#ask ka | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

Text

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me �� I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

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

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

956 notes · View notes

temeyes · 2 months

Text

pov: ur skater boi-core sergeant of a boyfie picks you up after work

551 notes · View notes

inklessletter · 11 months

Note

Your art is SO PRETTY!!!!!

Thank you anon, so are you!!

Ok, a little explanation here: someone requested me a Kas Eddie, but I accidentally deleted the ask, so I'm using this thoughtful comment from anon here to give you what you requested! Please consider yourself tagged (or DM me so I can edit this and tag you!) [@izzy2210 they appeared!] And the thing is, I immediately thought of @azrielgreen's You're Divine. This fic broke me, her writing is amazing, so full of feeling, soul shattering, and the story... honestly, one of the best I've read. I really hope I captured the daylight that Little Bit so tirelessly makes in Steve's heart.

#steddie #fanart #steddie fanart #art #digital art #azrielgreen #oonionchiver #you're divine #fic recs #ask!#kas!eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington

1K notes · View notes

hunterfromtheabyss · 7 months

Text

kal 1 hr (+20 min) challenge

#arknights #kal'tsit #kas scribbles #> asked a friend who to draw so #maybe picking an outfit i've never drawn before was a bad ideea

444 notes · View notes

sailing-through-hawkins · 8 months

Text

✧ dedicated to that one anon that made me feel so happy about the siren kas au again!! also thank you mea for beta-reading this for me you are a lifesaver!! going to tag @xenon-demon and @chaoticlovingdreamer because i know you both were interested in this idea hope it's cool to tag you!! ✧

The first time it happens, it's not a big deal.

They were on their way to start a supply run, some small groceries, snacks and sweets, to try and keep the mood up.

He had already done his rounds, checked in on El (still exhausted) and Dustin (still sleeping with his head on his mom's lap; she's still wiping her tears away when Steve sees her) and the Byers (still huddled together, warm, loving). He felt a twinge in his chest at the absence of Lucas and Erica but he knows they're with their parents because they did a check-in literally ten minutes ago. They're safe.

Steve knows they're safe. He just wishes they felt safe.

A whole month of fear and caution but this time, instead of a couple of kids sharing glances across town, nodding and walking on, it's everyone in Hawkins, gawking up at the dark clouds without any idea of what's been happening under their noses for years.

He wishes they never had to find out.

"Hey," Robin says, grasping his hand as she steps out onto the doorstep next to him. "We got this, right?"

"Yeah," Steve grips her hand back, stroking his thumb over the ink doodles across her knuckles. Sometimes he thinks the only reason they'll make it is that he's got her by his side. "We got this."

She smiles a thin, watery smile, lifts up her mask and makes her way to the car. He inhales, covers his nose with the black bandana Dustin gave him and follows behind her, gripping at the cold, empty space in his palm.

The forest was always one of the worst parts of living in this house, but the darkness has turned it ashy and cold, like something out of a zombie movie. He wonders, as he stares through the trees, if Barb got to see the forest before she was pulled through.

That's when he hears the music.

An echo of a guitar strumming. It's faint, the sound warbling as the guitar gets tuned and re-tuned every few strums.

It's so quiet, he thinks, so why does it sound so close?

"Steve?" Robin calls out, her eyes as wide and beautiful and terrified as ever under her goggles. She stands next to his car, one hand tapping the hood nervously. "You ready?"

Steve blinks and shakes his head, the echo of the guitar fading away as he twirls his keys around his finger. "Ready."

Probably just someone playing around on the radio or something, he reasons as he starts the engine.

No big deal.

Two days later and everyone is in the living room.

Everyone meaning literally everyone, even fucking Mrs Wheeler, all to discuss shelter for the families who lost their houses in the earthquake.

Steve's house is already full of most of the Party (Dustin insisted they use the name for the entire Upside-Down-Expert-Team), otherwise he'd offer it as a place for people to stay in until they can get something more permanent.

That's all this place is good for anyways. Just a rest stop.

"I appreciate that, Mom." Nancy taps her finger on the dining table, eyes squinting and lips squeezed into a very fake smile. Steve winces and starts to make his way to the sun room, gripping the blankets in his arms tightly as she continues. "But some of these people need -"

It's pretty easy to tune the discussion out, focusing on laying out the blankets and making as much of the space as comfortable as possible. The big windows let so much sunlight in, it's perfect for anyone who wants to soak up in the warmth. The only problem is the view.

He pointedly doesn't look at the pool, hands on his hips as he surveys the room, and that's when he starts to hear the guitar again. The strumming starts up quietly and washes over him, re-tuning itself every time he starts to rearrange the blankets again. A few minutes of tuning and it starts to play a song this time.

Steve tilts his head, staring out at the pool. Someone must have switched on the lights when it started getting dark.

When did it get so dark? He should go back and check on everyone, make sure they're comfortable. Is there enough space? Maybe he should redo the blankets?

The song soaks the back of his neck.

The blankets are perfect. He and Robin just can share.

It's so familiar, he thinks, as the water ripples with the wind. Something he's heard, but not listened to.

There shouldn't be any water in the pool. Why is there -

The song is slow, coiling behind his ear and gently drifting down his shoulders, making him shiver. He thinks he should know the music, humming along to it as the guitar starts to get louder. It feels nice, a comforting chill down his back that eases the tension of his wounds.

His wounds. Robin. Robin, his bat bites still hurt, why does it hurt so much, what's -

Oh, he thinks as the music plays even louder in his ear, in his mind, that's not the radio.

"Steve!"

Robin is crying, hands crushing his jaw, her face blocking the view of the empty pool. The music is gone.

"Steve, please!"

"Rob?" he croaks, swallowing the dryness of his tongue. His head feels flooded with a fuzziness, blood rushing through his veins like it was moving too slowly before. He blinks when he realizes they're outside now, standing between the pool and the house. It's still daylight. "What -?"

She pulls him into a hug, and he struggles, but manages to wrap his own arms around her, if kinda slowly. "You just - you weren't saying anything and started walking to the pool and I couldn't stop you -"

"Steve," Nancy says somewhere to his left. He barely manages to lift his head to look at her, blue eyes sharp and a Walkman held tightly in her hand. "What did you see?"

The fuzziness is fading away but his brain is still moving through a fog to connect words together. "I heard music."

Robin's face is in front of his again, eyes wide and beautiful and terrified. Oh, Robbie. "Vecna uses music now?"

"Not Vecna." Steve wrinkles his nose. "It...wasn't Vecna."

"How do you know that?" Nancy squints at him and he rests his forehead against Robin's, his bones melting into stone, too heavy to hold up. He hears the creak of the Walkman, Nancy gripping it tighter. "Steve, how do you know it's not Vecna?"

"Music w's nice." His eyes are closing. "Felt nice."

After that, the plan was never leave Steve alone.

It made bathroom breaks awkward but Argyle was so chill about it that Steve didn't even mind after the first two trips.

El couldn't find anything Upside-Downy on him, and there was the entire town with Upside-Downy shit happening everywhere, so there wasn't really much more to the plan than him having a bodyguard.

They made a chart for their shifts. God, he loves these shitheads.

"Here, man," Argyle says quietly, handing over three slices of pizza with a wink. Steve thanks him with a real, if exhausted, smile. Sleep hasn't been easy for the past week. "Fresh outta the oven."

"You're a godsend, dude," Steve groans, blowing air on the pizza slice. Mike grumbles under his breath about "hair-bias", whatever the fuck that means. Erica just rolls her eyes and shoves at his head.

The Sinclairs are visiting today, the parents persuaded by Lucas and Erica's whining (and a little bit of Steve's charm) so they can spend more time at "home base" with the others.

They're sat in the living room, eating lunch as rays of sunlight shine on the food like some kind of holy blessing, with the rest of the Party.

The rest of the survivors would be more accurate.

He tries not thinking about it, tries to appreciate the warm cheese and loud laughter. There's too much to not think about. How Max isn't here, how she deserves more, how he wants to see her okay and alive and happy.

Eddie isn't here either, and he doesn't think about how much he deserved better too.

"Steve thought it was cool! Right, Steve?"

He wishes Eddie could have made it, that Dustin didn't have to lose him like that.

Hell, they could have been friends. Maybe buried the hatchet so they could make fun of Dustin together, catch each other's eye whenever the tone makes an appearance and just laugh whenever he wasn't looking.

"I said, right, Steve?"

Maybe they could have hung out. Steve would come over to his trailer - or maybe Eddie would come over for a swim - and he'd make fun of Eddie's taste in bands - or maybe he'd listen to him play his guitar, never looking away from those ringed fingers as they created wonderful, wonderful music.

"Dude?"

Oh shit, the music is back. That's probably not good, is it?

But it's so sweet. So calming and cool, like a balm against his torn skin, washing over the dark feelings that built up in his ribcage.

"Steve!"

The song ripples through his veins and he sighs at the feeling. The pool doesn't have water anymore, he thinks. He emptied it so long ago. The music is sad, and his heart clenches at the sound.

The lake has water, he thinks. And the song turns light, sweet, calling him, curling around him, pulling him towards -

"Sorry about this, dude."

"Fuck!" Steve gasps when he hits the ground, groaning as his back ache returns at full force. "What the fuck, man?"

To his credit, Argyle looks genuinely sorry and helps him back onto his feet, holding Steve up with a tight arm around his waist and a tighter grip on his wrist. His shoulder aches at being thrown over Argyle's neck but walking is a lot easier when someone else is carrying half the weight.

He feels so heavy now.

"What - happened?" Steve croaks as they hobble back to the house. When did he leave it?

"You just got up and you weren't -" Dustin swallows, his voice croaky like he'd been yelling. "It's like you weren't even there."

"God, you can't keep doing this, Steve," Robin smacks his shoulder with a tight smile, tears still unshed in her eyes. His chest aches at them. "How many times are you gonna walk out on me?"

"Sorry Robbie," he says and accepts her very tight ow, ow, ow hug with a sad laugh. "I don't know what's going on."

"Was it the music again?" Will asks quietly.

Steve looks at him, leaning his head against Robin's. When did he get so tall? When did they all grow up already? "Yeah," Steve replies, just as quiet. He swallows when Robin lets out a sob into his shoulder. "It was the same song."

By the time his brain is fully functional ("Debatable," Mike sneers, crying out when El smacks him up the head), everyone's already discussing the new plan.

"We'll need to make notes, figure out the pattern, see if there're any triggers for Steve." Nancy said and he tries not to let it get to him, the fact that he needs babysitting now, that he can't do anything without being watched. "If the music makes people feel...good, it could still be a whole new tactic. Maybe Vecna wants our guard down, maybe he's countering our favourite songs, maybe it's a distraction. We have to be ready."

Steve still wants to grumble that it could never be Vecna, that's insulting, but he's too tired to argue about anything anymore.

They've even rearranged who sleeps where so that the Sinclairs can sleep over. They take one of the guest rooms while Mrs Henderson and Dustin join Steve in his own room. He almost loses his mind cackling when the both of them eye his wallpaper with the same mix of disgust and fascination. When Mrs Henderson sees the curtains, she almost gags and it's the loudest he's laughed in a long time.

"You're gonna be okay," Dustin tells him right before they fall asleep. Steve looks up at him from the floor where he lays, couch pillows doing more for his back than training against monsters ever did. "You'll be fine."

"'Course I will, dude," Steve smiles at him as Mrs Henderson leaves the room to talk to Hopper one last time. Tews is curled up on the bed, purrs loud, almost melodic, and lulling Steve's thoughts into a calm. "If the giant flesh monster couldn't get us, no way some wrinkly old naked guy will."

Dustin laughs outrageously at that and Steve wants to coo, wants to cry, wants to grip Dustin tightly in his arms and hide him away from the world, hide them all away in this empty house and make it full, make it safe for them, for Max, for Robin.

He doesn't.

He eventually falls asleep to the sound of Dustin muttering under his breath. And when Steve sleeps, he dreams.

It's so cold around him, so dark and empty. The sky thunders red and the cries of so many monsters echo around him. But there, through the cold and the shadows and the monsters, there's the song, calling to him.

I'm here, he thinks as he trudges his way through the inky mass of thick liquid, not water, not blood, but enough of both to make his steps heavy. I'm coming.

The song curls up on his skin, on his bat bites, soft and sweet and cold, like that time Robin spilled ice cream all over the -

"Steve!"

Robin. Where's - where's Robin?

Shh, it's okay. She's fine. Everyone's fine. Keep going.

Oh, he thinks. Of course. Everyone's okay, he knows they are, right?

Steve pauses his next step.

Right?

The song is even lonelier now and he shakes off the questions clouding his mind. It croons to him, so happy as he makes it through the ink to the shore. It sounds so sweet, that's it, keep going, come on.

He's crawling at this point, body heavy with the weight, until the song lifts him up onto his knees and he looks up to see -

"Snap out of it!"

Steve gasps at the sting on his cheek, blinking when light hits his eyes fiercely, shapes and sounds moving around him from a distance. There's a buzzing coiling behind his ears.

"Steve?"

Dustin's terrified face finally comes into focus behind his mother, who is standing right in front of Steve with her arm stretched across the space between them. Steve blinks, "Hold on, did you just slap me?"

"I'm so sorry, Steve," Mrs Henderson says and just like Argyle, she seems to really mean it. Does she? Her outstretched hand rests on his forehead as the other grips his upper arm. His back aches. His torso burns. Where did the song go? "We were so scared, you weren't saying anything -"

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Would never, of course not, just needed to keep going.

They both deny it vehemently. "Of course not! You were just - staring. Out the window. At -"

"At the pool," Steve hisses, biting his lip.

"Yeah," Dustin breathes out, his eyes watering as he reaches out to grab Steve's wrist. "But you're - you're back now. We just - just need to slap you out of it. What's another concussion, right?"

Steve laughs because Dustin's voice is so choked up that if he doesn't laugh, he'll cry. He ruffles the curls of his hair with a smile. A sinking feeling claws at him from the inside of his stomach. Can't he listen to the song one more time?

"Steve?"

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm -" Steve swallows as the blood in his veins prickles. Won't you hear me one more time? "I - I don't want to listen. I won't."

"Can you still hear it?!"

Please? It would make us so happy, Steve.

"I - no, no, I -"

"Steve?! Guys! Code red, code red, please!"

Please, Steve. Please?

"Okay," he says, eyes drooping as the melody curls up around his waist, brushing against the inside of his skin, pooling around his chest, thrumming in time with his heart beat. It feels so sweet, so good, thank you, come here, come here. "Okay."

"El, do something, please!"

The song turns harsh, gnawing on his bones, piercing through his skull, pushing him to the ground as someone is interrupting, no interruptions, leave us alone, alone, alone. The pain builds up crawling and clawing up to his chest to his shoulders to his head, his head, it hurts, it hurts so much, please stop, just stop. "Fuck, fuck -"

"Steve?" Dustin whimpers and he aches, he aches, he aches.

He screams.

When he wakes up, it's to dawn creeping through the windows and rope around his body.

Red sunlight, just like in Mike's Superman comic books, covered by dark clouds.

A red sun to the blue moon. Right side up to the upside down. You to me.

"Whe -" Steve croaks, his eyes creaking open. Fuck, they're so crusty, that's gross. "Where?"

"Steve!"

Robin's face in front of his, beautiful and terrified. He squints up at her, glancing over to find Dustin and Lucas staring at him with wide eyes, Hopper behind them. They watch him and they nod. Others are coming in, Mrs Byers and Jonathan and Nancy -

Steve hisses as something claws through him for the fourth time that night, pain, pain, go away, go away -

"Shit, shit, shit, everyone get in position, -"

"Will, get over here, he's gonna -"

Come here, come on, please? Won't you come back?

"Where are you?" Steve murmurs as the pain turns into the music, gliding over him, like a wave coming to shore, pulling him back to the water, back to us.

"He's talking to the siren! Somebody get -"

Come here, come back, come to me.

"Can't find you," he says, slurring his words as the song combs through his hair, like fingers scratching against his scalp. "Where're you?"

"That's it, Steve, keep talking, we got you -"

Want you here, with us, want us together, don't you?

"Yeah, yes, together," he sighs, the melody trilling in his chest, happy, sweet, soft, perfect, it'll be perfect, together, all together, just before someone reaches for his hand

He hisses and the song pulls away roughly, leaving him floating in the void, he cries out for it to come back, but he betrayed them, shouldn't have done that, Stevie, you tried to trick us -

"Shit!" Steve drops back to the bed with lead in his bones. El is still holding his hand. He was so close, the connection just barely at his fingertips.

Dustin swears as the others start to argue. The frustration is building up in the room, everyone too tense to think about answers, you sly dog, that was clever, but we don't like traitors -

"Wait, no," Steve gasps as something claws in his wounds, amused, you tried to trick me? Fine, no more playing around. "Fuck, wait -"

And the song crashes into the shore, pulls him down under where everything is sweet and cold, right back where you belong.

It's so warm out here, between the trees.

The skin on his back was blistering, biting at his flesh, before the song had gently cooled it down. He shivers at the chill, smiling when the song pulls him forward, looping around him with a sweet hum. It feels so nice, to hear the song without any distractions.

Without any interruptions.

Keep going.

Steve sighs when the song runs through his hair, laughing when it musses it all up. His hand twitches, he wants to fix it up until it's perfect again.

Keep going.

There are noises behind him, the sound of running and metal-on-flesh. It's all so slow, even slower than him. He doesn't know what's behind him, just the dark and gentle song pulling at his veins.

Keep going.

He makes it to the water, to the lake. There is no moonlight, but the song guides his steps, keeps him light. How sweet, he thinks, how sweet of you.

He makes it until his waist is plunged in the frigid water and then the song stops. He looks around but can't see anything in the shadows. There are sounds of humans yelling, of monstrous shrieks behind him, but where is the song?

"Hey."

He looks up and sees crimson eyes, half-lidded, and a smile staring down at him. Massive black wings blow gusts of wind at him. He shivers, and gives a smile in return.

His song.

The wings slow down until big, red eyes are level with his own, curls of black falling with gravity to brush against his cheek. The song hums in his chest, satisfied, delighted and sweet.

"Miss me, big boy?"

#steve harrington #steddie #writing #au content: kas!eddie #ficlet #sailing✧siren!kas #sailor✧writes #i fucking did it guys are you proud of me #i ended up adding a whole 1k because i wanted to smooth it out before posting so thank you kindly to the anon who asked me about this #i appreciate you so much and i hope you see this #can you believe half the reason this took me so long was because i wanted to make a new divider specifically for this

250 notes · View notes

kanrix · 3 months

Note

Kan no dibujes a Clay tan guapetón que me sonrojo

Ni que decirte anon

#ask #anonymous #lo odio tanto. por qué es ran difícil de dibujar #este wey tiene cuerpo de twink a pesar de tomar las 24 horas del dia. pero se esta quedando calvo #en los storyboards de HONOR en la parte de orel adulto donde sale ka foto de clay y bloberta. se ve cómo clay envejeció bien horrible--#en dicha foto. pero al final solo le pintaron algunos pelos grises 😭. twink hasta la muerte #clay puppington

114 notes · View notes

withacapitalp · 8 months

Text

Master of Puppets

For the Stranger Things Writers Guild Daily Drabble Prompt!

As Steve stood in his living room surrounded by broken glass, he knew he was making a deal with the devil.

But strangely enough, he couldn’t really bring himself to care about the danger that came with it.

“If I agree, you’ll keep them safe?” He asked again, just to be sure. There was something in his voice that felt off, a weird, almost dreamy quality, that left his words slightly slurred and his thoughts turning to mush.

The monster purred, taking another step closer, a clawed hand reaching out to cup Steve’s chin and tilt his head, exposing the long pale column of his throat.

“Obey me, and you’ll have whatever your heart desires,” Eddie swore, blood red eyes drawing Steve further and further in.

A deal with the devil. A calculated risk that somewhere within the creature in front of him, Eddie was still there. That deep down inside, Eddie still cared enough to want to save their family from whatever had brought him back from the dead. A choice to be a puppet.

Steve let his own eyes slip shut, going limp in Eddie’s grasp and surrendering to the twin pinpricks of fire latching onto his neck.

#stwgdailyprompt #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #kas Eddie munson #stranger things #st #steddie #asks #st drabble #st4 #steddie ficlet #steve and eddie

217 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 3 months

Note

sub!kas!eddie is such a good idea because eddie *does* just wanna be a good boy <3 (@a-little-unsteddie)

🥰🤍 thank you! i don’t take credit for that, though, that belongs to the nonnie 🫶

preceding snippet

cw: there still be smut here

“Please,” Kas says, drooling around his fingers. His eyes are glowing still, his hips twitching like he’s fucking into something invisible, something that only exists in his fucked-out imagination. Steve is obsessed with him.

“I couldn’t hear you, baby,” he taunts, adding another finger for Kas to drool around, feeling a line of spit running down his palm. His dick twitches at the feeling, at the vision of it — four fingers in that pretty mouth, and still he begs.

“Please.” And it’s more a moan than anything else, loud and sweet and breaking around the edges because his baby is so, so close.

But it’s not enough. He needs Steve. He needs those fingers wrapped around his beautiful cock, needs him to play with that plug and shove it in a little deeper. And he needs Steve to bite his neck as he whispers promises into his pale skin, telling him that he’s good, he’s good, he’s so, so good.

And Steve is so happy to give him everything he needs until he’s ready to just take it.

more? make me!

#steddie #steddie smut #sub!kas!eddie #sub kas eddie #make me write ask game #dio’s smutty ventures #a tiny lil thing bc i gotta sleep and get up in 7h 😭

82 notes · View notes

trashpocket · 1 year

Photo

Horrific Love (WIP/don’t know if i can finish this in time)

(a piece for valentine’s that i dont know if i have the alotted time for; but i wanted smth unusual for sweet valentine’s pieces, so here. the grotesque)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #kas!eddie #monster!eddie #valentine's piece #PLS SEND ME SOME ASKS #id love to entertain a lot of questions right now #HAHAHAHA

881 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 4 months

Note

Because your opinion means a lot: Any chance you feel like sharing 5 upcoming BLs you're most excited about and why? And maybe as a bonus, something you think many BL watchers will love but that you will hate?

Ooooo, how exciting what a fun one. You sure you want this from me? I have very odd taste.

The 5 Upcoming BLs I'm Most Excited About

(this forced me to put together the 2024 Announced BLs list which is coming soon)

1 Spare Me Your Mercy

Increased rates of deaths in terminal patients has a police captain investigating the palliative care doctor with whom he's fallen in love. Their relationship deepens but the mystery persists, driven by mistrust.

Why? It's adapted from the novel Euthanasia by Sammon (Triage, Manner of Death) but more important, it stars some old guard BL actors: Tor Thanapob from Hormones as the doctor and (fuck me YES) Jaylerr from Great Men Academy and goddamn Grean Fictions as the captain!

youtube

2 Wandee Godday

GMMTV and AllThis Entertainment producing a very pulp offering with new pair, GreatInn doing high heat, boxer meets surgeon. It features a one night stand, fake relationship, and all the cheesiest of tropes. Also features Drake, Podd, and Thor+ pretty boy (be still my heart).

Why? This is totally my kind of BL even if it isn't GMMTV's style of BL, and it's GREAT, so I'm in.

youtube

3 The Next Prince (ZeeNew)

Domundi brings us more ZeeNew in a fantasy/historical set in a palace where Zee plays a knight and Nu a prince - YES PLEASE.

Why? I did not expect this pair to stick so I really hope this happens. Give us the Little Pink Riding Milk BL we deserve!

youtube

4 Lover Merman

Fantasy BL about a man who falls in love with a merman.

Why? I don't think it will be good but I LOVE merfolk.

5 Me and Who

Domundi for WeTV brings this adaptation of Wickedwish’s novel of the same name. It depicts a young man who dies and is reborn into the body of a billionaire heir. The heir happens to be engaged to a handsome man.

Why? I flipping LOVE this trope but I never expected to see it drive a BL.

10 I am cautious of but VERY intrigued

JAPAN'S Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka

From YTV releasing 1/11 about Soga, who, after a divorce and relocation to Osaka, seeks solace in dining at 26-year-old Sakae's restaurant. Unbeknownst to Soga, Sakae sees him as more than just a regular customer.

TAIWAN's Love For Love's Sake

Based on the Manhwa Love Supremacy Zone by Hwacha, this will star actors Lee Tae Vin, Cha Jun Wan, Oh Min Su and Cha Woon Ki. The plot of the drama is based on Tae Myung Ha, a young man who is dropped into a game based off of a novel that he knows. His mission is to make another player, Cha Yeo Woon happy. Cha Yeo Woon is Myung-Has favourite character in the novel. But then the game starts going completely different from the novel.

City of Stars AKA Fueangnakorn

Star Hunter started filming this 12/23 about an actor falls in love with a programmer and the narrative intends to “explore the ramifications of being public figure in the social network era who must endure critics, bullying, and defamation.” Looks like another Lovely Writer, Call It What You Want sort of thing.

My Stand-In AKA My Stand In

Chinese IP ALERT! Adapted from the novel Professional Body Double (职业替身) by Shui Qiang Cheng (水千丞) stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please).

OMG Vampire AKA OMG! Vampire (LeeFrank)

Frank and Lee Long Shi are back only vampires now. So many vampires.

The Rebound (MeenPing)

VIU Basketball based romance staring Meen (a national basketball player, so yay for that).

We Are (PondPhuwin)

GMMTV's university friendship Bl featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawin - basically ALL in the good kind of messy friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is gay. I'm IN! Trailer here.

Love Upon a Time (NetJames)

Domundi announced for 6/7/2023 then delayed to 2024. NetJames in a historical BL! Also feat Tonnam (Dr Sing from Triage).

Jack & Joker (YinWar)

DeHup brings us be gay, do crimes. Yin, War, Mark and a few other familiar faces doing Leverage but gayer. Yes, thank you, I will have that.

My Love Mix-Up Thai Remake (GemniForth)

GMMTV. Hum, well I do love this pair and I did like the original and maybe this time these characters will actually kiss? I'm actually fine with this pick-up. I kind of enjoy seeing different countries remake the same IP. Especially if it's IP I'm mostly unfazed by.

#asked and answered #2023 BL #most anticipated BL #my top picks for 2024 #thai bl #Spare Me Your Mercy #Wandee Godday #GMMTV #The Next Prince #zeenunew #Lover Merman #Me and Who #domundi #Although I Love You and You #Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka #Love For Love's Sake #City of Stars #My Stand-In #OMG Vampire

140 notes · View notes

kineticallyanywhere · 7 months

Note

I love how the newest dndads episode was just, half Will Campos and Beth May going 'yes this is some IMPORTANT character arc shit going on here' and so CLEARLY in lockstep with eachother on the matter and half Matt Arnold and Freddie Wong going 'well how can we undercut this' (sorry for the random ask i don't have anyone else in my life that listens to this game)

YES the balance of intent on this podcast is SO GOOD

Will and Beth are like: okay we're gonna make the coolest story, passing each other Moments like sports-ball pros. Figuring out those Character Beats

meanwhile Freddie and Matt are so deep in it (either because they are their character or because they simply Become the character for several hours every few weeks) that they're just: Character Moment? The heck are you talking about, we're trying to escape heaven and stick it to old people!! "Narrative Arc?" this is REAL LIFE. now JUMP THROUGH THE PISS HOLE

and this episode Matt swung so hard on the "this is real life" for Will's ball-pass to Beth that Will shot back with "you want method? I'll give you method." and apparently made silent eye-contact with them in the actual room as they go the silent treatment from Normal

from the live-listen:

#ask ka #me talking #dndads #dndads 2 #dndads spoilers #they're such a perfect cast #the perfect concoction of Making Stuff

114 notes · View notes

infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

Note

So consider this… It’s two weeks after the end of S4, Poor Steve is trying to unwind at home as best he can so he’s taken to jerking off regularly and letting himself be as loud as he wants ‘cause who the fuck still lives in Hawkins these days? And then the lights start flickering, the camera does a full 360 sideways and there is a very much alive very red-faced Eddie Munson in the upside-down version of Steve’s house, rapidly flickering the lights and shouting “I CAN HEAR YOU HARRINGTON, GODDAMN IT!”

ANON ! i'm in love with you and kissing you on the forehead for this one. 1) because it made me cackle out loud and i was in need of a good laugh, so thank you my angel 😇 and 2) because i'm now convinced that this has to be a scene in s5 or i'll simply pass away ! too good !!

!! PLEASE READ BELOW BEFORE CLICKING THE READ MORE !!

before we continue and get onto the prompt, this post is very much scandalous/nsft (minors close your eyes and scroll away).

ficlet contains: monsterfucking, breeding, masturbation, accidental voyeurism, kas!eddie/steve harrington, and general filth. if that’s not your thing, no problem, i’d just suggest skipping this one :)

now, i'm imagining eddie's in kind of a clusterfuck, here. he's trapped in the UD. and he's scared out of his mind, hungry, exhausted, drained of all hope, losing it, etc. steve's UD house was the closest place he could find to take shelter after waking up from the whole demobat attack (and let's face it, subconsciously or not, eddie takes comfort in the fact that the house obviously reminds him of steve).

and the first few times he hears steve jerking off, eddie thinks he's genuinely imaging it. because, like, there's just no way steve 'the hair' harrington--former king steve of hawkins high--is making noises that breathy, sinful, and sweet. there's just no way ! what with the high pitched whines, bratty little moans, and out of character babbling about wanting his pussy fucked hard--there's just NO FUCKING WAY.

however, it does do something to eddie's dick (which has grown considerably, btw, since he started transforming into...well...he's not entirely sure what he is anymore, but he's definitely something other than human...he knows that).

his cock aches and throbs obscenely as he tries to drown out steve's cries of pleasure from above.

but he can't help it. eddie really, really can't. he's got it bad. he feels absolutely sick with want. and he's simply overtaken by the glorious sounds of this beautiful boy. newly sensitive ears burning from listening to steve's wet, sloppy, cock fucking into his veiny hand or against the sheets (which eddie can tell he's doing because he can smell the waft of linen and hear the painful drag of skin on fabric).

and the thing is, the more it happens, the more possessive eddie's hind brain gets about steve harrington.

the more he finds himself taking out his own enormous, barbed dick and milking himself over steve's UD bed. closing his eyes as he does so, he imagines mounting the boy, shoving his face into the pillows, taking him from behind and stuffing him full with load after load of cum.

eddie wants steve to carry his babies--even though it's not technically biologically possible (to his knowledge, shhh). he wants to watch his belly bulge and stretch; on the verge of bursting from how huge eddie's cock is inside him. he wants to use steve as his own personal cock warmer, employ the barbs, and lock himself into place. he wants to brush up against steve's untouched prostate relentlessly, draw moan after moan out of him, make steve scream out those sweet sounds just for him. draining ever last ounce of his cum into this perfect boy as he makes him writhe and undulate from the magnitude of his pleasure. pleasure only eddie munson--this new version of himself, enhanced and engorged with desire--can give him.

then the day comes where eddie's convinced he's going to bite his own arm off if he doesn't get his hands on steve soon. steve, who, can't seem to stop jacking off. constantly moaning and whining and crying out eddie's name as he cums so sweetly. never brining another human into the room. always by himself, always touching his cock so carefully. treating it like something delicate, teasing himself, and taking his time.

and eddie's hind brain is growing irritable. he's frigid, desperate, and heart-broken over the fact that he can't protect and serve his human directly. that he can't be the one to give steve comfort. he's constantly growling, rutting against anything that smells even faintly of steve in the UD version of his house, and builds a proper nest for him (despite knowing they're in two separate worlds, he can dream. just in case).

as eddie puts the finishing touches on the nest and groans in satisfaction, he hears steve performing his daily ritual up above. and as usual, he sounds heavenly. eddie can smell the boy's precum, can practically taste his skin, pictures the angelic slide of his measly human hand on that pretty pink cock (it's what he imagines, he's never seen it). he's certain this will finally send his monster over the edge, make him spontaneously combust if he has to hear steve sucking on his own fingers and crying about eddie one more time; so without thinking his hind brain starts flickering all of the lights in steve's house and he shouts:

"“I CAN HEAR YOU HARRINGTON, GODDAMN IT! YOU'RE GOING TO DRIVE ME INSANE! JESUS CHRIST! YOU HAVE TO STOP!"

steve pauses. there are tears in his eyes, a huge smile on his face, and he’s laughing like it's the funniest thing in the world. and god, that's a beautiful sound, too. the sound of his happy chirping human.

"munson? munson, is that really you? oh my god, oh my god! you're alive?" he smells of salty cheeks and lavender; soft and pleasant.

"yeah, it's me," eddie fights to sound normal--doesn't want to accidentally growl and scare him away, "and i've been listening to your 24-hour cum fest for the past three weeks straight. you got something to say for yourself, pretty boy? or just 'oh eddie, oh eddie, right there! feels so good'?" he mimics in a nasaly interpretation of steve’s voice.

steve's laughter rings out through the darkness of the upside down, blows back the tattered curtains on the warped bedroom window, and travels back to eddie's perked ears in a gorgeous tune. sonorous hymn written just for his bleak, forlorn heart. giving it every reason to keep beating.

"okay, okay. quit it. give a guy a damn break," he says, "grief looks different for everyone and mine just happens to look particularly horny when it comes to you."

eddie feels more human than he has in a long time. despite the changes to his body, despite his uncontrollable urges, despite the fucking breeding nest sitting in the corner--steve makes him whole, steve makes him alive, steve makes him feel safe and that's all that matters.

"so you gonna come pick me up from the upside down or what, big boy?" he gazes up at the roof, as if he can actually meet eyes with steve, because maybe--just maybe--some day soon he will, again.

thanks for reading and supporting ! lmk what you think of this one in the comments and feel free to send in a scandalous steddie thought/prompt for me to respond to, of your own.

my inbox is always open and anon asks are more than welcome if that's more comfortable for you :) xoxo !!

oh and if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist at any time for any reason, i'm happy to do so ! just send me a dm or toss it in the comments <3

taglist: @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn, @bestofbucky, @vampireinthesun, @carlyv, @shrimply-a-menace, @lordrrascal, @jjoesjonas, @malachitedevil, @anxiouseds

432 notes · View notes

finntheehumaneater · 4 months

Note

Hello! For the angsty-ish prompts, maybe “Didn’t you see what I did?!” and Steddie? (Or another pairing, should the mood strike you!)

Hallo!! So…I maybe saw your ask and got super fucking excited…and possibly wrote this way too fast. It turned out to be longer than I expected, and went in a totally different direction than I had planned, but…here it is!!

(I didn’t read this over, so apologies for any mistakes lmao)

angst prompt list | hurt/comfort prompt list (for people who don’t like angst :D) {more about the asks in my pinned post}

CW: some gorey description used in a metaphorical sense (blood, bones, guts, ripping skin, etc.)

Sometimes relationships weren’t meant to last—“we’re family” lost its meaning to him over time—and that made Eddie want to claw out his bones, hands shaking and blood everywhere so that he could die in peace and not have to worry about pushing anyone away again. He pushed away his mom, and then he never got the chance to get her back. He let his dad do he pushing for him, because he was so fucking tired all the time—came out of that with scars and bruises and a deep cut that ran down his chest, carved open and horrible. No one sales could see it but him. Sometimes it wasn’t there. But it still felt like it. In a way, his dad still had pieces of him that Eddie would never get back.

He pushed his uncle away at first, snapped at him and yelled and threw things, because he was a kid and he was angry, but Wayne was stubborn and just held Eddie as he kicked and screamed and sobbed. And Eddie loved Wayne. He was more of a dad to him than his real one had been. He never forced Eddie to do anything he didn’t want to, and Eddie only finished high school because he didn’t want Wayne to feel disappointed. Like Wayne would ever be disappointed in Eddie. He didn’t make Eddie talk to the neighbors or go out and do things—but Eddie did those anyway, sometimes, to just give Wayne a break.

And the trailer was nice, until they lost it in ‘86. When Eddie’s broken body made it back, more ruined than it had ever been. He had woken up in a hospital bed, wires stuck into him with needles and a blue hospital gown covering him. There was no one with him. He was alone. It’s not like he expected anyone to be there, but maybe Wayne waiting for him to wake up would have been nice. And it hadn’t been a slow kind of waking up like he had seen in movies—blinking up at the ceiling and trying to remember where you were—it had been the fast kind of waking up, like the one you would have after a nightmare. He was upright in a second, sobbing before he could even breathe in.

A nurse came in shortly after and got him to lay down for a while. He asked where his uncle was, and she told him that no one was allowed to visit. She said she was surprised that they hadn’t handcuffed him to the bed, and her voice sounded bitter, like she wouldn’t have liked it if they had.

After a few hours, she had him sit up, and she untied the back of the hospital gown, sliding the blue-and-white dotted fabric off of his shoulders to look at his chest. And Eddie couldn’t really look down all that well, so he just let his head drop as gently as he could, chin pressed to his chest. And he didn’t know why it made him cry so hard to see a line down the front, all stitched up with a thin line of blood leaking down the middle. But maybe it was because the nurse seemed to notice it. Maybe because it made him think of his dad. Maybe it was because it just made everything feel more real.

Some of the stitches were torn—probably because Eddie refused to stay still, all of his body feeling like it was itching and squirming and twisting in ways that hurt—so the nurse fixed them and then gave him a hug. He didn’t know that nurses could do that. He had been in the hospital loads of times as a kid. For when he “tripped down the stairs” or “fell out of bed” or “fell off of his bike”. He didn’t even have a bike until he moved in with Wayne. And whenever he cried, then, the nurses would just look at him like it was an inconvenience for them, and his dad would tell him to shut up so that they could finish up and get out of there. He was eight. That wasn’t fair.

After a little while, Wayne was allowed to come in. And he didn’t say anything at first. Just sat next to Eddie and held his hand while Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but he knew he was going to.

Wayne couldn’t stay forever, because he still had to work. The government hush-money was fine, but they needed that to afford the apartment Wayne had found just outside of Hawkins, so everything else came from his job. When Wayne couldn’t be there, Eddie was alone.

Until Steve Harrington started showing up. Honestly, it was a miracle that the fucking armed guards outside let Steve in, seeing as they weren’t family—barely even friends—but Eddie knew why. Before Steve started showing up, Eddie would talk to the guards. It was more like yelling through the locked door to them, just trying to keep himself busy so that he didn’t break down again, like he so often did. And he’d just talk about anything and everything to them, even though he knew it pissed them off. He kind of did it because it pissed them off.

So having Steve in there with him meant that he would stop bothering the guards. And Steve was mostly quiet, but he would tell Eddie what the kids were up to, and how his neighbor—Max

Mayfield—was up to. She was a good kid, he thought. The two of them had never really introduced themselves to each other, but sometimes Wayne would have Max over for dinner when her mom would go out drinking. That was rare, though, because Ms. Mayfield mostly stayed home to drink. And there were times when Max didn’t want to be home, so Eddie would take the couch and let her sleep in his room for the night until she felt safe enough to go back home. And Ms. Mayfield wasn’t like how Eddie’s dad had been, but she scared Max in a different way. No kid should have to see their parent passed out on the couch that often.

She was in some kind of coma, according to Steve, but she was getting better. He said she opened her eyes a few times, but that didn’t really mean anything, and he knew it. Eddie tried his hardest not to cry when Steve was around, because the first time he had done it, Steve had panicked and looked uncomfortable. He knew it was because Steve had been tired and Eddie had just burst into tears suddenly when one of the IV wires tugged too hard as he moved his arm—but Eddie still felt bad.

Sometimes it happened, and he would wait until Steve was leaving the room to curl up into the bed as best as he could and just cry. And sometimes Steve would turn around and come back to sit with him, to hold his hand and just let him cry for as long as he needed, but most times Steve would leave and Eddie would be alone again.

Steve was there a lot for him when Wayne couldn’t be. And Wayne was trying his hardest, but his boss was strict and he wasn’t allowed to leave early or call in sick. Steve was there when Eddie had to try walking for the first time in three months. Steve was there when Eddie had to start doing Physical Therapy a few times a week. And Steve was there when Eddie had been discharged.

Steve took him to his house, and not to Wayne’s apartment, because Eddie wasn’t really over losing the trailer yet. He let Eddie sleep in the guest bedroom, but they ended up sleeping in the same bed when Eddie’ hobbled over to Steve’s room to lay with him after Steve woke up screaming. Eddie didn’t really have nightmares all that much, because he thought about the shit they had been through all too often, but Steve seemed to try and push those thoughts away.

Eddie woke up with Steve curled into his side, his face pressed against Eddie’s arm, one hand curled across Eddie’s chest and into his hair—over the scar down Eddie’s front that still felt like it was bleeding all the time, even though it was closed. And for a minute, Eddie felt a little safer, turning as best as he could to wrap his arms back around Steve, nose pressed into his hair as he just tried to breathe and go back to sleep.

When they woke up, Steve moved away and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to pry Eddie off of him as gently as he could, because Eddie was still half-asleep and his limbs felt stiff and imoblile. He made fun of Eddie a bit for hugging him in his sleep, before he went down to make food, but Eddie didn’t mind.

He got up and tugged on one of Steve’s t-shirts that he found, before putting back sweatpants from the day before—because Steve had told him he couldn’t wear his jeans until his legs were a bit better, in case they hurt him. Eddie didn’t think that would happen, but the sweatpants were easier to move in considering how stiff his legs always felt. And if it made Steve happy, he’d do it.

He limped down the stairs, nearly slipping—which had happened before—but he caught himself on the railing and went down the straits slower until he was on flat ground and could hold onto the wall better until he got to the kitchen.

Steve had his back turned to him, looking through the refrigerator for bread to make toast, because Eddie was one of the pickiest eaters alive, and was tired of the off-brand cereal he got to eat at the hospital. Eddie struggled to pull himself up onto the counter for a moment, and when he got up there, one of the knobs from the cabinet was digging into his spine—but being up there made him feel taller than Steve, so he stayed.

Steve turned around with the bread, doing a little spin that made Eddie laugh—before Steve saw Eddie and let out a strangled scream, throwing the bread bag near him.

Eddie leaned forward and caught it, smiling to himself. “Morning.”

“Jesus Christ…” Steve breathed, sighing and running his hands down his face, his cheeks flushed as he snatched the bread back and walked over to the toaster.

“Nope. Just Eddie,” Eddie muttered, grinning, but he didn’t really feel happy. Because after this , he was going to be leaving, and then he was probably going to avoid Steve. But he might not have to, because why would Steve want to see him after this, anyways? It was just pity.

Still, Eddie couldn’t help but ask the question that had been gnawing on the back of his mind like some kind of rabid dog. He cleared his throat and looked down, feeling the tears burn in his eyes even though he hadn’t said anything yet. “Why did you let me stay?”

“Hm?” Steve hummed, and it sounded absentminded, like he wasn’t really listening as he put the bread into the toaster and pulled the switch down until it clicked.

“Steve?,” Eddie tried again, and this time Steve turned around. Eddie looked up, and fuck, Steve was looking at him with those eyes again—all concerned and pitiful. And Eddie wanted to rip himself open, peel back his skin and show Steve all of his damaged parts—all of the pieces that he didn’t show anybody else. But he didn’t. He just swallowed and asked again, “Why haven’t you left yet?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, stepping between Eddie’s knees and placing his hands on Eddie’s thighs in such a casual way that Eddie wanted to scream. “I mean…you’re in my house.”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie muttered, his face burning red as he looked away, vaguely feeling a few tears slip down his cheeks. “Don’t avoid the truth, man, I know this is all just fucking pity.”

“Eddie—“ Steve started, his voice sounding hurt as his eyebrows creased in concern, hands reaching up to touch Eddie’s face. Eddie flinched away, the knob on the cabinet pressing even harder into his spine.

“Didn’t you see what I did? With the fucking kids? Why do you think I didn’t let any of them come and see me after the charges were fucking lifted?” Eddie choked out, words biting around the broken sob that he was desperately trying to hold in, because Steve didn’t need to pity him any more than he already had. “I’m a fuck-up! Everyone leaves! And if people don’t do it on their own, I fucking push them away! I’m not—“

Steve tugged Eddie into a hug, pulling him down until his face was pressed into Steve’s shoulder. There was a hand wrapped around his waist, one in his hair.

“Stop it,” Steve whispered, his voice soft. “You’re not a fuck-up. Don’t say that.”

“I am,” Eddie muttered, his voice sounding wet and broken and childish. “I am.”

“I don’t care, then. I don’t care if you’re a fuck-up, okay? I’m staying, and I’m going to help you get better. Because I care about you. Not whatever shitty things you’ve done, Eddie.” His words were quiet, but Eddie felt himself shrink back slightly, sobbing, only for Steve to pull him back again, one hand tracing over his spine in the most gentle way possible.

“You’re an idiot for caring,” Eddie whispered, his hands going limp from where they were previously gripping at Steve’s arms.

“Maybe,” Steve mused, combing his fingers through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie found himself leaning into the touch. “You can’t push me away, though. You’re stuck with me now.”

Eddie laughed wetly into Steve’s neck, shaking his head. “Fine by me.”

This kind of felt good. Like this is what he had been waiting for. Like the aching, sore feeling inside of him was being clouded over by something nicer and more soft—something loving.

It felt like the cut down his chest was finally healing. For good this time.

71 notes · View notes