head was hurting. I saw them catching fish for a while, they're pretty good, but don't blame them, I don't think they knew I was there."

"Idiots," he says, not meaning it. His head is pounding. "Why, where were you?"

"Sitting on the 'dangerous' tree branch."

He takes your shoulders into his hands. He can see you preparing for a kiss, your eyes closing slowly, your chin lifting just a little. Newsflash! You made him worry and now you're climbing up trees. He shakes you gently, and when it doesn't upset you, he shakes you more. You laugh infectiously and let your head loll back and forth. You don't ask him to stop, but he feels bad, and he hugs you rather than scramble your brains any further.

"You have a conniption?" you ask into his neck.

"Maybe."

"Sorry, honey," you say, which is funny and sweet, because it's the name he always gives you.

He rubs your back. "Hmm. I should give you a speech on not wandering off along and unnecessary risks."

"Don't do that."

"No, I'm going to, actually."

He sits you by the fire and makes breakfast. The speech isn't a speech, really, just an excuse to talk at you, thankful that he still can. You give him all the meatballs from the weird canned spaghetti and he starts to forgive you for the heart attack. You wipe a dab of spaghetti sauce off of his lip with your thumb before giving him a peck, and he forgets what he was talking about in the first place.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

Note

That blurb about Eddie hating his scars just gave me the biggest feels…. Could you maybe write about taking care of Eddie after he’s back from the upside down? Fluff-ganza and a little bit of angst helping with his wounds and nightmares … ah 🥹 love your blooooog ❤️

Warnings: language, blood, mentions of surgical procedures

WC: 2.6k

A/N: This was more fluff than angst, but I hope you like it! Please leave feedback <3

@princesseddie86 here is the fluff piece I promised you!

“Stay with me, Eddie, please,” you beg as you follow the gurney down the hospital corridor. You watch him take shallow breaths, hair matted to his face with blood.

He groans softly, unintelligible sounds leaving his lips. He’s shivering from the blood loss. You’re not even sure if he’s aware that you’re here, but you keep talking to him.

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re at the hospital; the doctors will take good care of you,” you promise, though you’re unsure what can be done.

The nurses surrounding him are listing different codes. It’s like a foreign language to you, but it might be better if you can’t understand it. They might be saying things you don’t want to hear.

The whole situation was so bizarre. You’d been friends with Robin Buckley since grade school; you were one of the few people she’d come out to. You thought it was crazy enough when she told you she was now friends with Steve Harrington, but what really sealed the deal was when she’d told you about an otherworldly realm dubbed the Upside Down. Oh, and now a demon-type entity named Vecna was brutally mutilating and killing random Hawkins teenagers, and maybe, pretty please, could you help them fight him?

Before joining their brigade of monster hunters, you hadn’t had much contact with Eddie Munson. For starters, you took honors classes, while he struggled to pass his introductory courses. You’d been privy to his many cafeteria table speeches, but never paid too much attention to them. You didn’t think he was a freak or running some satanic cult like many of your classmates assumed, but you didn’t really have anything to do with a slacker metalhead like Eddie.

Of course, that was before you actually got to know him. Before you saw the way he took care of the freshmen who idolized him, his passion for anything related to music, how he read dog-eared fantasy paperbacks until he had them memorized. Before you realized how much you cared for him.

You watch the doctors whisk him to the ICU, and it dawns on you that you might not ever get the chance to tell him.

Eddie’s uncle Wayne meets you at the hospital after Steve and Robin find him at the trailer park and fill him in on what happened. Well, sort of--it was too much to get into the whole “Upside Down” business, especially when his nephew’s life hung in limbo--so that would have to be a conversation for another day.

You’re waiting in the waiting room, chewing on your fingernails, when he walks in solemnly. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and though he’s stoic now, his tear-stained cheeks reveal that he’s been crying. Your gaze meets his, and he comes over to sit with you.

“You Y/N?” he asks, and you nod numbly. “I’m, uh, Wayne, Eddie’s uncle.”

You try to offer a smile, though the effort makes it feel more like a grimace. “Eddie’s told me a lot about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Of course. He told me all about how you raised him after his dad went to prison and his mom...” you trail off. Even the thought of death--anyone’s death--is too hard to think about right now.

Wayne nods. “Was the least I could do. My brother--Eddie’s old man--he and I were raised by our drunk of a dad. And that really messed with my brother. Messed with me, too, but maybe I missed some of it because I was younger.

“He started drinking, too; starting drinking too much, too fast, too young. Makin’ bad decisions, just like our dad. And after he got taken away, I couldn’t let Eddie fall into that same trap.” He pulls out a cigarette and looks at you. “Mind if I smoke?”

“No, that’s fine,” you reply softly, and he lights it. “Actually, could I bum one?”

Wayne gives you a knowing look. “’S not a good habit, y’know?”

“I don’t normally...only when I’m stressed.” You take a cigarette from him and lean in so he can light it.

“Don’t tell Eddie,” he whispers. “He won’t like me poisoning his girlfriend’s lungs.”

You choke, and it’s not from smoke inhalation. “We’re, um...I’m not his girlfriend,” you mumble. But I wish I was, you want to say.

Wayne lets out a small chuckle, then takes another drag from his cigarette. “Well, if you say so.”

You want to ask him to elaborate when a nurse enters the waiting room. “Wayne Munson?” Wayne stands up quickly, motioning for you to join him. “Your nephew is out of surgery. You can see him now.”

“Okay,” he replies, “his girlfriend’s gonna come with me, if that’s all right?”

The nurse nods. “Of course.”

You don’t even bother to correct him this time.

The hospital doesn’t have any of Eddie’s favorite books; no copies of Lord of the Rings anywhere in the place. You settle for an old tattered copy of The Catcher in the Rye and read aloud to the sleeping boy next to you.

He still hasn’t woken up from the anesthesia, but you’re still relieved to see how calm he looks, his breaths even instead of ragged. They cleaned him up a bit so there’s no traces of dried blood on his face. He looks more like himself.

You’re still reading when you notice him stir ever so slightly, making your heart leap.

“E-Eddie?” you whisper, placing a hand over his, careful of his IV. “Eddie, can you hear me?”

He groans softly and promptly falls back to sleep. The nurses warned you that he might go in and out, that it was normal, but you just wanted him awake.

Wayne comes back in the room, holding a paper cup of water. He hands it to you and you accept it gratefully.

“Any news?” he asks.

“He just kinda...moved a little bit? And made a tiny noise. But that was it,” you report, disappointment written all over your face.

Wayne puts a hand on your shoulder. “I know it’s useless tellin’ y’this, but you don’t have to stay. I can call you from the payphone when he’s up.”

“I want to be here when he wakes up. Unless I’m in your way, and I can leave.” It hadn’t dawned on you that Wayne might want to be alone with Eddie, but the man just shakes his head.

“No, no. The company helps,” he reassures you. “Jus’ figured you need some rest.”

“I’m okay for now.” Okay is too strong a word; really, you’re barely surviving, but you can’t manage to go home. You turn your attention back to the book, clear your throat, and continue reading.

“Hello?”

The voice is quiet and gravelly, barely audible over the sounds of machines beeping and Wayne’s light snoring, but you hear it. You hear Eddie.

“Hi, sleepyhead.” You get up from the chair where you were half-sleeping and crouch by his bedside. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” he mutters. “What happened?”

You knit your brows, unable to hide your concern. “Do you...do you remember what happened? With the bats?”

He tries a laugh but ends up coughing, holding his torso in pain. “Fuck. Yeah, I remember those motherfuckers. Just not...after.”

“Well,” you start, “after you decided to be a hero, Dustin and I grabbed you and brought you back to Hawkins. You were so pale and shaky and...” Tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be brave for you.”

But Eddie’s not even listening to that part. “You and Henderson came back for me?” he asks incredulously.

You nod. “Of course. You know he worships the ground you walk on.”

“And you?”

Because I care about you. Because even though we’ve only been friends for a few days, I feel complete with you. Because now that I know you, really know you, I can’t live in a world without Eddie Munson.

“Because you’re my friend, Eddie,” you manage, swallowing down all of the other things you actually wanted to say. You look over at Wayne, who is still sleeping. “C’mon, let’s tell your uncle that you’re awake.”

Eddie is discharged from the hospital after three days. He has to use a cane to get around until he’s fully healed, which he complains makes him look elderly, but you reassure him that it looks totally metal.

You help Wayne get him into the trailer and onto the sofa, where he sits back with a grunt.

“Okay, I think my work here is done!” you announce and turn to Wayne. “Could I use your phone? Steve can pick me up.” You’d driven to and from the hospital in Wayne’s car, which meant either calling Steve for a ride or walking home.

“You’re leaving?” Eddie asks from his spot on the couch. Maybe you’re imagining it, but does he look...disappointed at the prospect of you going?

You laugh. “Taking care of you for three days straight wasn’t enough for you?”

“No, I think I need you here full-time,” he says, pushing out his lower lip into a pout. “Y’know, bring me my meds, change my dressings, give me a sponge bath...”

That last comment earns him a thwap on the back of the head from his uncle. “Behave,” Wayne warns.

You roll your eyes, heading for the phone. “I have to go home and rest. Maybe see my parents, let them know I’m alive.” There’s more truth than sarcasm in that statement now with Hawkins seemingly crumbling around you. And you are exhausted.

“Okay,” he concedes, looking at you with his brown doe eyes, “can you come back tomorrow? Wayne can’t take any more days off from work.”

“I think I can manage that.” You call Steve, who was on his way back from volunteering at the school-turned-crisis-shelter, so it only took him five minutes to get to the trailer park. As you walk to his car, closing the door behind you, you hear Wayne’s gruff voice.

“Boy, if you don’t take that girl on a date once you’re healed up...”

Two weeks later, your phone rings just before 8 AM on a Sunday.

“Hello?” you croak groggily, stifling a yawn.

“Y/N!” Eddie’s voice booms through the receiver, jolting you awake.

“Eddie? Is everything okay?” You sit up so fast that dots form in front of your eyes, and you put a hand on the bed to steady yourself. You’ve been going to his trailer nearly every day, bringing him his homework and often staying to help him with it. The boy was determined to graduate this year, come hell or high water.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he says, like he’s just realized how early it is, “but can you come over now? I wanna show you something.”

You stretch and feel your back crack. “Sure. Let me just get dressed and I can be there in, like, half an hour?”

“Perfect.” You can sense his delight over the phone. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. Just come in when you get here.”

“Sounds good.” You run a comb through your hair and throw it up in a loose bun. Pulling on some light wash jeans, you rummage through your dresser to find a shirt. You weigh your options carefully and laugh at yourself. This isn’t a fashion show, you’re just going to see Eddie. Why do you care about what you look like?

You know why, you think, but push it away as you throw on an oversized navy blue shirt and finish the rest of your morning routine.

You gently push open the trailer door and see Eddie laying on the couch, reading The Catcher in the Rye.

“Hi,” he breathes, then holds up the book. “Someone never got to finish reading this to me, so I had Henderson check it out from the library.”

“You never read it in your ten years of high school?” you tease gently, placing your jacket on the chair near the door.

“Hey, it’s only six!” he protests. “And no. Probably was s’posed to, though.”

“Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“Nah,” he grins. “Watch this.”

Your eyes stay locked on him as he pushes himself up slowly, grimacing as he uses the arm of the sofa for balance. His cane is leaned up against it, but he doesn’t reach for it; instead, he takes careful, methodical steps without any mobility aid.

You feel a smile spreading across your face, though it’s a bit dampened with concern. Should he be walking by himself? you wonder, but allow him his moment. He’s so proud, so determined.

He gets to you and takes your hand gingerly. “Ta-da!”

You want to fling your arms around his neck and pull him in for the tightest hug of his life, but you’re not about to re-injure him, so you squeeze his hand instead.

“Look at you! You’ll be back to torturing the rest of Hellfire in no time!” You go to drop his hand, but he doesn’t let go. You think maybe he just needs to hold on for stability, but then he takes his other hand and wraps you in a hug.

“It’s all thanks to you,” he murmurs.

“I think the doctors and nurses who stitched you back together deserve some credit,” you remind him, but you feel your cheeks burning.

You feel him shake his head. “I’m not talking about the medical stuff. I’m talking about the...trying again stuff.”

“Trying again?” you look up at him quizzically.

Eddie sighs and leads you back to the couch. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I kept trying to walk a little more each day so I could meet you at the door to hug you.”

Your heart surges. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

It’s his turn to blush. “That’s me, y’know, the murderous satanic cult leader with a heart of gold.”

“What a coincidence,” you laugh, “that’s just my type.”

He lets out a small chuckle and takes your hand again. “Wanna know what my next goal is?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “I’m gonna work up the strength to take you out on a date. If, uh, if that’s okay with you.”

“If that’s okay with...Eddie, of course that’s okay with me. It’s more than okay!” You rest your free hand on his knee. “But there’s no rush. We can hang out here and watch movies until you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”

And then something comes over him, a feeling that he ordinarily would’ve dismissed, but now he leans into it. He cups your chin and brings your lips to his, kissing you softly. Your body is tingling as you move your hand from his knee to his bicep, mindful of his healing wounds.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind, leading you to break the kiss earlier than you wanted. He misinterprets this and apologizes quickly.

“Sorry, should’ve waited until we actually went on a date...” he sputters, playing with his rings.

“No, Eddie. I just...” you sigh deeply. “I’m worried that you only think you like me because I’ve been taking care of you. And then once you’re better, you’ll realize that...”

His jaw drops slightly in disbelief. “Y/N, I’ve been thinkin’ about you since Robin introduced us. And then when I realized that you’re cute and caring...” he trails off. “kinda fell for ya.”

“Oh,” you’re taken aback by his honest confession and allow yourself to fall back into his warm embrace. “Well, in that case...” you smile as you kiss him.

His shoulders relax and he holds you as close as he can.

“I’m never letting you go,” he promises, and you vow that you’ll never let him go, either.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff #requests

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