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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 year

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ALPHABET BOY- S.G ROGERS

Pairing: Brothers Best Friend! Steve x Innocent! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: you despise steve and his constant teasing with you- the younger sister of his best friend bucky barnes. little do you know that teasing is flirting, and it comes in handy when you’re trapped at a costume party with no way home.

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, daddy kink, petnames, slight breeding kink, praise kink, swearing, size kink (steve is like 6′5), dry humping, slight degradation kink, lots of teasing, alcohol and drugs mentioned

“i'm not a little kid now, watch me get big now- spell my name on the fridge now with all your alphabet toys.... you won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now? you're the prince of the playground little alphabet boy” - alphabet boy, melanie martinez

You were sick of him.

Sick, sick, sick.

He plagued your brain, consuming you whole like some flesh-eating maggot. The thought of him was enough to send shivers down your back, make your stomach curl in on itself like rotten milk.

Steve scared you.

He scared you in a way you didn’t even know was possible, in a way that was rooted deep in your core. The embarrassment you got whenever he was around sent you spiraling.

You were the shy, timid and innocent little sister to Bucky, though you weren't so little, he and his friends always thought of you that way.

I’m not a little kid! You’d often whine to him as he teased you, times never changing. Steve was Bucky's best friend, a brother to him if you will. Always lurking around, always popping up in places you'd least expect him.

He was the character that was always slouched on the couch when you got home, acting as if it were his house, and you were the guest. You might as well be, with the way he teased you.

Always making your cheeks heat whenever he mocked you, called you names, picked on you for your cutesy, little pink outfits. It made your toes curl in their socks, your hands balling into little fists as if you were fighting the urge to swing at him.

He’s being mean to me again Bucky! You’d often call from your bedroom as Steve towered over you, leaning against your bedroom door frame- eyeing you up like you were the star dish on the menu.

Let him! He’d call back, making Steve’s smirk grow even wider.

It was torture, being around him. Any comments you shot back to him ended up backfiring almost immediately.

You were smaller, dumber, younger- didn’t you know better?

No, you wanted to snap back. No, I don’t know any better. Because I’m stubborn and he’s being a tease.

Steve would build you up like building blocks, just to bring you back down again. Yet you refused to be away from him for too long. Yes the thoughts made you feel sick, tummy starting to ache as you thought of his cool, stern gaze, that cocky smile and biceps as large as your head.

It made your thighs clamp, palms turn clammy when you thought of the happy trail that lingered down his abs whenever he’d stretch and yawn while him and Bucky were watching the game, knowing you were watching from behind your little hiding spot.

Damn him. Damn him and his mocking, pretentious ways. Damn him for always winning you back over, with little sweets and treats and the odd compliment, or attention he knew you so desperately craved.

It was obvious, how drawn to him you were, like a lost puppy. Though you tried to fight it, you were always rewarded with a snarky comment.

You’re so dumb. So dumb, such a baby.

You could never win, when it came to Steve. He was the golden child in everyone’s eyes, always doing the right thing, always working so hard and succeeding! You were just trying your best, getting the soft, sad smile along with it.

They didn’t see how Steve treated you. They didn’t notice the sly looks he gave you, knowing he had beat you at every hand he dealt.

He was the prince of the playground. You were just a pawn for him, something to direct his mocking, sarcastic ways towards. Though you refused to cry in front of him, knowing that would irk his comments even more.

I’m just teasing you rabbit. Don’t be so sensitive. Was his form of an apology. And you ate it up every single time, licking the plate and utensils before seconds.

It was cat and mouse between the two of you, always pulling each other's leg. Or hair, in his case. The sexual attraction you felt towards him was undeniable, nonetheless. You were drawn to him and his charming ways, the facade he put on for others.

How could no one see him? The real him?

The Steve who always trailed his hand up your leg to pinch your thigh tightly when you were forced to sit next to him, the Steve who always looked at you as if you were his next meal.

He was an angel to the world, but his halo was anything but bright. You thought of him now, in your own set of angel wings- costume party in full swing. It was late, the hour growing long and you wanted nothing more than to stumble home.

Even if that meant taking yourself.

The alcohol was buzzing in your system, the bottle drowning you way past your limit. You were such a sucker for peer pressure, wanting nothing more than to please others.

So you drank, and drank, and drank until you were a babbling mess, the world seeming to bend over backwards, flipping each and every way as you adjusted your little wings and took another sip of some fruity cooler.

It was so saccharine you swore your teeth started to tingle as it swished around your mouth.

You needed to leave.

It was too stuffy and hot, bodies all packed together as the wallpaper glistened from the low lights, and the smoke started to cover everything like a shield. Nobody listened to you, your friends long gone as you attempted to beg for an exit, an escape route for you to stumble down.

Everyone had morphed into another being- you weren't sure who was who anymore, with all the masks and makeup. It was not your scene. Not at all.

Somehow, after a few loud, floor-shaking songs later you had managed to stumble over to a hallway, slowly guiding yourself past the couples who were dry-humping eachother against the picture frames, kissing with so much teeth and tongues it was like they were having a battle on who would gasp for air first.

The red solo cup had slipped from your nibble fingers, clattering against the hardwood and splashing red up against the walls.

It looked like blood.

The cool air hit you like a train on a track as you stepped out into the dark abyss, large forest looming in front of you as the porch light flickered. The shadows of the trees looked like clawed fingers against the grass, the gust of wind causing goosebumps to spread up your arms.

You needed to get home.

There was a trail that connected this property to yours, though it was long and windy. The smart thing to do was to call Bucky, explain to him the situation.

I’m drunk. Like really drunk. And I’m scared and I need someone to hold just for a few minutes while they take me home. It was a mistake and I’m so sorry, I really am.

But he wouldn't hold you. He probably wouldn’t even pick you up, saying it was your fault for getting in this situation, so you should find a way out of it.

No, no that was intrusive thoughts talking. You couldn't tell the difference anymore. Everything in your brain was swimming, the world stretching and warping like a fushigi ball.

Bucky would pick you up. Of course he would. But you knew the consequences that would come with it. Which is exactly why you put another foot forward, pushing yourself off of the old, weathered siding.

You would be treated like a child, mocked at for being so careless. Well, he could shove that mocking up his ass. You were tired of him and his friends always being so mean, always bullying you because you were seen as careless.

You didn’t need any company, but it didn’t mean you were opposed to it. A shadow, one even more intimidating than the towering trees appeared, lingering behind you. It was stretched, shoulders wide as you peered down at it.

“You shouldn't be out here all alone.” the voice murmured, low and deep as you turned. Your eyes met with a strangers, mask covering his face- deep looming pulled eyes staring at you.

Ghostface.

You had seen that movie with Steve and Bucky, though you had never been a fan of scary movies. “It’s not safe for little girls like you, you know.” he drawled on.

It should've scared you, his sudden interest in you. He had appeared out of nowhere, quite literally from nowhere, keening to the likes of you. But it made you feel special, knowing this mystery man was talking to you.

“I’m not alone, you’re out here.” you giggled, stumbling forward towards his 6’5 frame. You felt a weird desire to be in this mans arms- though there was no doubt about it that it was the booze that rushed to your head.

“You should be scared angel. Not stumbling towards a stranger, all doe eyed like that.”

“But you seem nice!” you chirped out, forgetting your original mission to make way back to your home. You liked this man. You liked Ghostface.

“ Mhm you’re lucky I am. I take pity on little girls like you.” His arm extended, tight black henley sleeves rolled up to his bulging biceps. Mystery mans hand was warm to the touch, the brush of skin against your own sent heat licking down your spine. It was then you noted the tattoo that was all too familiar, the twist and curves of black ink that bent around his wrist like a snake.

Steve.

“Steve?” The hand that shrugged off the mask confirmed your suspicions, long blonde hair curling at the nape of his neck, blue eyes sparked with mischief.

“You really shouldn't be so vulnerable, ya know. What if I actually was a stranger? It’s dangerous.”

The scolding began. You were too dazed out to fight back, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I really am. Just- just don’t tell B-bucky!” you hiccupped, praying he would help you. This was the first time you had needed Steve. Had wanted him to stay, and actually care.

He clucked his tongue. “I won’t. But we need to get you home, yea? Silly girl. Silly, silly girl.”

“I’m sorry.” was all you could mutter, stumbling as he squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, fighting off the chill of the night air.

“Don’t be stupid. You weren't thinking of going in the woods alone, were you? There really must not be a brain in there after all.” he mocked, taunting you as he guided you onwards, towards the creaking trees, their limbs dangling down like claws that would scratch your skin lean off, leave you bare and vulnerable.

You took a deep breath, the fresh air heightening your senses as a twig snapped from under his weight, a soft tune leaving his lips as he whistled. You shuddered, leaning into him more, his larger hand in yours squeezing your digits a little tighter.

“You scared angel?”

“N-no. Never scared.” you lied, staring straight ahead, though you couldn't see much besides his flashlight beam aimed at the little path in front of you.

“Not even when I spooked you that one time when you were with that pink bunny stuffie in your bedroom? What were you doing with it anyways?”

Humping it to the thought of you, you wanted to confess but kept your lips shut.

“Having a tea party.” you grumbled, to which he laughed. It brought you a sense of comfort in the moment- that laugh. It wasn't mean, or directed. It was just easy, carefree, and light as it bounced off an invisible sound barrier.

He wasn't laughing at you. He was laughing with you.

“Cute. You’re so cute bunny. You know that?”

“No.” you giggled, cheeks heating as hot as the sun, whether it was from the booze or his affections, you didn’t know. It seemed like time was stretched and warped, the path ending as soon as it started when you were with Steve.

You felt weirdly protected with him near, the warmth of his body drawing you closer, the scent of his cologne making your head spin as he murmured to you. It was hard to comprehend what he was saying, your mind in a different place as you stumbled into your backyard.

The lights were off, the structure appearing empty and hollow as you stared up at it. “Looks like Bucko wouldn't of came anyways sweetheart.” he sighed, noting his car wasn't in the driveway, the doors appearing locked.

“Does that mean I’m alone?” you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice. You didn’t think you could be alone tonight. You were too anxious and on edge to deal with the warped shadows, bending and following you like a contortionist.

And if you puked, who said you’d be able to get off the bathroom tiles?

“I’m staying with you angel. You’re too stupid to think for yourself right now.”

You fought your urge to stick your tongue out at him, but you knew he was right. He teased you for having next to no thoughts in your brain all the time, but this time it was actually true.

“Let’s go.” he tugged at your arm, causing u to stumble after him as he made his way towards the back door. His legs were so much longer than yours, stride extensive and full of authority. Steve knew exactly where to go, digging the key out of the hiding spot and unlocking the door.

You didn’t even know how he knew where it was. You surely didn’t remember.

The light flickered on, humming softly as it illuminated the little breakfast nook. “Steve why do you hate me?” you blurted out, hiccuping as you bent down to unbuckle your shoes, kicking them off by the door.

His face contorted into a look of confusion as he peered down at you. “I don’t hate you bunny. Far from it.”

You just nodded, taking his word for it. He was stumped by your level of compliance, as you normally would fight or bicker with him whenever he made a claim. But you were quiet, humming a little song as you trudged towards the stairs, hands out in front of you to guide you instead of turning on the rest of the lights.

“Stev-” you gasped as suddenly your body was lifted from the ground, swung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your head spun as you stared at the world from a much taller height, body squirming as he moved.

A hand smacked your thigh that poked from under your little dress, making you yelp. “Stop squirmin girl. You're not walking up these stairs.” he grumbled, making the trudge up the rickety wooden stairs, hand rubbing your thigh as you felt your panties start to dampen.

His hand was so warm, so nice as it stroked your skin, even when it stung.

“I’m fully- fully able to walk up.” you slurred and he chuckled.

“Mhm I don’t think you should think for yourself right now baby bunny.” he teased, and you giggled. Your bedroom door opened with a creak, and he walked you past the pink walls, past the frilly whites and endless stuffies as he plopped you down on your bed.

You laid back with a sigh, tracing the soft sheets with your fingers, sinking into them as you closed your eyes. Steve felt himself getting harder and harder the longer he gazed at you, so soft and delicate- like a little doll.

You were so in your element, basking in the comfort of the silk and cotton, just savoring how fuzzy you felt in the moment.

“Can you help me with my costume Stevie?” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to smile at him. He thought he was dreaming. He needed to be pinched.

But you needed his help, craved for his touch again as you lay there- almost helpless. You swung your leg up, toes curling against his abdomen in your socks, stretching your arms over your head.

“You’re such a tease, you know that?” he murmured, tugging at each sock, peeing them away from your skin to reveal your bubblegum pink nail polish.

“Mhmm so tired though Stevie. I can’t do anything.”

“Oh I know.” he smirked, hands slowly inching their way up towards your thighs, fingers walking their way across your skin.

“Just need your help, you gotta take care of me.” you giggled, back arching as he tugged at your dress, pulling off the rest of your costume. Your breasts were bared, shining in the pale moonlight as the air whooshed past his teeth.

No bra.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck.” he murmured as you giggled softly, batting your eyelashes at him as if you were a schoolgirl. “What’s the matter Stevie?” you asked, reaching for him, nails softly scraping against his biceps.

“You’re so fucking adorable angel. Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, grabbing his hand, guiding it down towards your lacey underwear that was now soaked, letting his fingers circle your button through the fabric.

You moaned, back arching against the sheets as he smiled, that wicked grin that drove you wild. You couldn't help yourself. You were on cloud nine, head in the heavens from the way he looked at you, the way he touched you.

Hands slipped up to grope your breasts, massaging them, squeezing each nipple as your mouth parted into an O shape, moaning his name. His hands slipped under your undergarments, fingers coaxing you open as your legs fell limp- purely under his control. Submissive and willing for him.

It drove him wild, the sweet, innocent little sister of his best friend- the person he had craved for years was now under him looking like a doll.

“Gotta open you up first princess. Don’t wanna hurt your sweet, little hole hm?” he whispered, thumb circling your clit, so sensitive under his flesh, aching for him.

You were just so needy, practically begging him- words slurring as you humped his hand, mindlessly reaching for one of your stuffies to cling to as your body rode him.

“Mhmm so… daddy..” you gasped out, emitting a low growl from his lips. You moaned into the fur of the animal, to which he quickly ripped away.

“Don’t hide your sweet little noises for daddy baby, don’t you know better? We’re all alone here, just the two of us. But even if we weren't, wouldn't you want everyone to know how good daddy's fingers feel stuffed in your cunnie?”

You nodded viciously, gasping for breath as heat licked down your spine, burning bright in your core as he rocked into you deeper. It was taken away in an instant, a startled gasp leaving your lips in disappointment before you saw his hands fumbling with his belt, muttering under his breath.

“Fuck I’m sorry angel but I can't take this anymore.I need- I need to be inside you I’m-”

You whimpered as he tugged down his bottoms as quickly as the two of you had entered this tangled affair, barely having a second to process what was happening before he was in you, and he was in you deep.

Plunging straight to the hilt, hands clawing at his biceps as you moaned, cried his name so sweetly he almost combusted right then and there.

“I’m so sorry angel I just- been waiting too long, FUCK you’re so goddamn tight n wet..” he murmured, head drooping low as he breathed you in, watched the way your juices coated his cock as he slipped out just slightly, only to plunge in even harder.

You clung to him so nicely, as if you were just made for him and only him, delicate and dainty. It was so easy to make you drool, so easy to watch you melt deeper into the mattress as he used you as his own personal fleshlight, muscles tensing and flexing as they adjusted you to the exact positions he wanted you in.

“You’re so good to me Stevie. So, so good, filling me…” you sighed, eyes hazy and glazed over as you peered up at him, admiring the man you hated with a passion, but the one you also craved like a drug.

He was so careful with you, guiding your tipsy body home, but so rough and eager with you now, as if he was feral.

“Stevie?” you asked softly, face distorting slightly the longer he looked at you, confusion now smeared across your face like a kids finger painting. “Stevie?”

You were muffled- trapped underwater. Murky.

His eyes flew open with a start, meeting yours as he blinked the fuzz away. His hand was so close to your body, just mere inches away from the place he had been touching you in his dream.

“Mhm?” he asked, noting he had somehow ended shirtless in your bed, the girly bedsheets wrapped around his low midriff, and you fought not to stare down at his happy trail.

“You were dreaming I think. Mumbling something.” you slurred, head smacking down back onto the pillow as he stared at you, your eyes now closed once more.

He didn’t fully remember what had happened. He had teased you, felt you up, and helped you home. But now he was in your bed, despite the fact the two of you bickered constantly, and nothing had happened.

Your little skimpy pj’s were still on. His boxers were on. Though he wished more than anything they were off, that everything was off and he could feel you the way he had ten seconds earlier.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest as you fell back into a drunken slumber, hand slipping over to cup your warm cheek before he could stop himself.

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harmonictechnicality · 9 months

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*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now.

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way.

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him.

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness.

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body.

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers.

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head.

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy.

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests.

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time.

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking?

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier.

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too.

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere.

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible.

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in.

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies.

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.”

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words.

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does).

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve.

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir.

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night.

The tiny hairs on Steve’s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself.

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #slight buckingham because I said so #lexssummerfanworkschallenge #biggest of shoutouts to lex for giving us this space to create and share together!!!#is the sleep depravation making Eddie good at flirting???#or is it all in his overactive imagination???#the world may never know #also Eddie is wearing one of Robin's shirts bc he never does laundry #that's not relevant - it's just a brainworm that he ironically wears her marching band tees #okay okay pls enjoy 💖#(and pretend I'm in a timezone where it's still August pls)

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biteofcherry · 11 months

Text

No better gift

part of Nesting universe

soft dark mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Steve likes the gift you gave him for his birthday, but there's something else that he wishes go. And he will take it.

warnings: soft dark Steve Rogers; established relationship; intimacy; some things are implied and some of them are kinky 😏

Sweet raspberry scent of your lotion soothes you as you rub it into your skin after taking a shower. It wasn’t exactly a tiring day, but exciting enough to have you craving the peace and quiet of your home.

Steve’s birthday was a rich celebration, though not like one might expect.

There was no grandeur, or flamboyant displays of wealth. No business partners to pledge fake vows, nor celebrities to take hundreds of photos with. Quite the opposite, it was a rather small affair with family and friends only.

But Steve’s family and friends are a bunch of joyous, often loud people. So despite the celebration being somewhat nostalgic - held at Steve’s mom’s place - it was a lot. From the laughter and teasing stories, to the small display of fireworks that Steve’s people organized.

What you have learned over the past year is that while they are lethal criminals, they are fiercely loyal and surprisingly loving.

And though it was Steve’s birthday, the true star of the party who stole all the attention was your baby boy. You could really catch a break and indulge (and Sarah’s cake was worthy of all the indulging), because others occupied him for hours. At one point you mentioned to Steve that he should find Bucky a girl, before Barnes really steals your kid.

All the fuss was exhausting enough for the baby that he fell asleep before you even got into the car.

Back at home, Steve told you to take your time in the bathroom while he puts the baby to bed. One of the things which surprised you at first, was how present Steve is - both for you and your son. Not only dutiful, but openly loving and enjoying that time. And watching him with the baby melts your heart each time, as well other parts of your body.

When you exit the bathroom, Steve is already back in the master bedroom. Half undressed.

His shirt is on the back of the armchair, the button of his dark slacks popped open, but the zipper still up. Your gaze appreciatively roams over the wide planes of Steve’s chest, taking in the outline of corded muscles and the few, ornate tattoos on his body.

Left corner of Steve’s mouth curls in a smirk when he catches you staring. He crooks a finger at you and your feet move on their own accord, stepping between him and the bed.

You lift on your tiptoes, pecking Steve’s lips sweetly. You’d like to maybe kiss him more, but your mouth also craves that huge slice of birthday cake which Sarah packed for you and at the moment the taste of it is kinda winning with the taste of Steve.

A little.

But you also want to cherish this quiet moment with him, soak up this warmth radiating off of him. You put a hand over his sternum, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart. Then slide your hand down his muscular arm.

“I hope you like your gift.” You tap the wide band of the black wristwatch on Steve’s wrist, shiny with novelty and black sapphires.

“It’s hard to find a present for a man who has everything. Or who can afford anything.”

You still consider it cheating, since to buy it for him you used the black card Steve gave you over a year ago.

“I do like it,” he assures you, stepping so close you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact with him.

He places a hand on your hip and skims his fingers up over the delicate fabric of your hand-painted, silk robe (Steve’s Valentine gift to you). He pinches the end of the silky belt between his fingers and starts tugging slowly.

“I love your other gift much more, though,” Steve’s voice drops to that low tone, thick as molten chocolate - and just as delectable.

“Other gift?” A small frown forms on your forehead, quickly smoothing out as a shiver of pleasure spreads through your body when Steve unties your robe.

Warm, calloused hand slips beneath the fabric, touching your naked skin. It’s a gentle, yet so characteristically possessive touch.

Over the months, even as your body changed with pregnancy and then after giving birth, Steve’s demand for your body never shifted. Not only it didn’t lessen, but at times it felt as if it grew.

He could be tender, especially when your body was the most sensitive, but there was always that control and possession; which both scared you and aroused you.

Your nipples harden into stiff pebbles as Steve’s fingers brush over your breasts, your breath hitching a note when he pushes the robe off your shoulders completely. His touch travels back down, more brazen. His blue eyes darken as he takes in your naked body, so vulnerable and all his to play with.

Hands flying to Steve’s shoulders, to keep your balance when he cups your tits, you gasp and arch. Heat unfurls in your belly in a wild burst as he pinches your stiff peaks.

With how Steve’s eyes are focused on the darkened nipples and his tormenting squeeze, you know he’s remembering how milk spilled between his fingers when he did that to you just a few months prior.

“I track your calendar, little bird,” Steve’s lips ghost along your jaw, as he slides his hands down your sides and over your ass.

At the brush of Steve’s lips over yours, your brain stops following the line of thought. You nearly whimper, chasing his mouth when he holds off the kiss.

“You’re ovulating.”

Your half-closed eyes snap open at his hungry tone. Shocked with the revelation and the obvious indication behind Steve’s words, you arch back. But you don’t have the slightest chance of putting any distance between the two of you.

Steve’s hands grip your ass and he hoists you up easily. A squeak escapes your lips when he tosses you onto the bed.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you watch him climb after you - a deadly predator, determined on devouring his prey whole.

The mattress dips under Steve’s weight and you feel yourself melting into the soft sheets, your pussy already weeping from the sheer sexual power of his aura. Still, instinctively your legs close. Steve yanks them apart.

He settles above you, heavy and warm, pinning one of your wrists down. His other hand slips between your thighs, nimble fingers teasing your folds and clit until your hips rock back against his hand, pleading for more.

“This will be your gift to me, little wife,” Steve’s eyes lock with yours as he pushes a single finger inside you.

“Swelling with my seed again.”

Steve’s triumphant chuckle seals your fate as your pussy clenches around his finger eagerly.

#Nesting #Steve Rogers birthday drabble #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x female Reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers imagine #soft!dark steve rogers #soft!dark steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers

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afewproblems · 11 months

Note

50. "I need you to forgive me."

You know why...

But please!!!

I know this took forever so I hope you will forgive me! (Also when I originally received this ask I had just posted part one and mentioned in the tags that prompt 50 could be a good 'fix-it' prompt for a follow up, and well, here we are! Also when I received it, I laughed for a solid minute, like evil laughed so thank you @happymediummm )

Part Three of Prompt 53. 'I'm flirting with you!'

Part One, Part Two

It's on Friday that the cavalry arrives.

Dustin bangs on Eddie's bedroom door, with a mace by the sounds of it.

He's about to snark that Dustin doesn't play a class that uses martial weapons when he hears the kid yell--

"Eddie! You have five seconds before I come in there and get you myself, I got your uncle's permission and everything!"

Eddie groans and detaches himself from the bed flipping the pillow he had been wallowing in away from himself.

He stomps towards the door and flings it open, leveling an unimpressed glare at Dustin who barrels past him into the bedroom.

Dustin crosses to the desk, his head on a swivel as he looks around the small space, Eddie scoffs as he steps towards Dustin, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing Henderson?" Eddie spits out as Dustin shrugs his hand off, he seems to spy what he's looking for as he crows a single, 'Aha,' and makes his way to the dresser.

"Seriously, Dustin, what are you doing here?"

"Saving you from yourself dude," Dustin scoffs as he takes a tape out of his pants pocket, the familiar writing on the label makes Eddie's stomach fall into his feet.

It's Steve's tape.

"No, nope, absolutely not," Eddie snaps.

He reaches for the cassette in Dustin's hand, only for the little shit to spin away from him and toss the tape from his right to his left hand in a move that seems so much like the teen's babysitter that Eddie wants to scream.

Dustin manages to pop the tape into the player and hit play before Eddie can get close again.

A few notes of a bass guitar reach Eddie's ear and his hands drop from Dustin's shoulders as he perks up…he knows this song.

"What the fuck Henderson?" He breathes out with wide eyes that flick back and forth between him and the cassette player.

'Oh yeah!

Some people say my love cannot be true

Please believe me, my love, and i'll show you

I will give you those things you thought unreal

The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal--'

"You are being an idiot," Dustin says matter of factly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he frowns at Eddie, "I don't exactly know what you said, but I think I got the gist out of Steve earlier today when Robin wasn't acting like a guard dog".

His dark blue eyes scan Eddie as he shakes his head, "you thought it was a joke, do you know Steve?"

Eddie rolls his eyes before crossing to the cassette player and slapping the stop button. All at once the sounds of Black Sabbath halt, leaving the room in tense silence.

"Look," Eddie snarls, "I've known people like Steve over the years, it's all the same bullshit--"

"Stop it!" Dustin snaps, he steps closer to Eddie and jabs a finger into his chest, "you don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Dustin's cheeks are flushed with anger as he shakes his head again, "he's nothing like that Eddie, you're being an asshole!"

"What is all the yellin' about?" Wayne's voice trickles through the door, a hint of concern running through it as he leans against the frame, eyeing both Eddie and Dustin warily.

"When I gave you permission to barge in here I don't remember agreeing to participate in a screamin' match son,” Wayne says, biting back a smile at the indignant expression on Dustin's face.

"Sorry Mr. Munson, but Eddie's being an idiot!" Dustin crosses his arms once more as he looks from Eddie to Wayne challengingly.

"That so?" Wayne laughs, "care to argue the charge," he directs at Eddie who rolls his eyes.

"It's nothing Wayne, Dustin is leaving now--"

"Steve made that tape for you," Dustin yells, pointing at the cassette player, "and you threw it in his face!"

"That true Ed?"

"It was a stupid joke," Eddie growls as Dustin throws his hands up in the air, "it doesn't mean anything".

Wayne looks at Eddie for a long moment, his face unreadable.

"Steve Harrington?" He asks softly.

Dustin nods nervously at Wayne before shooting another glare at Eddie.

"The one that came by your hospital room every day till you woke up Ed? The one they couldn't get to leave on the day you opened your eyes, that Steve Harrington?"

"So?" Eddie huffs, wrapping his own arms around his chest tightly, incredibly aware of the two pairs of eyes trained on him.

"Wayne, you told me I had to be careful of who I opened myself up to, I'm just following your advice!"

Wayne sighs, lifting his hand to pinch into his eyes.

"You'd be lucky to have a friend like Steve," Dustin grumbles as he moves to the bed to sit down. He pulls up his legs up to his chest and glares at the back of Eddie's head.

"Kid, I think Ed and I need to have a conversation, alone," Wayne says quietly to Dustin.

Eddie watches in fascination as Dustin opens his mouth to argue, but after whatever silent conversation takes place between the teen and his uncle, Dustin merely huffs and slips off the bed.

"Listen to the damn tape and get your head out of your ass," Dustin bites out as he passes Eddie, he levels one last impressive glare at the metal-head before leaving the room.

Wayne sighs as he makes his way over to the bed to sit, taking over Dustin's vacated spot.

"So, Harrington, huh?"

Eddie scowls and says nothing, leaning against the dresser. He winces as the sudden weight of his shoulder jostles everything, causing his loose D&D dice to fall off the edge and plink and plunk across the floor of his room.

The D4 will be a bitch to accidentally find with his feet later on, but Eddie ignores the mess and continues brooding against the dresser.

Wayne scratches his face, tapping an unsteady rhythm against his jean clad knee with his other hand, "okay," Wayne says gruffly from the bed as he shifts to stand.

"I don't know what ya did or said, but it was enough to make that kid beg his way in here," Wayne huffs, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the open door.

Eddie shrugs, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor. He hears Wayne sigh and the shift of fabric as he steps closer.

"You were so small," Wayne mutters suddenly.

Eddie looks up in confusion, but Wayne isn't looking at him, his eyes are trained just over Eddie's shoulder.

"When you came home that day, all black and blue," he shrugs and scratches his face again, "I didn't know how to help ya, and you wouldn't explain".

Eddie swallows roughly, horrified at the sudden brightness of his uncle's eyes. A man he has only seen cry twice since he's known him, the first time was at Eddie's mothers funeral, the other was the day Eddie woke up at the hospital all those months ago.

"I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to you Ed," Wayne breathes out wetly now as he roughly scrubs at his face, "and you being in the hospital, you were suddenly that small kid again, standing on my porch all black and blue".

Eddie feels his own eyes sting as his uncle turns slightly to wipe his face again, "What are you saying?"

"You weren't alone this time, Ed," Wayne says softly as he steps towards his nephew and grasps him gently by the shoulders, "you have so many more people looking out for you, hell --one of em' carried you home".

"I think a person like that deserves at least a chance to know you, and to see what I see".

It's Eddie's turn to swipe at his misty eyes, "What's that?" He asks with an unconvincing cough to hide the wobble in his voice.

Wayne smiles, giving Eddie's shoulders a soft squeeze, "a damn good kid with a big heart, who I hope knows how to apologize when it's needed".

"But what if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong, and we'll get through it," Wayne tugs Eddie towards him without warning into a tight hug and reaches behind Eddie to press play on the cassette player; the sound of guitar and drums begin again as Ozzy's voice fills the room.

'Your love for me has just got to be real

Before you know the way I'm going to feel--'

"But for the record kid, I don't think I am".

***

Eddie listens to the tape.

He listens to it again and again, both sides. Steve filled both sides with music for him…

He lays on his bed while it plays, staring a hole into the ceiling as the last few piano notes ring out before the tape stops, filling the room with silence.

The songs don't all go with one another and out of a dozen there's about eight he knows. The other four seem to be a mixture of songs he's heard Steve play in the beemer with the kids, or while dancing in his kitchen with Robin.

it's not an expert mix by any means, but Steve did manage to collect a decent amount of metal songs just for Eddie and even a one he's never heard before --since when did Scorpions write love songs?

After hours alone in his room, sitting on his bed, listening to Steve's tape over and over again, there is one thing he can't deny.

Steve Harrington has feelings for him…had feelings for him, and Eddie ruined it.

He wants to take the version of himself that pushed Steve away and shake him.

Eddie winces as he pictures the devastated expression on Steve's face when he left. His normally bright hazel eyes and wide goofy grin were left pinched with hurt.

Eddie had done that, taken six months of tentative friendship, of lingering glances and soft teasing smiles -how had he missed those, and tossed this delicate thing away from himself like it was nothing.

He looks over at the glowing green hands of the clock by his bed. It’s nearly midnight; Dustin left a few hours ago now and Wayne is now at work.

Eddie breathes out a sigh through his nose as a sudden wave of determination flows through him.

He looks towards the far wall by the door, his Sweetheart hanging up on her hooks.

Dustin had apparently insisted on grabbing it, doubling back on a severely sprained ankle while Nancy tore a verbal strip off his back for wasting time as an unconscious Eddie slowly continued to bleed out in Steve's arms.

Eddie shivers, it had been so strange to consider everything that happened, or what he was told happened during the gap in his memory.

Steve had been the one to carry him out while Robin and Nancy helped compress the worst of his wounds with torn fabric and left over gauze from the patch job they had done for Steve.

He vaguely remembers a string of words, a whispered sentence that made no sense as Eddie drifted in and out of consciousness but now…

'You can't do this, come on Munson, open those stupid beautiful eyes of yours, who's going to yell at us about the corruption of youth in America huh? We need you man, I-I….'

Eddie had really been so fucking clueless.

He gets up from the bed and crosses to the wall, taking the guitar off the hooks.

At least now, he has a plan.

***

It was a shit plan.

Cutting down the road the kids had taken to calling Mirkwood and through the woods by Loch Nora seemed pretty sound in theory, giving Eddie the element of surprise and hiding him from any watchful neighborhood eyes.

What he had not taken into account, however, was the pitch darkness, the unfamiliar maze of trees he now found himself in, and how fucking heavy his portable amp was going to be.

Perfect.

Eddie stumbles over a fallen log, nearly careening into the mulch and rotting leaves of the forest floor. The half moon above him, not nearly enough to light his path through the thicket.

At least this version of the woods feels alive, Eddie thinks to himself; the smell of damp dirt and the sound of frogs and crickets singing in the darkness is infinitely more appealing than the strange forest they had found themselves in a mere six months prior. And with the gates finally sealed, the most dangerous thing he could come across would probably be a rattler or a coyote.

Eddie peers around at the thought, he's not quite sure he's entirely comfortable even running into those animals anytime soon…especially the snake.

Finally, after another ten minutes of walking, warm yellow light begins to sift through the trees ahead of him as he brushes away low branches from his field of vision.

Eddie hikes up the guitar strap higher up his shoulder and steps fully into the light that illuminates the Harrington backyard lawn and pool.

Eddie scans the back of the house, flipping the mental map of the Harrington home around to visualize which window was most likely to be for Steve's bedroom.

He steps further into the yard, setting down the heavy amp onto the concrete patio before leaning down to grab a handful of wood chips from the shrubs next to the house.

Here goes nothing.

Eddie tosses one of the pieces of wood at the window above him.

It barely connects with the windowsill before dropping back down onto the patio with a muted clack.

Oh this is humiliating.

He tries again and again to hit Steve's window with the wood chips in his hand, each one completely misses the target. One bounces into the eavestrough, another careens off the siding and back into the pool behind Eddie.

"Fuck this," Eddie growls, throwing the rest of the wood chips back into the shrubs as he snatches the cord for his amp and shoves the plug into the nearest outdoor outlet.

He turns the volume down slightly, the plan won't work if the cops get called on him immediately.

Eddie takes the guitar off his back and plucks a few notes, adjusting one of the tuning keys until the sound is just right.

"Here goes nothing, come on Stevie," Eddie whispers as he begins to play.

"I hear the ticking' of the clock, I'm lying here the room's pitch dark," he sings softly, strumming out the cords, it's slightly harsher than the piano but sue him, Eddie only managed to play it once through by ear at home before he left the house.

This was Steve's last track on the tape, and Eddie's sure he put it there for a reason.

He listened to the song again and again, slowly picking up the cords as he did so.

He could do this, he picked up Master of Puppets in just a few weeks, Eddie could handle Heart.

Eddie keeps going, his voice carries over the yard, growing in volume; so much so that he misses the patio door slowly slide open and the sound of a pair of feet padding onto the patio.

"What are you doing here?" Steve's voice calls out to Eddie from the door, he jumps, nearly dropping the guitar. His hand jolts on the strings as Eddie attempts to keep his hold on the instrument, letting the guitar scream for him.

Steve stares at him as Eddie unplugs the amp cord and swings the guitar around his back once more with shaking hands, his thoughts spinning, trying to figure out how to start.

"I listened to the tape," Eddie says softly, Steve cocks his head slightly to better hear him, his face shuttering as the words register.

Eddie's heart races as he watches Steve begin to turn towards the patio door once more, he needs to act fast.

"And I need you to forgive me," he blurts out, louder than he intends, but Steve does pause with his hands on the door handle.

"Why's that?" He says sharply, dropping his hand away from the door, turning to fully face Eddie once more.

Eddie chews his lip nervously as Steve's gaze hardens the longer they stand in silence, his arms come up to wrap around his chest tightly.

"I thought you were playing a prank," Eddie sighs, saying it aloud makes him want to deflate, to walk right into the pool and sink to the bottom.

If the look Steve gives him is any indication, Steve would be more than happy to watch him go.

"That's a lot of effort to put into a fucking prank Munson," Steve bites out, there is no heat to the words though. He just sounds tired, resigned.

Shit.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Eddie mumbles, he reaches up to scrub his hand over his face, missing the way Steve's face softens ever so slightly and his arms drop from the way they seem to be holding him together.

"But I'm not going to make excuses," Eddie takes a step closer to Steve, his heart threatening to break through his ribcage the closer he gets, "I'm sorry for how I reacted and for thinking you could do something like that".

"I know you aren't like that, you're honest, and kind," Eddie reaches out and takes the tape from his back pocket and gestures towards Steve with it, "and so fucking thoughtful it makes me ache to think I ruined everything".

He puts the tape back in his pocket, Steve’s eyes watch him curiously now as he does, it fills him with wary hope, enough to keep talking.

"So, I need you to forgive me Steve, because I hope you'll let me make it up to you sweetheart".

Steve's face tips down suddenly towards his socked feet and the cold concrete patio, making it impossible for Eddie to make out his expression. He holds his breath as the silence stretches between them.

"Robin was right, you can be such an asshole," Steve says quietly, Eddie's chest tightens painfully at the words.

Eddie nods once,doing everything in his power to keep his face neutral but the downward curl of his lip is unstoppable as he reaches down to pick up the amp.

"But," Steve says, taking a step away from the door behind him, "as someone who was an asshole for a long time," Steve says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand into his chest, "I think it would be pretty hypocritical to not let you make it up to me".

He's grinning now. It’s small, barely stretching across Steve's freckled face, but it's warm and just for Eddie.

"What did you have in mind, Sweetheart?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, his eyes dart over Eddie's face before he finally whispers, "can you finish the song Eds?"

"I think that can be arranged, " Eddie hums with a bright grin of his own.

He swings the guitar off his back again, quickly plugging it into the amp.

Eddie looks up to find Steve smiling softly at him as he takes a seat on one of the pool loungers. He pulls his legs up to rest his arms on his knees, basking in his own private concert.

As the first pink and orange rays of sunrise begin to bloom on the horizon behind him, slowly painting Steve's face gold, Eddie can't help the relief that flows through him.

He looks down at the shy grin Steve gives him, his hazel eyes bright in the new day's light, and thinks, 'holy shit, I almost missed this'.

"You don't know how long I have wanted, to touch your lips and hold you tight," he picks up where he left off, his voice mixing with the slow rhythm of the guitar, “you don't know how long I have waited, and I was going to tell you tonight--”

Eddie watches, surprised as Steve swiftly gets up from the lounger and walks towards him, his expression determined.

"I think that's my line," Steve whispers as he leans in to cup Eddie's face in his hands and kisses him.

Eddie short-circuits.

The kiss is chaste, short, not much more than the brief press of warm chapped lips against Eddie's own, but the way Steve lets his hands move from Eddie's face to his hair and neck, holding him in place. The way Steve steps into Eddie's space so all he can taste, smell, and feel is Steve.

It’s exhilarating.

Steve pulls back slightly before placing a second kiss on Eddie's lips, his eyes half lidded and a deep red flush staines his cheeks and ears a bright red. Steve looks much more debauched than necessary and Eddie suddenly wishes they weren't outside, that he could take Steve into the house and show him exactly how sorry he is.

"I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait, did you learn all of them or just that one?" Steve asks, his voice slightly breathy, he still hasn't let go of Eddie or stepped away.

"Just that one," Eddie repeats dumbly, feeling the urge to walk into the pool again as Steve laughs.

Oh Eddie loves that laugh.

“You sure,” Steve asks again, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles widely, “I thought maybe you could show me some of the other songs you know, inside?”

Either he’s dreaming or Steve is a mind reader because holy shit.

Eddie nods, unable to even form the words as Steve reaches for the amp and gently takes it out of his hands. Steve transfers the amp to his right hand and takes Eddie’s now empty hand with his left as he leads him towards the patio door.

Eddie watches, transfixed, as Steve looks back to shoot him another warm smile as they step over the threshold of the back door, and the words his uncle said earlier in the evening come back to him as Steve leads him towards the living room.

‘I think a person like that deserves at least a chance to know you, and to see what I see’.

Eddie halts his movement, grabbing Steve’s hand firmly in his own, pulling him backwards until Steve turns, his eyebrows furrowed in wary confusion.

“Thank you, for giving me another chance,” Eddie says softly. He lets the hand holding Steve's own move to trail up and down his arm, eliciting a shiver from Steve.

“I mean, you gave me one, you came back right?” Steve says softly.

Eddie's heart twists at the words, he feels his face fall slightly at the thought that Steve could ever think he was somehow at fault for this, “I was an idiot, that wasn’t your fault at all sweetheart”.

Steve looks at him again, his eyes scanning Eddie’s own for what feels like ages, his expression unreadable.

“Co’mere,” he murmurs eventually, letting go of Eddie to sit on the couch. He pats the cushion beside him, with the same soft smile from earlier, “play some music for me”.

There’s more to unpack here, more to talk about, other apologies to whisper in this beautiful man's ear.

But for now, he swings his guitar in front of him and slowly walks over to Steve.

Steve asked for music, and who is Eddie not to oblige?

@ihavekidneys @superchellerific @zerokrox-blog @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @samcoxramblings @warlordess @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @lostonceandneverfound @shunna @fairytalesreality @estrellami-1 @rlpersephone3259 @zaphodkilledthespeedforce @newtstabber @grtwdsmwhr @uwujinniee @anica-d @imzadidragonfly @orangeandthefairroadkill @starman-jpg @nabatute @goodolefashionedloverboi @wheatnoodle @novacorpsrecruit @lolawonsstuff @redlegumes @paintsplatteredandimperfect @scheodingers-muppet @thephantomhood @0o-queendean-o0 @blackholegladiator @nerdfighteratheart @hallucinatedjosten

(I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, thank you very much for following along with this little story everyone!)

#this ask brought me so much joy #seriously you guys are the best #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steve x eddie #afewproblems writes #afewproblems answers #fixing misunderstandings #we made it sad and then made it better #oh eddie you oblivious sunfish #that boy thinks you hung the moon let him kiss you #Steve still needs some serious therapy for that self esteem #wayne munson gives expert advice and loves his nephew #dustin henderson takes no shit #I think I'll title this Essential Songs to Woo a Metal-Head on AO3

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, infidelity, angst, break up (there will be a happy ending!)

chapter nine : liberation (8.7k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #28.

It’s a reckoning

Only what they want

Inside my heart is a fire

It’s burning like a thousand suns

Liberation — Buzz

The apartment is dark, save for the bedside light that always illuminates the side of Steve’s face as he sits propped against the headboard beside you. Right now, there’s nothing to block its soft glow from you; it does not bounce off tousled brown waves, turning them caramel in its warmth.

You’re sitting cross-legged in bed, freshly showered, hair dried, teeth brushed. Your legs are shaven smooth, gliding easily as you refold them against the sheets, and your face is dotted with little colorful pimple-patch stars. You’d lengthened your nighttime routine to distract yourself from an alarming fact: that Steve had said he’d be home in twenty minutes no less than fifty minutes ago. And despite the two texts you’d sent him since then and the one phone call that’d gone straight to voicemail, you’ve received nothing back to explain his delay.

It isn’t like Steve to go silent on you, especially lately; he’s been extra communicative in the last month or so. And though you’d resolved to break up with him— the thought makes a little shiver of anxious anticipation skitter down your spine— that doesn’t mean you don’t care about him. Frankly, you’re worried.

You’re clutching your phone like a lifeline, hunched over the tiny screen as you try desperately to use it as a distraction. But your thoughts keep stuttering back to the what-ifs and the whys despite your attempts to redirect them with pimple-popping Instagram reels, which are utterly disgusting but also strangely satisfying. Plus, you don’t even have to scroll; they just keep coming and coming and coming—

A loud thump and a muffled curse from outside the warm glow of your bedroom have your spine jolting ramrod straight. Instantly, your eyes are trained on the amorphous gray blobs in your darkened living room: the lump of the couch, the boxy corner of the television stand. Shadows shift amid more shuffling sounds, and you’ve just drawn your knees to your chest to scoot futilely backward when a body slumps against the bedroom doorframe.

“Steve?” Panic settles into befuddlement. "What—?” The question trails off, and you abandon it once you take in the state of your boyfriend.

Steve is a mess. His brown waves are truly disheveled— not artfully— and his typically smart-pressed khakis are creased beneath a white button-up with sleeves sloppily folded to his elbows. One is slipping down his forearm, and it slides lower as Steve mashes his fingers through his hair like he’d misjudged the distance between his hand and forehead.

“Hey, babe, s’rry, m’phone died.” Steve’s greeting is a deep continuous sigh as he fixes bleary hazel eyes on you, lids sagging like he can barely keep them open. You make to move off the bed— legs uncrossing, brow creasing in concern— but Steve waves you off with a wild shake of his hand. “I’m j’s goin’ to the bathroom. ‘Kay? I’ll be right there, hon.” He draws out the word ‘right’ as he pushes off the doorframe, propelling himself toward the ensuite. You watch him flash you a wide wobbly grin and stagger unsteadily into the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Slowly, you settle down into bed, pulling the covers up over your shoulder as you turn away from the open doorway Steve just disappeared through. Your stomach twists as you hear the sound of the toilet lid clunk, followed by a stream of liquid flowing into the bowl. It twists not because of the sounds— a year of living together has accustomed you to that— but because Steve is drunk.

Really, really fucking drunk.

Steve is a social drinker. Whether with you, your foursome group, at happy hour, out with his college friends, or what-have-you, Steve Harrington is always the first to buy a round for the table and clink glasses. He thrives on that atmosphere; he’s most in his element with a drink in his hand and an easy smile on his face, basking in the glow of joint looseness and fraternal bonding that alcohol facilitates so readily. But Steve is always responsible; he never gets trashed. In the three years you’ve been together, you’ve never seen him like this, and you can’t help but think that it might be your fault.

Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe it’s because you’d just resolved to break up with him, and it’s at the forefront of your mind. Maybe Steve getting trashed tonight has nothing to do with you. But you’re thinking about the long pause before Steve’s final text to you when he reemerges from the bathroom, feet dragging as he peels off all the layers of his rumpled clothing down to his boxer briefs. You’re thinking about the length of time you spent in the back of Eddie’s van as Steve collapses into bed behind you. A wave of acrid scent wafts over you— the bite of alcohol clinging to Steve’s skin. Your heart starts to pound, shoulders tightening beneath the sheets as you imagine Steve’s hand there, pushing you roughly onto your back so he can lean over and glare venomously into your face. ‘What took you so long, hm?’

But Steve’s hand is soft as he threads his arm under yours to press it against your ribs. He cuddles up behind you, pressing needily to the length of your body and firmly pulling you back against him. You feel him turn his head and tuck his nose against your shoulder, and his breath releases in a heavy, contented sigh as he clings to you. A quiet mumble slurs against your hair.

“M’so glad you’re here, b’by. I love you.”

The tension in your body transforms into a heavy, sinking sort of sadness. Your throat goes thick as it mixes with the familiar sticky ooze of your guilt, pooling against your ribs where Steve’s warm hand cradles you. The automatic desire rises within you: the impulse to reassure your boyfriend, to mirror his words, to soothe him and make him feel better. It’s what you always would’ve done in the past. It’s what you would’ve done even yesterday.

But yesterday, Eddie hadn’t yet said he cares about you and doesn’t want to hurt you. Yesterday, you hadn’t yet cradled him after he’d revealed the pain of his past. Yesterday, your fruit had been green, small, and immature, and now it is red, succulent, and ripe.

Today, everything is different. Today, you can’t mirror Steve’s words to bring him comfort. You can’t lie.

So instead, when your boyfriend tells you he loves you, you just adjust the position of your head against your pillow, let him hold you, and say nothing.

And you don't know whether it's a mercy to you, or to him, or maybe to both of you. But when Steve begins softly snoring less than a minute after telling you he loves you, it’s a mercy all the same.

–

Unsurprisingly, you wake before Steve on Saturday morning. You’d been in and out of sleep all night, dozing and waking with that sadness, guilt, and anxiety churning within you every time you smelled citrus and sea salt mixed with the tang of alcohol. When sunlight finally begins spilling from the edges of your bedroom shades, you carefully extricate yourself from his hold, padding quietly into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The motions offer a welcome distraction. You scoop coffee grinds into the filter, fill the basin with water, and flick the switch to begin brewing. You then untwist the tie from the whole grain bread, pull two slices out, and drop them into the toaster. Finally, an uncommon addition to the routine, you creep quietly into the bathroom to retrieve the aspirin, shaking two white pills into your palm. The breakfast you’re preparing isn’t for you; it’s for Steve, to soothe the hangover you’re sure will be haunting him when he wakes. A small kindness, freely given to soften the imminent blow of a difficult conversation. Or, perhaps you’ve offered Steve this kindness just to take the edge off your guilt. You don’t examine yourself too closely, afraid to see what truly motivates you.

Coffee, buttered toast, aspirin, and a glass of water are all placed on Steve’s bedside table before he wakes, blinking blearily as he emerges from beneath the sheets. His hair sticks from his head in wild tufts, unruly from the blanket he’d burrowed himself in once you’d left the bed. There’s a pink crease on his face from where he’d squished his cheek awkwardly against the pillow.

“Hey,” you say softly, perching on the edge of the bed as Steve rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands like a child might. You maintain the gentle tone as he squints at you, the corners of his hazel eyes pinched with the force of his wince. “I made you breakfast and brought you aspirin.”

“Mmmm.” The groan is one of both acknowledgment and petulant protest against the brightness of the bedroom, and despite yourself, your lips quirk in a little smile as Steve’s brow crumples in gratitude when you drop the tiny pills into his outstretched palm. He throws them back, and automatically you pass him the water, which he gulps down before setting the empty glass back on the table.

Steve pauses for a moment before reaching for the toast, hands hanging limply in his lap as he blinks. You eye him sympathetically. “You okay?”

Despite drinking the whole glass of water, Steve’s voice is still scratchy, dragging slightly when he responds. “Yeah. We, ah, went a little wild with the pickle-backs, obviously.” He picks up the buttered toast and takes a delicate bite, continuing after he swallows it. “They hit me harder than I thought they would, and after I texted you, I ended up getting on the subway going in the wrong direction.” He meets the surprised tilt of your brow with an easy tone, fully prepared for a ribbing. “I know, I know. How long have I lived here? The city should revoke my membership, honestly.”

His good humor has you shaking your head fondly, huffing a little amused chuckle through your nose as you pat his arm. “Just take it easy today,” you tell him kindly.

Steve is already perking as he finishes his toast, hazel eyes brighter as he claps a broad palm over yours, mimicking your pats. “I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.” With a sudden frown, Steve cautiously lifts his arm and sniffs. Instantly, his face crumples in incredulity. “Shit, babe, you let me cuddle you like this? I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s expression is charmingly boyish as he leans away and peers sheepishly at you. “It’s okay,” you tell him, but already he’s pulling himself out of bed. He sheds his boxer briefs as he speaks, and your eyes dart away from his bare body as he drops them in the laundry basket beside the closet.

“No way,” he says good-humouredly. “I’m not subjecting us to this stank any longer.” He closes the bathroom door behind him, and his final call muffles through the wood. “I’ll be showered and out in a flash!”

“Okay,” You call back, and that is that.

In the silence that follows, you sit aimlessly before collecting the empty plate and Steve’s coffee mug. You find yourself pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, and it grinds unpleasantly against the hardwood as you scoot in, sitting across from where you’d placed Steve’s steaming coffee cup. You consider making yourself breakfast, but now that Steve’s hangover has been tended to, you find your stomach churning again, more strongly than it had throughout the night. Sadness, guilt, anxiety, fear, and dread all condense into a viscous mass, weighing you down with a feeling similar to nausea. The hollow pang of your hunger is nearly smothered by it, so you just fold your hands in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers and running your damp palms against your thighs when that is no longer enough. Seconds tick by at a crawl as you wait for Steve to emerge from the bedroom, and your mouth moves soundlessly as you rehearse again what you plan to say to him.

You’d spent all waking hours of the night churning over how you would break the news to your boyfriend that you want to break up with him. Mostly, you’d wanted to decide exactly what to say to justify your decision; you feel, after three years of dating, you owe Steve that. As you’d poured over the memories of your relationship, focusing the most energy on the last few months since you’d started swinging, you’d begun to piece together what you wanted to convey to him. Your reasons for breaking up with Steve were like a puzzle that you’d been looking at for too long up close, fragmented bits that only gained clarity once you’d begun to slowly inch backward. And though you’d reached seeking fingers behind you, clasping a calloused hand that helped guide you, the pieces had always been there. You just hadn’t known what you were looking at.

Because of that and what Eddie told you about Steve’s ex-girlfriend, Nancy, you’d come to a decision last night not to tell Steve you’d cheated on him.

It wasn’t easy. You already feel guilty for betraying Steve yesterday, though, if you’re truly honest with yourself, you don’t regret the time you’d spent with Eddie in his van. Plus, the thought of lying to Steve by omission makes you feel dirty; the knowledge of your planned deceit settles over your shoulders like the mockery of a royal mantle. But you’d rather weather it than absolve yourself and destroy Steve in the process, and you know, deep down, that if you told Steve you’d cheated on him— not just broken rules, but actually cheated on him— it would destroy him. Even though you’re resolved to break up with him, you know Steve Harrington doesn’t deserve that.

Your thoughts— all the words you want to say, all the words you want to avoid— scatter like a flock of birds as you see him finally stride through the bedroom doorway, moving much more briskly now. Your heart begins to race, fingers curling as you track him with your eyes, watching as he retrieves a yogurt from the fridge and plucks a banana from the bunch on the counter. Steve’s bangs curl damply over one eye as he slides into the seat across from you, and his eyes flick to yours in a subtle double-take.

“You not eating breakfast?” he asks casually, peeling the foil top from his yogurt.

You shake your head, fingers twisting beneath the kitchen table where he can’t see. “Not hungry,” you say, trying to match his casual tone.

Steve regards you closely, and automatically, your eyes dart to the table to avoid his gaze. Your heart thumps in the silence. “‘Kay,” he says eventually. And after three years of dating and one year of living together, you know Steve can tell there’s something up with you. It’s clear in how he’s peeling the banana so meticulously and spinning the spoon in the yogurt for so long. His eyes flick to you as he eats in silence, staring until you look up, and then he schools his expression into neutral pleasantness. You feel suddenly, with uncanny clarity, that Steve is often doing that— thinking something but never communicating it.

A tinge of frustration rises from that viscous mass inside you, floating to the surface to diffuse across your face in flattened lips and a creased brow. But Steve either doesn’t notice or chooses to disregard it as he scrapes the bottom of his yogurt before asking, still entirely casually, “How’s your car?”

You stare at him for a beat before replying. “I don’t really know yet. I haven’t heard anything.”

“Gotcha,” he replies, pushing out his chair as he carries the scraps of his breakfast to the trash, talking as he goes. “Well, I can talk to Eddie, see when it should be ready so we can pick it up.”

The sudden mention of Eddie’s name has your nerves spiking sharply, adrenaline building up inside your chest as your palms go sweaty. Like the rising urgency of knowing you’re going to vomit, the words push at your clamped lips, wanting out. You need to tell him. You need to tell him now, and Steve is just wandering around the kitchen, talking about the Amazon return he plans to drop off at FedEx today. “You know,” he’s saying, “I really did think we already had an immersion blender, but I wasn’t sure, and it turns out it was in the back of the linen closet. I found it when I was putting away the towels you folded. Like, how’d it even end up back there—?”

“Steve.” You don't speak loudly, but he stops on the other side of the island and looks right at you, eyebrows perking as if he’s been startled to attention. You hold his gaze, saying slowly, “I need to talk to you about something.”

The obvious gravity in your voice makes something flash across his handsome face, a microexpression too quick for you to discern. Wordlessly, he walks around the island to sit in the chair at the head of the kitchen table to your right. A little prickle of anxiety bursts behind your sternum as his hazel eyes dart between yours. He's cautious, a little guarded. “...Okay.” Steve throws his hands low and wide, then clasps them in his lap. It reminds you of something a boss would do with his employee— sitting beside you, body angled in your direction, hands clasped low to convey a willingness to listen.

Your chest prickles again now that you have Steve’s full attention, and the prickle quickly spreads to a chilling freeze that frosts across your ribs. The words you practiced and the words you don’t want to say whip around your head in a maelstrom, and your fists clench as you fight against your sudden overwhelm. Steve looks wary but sympathetic as he watches you for a moment before saying your name quietly. “It’s okay.” Steve’s voice is smooth and reassuring, and he reaches out to squeeze your hands in one broad palm. “Just take your time.”

The kindness almost makes it more difficult, but you suck in a slow bracing breath, nodding so he’ll sit back and release you. You hold at the top of the breath for a moment, steeling yourself before you blow it out slowly, unable to keep it from trembling near the end. Finally, with a dry swallow, you crack your lips to speak.

“Things have… started to change for me over the past few months. The way I feel about— about us?” Stuttering, tentative, the ‘us’ bends up like a question, and you clear your throat to reset your voice. To be straightforward, the way you want to be. When you start again, you succeed in sounding more certain. “These past three years have been good, Steve, but… I think for me something has been missing. Something that I didn’t realize was missing until recently. And it took me some time to figure out what it was, but I think I know now. And I can’t… I just can’t ignore it. That’s not fair to either of us.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Steve stares at you, face a blank mask. His bangs curl over his eye, but you don’t feel the impulse to push them back for him; your fingers don’t even twitch.

As you speak again, your eyes dart to the tabletop. “I think—”

Abruptly, you cut off, shaking your head. No hedging now. You start again, more firmly, lifting your head to maintain direct eye contact with your boyfriend. Direct, but not unkind, not devoid of feeling. “We need to break up, Steve.”

The mask of his blankness slips then, just slightly. As you sit in silence, your words hanging between the two of you, Steve’s hazel dulls to briny mud.

“Why?”

Your brow crinkles, and your eyes go wide, darting between his. You thought you’d explained it pretty well. A little vaguely, maybe, but still. Does he really not understand?

Almost as you think that, Steve huffs an incredulous breath. His mask cracks further— his face goes wry, exasperated that you don’t seem to be getting it. “I know why,” he adds quietly as if it’s obvious. “I just want to hear you say it.”

It had taken so much just to say what you already did. What more does he want? When you’re silent, freeze crackling over your ribs as your wide eyes flit helplessly around his face, Steve’s square jaw tightens. “Tell me why you want to break up with me,” he says. It’s not loud or angry, but it’s a demand nonetheless. “I want the truth, y/n.” His chin tips down, gaze dropping to his hands as he finally mutters, “Just go ahead and say his name.”

The sorrow rises up your throat, nearly choking your words. But you knew this might happen; you’d been prepared for it. Steve wants the truth, and he deserves it. Your lips twist, eyes stinging as you prepare to oblige his request. You don’t want to whisper, but it’s all that will come out. “...I have feelings for Eddie.”

“And there it is,” he says, and it nearly echoes off the kitchen walls even though he isn’t shouting. Steve’s voice is like a fanciful flourish— brash, as if he’s figured out the murderer in a game of Clue. But it’s not an exclamation of triumph. It’s an exclamation of bitter, defeated confirmation.

After a pause, his eyes return to yours. Still dull but unflinching as he asks you a question you know must gut him. “Do you love him?”

Your chin trembles, but you admire Steve’s fortitude and match it with your own. “Maybe. I think I might,” you whisper honestly.

Steve lets quiet reign for a moment as you watch his face, teeth worrying your lip, stomach twisting as the heavy, oppressive tension in the room weighs on you. And then he grins wryly, small and crooked, ugly like a jagged scar. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Kind of saw it coming.”

You’re baffled; your questions pop out before you can stop them, tinged with distress. "What? Steve, why didn't you say anything?"

His jaw works for a moment, dark brows knit tight as his knee starts bouncing in a very non-Steve expression of tension. When he glances at you, he looks sardonic but also pained. "I learned a long time ago that accusing people of doing something behind your back… it tends to backfire. Push them away more. So I thought, maybe if I do the opposite of that—"

He breaks off to chuckle humorlessly, shaking his head. Abruptly, he rises from the chair, and you flinch away slightly, taken aback. The look he shoots you conveys his hurt that you’d jerk away from him, and you suddenly feel more terrible for it. He slowly crosses the kitchen into the living room, staring down at the coffee table for a moment before picking up the box of tissues there. Plodding steps carry him back to you, but Steve sinks back into his spot from breakfast— across from you, with the table in between. Steve places the tissue box carefully between you, and you can nearly see his clothed chest straight through the thin paper as you stare at it.

You turn Steve’s reasoning over in your mouth, examining it slowly to test its flavor. His explanation— that he’d essentially ignored the situation and hoped it would go away instead of accusing you of doing something— falls within this false choice between sweet and bitter. He seems to have forgotten, or perhaps not realized, that he could have simply talked to you. He could have discussed these things with you calmly rather than dancing around them. And if he had, who knows what would’ve happened?

For a moment, you consider the question. But only for the briefest moment, because what Steve could have done differently doesn’t matter now.

You and Steve sit quietly for a while, each staring at a different spot in the room. You stare at the thin tissue poking from the tissue box while Steve stares at the window drapery behind you, which almost makes it seem like he’s gazing through you when you finally look up at his face again. You look at him because another question is pressing up your throat, itching to be let out; a question that, while it's about the past, is prodding at you far more deeply than thoughts of what could have been.

“Why did we do this, Steve?” Steve’s hazel eyes shift minutely, refocusing on your face. “Swing with Eddie and Chrissy,” you clarify, voice quiet.

There’s another minute shift on his face, but this time, it’s a tick in his jaw, a flash of flared nostrils. “I told you,” he starts to say, voice carefully calm, “it’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

You blink, staring at your boyfriend patiently. As he sits with the weight of your expectant gaze, you begin to see little signs of tension, like how he scratches briefly at the scruff on his jaw before his hand falls back into his lap. Something tells you this is an opening, an opportunity for clarity, and if you’re careful, you can take it.

Maybe, as you’re breaking up, you can finally get Steve to tell you what he’s really thinking.

Entirely without venom, you ask, “What about Nancy?”

Steve looks at you sharply, hawkishly; his face tightens, and there’s an uncharacteristic edge to his voice when he retorts. “What do you know about Nancy?” His suspicion and mistrust are clear, making that edge of anxiety prickle in your chest.

You inhale through your nose, continuing in your careful, gentle way. “Not much, really. Just that you’d dated in high school, and… it wasn’t a good break up.” You look at him carefully, brows tugged up in a coaxing expression. When he doesn’t shutter further, you venture to ask quietly, “Was your fantasy related to that?”

Tension radiates off Steve in a thick wave as he looks away. His broad shoulders are rigid with it, jaw clenched tight as he seems to struggle with himself for a long moment. And you think maybe that anger you suspect is inside him— the anger you’ve seen in little glimpses, such as when he’d lashed out at Eddie for breaking the rules, most recently obscured by an eerie mask of impassivity— may come finally bursting out of Steve in a wave of bitter rage. You hold your breath as you wait, palms sweating, heart stuttering in your chest—

But eventually, Steve sags, scoffing and shaking his head in resignation. His reply is a half-hearted snap, weary in its bluntness. “Might as well bare my fucking soul, right? I mean, we’ve literally fucked other people in front of each other. What’s one more hard truth?”

The words make foreboding rush down your spine, and beneath the table, you fist your fingers until the knuckles turn pale. But outwardly, you hold fast. Despite the apprehension you feel, now that you can nearly taste it— Steve’s elusive openness— you don’t want to scare him off.

Steve drags both hands through his hair, letting his head hang back as he stares dully at the ceiling. “She cheated on me with this… weird kid. Jonathan. Artsy type. Liked to take photos.” You scarcely dare to breathe. It’s finally happening.

When he pauses, eyes flicking to you, you stay quiet, looking at him with an open expression. Patient. Accepting. It seems to do the trick because he rubs absently at his chest, eventually admitting, “We started arguing a lot when I went to college and she was in her senior year of high school. Really, let’s be honest: I’d start fighting with her, not the other way around. It was all just stupid shit, you know? Like accusing her of turning off her location, or lying about who she was with, like….” He chuckles despairingly, shaking his head. “Why did I do that?”

It’s hard to see Steve like this: years later, still so tortured by his own actions. Your brow crinkles; your heart pierces for him. “Steve—”

He continues as if he didn’t hear you, but not cruelly. He’s just gripped by the interminable flow of his emotion, like now that he’d let some of it dribble out, it won’t stop pouring from him. “I guess I just… I loved her so much, and I was so afraid that without me there, she was gonna forget about me. She was so smart. Just… so, so smart. And…” Your eyes are rapt on him as his jaw works until he mutters resignedly, “Wasn’t ‘til I started acting like a fuckin’ psycho that. Well.”

Steve clears his throat, sighing heavily. The apprehension you’d felt has melted almost entirely into poignant sorrow for him, sympathy that blooms bittersweet at the base of your throat. You nearly want to reach for him— squeeze his hand, offer some comfort— but you hold back. Though you may feel compassion for him, you don’t want to send mixed signals. As much as it explains some things about Steve’s behavior, clarifying why he’d chosen to remain silent despite almost certainly noticing whatever was growing between you and Eddie over the last few months, the pain of Steve’s past doesn’t change the present.

Eventually, the active contortions of pain on Steve’s face settle to vague disquiet. He glances at you and then back to the table, flashing hazel eyes still dull like briny mud as he hesitates. You can sense the shift before he begins to talk again, the change in energy that tells you what he’s about to say is, somehow, both easier and harder than what has already been said. Your heart kicks up in anticipation.

Quietly, Steve speaks to the kitchen table. “I can’t really pinpoint one specific moment that gave me the idea. I mean, Chris has always been sweet. And, I dunno. Always thought she was pretty, too.” He tosses the observation casually. “But we never went out. I was with Nance, and then she was with Eddie, so….” His adam’s apple bobs in a swallow as he glances up, holding your gaze for the first time in a long while. “But then you told me you liked the idea of being with two guys at once, and I just… I guess I started thinking about it a little more. What it’d be like to be with two girls at once, too.”

And it’s like he’s waiting for you to give him some sign of approval or acceptance. And you do understand his curiosity, how your drunken confession had awakened something in him. So you offer him a tiny nod, and only then do his eyes slide away from you to dart around the room. “And so just, like, as a joke, I brought it up in front of Chris one day. I wasn’t expecting her to actually be interested, but… she was. And what started as something totally hypothetical became suddenly possible when Eddie agreed, and then… well, you know the rest.”

You nod thoughtfully. You also understand the wondering, how something that began as a joke became something more. But then Steve sighs harshly, shrugs sharply, and looks right at you.

“You want me to be real honest?”

That foreboding resurges, racing again down your spine as you suck in a shaky breath. This is the most open Steve has ever been with you, except, perhaps, when he’d told you about his parents. But the ache of his parents’ absence didn’t hold the same weight as all of this, because Steve hadn’t been the cause of it. None of it had come from him. And you’re a little afraid of what Steve is going to say— of how grave his stare is, hazel sharpened to desperate points that even the softness of his long bangs can’t allay— but you want to know.

You nod, sealing your fate.

Steve searches your expression for a moment as if waiting for you to waver. But when you don’t, the words fall from his lips. They are jagged, stilted, not intended to cut, but utterly sharp in their plainness. “I guess some fucked up part of me thought that like… if I let my girlfriend fuck another guy— if I wanted her to do it— it would heal the wound. Since it was my choice this time.” He laughs wryly at himself. “And Chrissy’s hot. So I got to have sex with two hot girls, too. I mean, what guy doesn’t want to have sex with two hot girls?”

His expression is creased with bitter resignation, but it isn’t a balm. Neither is his tacked-on observation as he mutters, “Kind of perverse, now that I’m saying it out loud.”

And it’s like when Chrissy sat beside you in the salon chair, sucking all the air from the room, holding the pillow to your face. But Steve isn’t smothering you. No, he’s cutting you, carving the truth deep, and your ribs tremble as his words nick bone.

It almost would’ve been better if Steve had said he’d just always had a crush on Chrissy since high school. Or that he got off on being cucked. Or that he’d always been curious about Eddie, and maybe he’d discovered he’s bisexual. But to know that, in the end, you were a device Steve had used to try to get over the pain of his ex-girlfriend leaving him for another guy…

You were a bandaid stuck over the gaping wound Nancy had gashed in Steve Harrington’s heart. And no matter what the reason— because he’d loved her so deeply, because he’d been betrayed, because he felt such shame at having, in his mind, pushed her into Jonathan’s arms— it didn’t change the fact that three years of your love and devotion hadn’t managed to stitch him up. Now, you were both paying the price.

Steve seems to be waiting for you to respond; you manage a wholly inadequate response. “Yeah,” you finally croak. “It kind of is.”

His lips tighten in the semblance of a smile. It’s the smile of someone who knows he’s getting more than he deserves. “Why did you do it?”

You follow Steve’s precedent and choose honesty again. After the admissions he’s laid bare for you, it’s easier; the words flow quicker from your tongue. “Because I thought it would make you happy,” you say, and the instant pain that crumples his face nearly makes you look away. “But, also,” you have to add, “because….” This part is harder to admit, but you do it anyway. “There was just something about him.”

Despite himself, a corner of Steve’s lips quirks in a tiny, genuine grin. “From the first moment you saw him, right?”

You sigh through your nose. “Yeah,” you agree, voice small, tender with the taste of your red fruit.

“Yeah,” Steve says, resigned. “That’s Eddie. The bastard.” It’s half fond, half wry, and it reminds you that Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson have been friends for five years. They’ve been friends for longer than you’ve even known Steve; they share a kinship despite their differences. But the threads that tie them… you aren’t sure they can withstand this.

You chew your lip as the tinge of humor fades from Steve’s face, leaving it suddenly tired and sagging from the effort of providing his admissions and hearing yours. Eventually, he asks, “So what are you gonna do about him?”

You sigh heavily, fingering a loose thread on your sweater. “I’m not sure. But I’m gonna tell him we ended things, and… I think I need to be honest with him about how I feel.”

Steve just nods, jaw tight. “They’ll probably break up. Him and Chrissy,” he predicts. The implication that it’ll be your fault is clear, and your lips twist as a drop of thick, viscous guilt drips from the ribs Steve has nicked, falling onto the dark earth at the bottom of you.

You press on to distract yourself from it, asking neutrally, “If they do, are you gonna keep seeing Chrissy?”

Steve leans an elbow on the kitchen table. “If she wants to. She might. We had a good time together. Have a lot in common.”

The casualness of his response dispels some of the tension inside you. Suddenly, this feels surreally like a normal conversation, and you find yourself nodding. "I think that could be really good."

Steve’s face darkens for the first time, and he chuckles mirthlessly. "Of course you do,” he spits. “‘Cause then it means you can have Eddie. And you can convince yourself you don't have to feel bad about what you've done."

That's not how you meant it, and on some level, you know that Steve is lashing out in his hurt. He may have been the impetus for this situation, but that doesn’t mean he's emerging unscathed. It doesn’t mean he didn’t love you in his damaged way; it doesn’t mean he isn’t filled with pain as he loses you.

Your regret is clear. “Steve, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Steve’s eyes scan you, and what he sees seems to soften him. You see it then— heartbreak, spreading over his face as his hazel eyes go fragile. “I know you didn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that it did. Though I guess I have to blame myself just as much as you.”

A sense of numbness settles over you; there’s nothing you can say to that without feeding Steve falsehoods. When you don’t respond, he adds quietly, “Just kinda sucks for Chris, is all. You know?”

Steve is looking at you, and you feel your head jerking up and down, as if by its own accord. The numbness and detachment mute the next few drops of sticky guilt that splatter dark earth.

The long silence that settles between you and Steve now is no longer loaded. It’s blank and hollow, like the final glance into a childhood bedroom. Light from a bare window spills across the carpet, where indents of furniture that had once been there still press the fibers flat. Dust hangs suspended in the air, visible in the sun, kicked up in the process of emptying. What remains when two people who once loved one another— who’d inflicted hurt and been cut just as deeply— have laid themselves bare and accepted that it’s over?

Logistics, you suppose.

“Where are you gonna go?”

You’d anticipated this question. You already hadn’t wanted to stay in this apartment any longer than you had to, but now after what Steve has revealed, the thought of leaving today is even more appealing. The quicker, the better. You’d thought of your older sister’s condo last night; she lives right outside the city, closer to your job than Steve’s apartment, even, so that’s an added bonus. You haven’t talked to her yet, but you tell Steve with certainty, “Penny’ll let me stay with her. She has a spare room she uses as an office.”

“All right,” he replies. “You can have the weekend to move most of your stuff over.”

“Okay,” you accept without hesitation. It seems you and Steve are finally on the same page in that you both find the idea of drawing out this process unbearable.

After a moment, his brow tugs up slightly. “...I can help you,” Steve says, offering you one last act of generosity.

You echo yourself. “Okay,” you say, and it comes out gentle.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table in the apartment you share with your boyfriend of three years, Steve Harrington. You run your eyes over Steve’s familiar features, and he is handsome. His nose is alkaline, his brows are thick and dark, and his jaw is strong, dusted by stubble. Steve Harrington works at a bank and makes a lot of money. His ex-girlfriend, Nancy, broke his heart. He is athletic, and he loves basketball. You’ve heard he’s been happier than he’d been in years since you started dating him. You lost your virginity to him. He suggested you swing because he wanted his friend to fuck you just as much as he wished Nancy had never fucked Jonathan. He’s the first boy you’d ever loved. You don’t love him anymore.

You know, despite everything— despite the position he’d put you both in— underneath it all, Steve really is just a man. A man who is damaged and trying to heal. A man who is trying to be good.

But Steve Harrington is not your man. Not anymore.

–

The practical coordination of leaving your ex-boyfriend consumes you, and you happily let it.

Penny, in her usual way, tumbles directly into big sister mode when you call her to explain that you’ve broken up with Steve and need somewhere to stay. Her shock gets foisted to the back burner as she asks you a series of questions. ‘How bad?’ ‘Bad.’ ‘When do you want to move in?’ ‘Today.’ ‘Need help packing?’ ‘Well, if you’re offering, yes.’ ‘Should I bring a shovel?’ You stifle a snort. ‘...No,’ you answer, and you can hear the smirk in her voice over the phone. ‘You sure?’

Before you’d spoken to Penny, you figured you'd just take what was necessary for now— a good chunk of your clothes, toiletries, your Nintendo Switch, and all the essential electronics like your laptop and earbuds. But when Penny marches through the door lugging trash bags and a gigantic suitcase— sans shovel— and shoots Steve a cursory nod before rolling up her sleeves and getting to work, her assistance is both a relief and a blessing. You and Penny scrub every inch of Steve’s apartment of your belongings— all your clothing, shoes, jewelry, makeup, books, and even the decor you’d bought. You leave behind the joint remnants of your relationship for him to deal with: photos of you together, mementos collected over the years, and little gifts exchanged for birthdays and anniversaries. For practical reasons, of course, but you can’t deny that leaving all of that behind and packing the rest of your life into Penny’s car feels like your soul is unshouldering a burden.

After the last bag is loaded, you face Steve on the apartment's threshold for the final time. What goodbye is appropriate between a girl who’d lost her love for a guy as she’d fallen for his friend, and a guy who’d wanted a girl to heal his wounded heart so desperately that he ended up pushing her into his friend’s arms?

There are no more words. You both settle for parting smiles burdened with loss, and that is that.

–

The weekend passes quickly as you and your sister mash your life with hers. It reminds you uncannily of when you were kids as you stand in the doorway of her bedroom-turned-office, negotiating the space.

“I need a closet, Pen.”

“I can give you half the hanging space and one of the shelves,” she counters.

“Fine,” you relent. “But the desk goes. I gotta fit a bed in here.”

She sighs heavily, already mourning the loss of the bright window it faces. “But where am I gonna put it?” she grumbles, but one glance at your face has her softening quickly. “You gonna ask mom and dad for your old bed?”

Your lips tilt half-heartedly. Your sister’s easy concession reminds you of the hole where three years had been. She’s treating you as if you’re fragile, and you suppose, in a way, you are. “Yeah,” you sigh. “Kinda sucks that it’s a twin.”

She elbows you, grinning. “Hey, you can pretend you’re young and back in college again.”

You roll your eyes, nudging her back. “Bitch,” you retort, but the tilt of your smile stretches genuinely.

There’s barely any downtime before Sunday night; you don’t allow for it. You’re resolved not to let your belongings languish in trash bags and suitcases, and you set to work immediately converting Penny’s office back into a bedroom. After sleeping the night on Penny’s couch, you spend Sunday morning dragging around her furniture until it’s arranged to your liking. Then you consolidate her belongings and carefully sort yours into the spaces you’d meticulously cleared, blasting your music as you work to keep your brain busy. You found yourself listening to one song in particular over and over: Liberation by Buzz.

There’s just something about that vocoder that does it for you.

Your parents arrive in the early afternoon, and you and Penny help your dad maneuver the bedframe and mattress into your new room. Your mom insists on helping you remake the bed; her fluttering hands tuck hospital corners as she shoots you little sympathetic smiles. You know they want to ask you what happened, but you put them off, citing a need to unwind after the stress of the past two days. They accept your excuses immediately, and each offers comfort in their own way— soft words of condolence and a soft hand on your cheek from your mom, plus a lingering bear hug from your dad.

“We’re here for you no matter what. Whatever you need. Okay?” he says, raising his eyebrows meaningfully as he claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight is a comfort.

“Thank you,” you say, and they leave their girls to explore how it feels to live together again.

Mercifully, Penny notices the weary droop of your shoulders and lets you nap on the couch for a while. But once the take-out arrives for dinner and you see the curious gleam in her eye, you heave a sigh, mentally preparing for the explanation you know she’s dying for. Truthfully, you’re grateful she’d managed to hold out for this long.

You tell her an abbreviated version of the story, minus the whole swapping partners and fucking each other part. Which, admittedly, is probably seventy percent of it, but submitting yourself to your sister’s critique over engaging in alternative sexual practices feels overwhelming when you’re already raw and hurting from Steve’s confessions and the sudden upheaval of your life. You don’t go into great detail, but Penny listens as you explain meeting Eddie for the first time, growing closer to him and his girlfriend, and developing feelings for him, feelings that led to you realizing that parts of your relationship with Steve have always been lacking. You emphasize that you aren’t breaking up with Steve just to be with Eddie, but your concern that she may judge you is unfounded. Instead, your sister wraps you in the plush of her throw blanket, cuddling you close and petting your hair as she puts on one of your favorite movies from childhood: The Princess Bride. Your ribs may be aching from the nicks of Steve’s jagged words as you finally slow down and let the numbness wear off, but Penny’s solace soothes the sting.

Your late afternoon nap ends up being a double-edged sword. By the time you and Penny each turn in for the night to prepare for the upcoming work week, you’re no longer exhausted enough to fall right asleep. With your room already arranged and Penny sleeping across the hall, you’re running low on distractions and left to ruminate.

And with rumination come feelings.

That ache in your ribs, the sinking sorrow, the void inside that begins to feel more and more like a chasm than an empty room— they crawl up to settle like a thick lump in your throat, and your eyelashes quiver until tears that sting like sea salt soak silently into your pillow.

You let yourself mourn your relationship with Steve— the loss of three years’ worth of familiarity and comfort, the unnoticed lack that had always been there, lurking underneath the surface. The tears are a release, the first step toward healing. And most importantly, despite the sadness, there is a notable absence of one emotion.

You feel no regret.

As the tears wane, your mind shifts focus from the past to the future. Tentatively, you imagine telling Eddie you’d broken up with Steve, and the sudden surge of sweeping emotions is enough to overwhelm you almost instantly. Maybe I should take the night off. This weekend has been hard enough already. You roll over, arm outstretching toward your bedside table for your phone, and you automatically pull up Instagram to distract you from the squirms and flutters radiating through your body.

And it just so happens that the first photo is a picture of strawberry blonde waves, bright blue eyes, and a powdery-soft smile.

Chrissy.

What possesses you to click into her profile, you don’t know. Maybe it’s a yearning for the comfort you’d felt when she’d held your hand on the plane. Or perhaps it’s some unconscious desire for punishment, like taking a too-hot shower that nearly scalds your skin— you think you’re doing it because it feels good, but in reality, the sting is nothing but self-harm. Your eyes scan porcelain limbs twisted into flexible poses on a mat; charming crooked-toothed grins squished against other feminine cheeks in happy rows of lithe, beautiful strangers; and then a photo of four familiar figures that makes your heart thump: a bright orange bodycon dress, smart light blue linen, a white-button up that flashes dark ink, and milk and honey silk, all standing outside the neon lights of a Miami nightclub. Your eyes linger on tousled brown waves and a bright white smile.

From the sorrow and the void, despair rises within you. But it isn’t the hound that had grappled with your hope in Eddie's van. No, now it’s scraggly and mangy— a desperate, starving thing, tinged with anger. Steve could've talked to you, talked about what he’d been through to someone, anyone: a friend, a therapist. Hell, he could’ve tried to talk to Nancy herself. But he didn't. He didn’t take responsibility for his feelings or his wound. Instead, he manipulated you into a situation with an ulterior motive. He tried to use you to help himself, and he didn’t think about how it would hurt you.

Selfish.

As your anger builds, it redirects toward Chrissy. You swipe through her posts, scowl growing as you’re confronted with her smiling face over and over until you pause on one. It's a photo of an aggressively-sleek electric guitar, shining red and slung around Chrissy’s body. Her hip is cocked with attitude, dainty fingers thrown high in a 'rock on' gesture, face scrunched with her tongue poking out. A sudden thought snarls. Here she is, putting on a mask for her followers, pretending she’s some heavy metal chick. She doesn’t even really like Eddie’s music. She doesn’t even go to any of his fucking shows. Acrid and bitter, the tang of jealousy is heavy on your tongue.

You indulge it for a moment, letting it burn like poison through your veins until you remind yourself that Chrissy has always been kind to you. In the months you’ve known her, she’s helped you become more confident, encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone but never pushing too hard, never judging. She’s offered you eager giggles and cuddles and warm companionship. Chrissy has always built you up, and any bitter feelings you have toward her have been borne of covetousness.

Despair snaps its maw. The whites of its eyes roll; it whines as oozing guilt sucks at its paws deep into the muck. You imagine the look on Chrissy’s saccharine face when she finds out you’d snuck around behind her back— kissed Eddie in the club, fucked him in his van. Told him you wanted all of him. You imagine her dreams of boy or girl crumbling to dust in her dainty fingers. And then, you remember what your ex-boyfriend said. ‘I just feel bad for Chris.’

The injury you know you will inflict upon your friend conjures a haunting question:

Am I really any better than Steve?

#tkym #blueywrites #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington

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fiori7ura · 1 month

Text

“sunshine skin.”

words — 1,288 | rating — teen & up

★ warnings: recreational drug usage, coming out, mild language

—

They're smoking at Eddie's trailer when Eddie slips up and says something, something stupid.

"Man," he starts, blowing out smoke, the piercings in his lips looking shiny and sharp. "You're like, glowing. You have some natural beauty thing going on, dude."

He passes the blunt to Steve mid sentence, who takes a hit then chokes on smoke, laughing so hard tears spring into the corners of his eyes.

"What?"

Steve can hardly form words, he's holding his stomach and taking these big, gulping breaths, head tossed back in hysteria.

Eddie smiles, his infuriatingly cute dimples popping, making his smile so much prettier. "It's jus' the truth, Stevie-baby.

He controls himself, stubbing out the blunt, trying to stop laughing before he begins to try and say something again.

"You're gonna have to elaborate on me glowing, Eds. Reminder, I'm stoned out of my mind, everything is funny and hazy to me."

It's true, Steve is feeling very floaty, head all high in the clouds. He gets like this when they smoke, ending the night clinging to Eddie. He gets clingy when he smokes, clingier than when sober.

"I don't know. You're just so," Eddie gestures with his hands, splayed out and flinging around, signaling something Steve can't make out.

"Eddie."

His head snaps up and Steve can see how squinty and red-rimmed his eyes are. He looks funny. Steve giggles to himself.

"Yeah?"

"What does that mean? Just speak, man."

Eddie sighs, flopping off of the bed and throwing his body into the beanbag chair beside his dresser.

Drama queen, Steve thinks.

"Fine," he whines, licking his lips as a sign he's starting to try and elaborate on his dumbass sentence.

"It's like you have sunshine always reflecting off of your skin. Or, maybe inside of your skin. Sunshine skin," Eddie muses, giggling. "When you smile, I swear, it's so bright. It blinds me, Stevie. You're just so happy and glowy, almost like a golden retriever."

Steve blushes, feeling bashful. "Yeah?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah. M'gonna start calling you that. Sunshine. Fits you well."

"Oh," he breathes.

Eddie then stares at him, dreamy expression on his lips, eyes sparkling like he's looking up at the stars in the night sky.

Robin's voice is nagging him in the back of his mind, now. He likes you, Dingus. Just pay attention to the way he looks at you and all those disgusting pet names he calls you. He's infatuated with you.

"Eds?"

Steve blinks up at the ceiling, puzzle pieces clicking into place. He has to admit, Robin's always right.

"Hm."

Suddenly, the room is too hot, the trailer is too small, Steve's head is loud and he doesn't know what to say, exactly. What if he's wrong?

No, he can't be. Right?

Right.

"Is it true, that you're—y'know... queer?"

Silence stretches on between them in the hazy air of Eddie's bedroom, those four walls surrounding them listening into every word, every breath, every telltale sign of something unsaid.

"...Yeah."

Steve has to look down from where he's lost looking at the cracks in the roof, and puts his sight on Eddie, trying to be soft, trying to show he isn't a harm, and that Eddie himself isn't a harm either.

"That's nice. To personally know someone else out there who's like me in this town. Other than Robin, of course."

Eddie does his Head Tilt, the one he does when calculating someone, when he's having a whole conversation between himself in that beautiful mind of his. It irks Steve out, that he doesn't know what Eddie's thinking. They're best friends, he feels like he should know what Eddie's thinking, too.

"Cool. That's cool. Two queers who found each other."

Steve doesn't know what else to say, their conversation growing stale and awkward. He just whispers out a small "yeah." and fiddles with his hands, resting them over his sweater-covered stomach.

The empty pit growing in Steve's stomach gets too big, too much, too guilty. He decides to get the topic out and speak what's on his mind so the situation doesn't get any worse.

Steve cocks his mouth at a certain angle and sighs, head falling back against Eddie's pillows. "You know I like you, right, Eddie?"

"...No. But—wait. You like me?"

Steve can tell that Eddie didn't fully process his sentence until seconds later after it came out of his mouth. "Yeah. I just said that. In more than a friend way, I like you. If that's clear enough."

"Cool," Eddie repeats, same tone in his voice from when Steve told him he was queer. "I mean—shit. Sorry, this weed is really fucking me up right now, man. I like you, too."

"You do?"

Eddie nods, tongue tracing the seam of his lips. "I've been obsessed with you for, like, years, Sunshine. Ever since I laid eyes on you in the hallways."

"Holy shit."

Eddie scratches his head and leans up on his elbows. "Sorry. Is that weird? I just, thought, y'know, that if we both like each other, me being obsessed with you wouldn't be weird."

Steve shoots up from his spot on Eddie's bed and throws his hands up. "No! No, It's not weird. I think it's kinda sweet. That you've liked me for this long."

Eddie makes a questioning sound and grins lazily.

"Does that mean I can kiss you now?"

Hell, yeah.

"Yes. Please."

Eddie gets up from his spot on the bead-filled beanbag chair and makes his way across the room, planting himself right in front of Steve.

They're so close that Steve can see his freckles and the miniscule specks of red-ish brown in his eyes. Eddie gets closer, their noses touching, before he leans in and presses his lips so softly and sweetly to Steve's that he thinks he might start to cry.

He's never felt like this before. He feels loved, appreciated, cherished. With Nancy, the feeling he had in his chest didn't even come close. It wasn't this strong, pulling Steve under until he's drowning and gasping for more all at once.

Their foreheads are pressed together, and one of them is making these little noises, whimpering almost. Steve guesses it's himself doing it, because he's on cloud nine while kissing the man he's been in love with for a year.

Steve has to pull back to catch his breath, and slowly, he opens his eyes, grinning at Eddie like a mad-man. He could die happily while kissing Eddie and not be mad.

Then Eddie smiles back, and he's so fucking beautiful Steve's heart flutters pathetically in his chest. He feels like he's dying and living, in Eddie's shitty trailer park room.

Eddie's the kind of beautiful that rots Steve from inside and out. Steve's not exaggerating, he's seen the type of beauty in Hollywood and in magazines, but there's something special about Eddie that makes him so gorgeous that Steve wants to sink and drown. His smile by itself makes him so weak he feels like collapsing onto the floor when he sees it. Maybe he's a little loony in love, but he's okay with it.

He's content. He's sleepy. He's happy.

He's in love.

Steve pulls Eddie in for another kiss, hand on the back of his neck, and they laugh together. Steve's chest won't stop hurting.

"I love you."

He didn't mean to say it, it just slipped out, tumbling against Eddie's lips and into the air between their mouths. Eddie doesn't freeze or push Steve away, he just kisses him harder, saying all he needs to with his actions.

"I love you, too, Sunshine."

He really does owe Robin a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of flowers for being right.

—

ao3 account here

pinterest is here

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justmeinadaze · 1 year

Text

We're A Family Part 14 (Steddie X You)

A/N: I'm not sorry for the cliff hanger esc ending 😈

I'm going to use this opportunity here to say thank you to the step parents, partners, siblings, foster parents, adoptive parents...all y'all raising children who aren't biologically yours...you are amazing and deserve love and appreciation. The woman I call mom is technically my stepmom but she has been more a mom to me than my own. She showed me how mothers are supposed to be and I love her everyday for that <3.

Warning: Smut, FLUFF, and slight angst, Mr. Harrington pops up making a brief verbal cameo , Eddie mentions an incident about Steve's past heartbreaks as well as briefly (very brief) touches on his life right after moving in with Wayne, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3535

“Does he have to wear a suit?”, Eddie asks as he browses the clothes on the rack above him.

“I mean he doesn’t have to but it is his first date technically so…”, Steve grins as Dylan rolls his eyes.

You had already done the whole mom thing where you cried for ten minutes straight because your “baby” was growing up and asked a girl on a date to a dance. When he asked the guys to take him clothes shopping, he had hoped to avoid more of that, thankful when you offered to stay home and watch Aurora.

“Calm down. I’m not going to coo at you and tell you how big you’ve gotten.”, the man teases as he playfully reaches for his son’s cheeks.

“I don’t think I should wear a suit. I don’t want to seem…overeager.” Dylan’s eyes scan the shirts in front of him. “What did you guys wear on your first dates?”

“Jesus, um…”, Eddie’s eyes fly to ceiling as he thinks. “Jeans and a Guns & Roses t-shirt, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Of course, that’s what you wore.”, Steve chuckled.

“Hey! We were like eleven and went to a movie. It wasn’t anything fancy. What about you, sire? I imagine you came out of the womb with a date the next day.” The metalhead smiled as Dylan laughed.

“For your information, my first date was in 6th grade. I took a girl to the Snowball dance. And yes…I wore a suit.”

“Oh, please tell me there are pictures in a box somewhere at home.”

“No, thank God.”

“We can ask grandma.”, Dylan smiles mischievously.

“I swear, if either of you ask my mother for pictures—”

“Oh! You’ll what?”, Eddie joked.

“I’ll…be very upset.”

“Uh huh.”

****

“Do we have to watch it again?”

“Yes!”, Aurora giggles.

You laugh at her smile as you replay “The Empire Strikes Back” on the tv. “Yeah. I’m glad you’re happy. I’m going to kill your dad.”

Just like Dylan had with Harry Potter, Ro seemed to attach to Star Wars. Steve was watching “A New Hope” one afternoon and she sat beside him the entire time completely transfixed. Ever since then she insisted on watching anything you would allow that was Star Wars related.

“Beep, Beep!”, she mimicked as the front door opened and your three boys came through.

“Star Wars still?”, Steve asked.

“I hate you. This is your fault.”, you laugh as you quickly rose to your feet. “Sooooo, what did we get?”

“You’ll see.”, Dylan smiles. “Are you guys still chaperoning?”

“Well, I don’t have a choice being a teacher and my boss volunteered me.”

“That’s the spirit, Harrington!”, Eddie chuckles as he wraps his arm around the boy’s neck. “Yes, we will still be there and we promise not to embarrass you…much.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to go call Daisy and tell her what I got.”

You three watch as he excitedly runs up the stairs before you lightly smack Steve’s arm. “What did he get?”

“I can’t tell you!”

“Call it payment for me watching those movies back-to-back with our three-year-old instead of me murdering you.”

“Oh… you won’t murder me. You love me too much.”

########

Dylan watches his dads with intense fascination as they get ready, occasionally getting distracted when he heard his sister say something cute as she helped you get ready out in the bedroom.

“Mama hair up.”

“Yeah? Here can you brush it for me so I can pull it up?” Aurora grins excitedly when you hand her the brush.

“When it comes to hair, kid, you should let Steve take the reins on that one.” Eddie smiled as he moved out of the way and allowed Dylan space in front of the mirror so the man could show him some techniques.

“Oooo… Din purty.”, Ro compliments him before waddling to the metalhead. “Daddy! Mama…tie…for hair.”

“Mommy needs a hair tie?” She nods aggressively as he reaches across the sink to get her what she’s asking for. “Here you go, princess.”

“Tank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” His eyes follow after her as she grins and runs back into the bedroom.

“Alright, little man. What do you think?”

Dylan turns his head from side to side as he checks out his hair. “I love it. Mom! What do you think?”, he asks as he steps out of the bathroom.

“Oh my god!”, you squeak making the boys laugh.

“She likes it.”, Steve confirms as he sprays some of his cologne on himself before giving his son a little spritz on his wrist.

“Wow. Bubaful.”, Aurora coos as they all come out together.

Dylan had decided to not to wear a suit but a nice button up shirt with a small black tie hanging down his front. Still wanting to have some remnants of himself, he decided on wearing his converse with the black jeans he bought fully rounding out his ensemble. He actually looked like he tried to fuse Eddie and Steve’s style together.

Steve threw on a blue polo with some black slacks and shiny matching shoes. Eddie was donning a plain black shirt with black jeans like Dylan’s and sneakers.

“Aw, look at my guys.”, you grin as you climb off the bed.

You were wearing a stunning, casual blue dress with a cute floral print with similar color flats.

“You look beautiful, honey.”

As the doorbell rings, Ro claps her hands. “Kee!”

“Yes, that would be Aunt Kierra. Here, go open the door and make her feel old.”, you giggle as you push Dylan towards the stairs.

Eddie picks up his daughter as you four head down as well.

“Really? Of course, everyone looks good.”, Kierra whines playfully. “Hi Rara.”

“Kee.” She aggressively wiggles out of her father’s arms to run to her aunt.

“Ah yes. Fun aunt is here and now we don’t matter.”, you smile as you give your sister a hug. As you pull away you notice her own grin turn into a line. “Uh oh. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“You’ll tell me now.”

“Dylan, can you take this dork and turn on those god-awful movies she likes?” You son laughs as he grabs his sister and carries her into the living room. “So, Mr. Harrington, the evil one not this one here, went to visit our mother the other day.”

You sighed as Steve gently ran his palm down your back.

“Y/N, you think his dad was upset about you changing your name? Oof. Mom called me screaming saying you were taking it too far. She said she was going to call Charlie and side with him if he decided to go to court…” Her sympathetic eyes met yours. “I didn’t tell her…about him…ya know.”

“I should go talk to her—”

“Well that’s not happening.”, Eddie interrupts. “Sweetheart, do you really think talking to her is going to do any good? She doesn’t care. Now Steve’s dad… he can’t do anything right?”

Steve shook his head. “I mean what can he do? I have no inheritance from his side. Unless he wants to fight my mom. I don’t know. I think it’s more of an image thing now. Two kids with half his name and they aren’t…pure Harringtons.”

Your heart breaks as you listen to him speak. You know how much he hates this conversation. Aurora and Dylan are his kids; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. However, his father and your mother insist on finding little ways to remind him that both children don’t have an ounce of his DNA.

In a court of law, if you both left him, he would have zero say in where the kids go. Steve understood that would never happen. You both loved him and he loved you. This was his family but those little technicalities always loomed especially when other people brought them to light.

“Jesus. And our mom thought the Munson’s would be the biggest problem in this dynamic.”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at Kierra who chuckles as she comes around to give him a hug.

“Hey guys. Can we go now? I don’t want to be late.”, Dylan asks as he comes around the corner.

“Yes. Sorry. We got distracted by life. Let’s get a move on.” Painting a smile on your face, you grab your dates and head of the door.

##########

You snuck a picture from your place in the car as you three watched Dylan shyly shuffle up to his date who had been waiting at the front door of the school. Something he says makes her laugh and she blushes as he extends his elbow to her like he had seen the guys do numerous times. She grins, looping her arm in his before heading into the dance.

“What was your first date?”, Eddie asked as he leaned forward from his place in the backseat.

“Oh my god. I think I was about Dylan’s age. A boy asked me to dinner and a movie. Of course, dinner was some fast-food joint and we snuck into the movie but…”, you giggle. “I had fun. What are you guys going to do when Aurora starts dating?”

“Kill them.”, the metalhead pretends to glare into the distance making you and Steve laugh.

“Can we not think about our daughter dating? I don’t think I can handle that right now. I can barely handle this.” Steve continues to chuckle as both men get out of the car and open the door for you.

“Thank you guys for helping him pick out an outfit and getting him ready.”

“You don’t have to—”

You cut Eddie off with a kiss as you wrap your arms around him. “I know I don’t have to. Just let me, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

As you entered the dance, Steve had to detach from you two to tell his boss he was there and offer any assistance they may need. You and Eddie snuck a little closer to where the kids were, smiling when you say your son and his date sitting at a table talking. You can’t help but laugh when “Come Sail Away” by STYX begins to play.

“Isn’t this way outside of their generation? It’s barely in ours.”

“Eh, I’m sure they have to play it as safe as possible.”, the metalhead grins as he takes your hand and pulls you towards the edge of the dance floor where some of the other adults were swaying to the music. Your arms wrap around his neck as he clings to your waist.

“So, you and Steve would have went to school here to, right?”

“You are correct but we didn’t really hang out till high school.”

“Do you remember him?”

“Oh, princess, everyone knew who Steve Harrington was. King Steve with his awesome fashion sense and cool head of hair. I fucking hated him.”, Eddie chuckles. “Something changed his junior year. He started seeing this girl and I think she changed his perspective on some things. By senior year, he was a new man more or less.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“They broke up. She, uh, told him she didn’t love him.”

“Aw. Poor Stevie.” Your eyes shifted towards him, watching as he talked to some of the other teachers. “What about little Edward Munson. What was he like at school here?”

“Oof. Angry. Confused. Nerdy.”, he laughs. “I had been living with Wayne for a little under a year at this point. I was still trying to figure things out and this town sure as hell didn’t make it any easier.” You lean up on your toes to kiss his lips before resting your cheek on his chest. “I think the one good thing that came out of middle school was me getting into D & D. I thought it was amazing and gave me a place I could escape to.”

The music picked up tempo and you grinned as you watched Dylan walk his date to the dance floor. Eddie twirls you in his arms and your grin grows as you both dance along to the faster beat. You don’t see it but Steve pulls out his phone and begins recording his little family having fun.

“Dylan is yours, right?”, asks one of his colleagues.

“Yeah, that’s my son.”, he beams before pointing towards you and Eddie. “That’s my wife and husband.”

She tilts her head at his statement but he doesn’t notice nor care. He’s having too much fun watching you three.

##########

“Well, look at this.”, the metalhead grinned as he looked around the classroom. “The kid who was bad in class actually has his own classroom.”

Steve thought it would be a good idea for you guys to walk around a bit and allow Dylan some time alone with his date without you in the room so he decided now would be a good time to show you his room that you two hadn’t got to see yet.

“I wasn’t bad…I just didn’t care.”

You smiled at him as you wrapped your arms around his waist, giggling when you feel something vibrate.

“Is that me or you?”

He grins as he pulls out his phone before it gradually begins to fade. “My father is calling me.” You take the phone out of his hand and place it on his desk, allowing it to ring as you bring his lips to yours.

“I love you. No matter what he or my mom says.”

“I know.”

“I know you know but I also know…sometimes when he says things…it still hurts you.”

“Like Aurora and Dylan not being Harringtons.”, Eddie cut in. Steve’s phone went silent but after a few moments yours started to ring, grinning sassily as you flashed him the screen. “Do you think we should go for gold and see if he calls me?”

You handed the metalhead your phone. “Do with it what you will, my love.”

He raises his eyebrows playfully in your direction before placing the device to his ear. “Mr. Harrington! How can the Munson-Harrington family assist you today?”

“Where is my son? I need to speak with him NOW!”

“Uh, last I checked, you hadn’t spoken to Steve in three years. When did he become your son again and what do you need from him?”

Your hand reaches out to grip Steve’s chin, turning him to face you. “Look at me, baby. Let Eddie handle him and you focus on me.” He exhales heavily as you palms slide down his chest. “We won’t get in trouble, right?”

“Not if we don’t get caught.”

He lifts you into his arms and places you on his desk, lips mingling with your own as your limbs circle around his neck.

“Is this the real reason you wanted to show us your classroom?”, you tease as he smiles.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve fantasized about bending you over my desk.”

“Then do it, Steve. Please. I’m yours, baby.”

His fingers fumbled with his zipper as you lifted your hips to pull your underwear down your legs, grinning when you toss them to Eddie who sticks his tongue out as he catches them. Your eyes gesture towards the closed door and he gets the message, heading that way to keep a look out.

“Mr. Harrington, no. Dylan IS Steve’s son. He loves him and has helped raise him for half his life so far. I know that’s a foreign concept to you since you don’t know what actually raising a child looks like.”

Steve turns you till your back is to him and you lean over his desk as he grips your hips, guiding his cock into your entrance. Your eyes flutter closed as he thrusts into you, hitting that spongy spot deep inside of you making you moan.

“Y-yes, Steve. Fuck.”

All sound drowns out of the room as he leans his chest down to your back and wraps his arms around you.

“Does that feel good, honey? My dick—mmm—deep inside you like this.”, he mewls into your ear. “Tell me, baby.”

“Your cock is so deep. F-feels so good…please.”

“Do you think you can be quiet if I fuck you harder? You wouldn’t—fuck—you wouldn’t want us to get caught, right?”

You shake your head and he smiles as he lifts his arm up your body till its nestled under your chin. Your back arches as he roughly rolls his hips against yours at a faster pace.

“Mr. Harrington, I’m not going to lie, I didn’t hear a word you said mostly because I don’t care but also because I’m watching Steve fuck our wife and, as always, it’s the hottest fucking thing in the world. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to let them finish and then most likely cum in his pretty little mouth. Fuck off and leave our family alone.”

With that, Eddie hangs up the phone and tosses it to the side as he unzips his pants, pulling out his own cock as he strokes it to the sight of you both.

“Cum, baby. Be my good girl and cum for me, honey.” Steve grunted when your pussy clenched tighter around him, his palm quickly moving to cover the loud moan that escaped your mouth. “You like that? Mmm—you like me calling you a good girl?”

You place your hand over his, feeling his alone won’t stifle the continuous whimpers that you pant out as he continues to whisper in your ear. The coil in your tummy snaps as you lean your head back against his shoulder and grip his hair through your fingers.

“That’s it. That’s it, Y/N. Fuck, you’re so…so fucking…beautiful.” His arms cling to your body as you feel him thrust his release into your cunt. Neither of you moves as you both try and catch your breath. “Are you ok?”

You nod as you gesture towards the groaning metalhead. “He…he may need you though.”, you say with a knowing smile.

Steve gradually pulls out of you, kissing your cheek before tucking himself back into his pants and sauntering towards Eddie. They exchange a soft kiss, the man smiling as he descends to his knees and takes his cock into his awaiting mouth.

You search the desk, finding the tissue you were looking for, and use it to clean between your legs. After readjusting your dress, you slide up beside them and Eddie hastily brings your lips to his. When he turns away, you continue to trail kisses along his neck and jawline.

“Fuck, Steve. Don’t…don’t move.”

His palms come down and hold the boys head by his hair as he pumps his hips. You cover his mouth as a strangled grunt leaves his lips and his body folds in slightly as he climaxes. Steve milks him, licking every last drop till the boy was clean before rising to his feet.

Their eyes meet and Eddie gave him a big tooth filled grin. “So, your dad says hi.”

########

“Did you have fun, baby?”

“Yeah, mom. I did. I asked Daisy to a movie next Friday. Is that ok?”

“Uh, I don’t see why not.”

You sister smiles as you for walk into the house. “I don’t know what you did but Mr. Harrington isn’t returning our mother’s calls.”

“Good. One less thing to worry about I guess.”, Eddie grins. “Where’s Ro?”

“She knocked out about an hour ago. I was afraid to move her and wake her up.” She gestures towards the living room and he heads that way, carefully lifting her sleeping frame in his arms. He pauses at Kierra’s side allowing her to kiss her niece’s forehead.

As she leaves, Dylan gives her a big hug before running upstairs and Steve throws himself down on the couch as you begin locking up the house.

“Shit. Hey, baby. Can you bring me my phone? I want to send my mom some of the pictures I took tonight.”

“Yeah, of course.”, you smile as you grab his phone from the counter. “Can I send myself some so I can send them to Kierra?” He nods and your smile grows as you unlock his device.

“She’s going to get a kick out of him and her slow dancing. We should send Dylan some to so he can show Daisy—what?” You had frozen in place and your smile had faded as your eyes scanned the screen in front of you. “Honey? Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“’Baby #3 Expenses.’”, you read.

“Y/N…I—”

“’Can we afford it?’ No, Steve. We can’t.”

He exhales heavily and he rises to his feet. “Actually…if you look at the math—”

“Really? Really. Ha-have you thought about, oh I don’t know, SPACE! This is a three-bedroom house, Steven. We-we would have to move which cost time and money! And…”

“What’s going on?”, Eddie asks as he cautiously enters the living room.

“The three of us have our jobs and two kids…we-we barely have time for anything else!” You feel yourself start to panic as you wrap your arms around yourself. “We are NOT ready for a baby right now.”

“Well, that sounds familiar.”, the metalhead sighs.

###########

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#steddie x reader #steddie fluff #steddie smut #steddie fanfiction #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie fanfic #eddie stranger things #steve fanfic #steve smut #steve stranger things #joe keery #joseph quinn #stranger things #fan fiction

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plainemmanem · 2 years

Text

𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓.ೃ࿔

𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

18+ 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝒎.𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

It was early in the morning. The sun had just started creeping through your bedroom window. You took a deep breath in, hoping to breathe some energy into your lifeless form, as you gently opened your eyes. The room was glowing, golden from the morning sunrise. You smiled gently at the picturesque scene before you. You felt some shifting next to you and stilled completely, hoping not to wake him up.

Slowly, the events of last night drifted into your mind, giving you newfound clarity you didn’t have the night before after five or six drinks. You and Steve had gone out last night to party with your friends and had gotten back to your apartment late…

As you stepped into the front door, you both were a flurry of groping hands and needy moans.

“I need you,” Steve mumbled against the bare skin at your navel. He was on his knees now, drunkenly trying to undo the button on your pants. You grip his face with both hands, leaning down to give him a sloppy kiss on the mouth, you also not in your right mind. He stood up slowly, keeping his lips pressed to yours, when he gently started dragging you to your shared bedroom.

Once you got to the bed, you managed to pull his shirt over his head to pepper wet kisses along his chest and stomach. You followed every mole on his body and made sure to give them each a kiss, following them like stars in a constellation. After a while, Steve couldn’t take it anymore and with a small, whiny “Please” you were convinced to crawl back up his front to find his lips once again. With a little bit more fumbling, you were both in your underwear and wrapped up in the covers, just taking time to squeeze and caress each other's skin.

The memory of your time together slowly came back to you in the sunrise’s golden glow and you smiled softly, looking down with adoration at the mess of hair lying next to you. You looked curiously down further at the arm that trailed down your front. His fingers were still in your underwear and delved in your folds. You both had fallen asleep almost immediately after last night's activities and neither of you had any energy left for aftercare. You snuggled closer to him, pressing your face into the nape of his neck and taking a deep smell of him - a weird gesture that you could only get away with when you two were completely alone. You really loved his smell, especially after sex - his sweat mixing with the sweet scent of your shampoo he had taken to using. Suddenly, you hear a deep groan and you feel your boyfriend slowly shifting beside you. Pulling your head back, you get a better look at his face. His brow was furrowed, obviously unhappy to be rising at such an early hour after your outing last night, and his lips were pouted together, his hair a mess atop his head. You also loved the way he looked when he first woke up in the morning; he always had his signature pout upon his face just before he opened his eyes. His right eye peaked open, keeping the other eye twisted shut to protect him from the sunrise’s light.

“You watchin’ me sleep, creeper?” he says to you, driving you crazy with his raspy morning voice.

You smile and roll your eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Harrington…” you say, your smirk taking the punch out of your statement.

He closes his eyes fully and smiles so sweetly you think you might blush. He reaches his hand out - the one that is free, that is - and pulls you closer. As he moves his other… preoccupied hand, his eyes pop open in shock.

“Did I… fall asleep…?” he asks, gesturing to his hand between your thighs

“You’ve been there all night…” you say, just as shocked as him.

“Well, then...” he says against your neck, fingers starting to twitch between your legs. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off last night?” he says flirtatiously, now nibbling at your earlobe.

“Steve-” you say breathlessly, still trying to wake up fully.

“Hmm?” he hums against your ear.

His fingers swipe gently through your folds now, before stopping at the little bundle of nerves, making your body jolt awake. You gasp lightly, making Steve smirk proudly before giving your clit a slight rub.

“Feel good?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you moan, eyes and lips squeezing closed at the sensation. Your hand grabs at his arm, unsure whether you're trying to stop him or guide him further.

“God, love, I want you…” Steve says breathlessly against the shell of your ear.

“Stevie,” you moan out, now placing kisses along his collarbones. You could feel his cock slowly starting to harden against your thigh. You take a hand and slowly reach into his boxers. When you make contact, his hips thrust forward slightly as he looks down, mouth agape, at your hand wrapped around him.

He looks back up at you, brows furrowed in pleasure. You bite your lip and give him a sultry look.

“Take me, Harrington,” you say, voice breathy.

“God baby-” he moans against your skin again. He keeps his hand in your panties, but reaches around to cup your ass, giving your cheek a tight squeeze while pulling you closer, your pelvises meeting. Finally, he kisses you sloppily on the mouth once again, both of you channelling all your need into one another. Morning sex happened often between you two, as you were both at your neediest at the start of the day. Your hand leaves his boxers and both arms come up to wrap around his shoulders as he rolls flush on top of you. He slowly kisses down your jawline, once again stopping at your ear.

“I want you shaking beneath me…” he grumbles into your ear. All you can do is whimper at his words. “I’m gonna-”

“Steve?!”

You both freeze upon hearing his name on the other side of your door. You hear your name being called, too, now from a different voice, and Steve groans and drops his head onto your shoulder, annoyed.

“Are you guys awake in there?” you recognize the voice now as Dustin. The gang often frequents yours and Steve's apartment as a fun new hang out spot away from parents’ prying eyes.

You close your eyes, letting your head drop back, releasing a deep sigh as Steve rolls off from on top of you.

You both give each other a look that says “Of course” before Steve pulls his hand out from your underwear. His fingers still glisten from your juices and he slowly pushes his fingers into your mouth, which you suck whole heartedly, as his eyes darken. You release them with a pop and give him a chaste kiss on the lips, pulling the blanket up to fully cover you both. He groans once again, now full of both want and annoyance, as you nestle your head into his neck again, giggling softly.

“What is it?” you hear Steve call out, and the door gently creaks open a tad.

“We were wondering if you guys were awake,” you heard Mike’s voice now.

“Yeah, we were hungry.” Now Will.

“Starving.” Lucas says dramatically.

“Yeah, can you make us breakfast?” you heard Dustin ask nonchalantly.

You peek out from Steve’s neck and see El standing there with the boys as well. You smile gently at them all, giving them a wave, which they all return.

“Good morning, guys,” you say with a smile.

They all smile in return and give their hellos.

“Morning.”

“Sup.”

“Good morning.”

“Hi.”

Your head drops once again, now looking up to Steve’s incredulous face. He scoffs and looks to you with a “Can you believe this?” expression, and you shrug with a chuckle.

You look back to the group in the hall and give them a small nod.

“We’ll be out in a sec, guys.”

They all give each other satisfied smiles, and head back to your kitchen with Dustin closing the door.

You give Steve one last kiss on the shoulder, his face still staring at the door in shock, as you slowly roll out of bed and start putting some clothes on.

“Can you believe these fucking kids? Don’t they have their own homes? Their own parents that can make them breakfast?”

You laugh gently as you bend down to pick up a haphazard pair of shorts.

“You baby them,” he says accusingly, “I heard ‘em call you ‘mom’ ya know.” You look over your shoulder back at him with a small smirk.

“You’re just mad they like me better.” “Wh- ? No I’m not!” he started making offended noises, but you could see him starting to blush slightly. You slowly started crawling back to him across the bed, and he crossed his arms defensively, now looking across the room.

You lean in, whispering in his ear, “I’ve heard them call you ‘dad,’ too.”

You give him a small kiss on the neck right below his ear, and he blushes even harder. You turn back, putting on some more clothes, as Steve starts dressing himself.

You give yourself one last look in the mirror making sure you look presentable as Steve comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his head on your shoulder. He looks at your reflection lovingly in the mirror. You give him a warm smile and rake your fingers through his messy hair.

“I love you,” he mumbles dreamily.

Your cheeks heat up as you look away from his loving gaze to the socks on your feet. Steve gently spins you around, grabbing your face with both hands, pulling your eyes back up to his.

“I’m yours,” he whispers gently, leaning in to press little butterfly kisses all over your face. You giggle at the sensation and scrunch your face up amusingly.

He pulls back gently, looking into your eyes once again, before looking back at your lips. His tongue slips out, quickly wetting his own lips, before he leans in. Your lips meet and you slowly bring your hands up to finger through the hair at the nape of his neck. You moan gently into the kiss and open your lips slightly to allow his tongue access. He kisses you so passionately, you almost fall over, but his hands on your face steady you and keep you upright.

When he pulls away, his eyes are closed and he’s breathing heavily. You swear you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. His eyes pop open again and you give him a small smile and place a light kiss to the top of his nose.

“You’re so pretty, Stevie,” and he’s blushing once again.

“STEVE?!” you hear the boys down the hall, pulling you from the moment. They call out your name as well and you can’t help but chuckle at their impatience. “Spoiled little brats…” you hear Steve mumble to himself.

You pull away from his hold and head for the door.

“C’mon, pretty boy, we gotta take care of the kids,” you say with a small laugh.

“Don’t ever let them hear you call me that,” Steve says with a warning as you head out into the hall, “I’ll never hear the end of it.”

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things

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passivenovember · 1 year

Text

“You know how I used to have a crush on you?”

Steve looks up from his math homework, sort of. Stuck in that space between awake and swimming.

Billy won’t look at him. The end of his pencil has been chewed to shit, his rough draft for Erickson’s American History seminar laying blank and discarded on the lush green carpet of Steve’s bedroom floor.

“I guess so,” Steve tells him. Only, he doesn’t know.

They’ve never talked about it. But, with Billy, it’s best to go along with what he says, most of the time. Unless Steve’s looking to get his head chewed off, and.

Consequently, Steve needs his head for midterms.

There’s a powder-pink flush across Billy’s cheeks. An edge to his voice when he says, “I made a list,”

Like Steve’s supposed to know what that means.

"You did?” Steve asks. Because he doesn’t know. He leans back against the footboard of his window seat, legs stretching like a bridge between them. “Is it a good list?”

Billy shrugs. His cheeks get redder, somehow.

He’s pretty. Like a sugared lollipop.

Steve leans forward, “It’s a pros and cons list?”

Steve’s cocky. knows from dating Nancy that his pros outweigh his cons by a couple lines. Mentions of his cock and chest hair.

He’s nervous, all of a sudden.

Doesn’t admit that even though there’s no way he’s getting into college, he hopes that someone as bright and magnetic as Billy will still want to neck at the drive in.

Billy crosses his arms. Frowns. Says, “It’s a list of Icks,” all pissy, like Steve has control over that stuff.

And it makes sense Steve would find out that all his dreams are coming true when they can’t take a minute to celebrate. He feels like a shooting star, anyway. His head takes a break from swimming in equations and backstrokes through insurmountable joy.

He grins. “What’s an ‘ick’?”

“It’s something you do that makes my stomach turn,” Billy rumbles, so low Steve imagines rocks and pebbles jumping like popped corn on the ground outside.

He sticks his legs out in front of him, leaning back a little so Billy’s faced with the long, lean line of him.

One of Nancy’s pro’s. Tall.

“Tell me about ‘em,” Steve says.

There’s every possibility that Billy hates him for stuff he can’t change. Like the way he smiles or how he laughs, but. Nobody’s perfect, right?

"Fuck you, Harrington,” Billy says, baby blues tracing the bulge of Steve’s thighs, “I’m not--”

“You brought it up.”

“You’ll get your feelings hurt. Run crying to mama so I won’t be invited over anymore, and then who’s gonna help you get into college?”

Steve snorts. “I’m not getting in, anyway,” He uses his toe to poke at Billy’s knee cap, smiling when he rocks a little with the force. “C’mon. I wanna know what’s wrong with me so I can change and be perfect.”

Billy mumbles under his breath but he reaches around to his backpack, shirt riding up around his belly so Steve gets a peek at his stomach muscles.

When he turns back around he’s got a piece of crisp, quartered notebook paper in hand. In the light from the window, Steve can see that it’s full, which.

Isn’t great for his esteem.

Billy clears his throat. “Number one--”

“You numbered them?”

“From least disgusting to most,” Billy snaps. Like, duh. “Number one. When you do your Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation and you dribble spit on your chin.”

“I gotta use my full range of motion to get the vowels right.”

“It’s gross,” Billy says, but he smiles. And giggles, happy like the Gerber baby and he’s so fucking cute Steve’s gonna die. “Can I keep going, or--”

“Be my guest.”

Billy smooths his list, mouthing the next line before reading aloud.

Steve wants to add that to his own list, just to be spiteful.

“Number two,” Billy reads, “That time you went to the barber and he had to pump the chair a little to get--”

Steve laughs, bright and sudden.

He shuts right the fuck up when Billy glares.

“Number three,” Billy tells him, the paper shaking a little in his grasp. “The sound you make when you eat something spicy. Number four, any time you open an umbrella and the wind makes it pop inside out. Number five, when you tie your shoes too efficiently and the bow is really big--”

“I’m a present. The bow is essential,” Steve sits up straight, suddenly worried. “Let me see that fucking--”

Billy blocks him with a strong arm to the chest. “C’mon, let me get through it,” He says. Like it matters.

Like it’s important to him. Billy’s continued survival hinges on this moment, so.

Steve settles down and listens to Billy read, all the way down to number twelve: when we play crack the egg with the kids on Dustin’s trampoline and you’re the egg.

And Steve has to ask, “How long have you kept this list, man?” Because that was last summer.

And Steve remembers his stomach tying itself into knots when Billy dropped Max off and stayed until the sun set. He remembers going home after the kids fell asleep, Billy tagging along. Smoking pot and blowing clouds into the twinkling night sky. He remembers Billy laughing at his jokes staying up all night to catch fireflies with him.

Steve remembers the sunrise, its first lavender rays bringing with it a sunburn across Billy’s freckles. He remembers falling in love. Or realizing it.

Billy shrugs, “I wrote the first one to help me get over you.”

Steve frowns. Hopes it didn’t work and says, “What’s the first one?”

Because if he knows, maybe he can change it. Maybe he can cheat the system and get Billy’s love focused on him again, burning hot and heady.

Billy stares at him for a long, breathless moment. “You dress up for Halloween,” He admits. “The way your nose supports the weight of sunglasses wigs me out.”

And.

Steve’s belly swoops low, like he’s been at the peak of the highest hill on a rollercoaster. Now he’s plummeting down to Earth. Right now, he’s a crash dummy colliding with the realization that--

“That was love, the first night we met,” Steve says bluntly. Billy’s cheeks look like apples, fresh and embarrassed. “That night, at Tina’s Halloween party--”

“I didn’t say I was in love with you--”

“I know, I’m saying I’m in love with you,” Steve admits, like. Leap.

A lot of things happen at once.

Billy’s whole face cracks open. His eyes look like swimming pools overflowing with emotion until they turn into lakes and rivers and oceans, pulling Steve under with all their sincerity.

Outside Steve’s window, the sun shines.

It casts a halo of golden love around Billy’s head. He looks like an angel.

Steve’s never going to let him go.

He leans forward, “Keep reading,” Steve asks softly. “C’mon, I wanna hear.”

Billy jerks into motion, tearing his eyes away to scan the page in front of him. “Number thirteen,” He tries, swallowing until his throat clicks, “When we’re swimming in the pool and you’re trunks inflate so it looks like you’re wearing a diaper.”

Steve chuckles, allowing his fingers to wrap playfully around the ends of Billy’s hair.

Now that the truth is out, he’s going to touch.

Billy shivers. “Number fourteen, when you put on Chapstick and you’ve sharpened the applicator so it looks like a sword or a baby finger.”

Steve cups the back of Billy’s neck.

Pulls himself forward.

When they kiss, Billy’s notebook paper glides to the floor.

#harringrove #fluff #IDK WHAT THIS IS #i didn't edit either so you get what you get babes #hope you enjoy!

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vacantwatchers · 3 months

Text

He talks, I listen (He's in the shower and his skin glistens)

Rated M. Words 4.8k.

Behold. The sequel to Metal Church, Steve's POV. Read on Ao3 here

Steve lives in a trailer. It’s one of the few that live outside the limits of Forest Hills Trailer Park.

A double wide cream beast with brown trimming whose interior consists of alternating striped floral wallpaper and pine wood panelling. It was perched on the edge of a puddle masquerading as a lake.

Cop Lake, if you wanted to get local about it.

It was well known that Hopper lived there, and could be frequently seen on the porch popping pills to cure his ever present hangover.

The tail end of 1983 saw him moving in, body aching and face uncomfortably numb while Hopper's hand anchored him to the ground. He was a little under two months into being eighteen, concussed for the second time in a month. He was freshly away from his parents.

"I own the place outright," Hopper had said as he walked him up the steps and into the bowels of his new home. "I got a cabin a little ways from here and don't need this place anymore so it's yours for however long you want it. The hot water can be touchy and the pressure in the shower is piss poor, but it's your own space and you won't need to watch your back here."

Hopper had dropped the keys into his hand, told him he'd be by in the next couple of days with his stuff.

And that, well. That was that.

Steve had handed Hopper a list of items in the Harrington house that he'd bought and when Hopper returned, he'd had a smirk and items that definitely weren't on the list.

The entire stereo system was a nice touch.

It became a mission of his, transforming his new space from the interior of a grieving apathetic forty something year old to something that reflected his interests. That, okay that sounded harsh towards Hopper but the guy was grieving and he was apathetic to his personal surroundings. He was also the only fucking cop in the county who did anything about his dad, so no matter what he thinks of his decorating choices, he’s officially the only adult in this town he fucking trusts.

Guess it pays to have moved from the city and have no knowledge of the corrupt nature Harrington money breeds. Or. Well, it didn't breed, in Hopper's case.

Slowly, he filled the space with colour and warmth. Floor lamps to replace the mind searing top lights, bright vases from the thrift stores in Bloomington slowly filled with plants, which then slowly multiplied until his porch was screened in by greenery and the living room was more leaf than couch. Music and cinema posters, art prints, photos that were both framed and tacked to walls. New blankets and pillows and rugs.

Soft, bright, inviting things that for so long Steve wasn't allowed to have when he lived in his parents house.

(Never to be mistaken for a home.)

Things scattered around that served their purpose in reminding him that Steve was a three dimensional person, not a cutout of his father's ideologies. It all starred in the most important role possible, to demonstrate his enjoyment of things, of life. He made the trailer into a space that felt more of a home than the house he’d lived in for the first seventeen years of his life.

Sometimes when it's late at night, Steve thinks about the past, who he was, who he was perceived to be. Who his friends were and what could have been.

When the sweat is cooling in the hollow of his throat, and the tips of his fingers are buzzing, breath shuddering from yet another nightmare. When the grey black of his bedroom moves like static, Steve wonders what would have happened if he had gone to Tommy the first time all the Upside Down shit happened.

When he lays in the dark, yearning for a familiarity of years that had been lost because of shitty personalities swayed by public perception.

Would he still be dealing with the Upside Down if after that first time, after having Nancy pull back the safety and hold a gun to his face and fighting a flower headed nightmare, he'd gone to Tommy and looked at him the same way he had for ten years whenever he needed a hug. Told him everything that had happened, knowing that Tommy would scoff in disbelief but still listen to everything.

Going to Tommy, having that single touchstone to someone outside of all that shit, would mean he probably wouldn't have gotten back together with Nancy.

Which means no heartbreak in Tina's bathroom, no going to Nancy's only to be waysided by Dustin. No Dart, no junkyard, no demodogs, no fucking tunnels. No fight with Billy Hargrove because he would never have been at the Byers house.

No new family in Mrs Henderson and Dustin, Max and Robin.

Breathing in slowly, Steve decides that all the shit he's earned from associating with the Upside Down, the nightmares and insomnia, the blurred vision in his left eye and chronic migraines, the paranoia of tight spaces, of hospitals and doctors, of the woods behind his house. It was worth it all to have those fucking kids in his life, to finally feel like a being of considered worth rather than an object for his mother to pick up off the shelf and peddle to coworkers and society when she finally shows her face at home.

Sitting in the middle of his bed, holding his knees, Steve can't lie to himself though, can't say he doesn't wish he had someone familiar he could lean on in the depths of night.

Steve didn't fucking mean it like that though.

And then it kept happening like that.

Healing a torn up body was one of the worst aftermath things Steve has had to live through, worse than growing back his nails and getting fitted for his plate of false teeth. You don't realise how much movement is torso dominant until you're stitched back together all over. His entire body at this point was scarred; road rash and bites, claws and strangulation, fists and plates.

At least he's not still in a hospital bed.

"At least you still got your nipple, man."

Steve snorted and leaned back in the hard and slightly too small chair. "This is true. Would be a shame if I spent the money to get them pierced only to lose one of them."

Eddie nodded, eyes drifting down to look at chest and lingered there as if he enjoyed the view of his Springsteen tour shirt. "A damn shame indeed. Good thing both those pretties are still there."

"You looking at my nipples, Eddie?"

"They were out and about, what did you want me to do? Look at trees all night? There's a reason I gave you the vest."

"My modesty right? My nipples were too much for your delicate sensibilities, huh. I get it. It's hard to look away when they're your first pair."

"Fuck you, they were not."

"It's okay. I won't tell the guys mine were your first set."

"Shut up, I've seen plenty of nipples in my lifetime."

"The mirror doesn't count, rockstar. But I do think it's a shame you don't have a matched set anymore. Even if your scar is going to cool when it's all healed."

Becoming close to Eddie Munson wasn't at all what he expected to happen after a week in hell, but he wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

It doesn't take long for the obsession to start. It's minor, manageable, measly, many more ‘m’ words he couldn't think of but knew existed that explained that this feeling was absolutely normal and not at all getting out of hand. But he couldn't help it. Not when Eddie was incredible and genuine and himself all the time.

There were so many little things he did that Steve couldn't help but fixate on every time he sees, or even thinks about them.

Like.

Okay. Eddie has this terrible habit of hiding his face away.

He does it when he’s happy, when he’s excited, nervous, embarrassed, shy.

He’ll be enthusiastic and vibrant and then suddenly turn to the side as if to hide how wide his smile is, how bright his eyes glow when he’s in the throws of a story. He’ll lean into his hand to hide the sweet curl of a smile, will pull his hair forward and hide behind it whenever anyone even hints about how they remember who he is, acknowledge his existence beyond the D&D metalhead who was targeted by their fucking shithole town.

How anyone could ever forget though, when Eddie Munson commands the attention of a room, heads turning to follow their benevolent king as he walks and gestures, royal decrees and commentary dripping from his plush lips at every moment. The very idea of someone being able to look upon Eddie, see his elegant hands gesture and wave so expansively you could be forgiven for imagining it was because his hands were weighted down by those thick banded rings, and then forget him as soon as he leaves their sight– it truly didn't compute with Steve.

(God the lengths Steve will go to if just for the possibility that it would make Eddie flush that pretty pink and get all shy behind his hair.)

There's probably a reason behind it, something learned that isn't easily shaken. Something so deeply ingrained that it’s become an unconscious act.

The same way Steve stopped voicing all his questions in ninth grade because he was sick of everyone looking at him like he was totally brain dead and his teachers had started using him as an example of what to not do. He never understood what the issue was, because in middle school Mr Clarke had taught them that every question was worth asking in the journey to knowledge, no matter how simple or out of field.

The bell had rung and everyone else had left, all notions of science forgotten as soon as they'd passed through the doorway towards recess. Which was good, because Steve had asked a lot of questions and Tommy and some of the other boys had grumbled a lot. He'd stayed back, slowly packing away his pencils, to put more distance between him and his friends' memories of his stupid questions.

Mr Clarke had crouched beside his desk, after wiping down the board, his moustache moving up as he smiled. “Steve, your questions are a demonstration that you're engaging with the subject and have your own method of coming to the right conclusion. Everyone works things out in their own unique way. Never be afraid to ask when you don't understand something, for how would you learn if you do not seek the answers? Besides, most of the time, when you ask a question, one of the others might have been wondering the same thing. You were just the one brave enough to ask the question to lead you on in the voyage to knowledge.”

Steve had figured it had to be the same in high school, all questions being valid and showing his honest attempt at grasping what was being discussed in class, only to be met with sighs and questions about why he was never paying attention. As if he didn’t have countless notes. As if he didn’t go home looking at his homework and textbooks and assigning novels that he couldn’t understand, that made him cry from frustration which made the letters swim around more than usual and cry harder because now he had no chance.

It was something he's only now starting to approach, tentatively asking questions and voicing his thoughts, because for once he has people who will answer his questions. Sure, it's a shaky roll of the dice sometimes when Henderson wants to answer him helpfully and give him a run-down of something, or be a little bitch with his answers.

Robin though, Robin is the platonic love of his life, she listens to him - his winding thought trains that bounced around randomly about shit that she wasn’t into. She listens to it all. His thoughts and his questions, responds with rapid sentences answering every question in consecutive order to how he asked them. Sometimes it feels like her words tumble over each other in the air with how fast she talks. She watches him as she talks and when he doesn’t understand something, his eyebrows scrunching together and his mouth scrunching with them, she rolls it back and tries to restructure everything for him until he does.

Eddie though.

God.

Eddie looks at him and it's like for the first time someone is paying attention to what he is below the surface. When he talks to Eddie and sees him actively listening, nodding and humming and watching with those eyes, something behind his ribs tightens and drops, radiating a warmth he just doesn't know what to do with.

Eddie just–

He listens.

And while he does, he hides his face. His hand with those long ringed fingers covering his cheek and his mouth and stretching over the tip of his nose. Pulling and holding his hair. He leans on to his palm and looks up at him with those pretty, pretty brown eyes that are always so fucking shiny. That glint at him like they're backlit by stars.

Ringed fingers gripped at the hair Steve ached to touch constantly.

Eddie was pacing across the small living room of Steve’s trailer, ranting about his chances of graduating once again being in the shitter. The next pivot past his coffee table saw Eddie dropping down to sit, full weight in the motion. Steve tried real fucking hard to not feel jealous of his own furniture when his (love– sunflower– sweetheart– light of his life– moon–) friend was stressed and covering his face to muffle, badly, a scream.

"I was in class with you man, how did you do it? Because I'm drowning, I barely have my nose out to breathe, and I always thought you were in the same boat as me."

Steve thought back to high school, to the incomprehensible letters and texts that would float in his brain for an hour before leaving behind only chemtrails of interesting sounding words or sentences.

The way he'd move through the bottleneck of student crowded halls to lean beside the dumpsters by the back parking lot at lunch and suck down cigarettes to disrupt the buzzing in his hands and chest that always came when he was nervous or overwhelmed. Multiple times a week the side door would open and different teachers would step out already shaking out their own pack of smokes only to look up and freeze at the sight of him.

Steve leaned back into the couch.

"I'd smoke by the dumpsters with my teachers and talk about class."

He'd stand there, finding shapes in the exhaled clouds as a lighter passed back and forth and he asked all the questions he was too nervous to voice during class. Because it wasn't middle school anymore, and the voyage of curiosity had run aground on the jagged rocks of ninth grade.

He wasn't the smartest, answers took longer to meet his aching grasp, connections misfiring often from misread and misunderstood textbooks. And if there was one thing Steve didn't want to hear, it was something being repeated in his classmates that he already heard at home.

"I think they were a little more lenient with me because we'd discuss it during those breaks. I had a chance to ask my questions and they could see I was trying to grasp the shit we'd gone over, I could verbalise my understanding. I just couldn't figure how to put it in writing, which is what they fuckin’ graded."

Eddie pulled away from his hands and blinked at him slowly. "You smoked. With our teachers."

"Yeah." Steve shrugged. "There's only so many times they can say to cut it out before they just give in to the knowledge that I would still be smoking, it'd just be somewhere else."

"Are you telling me I should smoke with Ms O'Donnell and maybe I'll be able to pass this year?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know man, I don't remember her coming out to smoke. But if you see the teachers, just like, start asking questions, I don't know.”

Eddie's too-pretty eyes dug out a piece of his soul with nothing but their weight. "This is seriously how you graduated?"

"I mean, yeah. Mostly. The only classes I understood were the maths ones and biology." Eddie's face smoothed into a smirk and he couldn't help but shiver. "Not like that, dude. I just liked learning about how bodies and lifeforms function. Like the bug thing I went through as a kid."

"You went through–" Eddie blinked. "What is a bug thing?"

"You know, like. Life cycles of wasps from pupae to insect, the different beetles and why some develop long range defence attacks and some don't. Bug thing. You didn't go through that? It like, it ties in perfectly with the dinosaur, dragon and Egypt thing."

Steve had watched Eddie fall back into the couch and was now pinned in place, much like the framed rhinoceros beetle Dustin gifted him last year that hung above his key rack, by his amused smile.

"Full of surprises aren't you, big boy."

God Steve was so screwed. He could feel how hot his cheeks just got.

Redirect, redirect, redirect.

“Anyway. Half the time it was our science teacher Mr Schecter out there, but you know him. He takes over half the subjects when the other teachers can't come in. I swear the guy knows more about the subject matter than they do most of the time. They talk to each other to bitch about us, might as well show them we're trying in our own ways."

Eddie blinked his big, stressed out eyes at him. "Mr Schecter. The guy who for a semester taught Home Ec, Chemistry and for some godforsaken reason, P.E., would help me with this."

Steve shrugged and slid further down into his cushion, absolutely not for the reason that it caused his knees to slide against Eddie's.

"Man likes to teach and he knows a lot. He also stress-smokes like I do, so half the time I was walking outside, he'd either be a minute behind me or already out there."

"I'm trying to wrap my head around you knowing so much about our teachers' scandalous habits."

Steve snorted, opening his eyes to grin at Eddie. "When I couldn't find any of our teachers, after school I'd go down to the middle and hit up Mr Clarke because that man knows a lot and knows how to explain it well. I'd also sometimes find him smelling mighty familiar. If you catch my drift.”

He doesn’t know when his filter for not saying everything that lived inside his mind wore away, when the idea of finally speaking the truth into existence became a thing. Maybe after the fifth conversation with Robin, where she quite hypocritically pushed him towards making that move with Eddie because it was a sure thing.

“Oh so you’re quoting me to me now, are you? That’s rich, Robin. How’s your thing with Vickie going?”

Robin groaned and leaned back, knocking over the fresh stack of tapes with her flailing elbows.

“It’s different for me, you know that. But with Eddie? Come on, the guy walks around bowing to ladies and saying flattery works on me. One of his favourite bands is Judas Priest, Steve. You’ve seen the posters. You and I know that lead singer is in the leather scene, we’d be fucking blind to not see that. Eddie walks around flagging, for fuck’s sake.”

“I get that. I know that guy is in the leather scene. Eddie has a magazine with his picture in it where he’s wearing like, seven studded belts. And we can speculate all you want, but I also don’t think Eddie knows he is flagging, or what flagging even is, because I’ve alluded to that shit and he just goes all confused big eyes on me, and then I just get lost because he has really pretty eyes.”

Somewhere around the twelfth time they circled around their victorian era longing and sighing over glimpsed ankles, they came to a compromise.

“He was putting on his jacket and as he did, it pulled his shirt up and I– he has little dimples on his back and between those and the way his bullet belt falls across his hips, I couldn’t look away. He turned around and asked me if I was good because I kind of zoned out for a minute thinking about using the belt as a hand hold to yank him closer.”

“Great, you’re looking at his back and I was looking at her collar bones and thinking they’d look so pretty with hickies.” Robin pushed away from her side of the counter to land at his side, shoulder to shoulder. “God, we’re still pathetic. I think we should just,” she scrunches her face and sighs, “we should just go for it. Fuck it. I have Fast Times 53 minutes, 8 seconds; and you have Judas Priest and flagging. This is the closest we’re going to get to landing our devious queer romances in this tiny town. The worst that can happen is we play it off as a dare.”

“So we go for it, full overt operations with our babes, dazzle them with our combined personality and pray it works? And then move to a city when you graduate on the off chance all this falls through?”

Robin bumped their shoulders together before she slumped down, her cheek pressing into the uncomfortable seam of his work vest. “Sounds like a plan, if we’ve ever had one.”

There was never a situation in which Steve would be done spending time with Eddie. And the night everyone had gotten together to celebrate his graduation, he made sure Eddie came home with him for their own after party.

Made sure Eddie knew how proud of him Steve was, that he never gave up.

Also that he took his, admittedly, weak advice. “Smoking with the teachers helped, huh?”

Eddie grinned, “I can’t believe it did, man. Mr Schecter is a surprisingly cool dude, he explained so much shit to me.”

“I’m glad.”

“You helped too, you know?”

Eddie moved in, the heat he radiated through his open leather jacket, and just in general, was like a warm line down Steve’s side. Which was a nice contrast to the cool breeze coming off of Cop Lake.

(Two years he's been living there, but the name had stuck. Steve genuinely didn't remember the lake's name.)

“You’re the one who explained all that maths in ways I would understand. Gave me those scenarios for english that made sense. Too bad I was already passing biology though huh, big boy. Would have liked to see what demonstration you would have worked out for me there.”

Internally, Steve was crouching down and screaming into his hands.

Externally, his fingers reached out to loop through the chain hanging from Eddie’s belt and tugged ever so softly.

“I told you, it’s not that kind of biology. Those demonstrations are saved for a rainy day.”

Eddie swayed impossibly closer. “Oh yeah? What would I have to do to unlock just prestigious lessons from you, sweetheart.”

Shit he didn’t think this far ahead.

What have they talked about recently that he could relate this to?

Think, think thi– Bingo.

He smiled, “I’m sure you could think of something. I heard your campaign just picked a paladin and you’re giving him and one of your favourite NPCs, how did Dustin describe it? Tension?”

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to watch Eddie flush so pretty and turn to tuck that soft smile into his hair every day for the rest of his life.

Somehow, that wasn’t the moment that pushed them together. Eddie was remarkably stubborn when it came to his moves.

They would dance together at every moment, Steve setting something up, a little hidden gem for him to find, and Eddie would find it and go with it, but move no further.

Steve would sit on the couch and have his arm on the couch behind Eddie, and Eddie would lean in, press their legs together.

He would use the magnets Max bought him for his birthday to write the filthiest poems he could think of, and come back after dropping Eddie home safe and sound to Wayne, to find more added on. That time, he had to take matters in hand for a while because the fucking imagery Eddie painted behind his eyes with those lines was…exquiste.

His favourite activity to do during the pursuit of (his love– baby– starlight– good boy–) Eddie was to lay back on the tangled mess of covers and pillows, and listen to Eddie talk.

There was something about Eddie’s voice that just sunk deep under his skin and curled through his bones in a satisfying way that left him aching for more.

When he got deep into a monologue, excited with everything he was saying and the fact that Steve would never bear to look away, Eddie would jump up and move his whole body as he talked. Hands flying about, fingers pulling shapes to suit the topic, hair cutting behind him as he spun around.

Those days, Steve would learn about what Eddie liked about music, who his favourite bands are and for what reason; he would learn what was going to happen in the next session of both D&D campaigns Eddie was running. One with all of Hellfire and Erica, the second with just his boys. Because he liked that he could go harder and a little more raunchy with them.

When the stream of consciousness would trickle to an end, and he saw that Steve was comfy and in no rush to leave, Eddie would walk over and crawl onto the bed to lay beside him. He would reach out for whatever book they were on and begin to read aloud in that deep, slow voice he no doubt practised.

All these perfect moments, and it wasn’t enough to have Eddie close the distance.

Could he have closed it, pushed the moment to that oh so perfect conclusion he was aiming for?

Sure.

But a small part of him had been seeing if Eddie ever would, and came to the conclusion that Eddie would need an explicit, this is happening, no doubts about it, please do me now moment.

So he made the tapes.

He took three hours out his day to make the perfect compilations, and had a little too much fun recording a tasting sample for Eddie, so much fun he’d almost forgotten to hit record.

He took to the pictures, labelled the tape inserts, delivered the instructions, and revelled in that pretty dazed look that rose from calling Eddie a good boy.

And then three hours later, when Eddie ran up the stairs to his trailer, he yanked him inside.

He got to explore just how much of that black bandana Eddie knew about and show him those more in depth biology lessons.

Eddie’s little back dimples looked beautiful when his back arched, the little whines settled in his chest so perfectly when he would whisper all those names Steve had held tight behind his lips for so long, his voice so pretty when he moaned. When he dripped his pleasure, body trembling gently as they both relaxed into the bed, breathing heavy and warm into each other's shoulder.

Seeing Eddie in his space, bathed in the soft warmth of his floor lamps, skin glistening from his shower, Steve knew that it was a view he wanted to have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of his life.

Robin looked at him from across their breakfast, smug. “The tapes worked huh?”

Steve nodded as he swallowed his coffee, taking in the dark pink spots peeking out from the collar of her Stacey Q t-shirt, mostly obscured by her leather jacket. “Kiss of the Spider Woman worked huh?”

She grinned. “It did. I can’t believe the movie you guessed would fit the movie night would do it.”

“It has the silhouette of a naked lady on the front, of course it would do it.”

“I guess we aren’t as pathetic as we thought.”

He bobbed his head, because while they weren't pathetic in the sense that they finally got their person, they undoubtedly were still pretty pathetic and stupid smitten when it came to them because he just couldn't hold it in any more.

"Holy shit, he smells like heaven, and oh my god, I like him so much."

Robin snorted into her juice and thunked her glass down, choking on her laughter. "He does not. He smells like cigarettes, leather and whatever cologne he bought on a whim. Vickie is the one who smells like heaven."

"She smells like baby powder and that floral hand cream you bought her."

"Exactly! Heaven!"

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stobin #stranger things fic

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