#boxer!steve
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santa baby (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)
summary: a private christmas lavishly celebrated in the bedroom of hollywood’s new favorite ‘it’ couple.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
✶ the king of the ring (1993)
✶ christmas carols
✶ main masterlist
tags: fluff; some christmas smut; steve is so rich.
lovely adorable dividers by @chechelia
"santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me. been an awful good girl, santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."
—santa baby, eartha kitt
malibu, california, december 1993
"And then Nike wants a photoshoot for their new shoe collection. They're requesting you as their face...but, I don't know, the deal is—"
"Angel, grab my lighter, please?"
You stood from your leather swivel chair, pushing it away from the conference table to head toward Steve's gym bag near the door. You pulled his lighter from the front pocket and handed it over to him, just as he slipped a Marlboro between his lips.
"Thanks, honey," he mumbled, reaching out to rub your thigh as you sat back down.
"As I was saying: Nike is offering a quarter mil for the deal, but I think we can squeeze more out of 'em. If they want to make a contract deal with you, we're gonna need more—"
"Who says I want a contract deal with Nike?" Steve interrupted gruffly.
You adjusted the necklace on your chest—a gorgeous golden locket from your first Christmas with Steve. You polished it regularly and kept it in its velvet case when not in use. But it was rare that it wasn't in use.
The meeting had been going on for two hours at this point. You were tired, bored, and already positive Christmas was going to be spent at a photoshoot for Nike in L.A. Your parents called last weekend and asked if they should set a place for you at the dinner table for Christmas—but just like Thanksgiving, you told her it was "unlikely."
And just like Thanksgiving, it broke your heart to hear her sigh.
"You'd be an idiot not to take it, Harrington, c'mon,” Mikey huffed.
Steve slid a glass ashtray closer to his side of the table and tapped his cigarette over the litter. "What d' you think, baby?"
You were still in a daze, fiddling with your necklace and checking the state of your manicured nails. Steve tapped your thigh to break you out of it.
Looking up, you glanced at Mikey quickly—noting his eye roll—before shrugging at Steve. "Oh, um...I don't know."
Huffing, Mikey held out his hand to silence you, and you tried not to burn at the dismissal. "Yeah, Steve, look—"
"You might wanna lower that hand if you wanna keep it, Mike," Steve cooly grumbled, taking another drag of the cigarette.
"Look, Steve, I think it's a good business decision. This is literally my job, man, but you gotta let me do it."
Steve hummed, inhaling through his teeth. When he exhaled, a stream of grey smoke furled from his nose.
"I'll think 'bout it."
He made quick work of stamping out his cigarette, pushing away from the table in his chair as it sizzled out. He pulled your chair out next, holding an empty palm upended for your waiting hand. You slid your fingers in the open space and flashed a small smile, grateful for his comfort in your obvious lack of it.
"Wait, guys—Steve, we're not done!" Mikey called after the pair of you as Steve made a path for the door.
Winding his arm around your shoulders, Steve pulled you in close by the crook of his elbow to plant a kiss on your head. "Ready to go home, angel?"
"Mhm."
Throwing a sly grin over his shoulder, Steve shrugged. "Looks like we’re done, Santorini."
Wrapped in a pair of pink silk pajamas, you lathered smooth vanilla cream over your feet, massaging the soreness from five-inch heels as Steve huffed and puffed over the bedroom carpet with every pushup. He counted under his breath between grunts, face screwed up with exertion. The muscles of his back flexed and tightened with every decline.
"I know—forty-five—you're—forty-six—watchin' me."
Cheeks swelling with warmth, you smiled down at your hands as you smoothed the rest of the lotion in. "Whatever."
Four pushups later, Steve hopped up from the floor and adjusted the front of his boxers, bulging with a distracting amount of fullness. The blue light of the television screen cast a sheen over the end of the bed spread, and Steve crawled over it to flop next to you. You let yourself smile again, reaching out to brush a clump of soft, shampooed hair out of his eyes.
"What's a' matter?" he mumbled into the mattress, cheek squished.
You shook your head, placing the lotion on the nightstand. "Nothing—"
"Don't lie."
A sigh shuttered through you. Fingers approached his hair again, delicately swooping and sweeping through—more a comfort for you than him, though he melted into the mattress.
“It’s silly…I just wish we could spend Christmas together.”
“We are,” Steve replied.
“You know what I mean. Without Mikey and Big, and random endorsement guys, or a million fans screaming and taking pictures. Just us. Like it used to be.” Your voice was smaller than you wanted.
You didn’t realize how sad the prospect of a Christmas spent with strangers and money-hungry people made you. You turned your eyes toward the television as a commercial for Campbell’s soup came on.
Steve stirred on the bed, bringing his cheek to rest on your bare thigh. He kissed it, greedy for the bare, clean flesh scented of bubble bath and shaving cream. His teeth scraped the tender space of your inner thigh and you squeaked.
“I know,” he muttered, pressing another gentle kiss.
A moment of silence passed between you. The television buzzed with muffled chatter and the bright, blaring colors of holiday advertisements. Steve rubbed a rough hand over your soft skin, and you leaned back into the silky pillows against the headboard as you massaged his hair.
“I know what will cheer you up.” Steve tapped your thigh twice before sliding off the bed.
Tucking your legs in, you watched him disappear through the french doors of the closet you shared. He rummaged for a few moments—the roll of drawers opening and closing—before reappearing with a gilded shopping bag stuffed with tissue paper. It was far too neat for Steve’s heavy hands, but the thought of him asking a clerk for gift wrap made you smile.
“For me?” You pressed your hand to your chest and grinned coyly.
Steve placed it on the bed before you. “Well, open it and see.”
“It’s not Christmas ye—“
Steve placed his hands on his hips and fixed you with an arched brow. You plucked the tissue paper from the bag with a giggle. The paper revealed a black shoe box in the bottom of the bag, and once retrieved and placed in your lap, you removed the lid and came to a pair of mint green Mary Jane pumps.
“Oh, Steve,” you cooed, picking one up. It was sleek and gorgeous. “They’re beautiful.”
Steve kept his bottom lip firmly between his teeth to hide his smile. But seeing the warmth that gathered on your face, the brightness in your eyes—Steve wanted nothing more than to keep you this happy for as long as he could.
“Y’ like ‘em?”
“Love them, Stevie. Thank you.” Cradling the shoe close to your chest, you looked up to smile at Steve—but caught the back of him rushing into the closet again.
“Steve? Where are you going?”
“Hang on!”
Paper rustling followed Steve’s wobble as he reappeared with an armful of bags and boxes, some wrapped with velvet bows and others bare. You pressed up to your knees and watched him place them near the small, slim Christmas tree in the corner of your bedroom by the window. He huffed once all were dropped on the floor.
You crawled the length of the bed and peeked over the edge toward the tree. “Those are…all for me?”
Steve always spoiled you, especially on holidays and anniversaries, but this was a new extreme. Maybe it was the few months spent apart earlier this year that made him want to adore you more. A newfound appreciation for you and your love, and a new desire to express it the best he knew how.
“Yeah,” Steve scoffed, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “C’mon, open ‘em.”
“But what about Christmas?”
Steve scratched at the nape of his neck, sighing. The sourness of his expression made you drop back on your heels. He stepped over your presents to come near the end of the bed, hands bracing your cheeks.
“Would you hate me if we celebrated early? Because…you’re right, baby, we won’t be able to spend it alone. Mikey wants me to do all these shoots and stupid shit, and I have trainin’ and shit—“
“Okay,” you interrupted, throwing a sweet smile up his way. “As long as I get you all to myself right now.”
Steve pulled you up, the heel of his palms tucked under your jaw. His mouth devoured yours, tongue and teeth and warm lips. "M' all yours, angel."
When your lips were buzzing and numb from his mouth, Steve hoisted you off the bed and spun you around. Giggles subsided, you took in the array of colors near the tree.
"Well, if it's Christmas then you need your presents, too," you told him, and you scampered off toward the guest room down the hall before he could object.
You returned with your own bags and boxes for Steve—and though you felt terrible that there were half as many, you knew Steve would be just as happy with a sparkly red bow on your ass as his only gift.
And in the true spirit of Christmas, you slipped to the kitchen and concocted an array of lavish snacks and treats meant for the holiday specifically. Wine, champagne, cheeses, expensive French chocolates, cured meats, and you even splurged on a little caviar. Well. Steve did.
You made your own little Christmas in the comfort of your bedroom, clad in a pair of tiny silk pajamas that Steve kept tugging at. You fed him chocolates and licked the remnants from the corner of his mouth, and he wound his fingers in the back of your hair and pulled tight when he just couldn't help it anymore.
"Mm...Steve...let go," you giggled, smushed against his mouth by his iron hold.
Steve chased after your lips with a playful nip. "Nah, I want you...right here." He peppered more firm kisses between words.
Kisses that tasted like rich dark chocolate and bright, bubbly champagne.
"But I want you...oh!...to open some presents, too."
Steve groaned from his place in your neck, nuzzling and licking. "Just a little longer."
You wound your fingers in his hair and laughed, allowing yourself to be pulled into his lap. He tugged you down against him and latched onto your throat. Groans and whines muffled the transatlantic accents of the old Hollywood movie on the tv behind you. Steve’s bulge was stiffening against the satin bow of your pajamas.
“Steve,” you whined. “C’mon, open your g-gifts.”
Steve lifted off your neck with a wet pop, leaving a ring of saliva and swollen tooth marks in his leave.
He rubbed his thumb over the sore patch of flesh and raised his head to catch your eyes. “Fine.”
He kept you planted firmly in his lap as he tore the wrappings and ribbon off various boxes and bags, kissing your cheek and neck and mouth as his own version of gratitude with every one. You wrapped the Ralph Lauren tie around his neck and let it hang loosely, spritzed the cologne on his chest and kissed the seasoned skin, and even stuck a silver bow on the top of his head.
"Thank you, angel," Steve murmured with another gentle kiss. "But you know what my favorite gift is?"
You quirked a brow and slipped your arms over his shoulders. "What's that?"
Steve took the shiny bow from his head and placed it in his palm. You watched as he brought it behind you, a grin toying on your lips while you waited for it to touch your own head. Instead, a resounding smack echoed through the room, and a sting gathered in your ass. Steve smacked the bow on with a heavy hand, and you jolted upright in his lap with a gasp. Grabbing a handful of flesh, Steve gave it a jiggle and grinned sideways.
“You.”
Surging forward, you planted a sticky kiss on his mouth. Steve, unable to contain himself, pushed to his knees and hoisted you with him. Soon, you were splayed flat on the mess of wrapping paper and ribbon, a pair of rough hands working the buttons on your silk. Your fingers dragged through his hair as he tugged your little shorts down, writhing and whimpering as his hot breath fanned new patches of skin.
He drew a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, causing your fingers to twist tightly in his hair as your core clenched. His tongue circled your navel, causing you to giggle and twist away, tickled by his hot breath and wet appendage. Steve chuckled at your reaction, wide hands bracing your waist.
He dipped down to place himself between your legs, but you tightened your hands in his hair and tugged him up. Steve furrowed his brows, crawling up toward your face.
“What’s wrong—“
“Nothing, nothing,” you panted, clawing at his firm, muscular chest. “Just want you. Want you now, please, Steve.”
Amusement lightened his features once more, brow quirking up. “Aw,” he chuckled. “You just can’t wait, huh, baby? You need me that bad?”
“Uh-huh! Please, please—“
Steve kissed your babbling mouth, pulling his boxers down. “Shh. It is Christmas, angel. It’d be naughty of me to make you wait.”
You giggled breathily as he hooked your legs over his hips. “R-right. Like that’s ever stopped y—oh!”
Steve pressed until his pelvis pressed against yours, elbows crinkling a bag beside your head as he hovered. His palm cupped over the crown of your head, leveling your gazes.
“It can stop me now, too, honey,” he muttered. “S’ you better be good, hmm?”
“‘M good,” you mumbled, head bobbing up and down. Your thighs were already quaking. “‘M always good.”
Steve gently kissed your mouth again. Another at the corner where your mouth creased, so gentle and sweet.
“Yeah you are,” he whispered.
But enough talking. Steve wanted to devour you, and he snatched at your hands to slide them over your head as his hips began to move. Fingers intertwined and clutching tight, you held on with all your might as he fed pleasure in and out. You did nothing to silence your whines and cries, and he grunted into your neck in time. He was slow and languid, deeper and deeper every time he came back.
“Kiss me, kiss me, please,” you huffed with need.
Steve slid his mouth across your cheek and latched onto your own. You sighed against his lips with relief. Moans echoed into each other’s mouths, refusing to release the other as his thrusts grew frantic.
When he spilled into you, he gasped sharply against your cheek. You shuddered and writhed as warmth flooded you, and stroked his hair lazily when he fell down.
“Christ,” he groaned, cheek squished against your chest. “Fuckin’ Christmas angel.”
You giggled breathily and kissed his temple. “I think that was all you, handsome.”
Steve snickered, nipping at your breast and causing you to squeal. “I’ll take that. C’mon, flip over. Wanna play with you a ‘lil more.”
“Steve,” you laughed, and he lifted up to frown.
“Come on, angel, it’s Christmas,�� he huffed.
“Only if I get to wear some of my new stuff.”
Steve immediately sat back, wiping sweat from his head. “Fuck yeah, baby. C’mon, go, go.”
He smacked at your ass as you crawled toward your new lingerie piled near the tree, and you fell into a mess of giggles as you collected them.
You scampered into the bathroom, and Steve chuckled to himself when he heard all your giggling. He snatched the bottle of champagne from the floor and poured another glass, easing back on his elbow to watch the door for your appearance. He grabbed the Polaroid from the bench at the end of the bed and pulled it open, aiming for the door.
When you appeared, the flash shuttered through the room like a white snap. Steve tossed the Polaroid toward the mess of gifts beside him and grinned as you twirled.
“Look beautiful, baby. C’mere, lemme get a better look.”
You crawled your way over in a ruffled mint green teddy and matching panties, and Steve snapped another photo of your arched back.
An early Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.
#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington#boxer!steve#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x y/n smut#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader
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so ummmm where are the boxer!steve fics?
💳 💥 HAND EM OVER
#boxer!steve#boxer!steve harrington#Steve harrington#Joe keery#stranger things#stranger things 2#stranger things 3#stranger things 4#Steve harrington au#Steve harrington headcannon
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hurt/comfort with protective boxer!steve …. 😋
i like the way u think anon <3 steve is the one being comforted, hope that’s okay!! | 0.7k boxer!steve fluff
Steve’s fuming when he steps out of the ring, tossing his gloves aside and tugging at his hair. He doesn’t lose.
He’s not concerned about his bloody nose or the split in his eyebrow. No, he doesn’t care about that at all, he just wants to win. Especially when you’re in the audience.
Tonight was off and he has no idea why, but it’s enough to have him rushing off to the locker room after his match without accepting a word from anyone. He’s beating himself up—more than what’s already been done—and you can see it.
“I’m gonna go check on him,” you say to Robin, giving her shoulder a squeeze as you go.
She can see it, too, and she knows he won’t accept any visitors other than you right now. She nods and shoots you a smile.
You’ve made your way to the locker room time and time again. Usually to congratulate Steve on his win, to accept his sweaty hug and adrenaline-filled kiss. It’s different this time, but it doesn’t make you any less eager to see him.
You knock against the door before going in, letting him know you’re there.
Steve’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, his head bent and torso shining with sweat. He doesn’t even look up when you walk in. He doesn’t have to, he knows it’s you.
“Stevie.”
He’s a tough guy, has to be for what he does, but he can’t be so strong when you’re saying his name so sweetly, when you’re stepping between his legs and guiding his head to rest against you, your hands running through the damp strands.
“Was supposed to win.”
“I know, but you did really well, okay? I don’t know much about boxing, but I know you’re good at it.”
“Mmm,” his hands hold the back of your thighs, thumbs running back and forth over the fabric of your pants. The touch is more for him than it is for you. “My good luck charm. Should’ve won it for you, baby.”
Your hands don’t stop running through his hair, and it’s a comfort he needs even though he won’t ask for it.
“I don’t care if you win or not. Just want you to do your best and be safe.”
Steve’s tougher on himself than anyone else is, and he can’t stand feeling like he isn’t good enough at something. He got enough of that from his parents, and now, he just wants to prove that he can be the best at something.
He’s told you (and only you) all of this, which is why he’s so quick to let you in, to keep you close to him.
“I’ll win the next one,” he says. It’s his way of trying to move on from the loss.
“Yes, you will.” You move your hands to grasp his face, tilting it up so he’s looking at you, “let me clean you up?”
“Thanks, baby.”
You head over to the sink, grabbing some paper towel and wetting it, and finding the bandages in the cupboard behind the mirror.
Back in your place standing in front of him, you tilt his face up with one hand and wipe away the dried blood on his face with the other. Steve’s hands find their place at the back of your thighs easily.
This is what he needs; you, your hands, your kind voice. He’ll never understand how he managed to end up with someone like you, how he didn’t drive you away. He needs you, and he loves you, and you’re the only person he wants to see when he feels the way he does now.
Well, you’re the only person he wants to see most of the time.
Once his face is mostly clean, you grab a small band aid and place it over the cut in his eyebrow, smoothing the edges to make sure it sticks. He watches your face the entire time.
“All better,” you say, leaning down to place a peck over the band aid. “You should shower, all sweaty.”
“Yeah, okay.” He leans his face against your stomach from where he sits, just for a second, and pushes his lips against it. “You’ll stay in here?”
“‘Course I will, Stevie.”
He may have lost the match today, but he feels like a pretty big winner when he kisses you softly before heading to the showers.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington request#steve harrington requests#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington story#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington hurt/comfort#boxer!steve#boxer!steve harrington#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#stevie blurbs#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things steve#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfic#stranger things x reader#steve stranger things
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Boxer!steve x reader
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Warnings: mention of blood, if I’ve missed anything let me know!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Like per usual Steve was sitting on your kitchen counter having his busted lip, cheek, brow, and nose cleaned up. Having the same conversation about why he liked boxing each time he was bruised, yet you never fully understood why. You stood in between his legs delicately cleaning the dry blood off his face.
“how do you seriously like boxing as a job? It’s something I just don’t get.”
You murmured under your breath, pushing one of his loose strands of hair away from his face. He winced as you began dabbing the damp cloth at his busted nose.
“Well, I like money and I like the fighting.” He shrugged.
“Okay, I get the money but you like beating the shit out of people?” You asked curiously while checking to see if his nose would need stitches.
Steve laughed which mostly came out as a soft, pained sound.
“Only those dicks who deserve it. Boxing is a sport, you know? One with rules. It’s not some barbaric blood sport where we’re trying to knock each other’s heads off.”
“It sounds exactly like that.” You replied as you added the butterfly strips across the wound on his nose.
“you’re lucky you don’t need stitches, think it should heal with just these on.”
“Thanks nurse.” He replied in a teasing tone, his signature cheesy grin plastered on his face which could only make you playfully roll your eyes in response. <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
#steve harrington#Boxer!steve#steve harrington x reader#moodboard#imagine#stranger things#established relationship#blurb#uglyfish3rmans blog
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this has been stuck in my head for forever but boxer!steve x figureskater!reader
STOP!!!!! I AM OBSESSED!!
Reader has just moved into town and maybe they go to the same gym? Or even live in the same apartment complex? And their paths keep crossing and she realises she’s falling head over heels for the big, beefy neighbour who she barely knows anything about except sometimes he comes home a little roughed up
Then you have boxer!steve who is a little grumpy and a bit of a loner, likes to keep to himself until this angel essentially enters his life and he’s obsessed and he shouldn’t want to corrupt her because she’s this pure, innocent wee thing who’s like a damn goddess on the ice whereas he’s this big, gruff boxer and he doesn’t want to hurt her
AND I AM SHSHSBSJSBSB VERY OBSESSED WITH THIS DYNAMIC!!!!!! THE POTENTIAL!!!!!
#cece answers#boxer!steve#steve harrington#stranger things#steve harrington x reader#stranger things x reader
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old times. (stella's version - rockstar!eddie)
let's revisit our life as stella rink in the rockstar!eddie universe.
another day another crossover, check out libby's version here.
catch up with the rockstar!eddie au here.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, drugs and drinking mention (mild), pregnancy talk, general tension, puking/pregnancy sickness, very sweet and overbearing eddie, all around deeply fluffy.
“What heels should I wear?”
“It’s a house party with some of my old friends, Stell, why do you wanna wear heels?” Eddie asks with a laugh, coming out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. He looks at you through the water droplets falling in his eyes from his curly bangs and smiles at the outfit laid out on the bed. Some little red number and nylons, four different pairs of heels laid out at the base of the hotel's California King bed.
“It’s not that kind of party, sweet thing. I told you,” he shakes his head, “just jeans and a t-shirt. There's no one to impress.”
"Are you sure?" you ask, turning to look in the mirror on the wall, tapping out a crease the concealer under your eyes.
"I'm sure," he encourages, "You want one of my shirts?"
"It's gonna be cold, right?" you wait for his confirming nod and start rifiling through the hotel dresser full of way too many clothes for a four day trip.
"I'll give you a sweatshirt, honey," he urges, tugging on a pair of old ripped jeans over a pair of boxers, "Just be comfortable, you're not supposed to be stressing out like this."
You roll your eyes playfully at him while he approaches you slowly, dimpled grin plastered on his face. A scratchy smatter of facial hair had come through over the past couple days that he hadn't bothered to shave and it tickled you while he leaned in for a kiss.
"It's bad for the baby."
Ever since you saw the little pink plus sign on the test, Eddie had taken any chance he could to say, "For the baby." He'd taken to calling you 'mama' in a Wayne like drawl ever since the blood work came in. He'd buy any onsie he saw in a store, always picking up one in a new state with some cheesy saying on it like, "My Daddy went to Texas and only got me this onesie!" He asked his manager to contact their merch developer to start making little Corroded Coffin shirts three weeks into the pregnancy. He asked the contractor on for the Hollywood house to start planning the nursery with him. There wasn't anyone more excited to be a dad than Eddie Munson.
Before you know it, you've found yourself in a pair of boot cut jeans (perfectly tailored of course) and white on white Adidas shell toes. A turtle neck and one of Eddie's Corroded Coffin sweatshirt's kept you warm on top -- not something you'd ever wear to a party in The Hills, but The Hawkins Daily probably doesn't care that you're not in Versace's SS RTW '94 collection.
You didn't look as glamourous as you would with a whole team, but at least your nails were done and your engagement ring sparkled brilliantly next to your diamond studded wedding band. Your small gold hoops hugged your earlobes -- you just needed something to add some pizzazz. You felt so tired and bloated these days, everything made you sick -- you deserved to feel pretty.
"You ready to go, lil' mama?" Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down your forearms to keep you warm. He looks so casually cool, you almost wanna shove him off you. Beat up old Reeboks from the 80s, ripped jeans, some stupid crudely drawn on shirt that said 'Hellfire' on it from years ago that wore tight against his adult body -- but still effortless, still sexy.
You blame it on the leather jacket and his over decorated battle vest. That had to be it.
You nod, heading down the back exits of the Indianapolis hotel to the parking garage where you loaded into Eddie's old van from high school. He preferred to drive this around when he was back home, brought on less attention than one of the Jeeps or Jaguars you both had lying around in California. While the outside still looked dingy and untouched, the inside had been redetailed and updated to keep up with the times. New carpeting, new sound system, updated leather seating, air conditioning, anything you'd want in a mid90s car -- it was in 'Charlene' -- named effectionately after one of Wayne's ex-girlfriend's who let Eddie have it when it wouldn't start anymore.
The ride felt simultaneously short and long, the rolling of your stomach in the car paired with the anxiety of being with a group of people you didn't know was inching up your throat. You looked pale in the side view mirror, pinching your cheeks hurriedly to bring some blood back to your face.
"You feel okay, honey?" Ed asks, "Want me to pull over? Did'j'you bring your water with you? I brought some if you need it."
"I'm fine, I'm fine," you assure. You're not fine, but it's better not to worry him. You weren't sick. Just nervous.
"Should I have just gone to Wayne's?" your heart sinks when you ask, "I don't want you to feel like you need to entertain me all night or anything."
"You know Dustin – you met everyone else at the wedding," Eddie says, putting a hand on your thigh, "It'll be okay. We're just gonna do a short campaign for D&D -- you can watch. You'll get to see my acting chops."
When he winks at you, you melt. It's been five years and you still feel like a teenager every time his gaze lingers on you for a little too long.
"You're gonna put me out of business," you joke back, "Hollywood's next girl next door, huh?"
"They're gonna beat down the door to book me," he replies with a faux-seriousness that makes you giggle, "Gonna outshine all you little bitches."
The rest of the ride is filled with laughs because he knows you're nervous. He knows you don't feel good. And sure, Wayne would love to have you tonight and make you dinner and talk about the baby but Eddie so rarely gets to show you the old him -- the version of him before he was famous. Before he ever did heroin -- when all he did was sell weed and comic books out of Hawkins Comics & Gaming Expo after dropping out of high school in '83 so he could get his big break.
Every trip to Indiana was a holiday or so short they'd only be there a night. You both almost exclusively saw Wayne, either staying at the trailer -- since he gifted the house Eddie got him to a new single teen mother who'd found her way to Forest Hills two months after the renovations had finished -- or in a hotel in the bigger cities. You both never had the time to show each other your old lives, even after all these years together. So when Will Byers got on the phone during one of Eddie and Dustin's weekly calls and invited him to his birthday party -- Ed cleared his schedule to make room for the occasion. He hadn't seen the guys in a while, not since the wedding in October, and before that it was during his stint in Hawkins after 'the incident' in Toronto.
When the van pulled into the driveway, already littered with cars, and your nerves pooled back in your stomach. It wasn't just not really knowing them well that was making you nervous, it was them not really knowing you. The press about the sex tape was just starting to die down -- but had they seen it? Did they know about it? Did they watch Eddie on Leno? Did they hear about the broken microphones when he got in a fight with Howard Stern? Did they know about how Eddie had to pay to get Howard's studio redone?
"He shouldn't have talked his shit, then, baby," Eddie shrugged when he got the legal papers in the mail. You'd never seen him so angry in his life than when Howard called you his 'whore wife'. The clip of Eddie saying "Excuse the fuck out of me, but what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth man?" Replayed on a loop on all the metal radio stations before playing a Corroded Coffin song.
Were these guys going to judge her the way the press had? Should she mention the pregnancy? Did they already know? They had to have known. Eddie called Dustin minutes after you both found out.
"It's gonna be fine, Stell," Eddie knocked you out of your running thoughts with his soothing voice, opening your door on your side of the van. He offers his hand to help you out, he always does, like a prince helping you out of a carriage. You walk hand in hand to the door and you can feel the coolness of his wedding band against your skin -- it's the only gold jewelry he wears, even though you offered to get it in platinum. 'I want it to stand out, baby. Want everyone to know I'm Mr. Stella Rink.'
Eddie rings the bell, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while your other hang grips the handles of the bag of treats and expensive champagne you brought. The champagne you can't drink. The charcuterie board with cold cuts that you can't eat. Your stomach lurches again.
You're greeted by all the boys when the door opens and they all start to scream -- low and vibrating yells from men in their mid and late 20s who just wanna be boys again. Your nose is hit hard with strains of four different colognes, weed smoke, and beer and you grab Eddie's arm in a panic. Fuck.
"Oh, shit, shit shit," Eddie starts, "Sorry, sorry, can she use your bathroom. I think she's gonna puke."
"Yeah, of course, c'mon, c'mon in," Will is so immediately caring that you want to cry. His hand on your back while he and Eddie lead you to the bathroom around the hall. You drop the bag of food and liquor outside the door before you run inside to wretch, closing the door on both men behind you.
"Sorry man," you hear Eddie explain, "She's pregnant so she's just, y'know, like, puking everywhere all the time."
"It's totally okay," you hear Will assure.
"Not surprised she's pregnant," you hear another voice say with a snicker, "We all saw it on the news."
"Hey," you hear Eddie's voice get lower while another heave of bile comes out of you, "Watch your mouth, Wheeler."
There's silence and then the sound of a smack on the back, "I'm just kiddin' man. Fuckin' love you guys."
You finally think you're done, rinsing your mouth out in the sink.
"Do you guys have mouthwash?" you call out, hearing their murmur of conversation.
"Behind the mirror," Mike responds. Your sigh of relief at the Listerine is audible and the boys snicker and you laugh too. This is ridiculous. What were you so nervous about? This was going to be fine. Just fine.
Eddie's waiting for you outside of the bathroom, offering his hand again when you emerge, "You okay?"
You nod and he picks up the snacks and wine while leading you to the kitchen. He puts the champagne in the fridge, maneuvering it amongst hundreds of beer cans and a covered grocery store cake. You go to open the snacks before Dustin stops you.
"I got it, Stell," he urges, "You should sit down."
"Henderson," you say with a cocked head, "I'm pregnant, not dying. I can put out snacks."
"Look, I'm just doing what I'd do for Suze," he says, "If I'm here, you're not lifting a finger."
"And where is Suze and the baby now?" you ask with a smile.
"They are in Utah to visit her parents and her brother's and sisters," he explains matter of factly, "And...lucky for me, I couldn't take off work this week to go visit them, too."
"I'm sure your thrilled," you laugh. He puts a finger to his lips and laughs too, fatherhood suits him so well. Despite being five years younger, Eddie has gotten so much wisdom from Dustin. Asking every question that comes in his head, picking Suzie's brain about pregnancy even though you have to keep reminding him that all of this is different for every couple.
Eddie puts a plate in front of you full of snacks you can have and strokes your hair, "Do you want water? Soda?"
"Can I have a Heineken?" you ask with a hopeful smile.
"No," he singsongs, "But you can have a Coke if you want?"
You frown, "Fine, fine."
Eddie opens it for you and places it next to your plate, barely biting into a cracker before the doorbell rings again. You've started your conversation back up with Dustin and Eddie to tune out the ruckus at the door and you swear you hear it -- but you can't be sure.
"Libby!"
Absolutely not.
There's no way.
You peer a little past the wall of the kitchen blocking off the view of the front door to see a glimpse of her hair falling over Will's shoulder and you know if she's here -- so is he. Your heart races in your chest, sweat building under your arms and in your hairline like you're going to be sick again.
You peer over a second time to see Steve on one knee taking off her shoes for her and bite back a scoff. You feel Eddie's hand on your shoulder and your attention snaps to him, "What're you lookin' at, baby?"
He follows your line of site and sees them, too. Eddie's regualr smile falls to a thin line, "What the fuck?" he mutters quietly.
"Of course he's taking her shoes off for her, can't do anything herself," you huff.
Eddie squeezes your shoulder, "Don't," he says with a shake of his head.
"Don't act up. You're just gonna make yourself upset," he warns. You both had a right to be mad, but Eddie didn't have the energy for negativity anymore. Lucky for him, you have enough energy for the both of you.
"I'm so sorry, dude. I should've told you," Dustin said. Their conversation is muffled while shock rings in your ears. You watch her give Will a gift, their jovial conversation, her dolled up outfit. Lucas and Mike giving her hugs hello. She sparkled. The life of the party. Her miserable hulking jock boyfriend hanging behind her with her purse in his hand.
You look back down at your plate of snacks -- you wanna puke again but you don't know if you need to puke again. You hear Libby and the rest of the crew maneuver into the livingroom, laughing and joking as they go. Her smile is so evident in her voice and your heart can't help but break at the sound of it -- she was your friend, too. Once.
It's not long before you hear it, the familiar stomps of a one Steve Harrington entering the kitchen with a cigarette between his lips. The interaction feels like it's happening in slow motion when he stops in front of the table.
"Shut the fuck up," you say under your breath, "You're joking."
Eddie instinctively steps in front of you, one hand sneaking behind him to stop you from talking -- ‘I got it.’
Steve stands there, dumbfounded at first, and then shakes his head.
"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he mumbles, looking straight at Eddie's face. It had been over a year, but rage surged through Eddie's system for a moment before he took a regulating breath.
"Uh, Eddie um, I just got my car uh, detailed -- wanna check it out? See if they did a good job?" Dustin offered, trying to break the tension.
"Yeah Henderson, that sounds like a great idea," Eddie agreed slowly, keeping his eye on Steve while the boxer turned on his heel to go back to the livingroom.
It was no longer a question of whether or not you wanted to puke.
You needed to puke.
Eddie and Dustin headed outside while you barreled back down the hallway to vom, turning the water on so no one would hear, praying that this would be the last time. After a couple of dizzying minutes, you gather yourself, rinse with Listerine, and cautiously head to the door.
You only see her feet in the corner of your eye, blocked by everyone surrounding her before you open the door. The cool March air kisses your face like a lover back from war, catching on the sweat of your clammy skin. You shut the door, making sure it's not locked, and scan the street for a sign of your husband.
"Over here," he calls from across the street. You jog over in your sneakers, Eddie looks you over, "You get sick again?"
"Yeah, but s'fine," you nod, "I'm okay."
Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket, hearing the crinkling of plastic, and his hand reappears with two gold wrapped candies.
Ginger chews. The only thing that kept your stomach settled these day. Eddie bought them in bulk the moment you found something that helped and kept at least 50 of them on him at all times, lest you felt even the slightest bit ill.
"Here, baby," he offers, holding the candies out on his outstretched palm, "You'll feel better. Think you need to eat something real, soon. You didn't eat a lot at breakfast."
"Ed, I'm fine," you assure, taking the chews and horking them down. You just don't want to feel sick anymore. He takes out his keys and hands them to you.
"I got a big bottle of Evian in there for you, go grab it," he instructs, "You're gonna just get more sick if you're dehydrated."
"Honey," you say with a warning edge, taking the keys, "I know. I can take care of myself, okay?"
He frowns, "Just tryna help."
You sigh with a smile, pecking his cheek, "I love you. I appreciate it. M'sorry." You cross the street again, catching Libby and Will in an animated conversation through the window and avert your eyes to the van. You grab the Evian and crack it open, practically chugging it behind the coverage of the passenger door -- heaving breaths out of your mouth when the bottle leaves your lips.
"Trying to pretend it's a real party, Stell?" Eddie teases, "Sucking that down like it's Moet."
You roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Munson."
"We're gonna go back inside, sweet thing," he says, tilting his head over to Dustin, "You need a minute?"
"Um, yeah, gonna let the ginger set in first and then I'll come in," you smile.
"I think they ordered pizza, that sound good? Want me to see if I can get you something else?" Eddie smiles.
"No, no, pizza's fine honey," your smile is tight while you watch them walk back in, the sound of too many voices and music peels through the open door.
You take a few deep breaths to steady your nerves, looking at yourself in the side view mirror again. You sigh, you’re sure you look fine to everyone else but you look bad to you. You step half way up and in to the van to open the center console, fishing out a spare blush and lip gloss that you kept there for emergencies. Your touch up helps make you feel a little refreshed, but still came the daunting task of going back into the house.
You crept in the door quietly, seeing Eddie and Dustin laughing with Mike and Lucas, standing like pretend grown men in a circle. You scan the base of the couch again and see Libby’s socked feet, taking a swig of your water while you position yourself next to Eddie. His arm naturally finds its way around you while he talks and you feel safe again. The vibration of his chest while he speaks, the scent of his cologne mixed with less and less cigarette smoke while he works on quitting before the baby comes. His presence lulling you back into security without as much as a word.
Lucas and Dustin walk away to help set up the table for the game, while Mike continues to talk to Eddie about guitars. Wheeler wants to get a new one but he isn’t sure he has the right adapter for his amp and your brain glazes over in boredom. If you never heard about amp adapters again it would still be too soon.
“Technology’s moving too fast, babe. The sound is getting too manufactured.” He’d complain throughout the house like a grumpy old man.
Will calls Mike over and they start talking about playing, you hear Libby’s voice in the background and your head swims. When the conversation pauses, Eddie looks down at you and smiles, “You look pretty, you put a different blush on?”
His ability to still notice the little things makes your heart leap, “The one in the car. Felt like I sweat all my makeup off after puking.”
“You look like a million bucks, mama,” he winks, pulling you in tighter and kissing your forehead, “Gonna go help set up sweet thing, why don’t you go put some food in your body with that water.”
You chug your Evian to stop from fixing your mouth to say something bitchy. It’s hard to let him take the lead, to have him suggest how to care for yourself in this state. You want to tell him to mind his business, to snap at him — but he’s doing it from a place of love and you know that. You’re not good at having someone take care of you like this. You never let him do it before.
There was someone at this party who had told you that to your face.
You get out of the way, padding into the kitchen and grabbing a handful of pretzels and tossing them on a plate, your previous snack plate thrown away. You gather some cheese curls, M&Ms, chips, anything in a bowl for eating and pile it high. Munching on it while you watch the party set the living room up for the game. Dice and maps and papers being passed out to eachother. Beers and weed being offered.
You're only half listening while you came back over to the table where everyone was sitting in fold out chairs or the couch, only to realize there was no seat for you. Eddie turns at your movement, sitting on the end. He scans the room, there’s space next Libby on the couch but that’s not happening so he spreads his legs a little farther, patting his thigh.
“C’mon,” he says quietly, “S’fine, honey.”
You perch yourself on his lap and watch him look at your plate, he opens his mouth to say something but then closes it — plucking a chip off and popping it in his mouth, then another.
“Really looking forward to this birthday campaign, Byers," Eddie says across the table, "Never thought Wheeler could come up with something so creative."
"Rude," Mike scoffs, "But, even though I'm definitely that creative -- I didn't write it. Libby wrote it." You look down at the pretzels on your plate as if they are much more interesting than anything else.
“You wrote it?” Eddie asks gently.
“Yeah, I mean, I just threw it together,” Libby assured, “It’s nothing special.”
“No, no,” Eddie urges, “It’s good. It’s really good.”
Bile creeps up your throat.
Good enough to kiss her at the bar again? You shake it out of your mind. You’ve moved past that. He can compliment her and have it not mean anything more than that. He complimented Max's hair at your wedding, he compliments your manager Simone all the time. You bite into a pretzel — it’s incredibly dry. Eddie’s hand finds your hip and your mouth runs drier. Did he touch you after so that you wouldn’t be mad? Why are you thinking so far into it?
You reach down to get your water but he beats you to it, putting his character sheet down with his other papers to open it for you.
“I can do it, Ed,” you assure gently, “You’re busy.”
“I'm never too busy for you, Stell,” he whispers while the conversation continues around him, “I just — I’m sorry.”
You stay on his lap, snacking, feeding him snacks while he pays attention to everyone else.Minutes pass, they feel like hours while you watch everyone else laugh and joke with each other. Libby is glowing -- completely in her element, and you're here in your husband's sweatshirt feeling like hurling every five seconds and no one cares about you at all.
You need air.
You get up and fish into Eddie's pockets while he talks, grabbing a handful of ginger chews and the dregs of your Evian bottle and walk over to the kitchen to the back door. For the second time that afternoon, the cool wet air feels good on your face.
You shut the door behind you and take a deep breath, putting your head down and leaning forward with your hands on your knees at the exhale.
"You too?" you hear. It's a gruff voice. A voice you know well.
"What? Not havin' fun, Harrington?" you ask dryly, rolling up slowly, vertabrae by vertabrae.
"Could ask you the same thing," he says with a shrug. You turn to look at him, still big and hulking as ever. Sunglasses over his eyes and a cigarette between his lips. You look at eachother for a moment, you can feel his eyes through the lenses -- the honey eyes that looked like daggers the last time you saw him. The honey eyes that rounded like saucers when you told Libby to leave while she still could. Looks like she didn't heed your advice.
He takes a small step toward you, "Want a smoke?"
The box is nearly empty and you don't smoke Marlboro's anyway, "I'll pass."
He shrugs, taking one of the remaining cigarettes left and popping it between his lips.
"So, when're you due?" he asks while he brings up his lighter.
"Excuse me?" you ask, eyes narrowing. You cross your arms protectively over your chest.
"When's the baby due?" he asked again on his exhale, blowing the smoke away from you.
"Who told you?" you look at him quizically -- it's not like him and Libby would've found out any other way but this party. You weren't announcing to the press until you were at least 12 weeks.
"No one," he smirks, "Any other party I've seen you at you're normally stumblin' around with some Cliquot and chain smoking by now."
"I am not," you huff.
"And fuckin' Munson hasn't broken out any party favors yet so either you're knocked up or you finally put him on a shorter leash," his smirk widens while he takes another drag.
"Get his name out of you're fuckin' mouth, Harrington," you spit. You see his jaw clench, like he's holding back.
"See you haven't changed much," you mutter, opening your bottle of water only to see that there's nothing left. Steve drops the butt of his cigarette, stomping it out with his shoe before turning to one of the coolers outside and fishing out a Sprite.
"S'not as fancy as Evian but," he cocks his head while offering it to you, "Might settle your stomach."
You peer at it, and then at him, slowly reaching for the dripping can, "Thanks."
It comes out more apprehensive than you expect. You walk over to the picnic table that seems decades old, sitting down on the damp old wood of the bench and opening the can -- catching the bubbles as they over flow. You see Steve fish a Sprite out for himself and head over to you, lighting the last cigarette in his pack. You jaw clenches.
"Uh, congrats though," he says, flipping his glasses to rest on his head and running his hand over his face. You nod, feeling a little uncomfortable -- it wasn't pregnancy making you sick at this point. It was the threat of where this conversation could go, and you had a sharp tongue today. It was the fear of Eddie coming out here and causing a scene because -- despite it being over a year -- he wouldn't want you out here alone with King Steve.
"You know what you're having?"
"Twins."
Steve chokes on his Sprite, turning around to spit the liquid out onto the yellowed grass. He turns back around, wiping his mouth.
"Good fuckin' luck," he breaths, shaking his head. "Fuckin' twins."
"I know," you say quietly, toying with a piece of splintered wood on the side of the table, "I haven't told Eddie about it yet."
"The fuck you mean?" Steve asks, concerned, sitting down on the bench opposite you.
"I just found out before I came down here," you confessed, still toying with the splinter, "He was already in Indiana when I went to the 7 week appointment -- that's when they saw two of them in there. Fraternal. I'm due in November."
"Shit," Steve mumbles, "Uh...you okay?"
You nod, "I'm nervous he's gonna freak out. He's excited but I know he's so nervous about being a dad. He's so scared he's gonna fuck up -- I feel like this will be too much for him."
"I don't know why I'm telling you this," you say, shaking your head while the rest of you shivers, "I don't even fucking like you."
He barks out a laugh, "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Rink."
You laugh with him and for the first time, there's a subtle softness between you that hadn't existed before.
"Um," he starts, "Not sure it's my place to say this but -- I think Munson'll be fine -- he's off the heavy shit, right?"
You nod, looking at the opening of the Sprite can, the liquid reflecting the sky above you. Your shoulders tense at him mentioning Eddie's drug use -- 'How're those veins holdin' up Munson?' Eddie hadn't touched anything beyond weed and a few bumps of coke (off your body) since '92.
"He's been off for two years," you say, ripping the splinter of wood off the table and tossing it into the grass.
"See? Already ten times better than my folks. You’ll be just fine," Steve says softly -- you'd never hear him speak like that. So inward, almost calm.
Your eyes meet, holding each others gaze with understanding before Steve slides his glasses back down.
"Drink," he demands, his chin jutting towards the can of Sprite.
"Pfft. You sound just like Ed," you groan with an eye roll.
"What, is he finally bossin' you around?" Steve lets out a chuckle while he puts his last cigarette in his mouth.
"No one bosses me around," you snip, eyes reaching the sky, "God he just doesn't stop it's so fucking --"
"Steve," you hear Libby's voice behind you, her socked feet at the door frame. She tip toes clumsily in the dry grass, light on her feet as she does and gets behind him, reaching into his pants pocket.
"Baby, what're you --"
"There it is," Libby says with a smile, his wallet in her hand. She fishes through it, grabbing a few bills. She looks over at you, but doesn't make eye contact, "Oh, hey Stella."
"Hi Lib," you say to the rotting plank of wood at the center of the picnic table. You try to stifle a laugh from how clear it is that she's really been enjoying herself.
Steve looks up at her blankly, and she grins down, "The pizza's here, Stevie. I don't want Will to have to pay for it on his birthday."
She turns to tip toe back to the door with the cash in hand and he follows, her socks dirty with wet soil and grass. You don't hear it, but you know he's scolding her for something -- his fingers gentle around her chin while he talks to her.
He comes back when she disappears into the house and sits back down -- the bench creaks.
"She's having fun," you smile, "Happy for her."
"A little too much fun," he takes a drag of his cigarette, "That Sprite isn't there for you to look at, Rink."
You roll your eyes but take a sip of it anyway, "I know you're not telling me what to do. Must be the roids talking."
He catches your mean smirk and smirks back, his eye roll rivals yours. You're almost impressed.
Steve looks at the house, seeing Libby in the window with the boxes of pizza and his brows soften behind his glasses. He takes a moment, like he's considering something.
"Look, Rink -- what I did..." he starts, lifting his glasses to rub one of his eyes, "In Toronto and Malibu..."
"Steve it's --"
"No, no, shut up -- stop," he says, resting his glasses back on his nose, "What I did, what I said -- it was shitty."
He pauses, you sit in silence for a moment.
"I shouldn't have done that."
"Yeah, you shouldn't have," you agree, taking another sip of Sprite -- you're annoyed that it is making you feel better.
"Everything I said was the truth, so -- I'm not apologizing to you," you say with a smile and a shrug.
"Fuckin' Rink," Steve shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, attention turning to the door again where Libby is standing.
"Come eat!" she calls. Holy God, you're fucking hungry.
"Go," Steve instructs, and you wanna snap at him too, but whatever demons are growing in your uterus are really begging for cheese and sauce. You get up, looking behind you while Steve works on finishing his cigarette and step into the house.
"Shoes off, baby," Eddie says when you see him in the kitchen, a plate of pizza in either hand. You kick your Adidas off and scurry over to the front door, leaving them with the pile of everyone else's before meeting your husband back in the kitchen.
"You want veggie or pepperoni?" he asks, holding either out in front of you.
"Veggie," you choose, taking the plate of his hand. You turn to see Libby waiting at the door for Steve, a plate of slices in her hand -- offering it to him when he comes in the door. Your heart sinks. You want to believe it's a good relationship, you really do -- but when you see her like this, this contrast of her bubbly nature with the group versus her obedient meekness when he's around -- you worry. Eddie catches you staring and looks at you through heavy lids, his lips a straight line.
"What?" you ask, "What's that face for?"
"Don't be sneakin' around on me," he warns, "I don't like that."
"Baby, it's fine," you say lightly, "I wasn't sneaking around -- you were busy! I just needed some air."
"It's not fine. I didn't want you to see him again," he says through a bite of pizza, "And definitely not by yourself."
"Oh stop," you click your tongue, "Put that fake macho attitude away."
"I'm so macho, what do you mean?" he quirks his brow while he gets in your face, dimples deepening when he smiles into a soft, pizza saucey peck on your lips. You look at him, his eyes are a little glassy and blood shot.
"Are you stoned?" you ask with a laugh.
"Eh...not a lot, enough that this tastes like the best pizza I've ever had," he laughs back at you.
"C'mon, lets sit," he urges, giving you a tiny pat on the ass to get you out of the way of all the moving parts in the kitchen. You cozy up next to him on the oversized recliner by the couch and look at the maps and dice left abandoned on the table.
"Are you winning?" you ask, taking a bite of your slice. Fuck, you might not be stoned but this is definitely the best pizza you've ever had.
"It's not that kind of game, baby," he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the edges when he does.
"Oh, sorry," you blush, "I didn't know."
"S'okay," he says with a stretch of his arm, wrapping it at around you while he folds his now empty paper plate with his free hand.
"You having fun?" you ask, shoveling another bite of pizza into your mouth.
"Feel like I'm back at a highschool party," he blushes, "Excited to get to the making out part of the night. You know there's this girl I have a crush on? Her name's Stella. Think she'd wanna be my make out partner?"
"Oh, so wild," you play along, "I know her. Do you want me to ask her if she likes you?"
"No, no, she'd never go for a guy like me," he fake frowns, "I'm a loser in a rock band."
Almost as if on cue, a Corroded Coffin song comes on the radio and you playfully lean over him to turn up the volume on the stereo. Eddie covers his face with his hands, biceps bulging in the tight fabric of his shirt.
"Oof, so embarrassing," you tease. The party, sans Libby and Steve, clamber over to join in on the teasing, but it all turns into hype when they start screaming the lyrics at him. He peeks over his hands and then drops them, screaming the lyrics with them.
You feel the air around you get hot at the sight of him air guitaring the exact right chords, his face getting confident and concentrated like when he's really playing. He notices your stare, looking up to shoot you a wink but when you blush at him he can't help but pull you into a kiss. It's lewd and sloppy, like how you'd make out at California parties when you both had too much to drink. You know deep down he misses that version of you, but he can always find her when he kisses like this.
The hype turns into childish playful groans of disgust and teasing coos, "Ewwwww, don't be gross."
"Get a room!"
"No wonder you have a baby on the way," Mike teased. The grouped lulled in quiet, everyone blushing but not at dark as Wheeler. Your eyes flit quickly to Steve and Libby, and a strike of guilt pangs in your chest. She didn't know. How would she?
Always good at breaking tension, you make a joke at the expense of yourself, "Don't act so surprised, you all saw it on the tape."
They probably had. It was all over the news.
The room erupts in cackles and you laugh into Eddie's hand while it claps over your mouth, "Shh, shh, stop." His giggle in your ear is infectious. You reach up to touch his hand, your finger sliding over his wedding band as a reminder that he made all the changes he said he would. He put in all the work he promised. He's still going to meetings and still seeing a shrink -- he's even brought you with him a few times.
'Eddie mentioned he thinks you might have some issues with letting go of control.'
'I think you don't know what you're talking about.'
In your peripherary, you catch Steve pull away from her touch -- renderring her visibly upset. She gets up and heads to the hallway and part of you wants to get up and go after her, but your attention turns to Steve. His eyes lock with yours and he gives you a look like 'See what I'm dealing with here? What did I do?'
You look back at him flatly at first because he knows what he did. You motion your head toward the hallway at him mouthing a small 'Go!' He huffs and bobs his head with another award winning eye roll because he knows you're right.
Mrs. Fuckin' Munson.
Both of them disappear in the darkness of the hall and you watch as Max and Will's gaze follow them.
"It's okay," you assure them quietly -- it grabs their attention. Will was better, but Max always got flustered when you spoke to her or paid her any mind. You weren't a stranger to people being star struck around you -- but you wished it wouldn't happen around Ed's friends. Especially when he just wanted to be normal.
"Stell, you wanna hear a story about how Eddie struck out with a super hot babe at Hawkin's Comics back in '85?" Lucas asked.
"Yes, absolutely," you nod feverishly, "I want every painstaking detail."
"Oh god is this the story with --" Eddie starts, flush blooming on his cheeks.
"Yep, with the magic trick," Lucas interrupts with a laugh.
"Oh yes! When he punched her in the face?" Mike adds. Eddie's head falls into his hands, grin plastered on his face behind his palms. His face matches the can on Coke on the side table next to him.
"He punched a girl in the face?" you gasp but it turns into a girlish laugh -- a mean girl laugh that you thought you threw away in grade school. You run your hand over his back in soothing circles.
"Who knew he'd be Hollywood's heartbreaker a year later," you tease, "Tell me everything."
You listen to the tale intently, Eddie eventually finding comfort resting against your chest to feel the vibrations of your laugh under him. His eyes lull when your fingers graze over his scalp, running through his hair -- an absentminded soothing action you did without realizing it. He can't wait for you to be a mother -- he knows you're gonna be great at it. You've already spent so much time taking care of him, how different can some rugrat be?
When the story is over and everyone is nearly crying with laughter, your stomach lurches.
"Oh shit," you groan, wretching nothing, "Fuck, sorry, hold on."
You race to the bathroom for the third time only to be met with the closed door opening to Steve and Libby. You wretch again, looking at them while they look at you.
"Sorry, please -- just, please move -- " you plead, shoving past them and shutting the door on their backs. You heave into the toilet. Undigested chunks of pizza and veggies plopping down into the water unceremoniously -- the fizz of the Sprite crawling back up your throat burning while it mixes with your stomach acid.
"Ugh, shit," you groan as another hurl rolls through your body -- up your back to your neck and out of your mouth. Your coughs and sputters turn to more upheavels until there's nothing left to throw up. You take a few deep breaths, resting your head on the cool porcelain on the toilet seat -- not even caring at this point if its dirty.
With wobbling legs you get up and rinse your mouth for the third time that day, splashing some cold water onto your cheeks. The knock on the door makes you jump and you wait to hear Eddie's 'Baby, you okay?' come from the other side, but it doesn't.
"Hey, Stell?" it's Libby asking for you.
"I got you some water. Can I come in?" she asks. Your heart races. Steve you could handle -- but you don't know if you can handle this. You hesitate for a moment, looking at the door then back at yourself in the mirror, then back at the door again.
You reach for the handle and click it open, revealing her and her glassy stare -- cup of water in her hand, and one for her in the other.
"Uh, here."
You reach for it, your mouth and joints suddenly feelings the strain of dehydration, and gulp some of it down. Letting out a 'thanks' with a sigh.
You're silent for a second, mulling over your next move. You could just walk away and go back to your husband or you could grow the fuck up. You and Eddie have had countless talks about their hookup. He never shyed away from it, always doing his best to be as open and honest about it to quell and insecurity you might've had. It didn't kill you that he'd had a little crush on her, you had little crushes on plenty of people -- you worked along side the most beautiful and charming people in the world. At the end of the day, the ring was on your finger -- his vows were a short novel that he got bound in leather and gave to you the night before your wedding. He still knew your Big Mac order. He still knew you'd always take a sip of his regular Coke when you ordered diet.
"Do you wanna go outside with me? I just really need some air," you offer. You see her eyes widen, but she nods while you walk into the space she made for you in the hallway. You walk ahead, slipping your sneakers back on and finding Eddie back in the game with the boys. Steve sitting in darkness off to the side with his sunglasses on -- what a putz.
Eddie's character voice is low and gravely but animated -- some kind of accent lacing the words but you know it's his poor attempt at Northern Irish. He turns his head when you giggle as he finishes his sentence, sneaking behind him and reaching into his jacket pocket for some ginger chews.
"You okay?" he murmurs to you.
"Yes, honey," you whisper, grabbing the candies and sneakily slipping out his box of Camels and his lighter to slide into your jean's back pocket.
"Your character seems really cool," you smile into a kiss on the side of his head from behind, "You sound great."
"Thanks," he blushes, still whispering with you while the other members continues.
"I'm gonna step outside," you say with a rub to his back and he nods before joining a huddle with Lucas, Dustin, and Will to plan their next steps. You turn back to Libby and motion towards the back door, heading back outside towards the picnic table -- the sun begginning it's descent. You shivered a little in your sweatshirt -- you should've worn a coat or maybe another layer. You watch Libby as she comes outside, sitting across from you with her back towards the door.
"Hi," you say softly, with a smile, "It's been a while."
"Yeah," Libby nods. There's a permeating silence, neither of you knowing how to start the conversation. The last time you'd seen each other had been so cold. You had only kept up through seeing whatever brand deals she might have garnered, or running into some of Steve's fights on TV. Sometimes when your makeup artist had worked with her she'd give you her insight, but it had never been enough. Apparently Steve wasn't hovering so often.
"So how do you know these guys?" you ask, because this was the last place you ever thought you'd see Libby and Steve. She lights up at the question, easy and middle ground.
"Oh, I was really close with Will in high school. Some seniors were picking on him and I...sorta yelled at them," she explained.
She giggled at the memory, "How about you? How do you and Eddie know this bunch?"
"Eddie started living with his uncle when he was around 10 and then sarted working at Hawkin's Comics after he dropped out of high school in '83," you say it like you've heard this story a thousand times before, and you have, "The boys used to come in and buy new issues and some Dungeons and Dragons play books, eventually they started a little club and stayed friends after. I'm sure since you knew them back then you might've heard about it."
"He stayed friends with the boys for the most part, but stayed really close with Dustin -- so when he was here last year after um -- y'know -- everything. They sort of all got a chance to reconnect. And here we are."
"I bet it's weird, huh?" she asks with a shrug, " Not knowing many people, being far from home."
"And I'm sober for it," you complain with an eye roll. Your chin goes to rest on the heel of your hand, leaning on the table.
"Congratulations, by the way," Libby cracks a shy smile, "On the baby and the wedding."
"Thanks," you smile back, "I'm due in November. Y'know I thought I'd be so relieved once the wedding was over after all that planning but -- with y'know the tape and all the press -- and then getting pregnant it's been...it's just been a lot. Kinda lonely."
"I saw some pictures," she responded, "You looked really pretty."
Your heart breaks, "I wish..." you trail off for a moment, unsure if you should say what you're thinking.
"I wish you could've been there."
"Me too," she says, eyes casting down towards the table.
"It was fun, and all the boys were there -- and Max. You would've had a good time," you say, and then pause to think, "Maybe not Steve. He doesn't strike me as good at dancing."
Libby laughs, "Steve never dances."
'Not much of a dancer but good enough in bed that you stayed with him this long? What kind of rhythm is he even working with?' you think. You laugh too, but it fades out when your heart swells -- it's better to be honest.
"Not just the wedding though. When the tape came out and -- everything that went down. I wished you'd been around. It's hard y'know, when everyone is talking about how much of a slut you are for having sex with your own husband," you confess, "And then Jesus, everything with Ed and Howard -- so embarrassing."
"I only had my sisters and my mom for a while. It just would've been nice to have a friend around, too. Someone who understood," you pause for a beat, "I missed you."
You grab the box of Camels and his lighter from your back pocket to open it. It's half full, which is impressive since Eddie bought this pack last week -- really following through with cutting down. Any other time, this pack would've been gone by noon at the latest. You hold the box out in your hand across the table -- not the olive branch you thought it would be, but it'll do.
"Wanna light?" you ask, "It helps sometimes just to smell it around me. Takes the edge off."
You're surprised at how quickly she reaches for the pack, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it with one fell swoop. The kind of speed you see back stage at fashion shows or in the back alleys of the studios you shot at.
"You're telling me," she mumbles through a drag.
"Didn't realize you were one of us now. Are you that stressed out?" you asked. There was no way things were going that badly already. You watch her look over her shoulder with a nervous shiver, certainly looking out for Steve.
"It's just like you said," she says before blowing out the gray haze, the scent hits your nostrils and your heart finally stops thrumming, "to take the edge off sometimes. Steve doesn't know."
"I'd imagine not," you tease.
There's a moment of silence while Libby takes another drag. Smoking suits her, she looks more established -- more grown up. Sure of herself.
"I missed you, too," she says. You think it's the pregnancy hormones that make you want to cry. You both smile at eachother, eyes shining in the cold air. It would've been a different year entirely if you had just stayed friends.
"Is—has everything been okay? With Steve?" you asked. The answer seemed obvious since they were still together.
"Yeah, things are good. They're..." you watch her consider the answer. No longer under the watch of America or her family, but someone who'd seen some of Steve at his worst, "...they're much better. He's been going to therapy, it seems to be helping," she admitted.
You laugh at the confession. King Steve sees a shrink. Of course.
"Ah, that explains it," you grin, fiddling with Eddie's zippo on the table. She laughs with you. It's nice to laugh with someone else other than Eddie.
"I'm sure that was a terrifying moment for you," she jokes, tilting her head towards the house. It was at first, talking to Steve one on one -- but then maybe it wasn't.
"I definitely didn't wonder if you had him cloned and rewired," you tease before reaching out to her across the table, "And you? How have you been?"
"Good. We're back on the road next week, Steve has a fight in Chicago," she explains. You knew that life.
"Any more Prada shoots?" you ask. Your mind wanders for a brief moment if Steve ever ended up giving her the card you wrote her.
"Maybe. But...I don't know, ever since we came back to Hawkins, I've been...no, it's silly," she waves her hand, making a face -- but you want to know what she wants.
"No, I know it's not! Come on, tell me."
"I've been thinking about...maybe taking some classes. I wanted to go to school, before I met Steve, and I'm just...wondering if maybe I still could," she says nervously. Like a secret she'd been keeping for years.
"Libby, I definitely think you still can," you encourage, "I think that's a great idea."
"Ah, I don't know. We'll see. What about you? How far along are you?"
You pull your hand away -- you're excited but almost a little exhausted by talking about the baby -- babies, you keep having to remind yourself. But you know it'll only get worse the more you start to show.
"Not very, just due in November. I mean, I'm scared shitless, but I'm excited. Eddie's nesting more than I am and he's not the one puking every five seconds," you can't help but get exasperating at his constant flitting about -- but thinking about him with a baby makes your heart melt.
"But...he's gonna be a great dad," you confess, your cheeks heat up for a moment.
"Yeah, he is," she agrees, "And you're gonna make the best mom, Stell."
You gulp and shake your head for a second, "I dunno. You think so?"
"I know so," her smile genuine and warm and you want to reach up and give her a hug but something moves behind her that catches your eye.
You spy Steve at the door way and your eyes flick to the lit cigarette in her hand while she talks. He takes a strong step forward, eyes meeting yours -- he puts a finger to his lips with a devilish smile as to warn you not to reveal his unfortunate surprise. You want to roll your eyes while she takes her next drag, but you know it'll give it away.
He comes behind her and cups his hand under her jaw and you stifle a laugh while she sputters out the smoke into his face.
"Hey, angel. Whatcha doin'?" he asks, you can sense he's less than happy about her currently predicament. Another reminder why he probably didn't want you hanging out with Libby in the first place.
"I-I was just keeping it lit for you," she says with rounded, mischevious eyes. You giggle, which makes her giggle, while he makes a face -- and you know he doesn't appreciate it.
"You think that's funny?" he asks down at her, but you know he's asking both of you.
"No -- " she starts, her voice falling into something small and meek. A familiar head of shaggy curls appears behind Steve's hulking frame. Fuck, you forgot your husband was here.
"Stell, babe, have you seen my Camels?" he asks while he jogs out, slowing down to a confused stop when he sees all three of you outside. He stands next to you, seeing the box of cigarettes and his lighter on the table -- a lit cig in Libby's hand.
"Okay, so when did you start smoking?" Ed asks, furrowing his brow.
"She doesn't," Steve says down at her. It's the only slight interaction they've had all night. You cringe.
"Sure you don't want it, Stevie?" Libby asks, offering it to him. He gives her a look and shakes his head -- tossing the cigarette into the grass.
"I don't smoke that nasty shit, and neither to do you," he almost looks offended that she asked. Eddie turns his attention back towards you, shoving his hands in his coat pockets -- his exasperated breath floating out in contrast to the cold air.
"What're you doing, huh?" he asks, "It's freezing out, you have no coat on. You've barely eaten. You're a foot away from someone blowing smoke around you. C'mon Stell, it's bad for --"
"For the baby. Yeah, yeah, I know, Ed," you sass. He picks up the box and puts it in his back pocket, lighter shoved in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
“Well, I hate the break up the Girl Scout meeting over here," Ed announces dramatically. You notice Steve's jaw tick.
"But I need to get you some dinner,” Eddie says, his hands giving your shoulders a soft squeeze, “Let’s go say goodbye inside so we can get going.”
“Ed, no, I’m finally having fun,” you complain.
“Don’t argue with me, please,” he says softly, “You got sick three times and barely finished your pizza. Let’s go get something that agrees with you. We can go to the diner.”
“No,” you half whine, grabbing Libby’s hand across the table.
“Let’s go, Stell,” he urged, annoyance and edge building on his voice — feeling Steve’s eyes on him while his wife blatantly doesn’t listen. Eddie turns and walks towards the house, expecting you to follow him but you stay on the bench and cross your legs. They tighten when Eddie turns back around half way to the house in the grass, frustration clear on his face.
“Stella Lynn,” he growls, "Get over here, now."
You huff, and you swear you can hear Steve snicker under his breath. 'You finally lettin' him boss you around?'
"Sorry, I have to go," you frown, getting up and taking a step over to him.
"You're being a buzzkill, Ed," you say loudly enough for them to hear. He takes a few steps back to meet you, putting his arm around you while he scowls.
"What's our agreement, these days -- hm?" he asks, not even caring that the other couple is there watching you, "If I don't get to do cocaine -- you don't get to what?"
"Don't get to start shit," you reply with a frown. You know Steve is snickering and you'd give anything to be back in the ring in Toronto to give him a right hook that you actually know how to do now.
"So let's go," he repeats.
"Just give me like, one second okay?" you ask, pecking him on the cheek. You scurry back over to Libby and Steve and interrupt their conversation.
You meet Steve's eye and before he can speak you put your finger in his face but your face is playful, "Don't."
"555-4823," you say down at Libby on the bench, "That's my new number. Call me literally whenever."
You hurry back over to Eddie who pulls you back in tight at the waist, leading you back into the house. The warmth envelopes you like a hug, you hadn't even realized how cold you were until you came back inside.
"Everything good out there?" Dustin asks, his concerned stance matching Eddie's from outside.
"Everything's fine, Henderson," you singsong, "Don't let Munson get in your head."
He smiles and reaches forward to pull you into a tight hug, "I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay?"
You hug him back tightly, letting go to go around with Eddie for the rest of your goodbyes -- Max nearly falling over herself when you reached forward to wrap your arms around her. Eddie smiles when he watches you interact with his friends, a little heart broken to take you away just as you started to loosen up but he planned to make more trips home now that you were about to start a family together.
You hear Steve and Libby come in while you make your exit, the door shutting behind you when you hear Will call out to her.
"You have fun?" Eddie asked, opening the van door for you. He helps you in, but you shake your hand out of his when he reaches for it. Eddie frowns but shuts the door for you before appearing on the other side.
"Yeah, it was fine," you smile, "Talked to both of them."
"How'd that go?" he asked, apprehensive. The van chugs to life when he puts the keys in the ignition, pulling out of the driveway.
"Good. I think," you nod, "I think it's good."
"I don't wanna go to the diner," you confess when he pulls onto the road.
"No? What'd you want?" he turns, and then focuses attention on your tummy, "Better question, what do you want?"
"I think McDonalds," you admit, making a face. He pulls a face that doesn't match yours, he's frustrated with you.
"I don't think that's a good choice, baby," he says softly.
"You don't really get to tell me wh--"
"It's not that I think it's a bad choice because it's unhealthy, it's a bad choice because you've barely put anything else in your body -- you need nutrients, babe. You didn't even take your vitamins today," he says, his voice raising slightly to talk over you.
"I'm not made of fucking glass, Ed," you snap, "This whole week you've been up my fucking ass, I'm so sick of it. I know how to take care of myself."
"Stell..." his voice softens, "I'm just trying to help you."
"Well, don't!" you smack the console between you -- your voice was petulant but you didn't care.
"Okay," he says, his voice calm. He doesn't want to fight with you, not after a good day. Maybe you'll be happier after you eat something. He keeps one hand on the wheel, knowing the roads well, the other slides over to you with his palm outstretched, "You wanna hold my hand?"
You look down at it and pout, sliding your fingers in to lace with his own, "Yeah."
Eddie smiles at your admission – something about your little mood swings these days was fun for him. Much easier now to reel you back in from being scathing, all he had to do was be a little cuter than normal. (And he was already pretty cute to begin with, if he does say so himself.) Ed pulls into the drive through, your order never changing, and before you know it you're back on the road with two hot bags full of burgers and fries on your lap.
"Want me to bring you to one of my old stomping grounds?" he asked with a smile, "We can pull over and eat instead of going to Wayne's right away."
"Oh, is it where you punched that girl in the face?" you tease. He huffs, spare hand reaching up and squeezing your cheeks while he keeps his eyes on the road.
"You're cruisin' for a bruisin', Rink," he laughs, teeth gleaming behind his lips.
"Nah, it's where I used to go hook up with nerdy babes from the shop," he blushed, turning down a heavier treelined road -- the mist of the rainy day settling against the warm orange lights.
"I'm sure they were throwing themselves at you," you mocked.
He turns to look at you, mildly offended, and scoffs, "I'm sorry. Have you seen my dick? Of course they were."
You giggle with him while he turns into an empty parking lot, a lone car further to the back. Eddie looks at the car and back at you, "Think it's a couple of kids?"
"Yeah, probably," you nod. He grins.
"Wanna go ruin their night?" he laughs.
"Ed, c'mon, let them have their fun. No one was interrupting you when you were screwing around," you chide, but as you pull closer you see the bounce of the car.
And the car is familiar.
"Oh even fucking better -- it's Harrington," Eddie is giddy at the realization, leaning on the horn with an evil giggle.
"ED!" you yell, swatting at his hands, "Stop! Stop!"
Ed turns on his high beams, able to see through the slight fog of the back window.
"Is that Steve's ass?" you ask, peering forward while Eddie beeps the horn again.
"Hey, don’t look at that," Eddie snaps, covering your eyes while he pulls away -- Steve's middle finger pointed directly at him. When you squeal out of the parking lot, you roll deeper down the road and onto the backway to Wayne's -- pulling in front of his trailer without getting out.
"Wanna eat in the back?" he asks, "We could fool around after."
"Just like with your nerdy babes?" you tease, "I can't wait."
You both hop out and meneuver to the back where he slides in close to you, passing your food over. You don't wait for him to get situated, your stomach growling at the smell of salt and cheese -- your saliva might as well be whatever oil they dunk the fries in.
"Woah," he says with raised brows, "That little gremlin is really hungry, huh?"
You swallow hard, gulping down a sip of your diet Coke.
“Little gremlins,” you say to the floor of his van.
“Hm?” he asks, “You know I can’t hear you all the way when you mumble, baby.”
The only perk of him losing some of his hearing in his right ear is that he can’t always catch on, but you knew you couldn’t keep this from him any longer.
“Gremlins,” you repeat, “As in plural.”
Eddie looks at you, eyes wide, like he’s trying to understand what you’re saying.
“As in two,” you say softly, pausing for a moment while he nods with your words, “As in twins.”
“Twins,” he repeats, his voice normal before his eyes blow. It hits him, finally, what you were saying.
“TWINS?!” you let out a breath of relief when he smiles, “We’re having TWINS?!”
“When – what — when did you find out? Why didn’t – how were you – we’re having TWINS?!” the food is left forgotten and fries skitter across the carpet of the van. He pulls you in before you can explain and kisses you, hard and intense, lips trying to move through his smile but he can’t stop grinning into your mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?” he asks, resting his foreheard against yours, “Did they tell you yesterday?”
“Yeah,” you smile up at him, tears pricking your eyes, “I don’t know, I was scared you were gonna get stressed out or – or – be mad.”
“Be mad?” he asks, “Stell, you’re having our babies. By proxy I don’t think I’m ever allowed to be mad at you for the rest of my life. Especially not for having twins.”
He kisses your forehead while he continues, hands massaging the sides of your scalp, “Do you think maybe you’re a little stressed out and instead of owning it, you decided maybe I would be stressed out when you told me?”
You give him a look, “What, you see a shrink for two years and suddenly you think you know everything?”
“Oh, so I’m right,” he nods with a smile, your look doesn’t subside.
“I get that you’re stressed, because two is a lot – and we don’t even know what it’s like to have one,” he soothes, “But you’re gonna be the best mom. I keep telling everyone about how great you’re gonna be. I know you’re scared, but I’m here with you the whole way, okay?”
Your lower lip wobbles, and a few tears sneak their way out, “Okay.”
You are scared – but no one would hear you say it outloud. He pulls you against his chest, instinctively stroking your hair like he always does when you start to cry. His excited breaths steady so that yours can, too.
“Can we go tell Wayne?” he asks, “He’s gonna lose his fucking mind.”
You nod while he lets you go to pick up the mess he made, shoving slightly at your shoulder when you lean down to help.
“Please let me,” he mutters, “Let me do it, just go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”
You can’t help but sigh while you open the van doors and slide out. His shoulders tense at the sound.
“You gotta let me take care of you one of these days, Rink,” he says while you linger outside with your hand on the door. He scoops up the fries and puts them in one of the empty bags before crunching it up and hopping out of the van to meet you.
“Deal?” he asks, offering his empty hand to you.
“Deal,” you smile.
“Okay but you can’t just say deal and then not actually mean it,” he rambles while you walk towards the door of the trailer.
“Oh my God, Munson. You’re being so insufferable right now.”
“Will you two stop yellin’ out here!” Wayne calls from the window, “They can hear you two counties over.”
You both giggle. Still just two kids under the pregnancy. Under the sex tape. Under the wedding rings. Under the fight in Toronto. Under rehab. Under separating. Just two kids holding hands who don’t know how to be quiet when the street lights are on.
#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson smut#eddie munson rockstar au#rockstar!eddie munson smut#rockstar!eddie munson#rockstar!eddie#stranger things au#stranger things fan fiction#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#boxer!steve#boxer!steve harrington
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everyone says he’s bad news
#cowboy#cowboy boots#america core#lana is god#lana del rey#cowgirl#bad boy#rugged#midwest gothic#midwest girls#midwest#femcel#ethel cain#sex and the city#muscle#boxer!steve
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TO CELEBRATE TUMBLRS FREE THE BOOBIES HERES
This Billy
With this Steve
Famous Boxer Steve
And his little model boyfriend Billy
+ them together
#billy hargrove#harringrove#steve harrington#stranger things#this with that#this steve with this billy#this billy with this steve#model!billy#boxer!steve#sugar daddy!steve#sugar baby!billy#lemon#yessss#free the tiddies
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This Steve
With this Billy
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Hope you’re having fun on your vacation!
So, I just rewatched the first avengers movie, and Steve boxing??? I am in desperate need of some smut with that energy🥵 (actually don’t know if you write for him… do you? Idk it was worth asking😅)
today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)
this post is 18+, minors dni.
You're absolutely certain you'll have a mark from the ropes behind you digging into your back. It won't last for long, a simple indentation in your skin, but the sensation burns now, adding to the blissful flames licking up your belly as Steve pounds into you.
"Steady, doll." He warns you, helping you brace yourself against the ring, "Can't have you falling. 'S a long way down."
"Then hold me tighter," You whine, burying your face in his sweat-beaded chest, "I won't fall if you're holding me."
"C'mere." Steve grunts, hoisting you up so that his hands pressed hard into the pliant flesh of your ass, holding you up around his waist instead of letting you stand for yourself. His cock hits an impossibly deeper spot inside of you, and you swear you begin seeing stars, a desperate whine spilling from your lips as he speaks, "'Atta girl, I gotcha now."
#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers scenario#steve rogers oneshot#steve rogers one-shot#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers headcanon#steve rogers headcanons#steve rogers hc#steve rogers hcs#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers fic#steve rogers blurb#steve rogers drabble#steve rogers dialogue#steve rogers x reader fanfiction#steve rogers au#boxer!steve#boxer!steve rogers#boxer!steve x reader#boxer!steve rogers x reader#multiverse mondays#ddejavvu's multiverse mondays
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on the mat (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)
summary: steve tries to teach you a few boxing lessons in the ring, but ends up (re)learning a thing or two about you instead.
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
✶ the king of the ring (1993)
✶ main masterlist
tags: the return of casually dominant!steve; play fighting? i guess?; smut (fingering); slight humiliation kink?; finger sucking.
october 24th, 1993
The gym sat in a stiff, sticky heat. A palpable humidity settled in your body, bloating with exertion and frustration and just a little too much humiliation for your liking. Beneath a pair of padded, pink leather boxing gloves, your fingers were sore and tired, slick with sweat from hours confined. They sat now balled up on your hips, chest rising and falling in heavy huffs beneath a soaked-thin sports bra.
And there Steve stood across the ring, shiny and pink-less, grinning like he'd been given a lollypop. Your eyes narrowed into slits, lips drying with thirst. A burn gathered in your chest a few minutes ago, and now every inhale felt like sucking on fire.
"Ah, come on, angel," he cooed, shaking his hand out of one glove to free his fingers and push back his drenched hair. "You're doin' so good."
Somehow, a few hours ago, Steve roped you into training with him. He'd been begging to teach you how to properly box since you started dating, and somehow, he finally convinced you. It was just as exhausting and demanding as you thought it would be, and now you were dripping buckets and making a fool of yourself in front of the man you loved. It was tiresome and humiliating, and you wanted it to be over the minute it started.
"Then I say we call it a day," you huffed.
Wiggling his swollen hand back into the weathered gloves, Steve shook his head and cocked a sideways grin. "I don't think so, sweetheart—"
"Steve," you whined, foot stomping. "Come onnnn."
His shoulders quaked with laughter, and the pinched glare you had on your face morphed into a weepy pout. Steve pulled at the laces of his glove with his teeth until they were well enough taut to stay put, sneakers scuffing over the mat as he headed your way.
The gym was closed on Sundays, so you had the place entirely to yourself—it was easy for Steve to pull strings and get his way. With the amount of championships he'd won over the past few years, Steve could get away with just about anything these days. Endorsements and companies hoping for brand deals kissed his ass just for a chance at conversation. So, if Steve Harrington wanted a private gym for a training session with his girlfriend, he'd get it.
But that left you entirely at his mercy.
Steve brought his puffy, gloved fists to your arms, tugging you close. Lip jutted and eyes down-pointed, you opted to huff and puff at the ground instead of meeting his eye like you knew he wanted. He brought a fist to your chin, kicking it up gently.
"Sweetheart," he chuckled. "C'mon, don't be a baby."
"M' not bein' a baby," you grumbled, jerking your chin away.
Another smile toyed on his lips. "No?"
"No."
Steve replaced his touch under your chin, urging your head back where he wanted. His touch smelled like leather and the salty musk of sweat, and every spent and frazzled nerve in your body sparked with arousal like severed wires in an electric rainstorm. You inhaled sharply, following his guiding touch until you caught sight of his strong chin.
"Gimme a kiss, angel."
The roll of your eyes was entirely theatrical, because the gruff sound of his voice rumbling through you had you squirming. But it was so easy to give into Steve—sometimes, you liked to make him wait a little. Sometimes, you wanted his voice to drop from that soft, fluffy coo and dip into something dark and firm.
Steve bent his neck, leaning toward your mouth. You turned your head. In your periphery, the delicacy of his features congealed like spoiled milk—narrowed brows and hard eyes. The yellow spotlights above the ring blazed down like sunlight, singing your skin with unforgivable heat.
"Hey." Steve flicked your head back with his glove against your cheek. "Give me. A kiss."
You fell into his touch, but when you inched forward on the tops of your new Reeboks, your mouth merely grazed. Brushed against his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. When you sank back to your height, Steve's chuckle was sharp and huffed through his nose. He dropped his hand from your face and stepped back.
"Back in position."
Groaning, you let your arms drop limply at your sides. "Steve—"
"Now," he barked, voice clanging off the walls like metal.
You jolted, trudging toward the center of the ring with a grumpy, nonsensical grumble of disagreement. Steve shook his head as he headed toward the corner, pulling at the laces of his gloves with his teeth until they smacked against the mat. He fumbled in his gym bag, pulling out the flat pads meant for throwing jabs. When they were snug around his hands, he stood to his full height and sauntered toward you.
Wordlessly, Steve assumed a firm stance and held out the pads out in front of him, biceps veined and bulging. His eyes bored into you over the top of the black leather, void and heavily-lidded. You sighed, arms limp and buzzing.
You lifted your right fist and let it tap the left pad weakly. It barely made a sound. Steve shook his head again, slow and steady, but still he didn't admonish you. You tried again with the left fist, tapping just a little harder on the right pad.
"Pathetic."
Your eyes snapped over, breath hitching. "What?"
Steve hadn't moved an inch, breath sure and steady. "I said, pathetic."
Your stomach grappled, a new wave of heat singing your cheeks. “I-I’m not—“
“So hit me like you fucking mean it.”
Though foggy with exhaustion and void of any semblance of desire to put any sort of effort into this, the way Steve’s voice sliced around his command made your insides surge. Pathetic.
You’d show him pathetic.
It shot out before you could truly control it: your first careening into the pad, striking Steve’s hand with vigor. The smack was sharp and acute, and delight burst his pupil to dilation.
Your fist buzzed in the glove, slick with sweat and swollen from work, but it felt…good. It felt good to hit, and it felt good to watch pride swell in Steve’s gaze because of something you’d done.
His lips parted to speak, breath short and clipped with intention to speak, but you beat him to it. Another hit to the glove—a swift jab, knocking him off kilter. He wavered a moment, then steadied. His eyes bored into you like he’d just seen you for the first time. And maybe he had.
You tore at the velcro of your gloves with your teeth, shaking the leather off. Every part of your body felt like it was convulsing. You could barely see straight, and everything came with a haloed glow. You shuffled back toward the edge of the ring.
“Where y’ goin’, angel?” Steve asked, inching forward.
Huffing, you tossed your gloves on the mat and glared at him. “To change. I want to go home.”
Steve took another step forward, following every move backward like the pair of you were tethered together. “We’re not done here.”
Hands on your hips, you sliced him with a look meant to kill. “Yes, we are.”
You turned then, eyes set on the locker room door across the gym. You barely got a toe toward the edge of the ring before Steve had you by the arm. Somehow, the pads were on the floor again, and Steve’s most lethal weapons were out to play.
“Hey! Steve, don’t—“
You pushed him. He tugged you closer. You gaped at him, at his display of audacity. You pushed again, a firm palm to a firmer chest. He let go. You turned again, but this time, he had you by the waist. Anchoring you, pulling you back. You planted your heels and resisted with all your might, grunting and mewling for release. But Steve’s hold was inescapable.
It tugged you to the mat, weighing you down until the pair of you slipped and ended flat in the ring. A pair of limbs scrambling and tangling, knotting together between huffs and groans. He flipped you over onto your back, and you kicked at his hips with the heels of your feet until it gave you an inch up. Twisting and churning, clawing with your hands. What the hell were you doing? You had no idea, but your body was on fire and you couldn’t breathe—and it all felt so good.
With all the writhing and tumbling, you found your way toward the edge of the ring. You wrapped your fingers around the lowest rope, teeth gritted with exertion as you pulled. But Steve was down on you, heavy and full of cords of taut muscle that you were no match for. And even without the weight of him, he still had his hands.
“Nah, nah,” he huffed, a chuckle airing through his nose as he watched your fingers tremble around the rope. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”
Your hand slammed against the mat, caged in his own crushing your fingers in his palm. It was then that you decided to give up on your fight. Pinned by his body, inhaling his exhales, licking beads of sweat as they dripped into your mouth. His hair coiled over his brow, tickling his lashes. His upper lip snarled into a smile, and with his big, hulking form between your legs, you suddenly forgot all about how tired you were and just why you ever wanted to get away.
Like Steve said, you weren’t going anywhere.
Keeping you stationary with his hand around your wrist, kept above your head and off the side, Steve made quick work of the ties on your shorts. Pulling their knot loose, yanking the band down your hips. He pressed the pad of two fingers into your damp, sticky panties over your crotch, and when you shuddered in a gasp, he chuckled again.
“God, you still like it so tough, huh?” He pressed a little harder, rubbed small circles into your clothed nub.
His breath tickled your face with every word spat out. “Pretend you’re so sweet and shy. But you, honey…you like to be fucked. Mean.”
The rubbing burned against the friction of your damp panty fabric and Steve’s fingers. His touch stung, like it always did. And the light in his eyes was one of fiery delight and wonderment. Absolute desire, lapping its forked, devil tongue between the pair of you. You released a sweeping breath, face creased with anguishing pleasure.
Steve rummaged the surface of your face, glowing like a jewel with salty dampness. You rose and fell with such shallow, struggled breaths that he was certain you’d run out of air.
He fell down on his arm a little, nose brushing your nose. “Tell me,” he whispered, voice an echo in your fuzzy, sloshing thoughts. “Tell me you like me mean.”
You choked, air catching in your throat. Right in the middle, where your heart sat waiting, and pulsing. “I-I…I…”
His lip curled again, nose scrunching to follow the crude expression of a growl. “I think you love it, don’t you? C’mon, tell me you love it.”
Oh, the sound of his voice, sweetened with mockery and seasoned with humiliation. He rubbed a little faster, enjoying the tremble of your thighs. Your body was rippling.
“I-I,” you gasped, fingers curling into a fist above your head. “I…Oh, Steve—p-please!”
“Tell me you love it,” he bit, teeth snapping at your mouth.
“Oh,” you howled, bucking into his touch. He pushed the cotton aside and let his fingers breach the bare warmth, and now you were certainly a puddly mess. He prodded at your hole with a spongy touch.
“You love it,” he coaxed, the sound of his voice nearly hypnotic now.
Convincing you, telling you, promising you. You loved it.
“I love it!”
With your confession, he plunged in. His fingers buried themselves inside you until he caught resistance, watching you jerk upward and hold tight, breath bubbled in your throat and swollen in your chest. The veins in your neck scraped their way toward your jaw, protruding without air. He curled his fingers just a little, watched you twist a little to the left. Like some sort of woman possessed.
He gently rocked his fingers in and out, each time nudging that little spot inside you that grew sore and hungry. You caught your breath when he kissed your mouth, releasing it between his lips sealed over yours.
“I love it,” you murmured again, vision spotted and streaked. “I do, I do, I do.”
He clamped your babbles with more wet kisses. Silent reassurances. Gentle and full-mouthed, absent of tongue and just breath, transferred between one pair of lips to the other. Your chin tipped upward to follow them, chasing after more pecks. Steve pulled away just far enough to find amusement in your suffering.
"You'll get a kiss," he murmured, too soft for his cruelty. "When you gimme what I want."
And when you cinched your brows together with feigned confusion, Steve tipped his head a little toward the light haloing behind him, beaconing from the gunmetal roof. The slightest arch of a brow, the knowing narrow of a pair of whiskey-colored eyes flecked with sage.
"You know what I want," he rasped.
Heart hammering hard against your ribs, flesh singing with stimulation, bones droning with desire—all you could manage was a nod.
He wanted what he always wanted—all of you.
One more gentle prod, fingers goading against the swollen, fleshy tissue pulsing deep inside you. One more kiss to the underside of your jaw, lips cradling the pulse point below your right ear. One more squeeze of your wrist in his big hand, thumb into a mass of uneasy muscle fluttering with life punctured by the teeth of his love.
Orgasmic euphoria erupted into bursts of color. Crimson red like the blood Steve shed. Cognac brown like the bits of his eyes illuminated only in direct light. Black as the color of his love, bruised without mercy.
Tiny, pitiful whimpers pipped out of you in short successions. Steve quieted them with more kisses, just as promised. He slipped his fingers from your quivering cunt with caution, parted lips gliding wetly across your cheek from their place on your mouth, smearing hot breaths and spit.
"Open," he whispered, though when his fingers came to your lips, they were already ajar and releasing pants.
You sucked them clean, blinking blearily as he fell into your neck, equally as spent by his exertions. His fingers coasted down your arm as they left your wrist, releasing your binds. You shivered absently when they slid against your ribs, pressing into the curve of your waist.
"I still wanna fuck," Steve huffed, nosing at your neck where the perfume you applied hours ago faded with sweat. "But gotta lie down first."
Giggling, you kissed the wetness of his hairline etched above his temple lazily. "Me too."
"Well yeah, I rocked your world."
#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington#steve harrington au#steve harrington fic#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n smut#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fandom#stranger things au#steve stranger things#stranger things fanfic#boxer!steve#dark!steve harrington#dark steve harrington#steve harrington blurb
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I still got a few rounds left in me
kinktober, day thirteen
a/n: ...i have such a thing for fighters, it's bad....
warnings: boxer!steve rogers x reader, smut, established relationship, domestic bliss, kissing, foreplay, bathtub sex
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023
You felt like a little marshmallow floating atop a warm mug of hot chocolate as you laid there in the tub, staring out at the dark skyline. The melody of soft rain drizzling against the window lulled you even further as your hand lazily played with the bubbles foaming at the surface.
“Hey,” you suddenly heard, spinning your head around to spot your burly boyfriend gazing at your relaxed visage from the doorway, raindrop-painted gym clothes still hugging his form.
“Steve,” you gasped, spine straightening, “you’re home! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Yeah, well, I thought you would be asleep already, so I tried to be quiet.”
“In a bit, I just wanted to wash the day away first, you know?” you sighed, “fall back down to earth before I try and fall asleep…” Offering you a gentle nod, he then stepped further into the bathroom, a soft smile still fast on his lips as he began to peel his clothes off. You couldn’t help but giggly ask, “what are you doing?” as the fighter slowly revealed more and more of his rippling physique, his eyes staying locked with yours the entire time.
“Well, I was gonna take a shower,” his shorts hit the floor mere seconds before he planted his palms on either side of the tub, “but you’re making that bath look so good.”
As he lowered himself in, your giggle morphed into a laugh as the bubbles began to make a run for it, “you’re gonna flood the entire bathroom!”
“Then it’s a good thing we have something called towels,” fully submerged, he simply leaned in to kiss you.
Arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, the current scooped you a bit closer, your legs intuitively entangling up and over his thick thighs. As your hands drifted over his skin, your fingers paused and took time to dig into a few of the muscles on his upper back. Parting from the tender peck, you deepened your massage momentarily as you asked, “are you sore?”
With his own arms tangled around you, he murmured, “not really, I didn’t really go too hard today,” before he lifted you further up onto his lap, his broad palm firm on your back so that your chest pressed flush against his, making your soapy tits share their suds.
It took you approximately two seconds before you noticed the raging hard-on, poking you under the water, “oh my god…” you chuckled, tilting your chin back as you gazed at his smirk, “what are you trying to do, huh, champ?”
His hands slowly raked down your back before they found the curve of your ass, squeezing it in a way that shot directly to your aching clit, “like I said, I didn’t go too hard today, so I still got a few rounds left in me…”
© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#kinktober 2023#steve rogers smut#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#chris evans smut#marvel x reader smut#steve rogers x fem!reader#marvel smut#captain america smut#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x smut#boxer!steve rogers#boxer!steve rogers smut#steve rogers x original female character#steve rogers x you#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers headcanon#steve rogers fic
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Okay so I feel like we can all agree that Eddie’s love language is physical touch right? I myself am a “Steve Harrington love language is words of affirmation” truther but whatever.
Anyway Steve knows Eddie loves to touch and be touched. So he makes an effort to show Eddie that he loves him through physical contact. Especially skin on skin which he knows Eddie loves.
When he’s driving he always puts his hand on Eddie’s leg his hand rubbing the rough denim. Steve usually manages to find a hole in his boyfriends jeans the perfect size for his thumb to sneak in and rub at the softness of his thigh. (Eddie’s heart always skips a beat or two when he does this).
When Eddie drives them in the giant van of his Steve always keeps his hand at the nape of Eddie’s neck. Just barely dipping his fingers under the collar of his shirt to softly caress the skin below with his knuckles. (This is one of Eddie’s favorites so he starts offering to drive more often)
When they’re sitting on the couch during movie night with the kids Steve snakes his hand around Eddie’s waist and sneakily slips his hand under the hem of Eddie’s shirt to rub circles on his hip. (Eddie knows he can’t hide the blush on his face he’s glad it’s dark and everyone’s focused on a movie)
But Eddie’s very favorite is on the hot summer nights in the trailer when it’s too hot for full body cuddles Steve has started a new habit where he’ll sneak 3 or 4 fingers into the elastic of Eddie’s boxers. The elastic just holding Steve’s hand there. No rubbing nothing sexual just something to be close to show Eddie that he’s still there.
One particularly hot night Steve’s almost asleep and he feels Eddie reach for his hand and tucks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers. He can’t help but smile into the pillow like a lovesick fool.
#steddie#steddie ficlet#secret secret I do these to my husband#this is inspired by the boxer thing I think I did it once and now he always wants me to do it 😂😂#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington fluff#steddie fluff#my writing
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Eddie posts a Tiktok of old home video. In the video, Steve is standing in the kitchen at the trailer with the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear as he made coffee for two.
Someone must’ve answered because Steve perks up and says, “Hi, yes. I’d like to request a song. It’s - yes, the new Corroded Coffin song called….well, how was I supposed to know you have caller ID, Christine? Can you play the song or not?”
Steve hangs up the phone and immediately picks up his walkie-talkie like, “Earth to Dustin, use *67 when you call. They’re memorizing phone numbers. Over.”
Eddie behind the camera says with so much amusement, “You do this often?”
Steve smiles at him, finally bringing the coffees over to Eddie, “Every day. Gotta get your song out there so more people can hear it.”
#people seeing 1987 Steve Harrington with his messy bed head hair his glasses wearing one of Eddie’s tshirts and boxers and are like: damn#Steve called the radio station in town everyday after CC got their first single on the radio#until the radio station started screening his calls#then he used Max’s phone#eddie munson tiktok saga#steve harrington#eddie munson
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BBY YES. I’m a curvy girl too and MY GAWD boxer daddy dom losing a match or having a rough match and taking it out on the reader is just *chefs kiss* boxer Steve has NO issue lifting us plus size girlies and taking us against a wall 🤤 I just love your writing and I think you doing boxer Steve would be AMAZING
In Your Corner (Boxer Steve X Plus Size Reader)
A/N: Boxer Steve invaded my dreams and now consumes my waking life. Fuck I need him. Lol.
I hope I did your ask justice!
Warnings: Daddy Dom Boxer Steve and Plus Size Sub Reader and all that implies (I regret nothing!), SMUT and angst, hella dirty talk, degradation (slightly), spanking, choking, pinching, rough play for sure, there's no details of the fight but there are mentions of the aftermath, slight bullying at the beginning with Steve's friends. I think that's it.
Word Count: 4449
Steve’s eyes focused on his coach in front of him as he danced around the man preparing to swing. You absolutely loved watching him train right before a fight. He was always dedicated to the craft but he became more determined right before and the passion drove you wild.
When you both attended high school together, he always seemed like a douchebag with his “King Steve” status. You ran in a different circle, which was mostly any circle that wasn’t the popular kids. They always found ways of making fun of you because you had a little more meat on your bones than they did. You did take note at the time that Steve never taunted you with them but he never stopped them either.
“Fuck off, Steve Harrington.”
“Hey, would you just relax?! I just wanted to come apologize for Tommy and them. You’re not a pig and you’re definitely not ugly.”
“Wow, thanks for that. Now I can die happy. If you will excuse me, I have to go find my journal and put our initials together in hearts.”
As you turned to walk away, his hand shot out to grip your arm, tugging you back towards the concrete wall.
“Would you wait a minute! I’m…I’m trying to tell you something here. I…I’m not like them. I want to get to know you better.”
Your sarcastic laugh lights a fire in his eyes that you would later come to fall in love with.
“Steven, whether you like it or not, you are exactly like them. You laugh along with them and don’t stop them from being mean to people. You hang out with them and give them your time like they matter. I imagine your dad is the same with colleagues; pretending that he cares about stupid, menial bullshit just to fit in.”
His head ticked to the side at your comparison to his father as you stepped closer to his towering frame.
“You want to get to know me better? Become a real man and stand up for yourself. BE yourself.”
After that moment, he completely changed, disconnecting from his friends, and focusing on other things. You found him in the library a few times scanning certain books or at the computer looking up videos. After graduation, he disappeared before finally resurfacing a year later at a party one of your old high school friends was hosting.
At the time, you had a date on your arm but as soon as Steve entered the room it was like no one was there except for you and him. His smile was brighter and he had a lot more muscle than you remember him having especially in his arms. When his beautiful brown irises met yours, you knew it was all over. You’d do anything for him, all he had to do was ask. You tried playing coy, you really did; smirking salaciously in his direction or crossing and uncrossing your legs a bit wider than normal to display the red silk panties underneath.
When all he would do in return is tilt his head and grin at you, it riled you up, huffing as you stomped away to the bathroom. Before you could do anything about it, Steve followed you in, attaching his lips to yours as he quite literally ripped your panties of your body. You marveled at his strength as he lifted you onto the bathroom counter and sunk his admittedly large cock into your cunt.
“Oh my god, Steve. So—f-fuck—so deep.”
“Fuck, baby. Your pussy is just making a mess, you’re so wet.” He grabbed your hair and forced you look between your bodies. “Look at how you just fucking coat my dick.” Once he felt like you had gotten a good enough look, he pressed your face into his shoulder as he thrust his hips faster into yours. “That’s right, honey. Fucking—mmm—fucking hold on to Daddy while I make you cum.”
Your pussy clenched tighter around him at the name and he grunted at the feeling.
“Yeah? You like that, pretty girl? God, you feel so fucking good. Cum on Daddy’s cock, Y/N.”
Your nails dug into the shirt on his back as the coil snapped and you whimpered into his chest.
“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Such a good girl coming hard like that.”, he murmured. One of his palms landed flat beside you as the other clung to your lower back as rolled his hips. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum inside you.”
Steve wasn’t asking; he was telling you what he was about to do and at that moment you really didn’t care. The hand on the counter flew up to grip your throat, pushing you back against the mirror as he roughly pumped his seed into your body.
When he released you from his hold and helped clean you up, you half expected him to leave you there alone in the bathroom, walking back out into the party as a satisfied man. Instead, he took your hand and guided you towards his BMW offering to buy you dinner.
That night he told you where he had been and what he had been up to. Steve left Hawkins to train and study boxing. You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing this was the same kid who lost almost every fight in school. He smirked in your direction as if he could read your mind and invited you to his next fight which was just outside of town.
Watching him up there as he fought was a unique experience to be sure. He changed before your eyes into this more confident, determined man as he focused on his opponent and swung his arms. After winning, you brought him back to your apartment where you two barely even made it in the door before you were climbing on top of him.
“Can I ask you something?”, you asked and he answered with a soft but exhausted hm. “What triggered this? What made you say, ‘I’m going to leave Hawkins and get hit in the face for a living’?”
Steve rolled onto his side to face you as he reached out to brush some stray hair out of your face.
“Short answer…you.”
“And the long answer?”
“When you compared me to my dad and talked about me trying to impress those other assholes, it triggered something in me. I definitely don’t want to become my dad and I hated the way you looked at me when you said I was just like those other kids. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I did some research and came across boxing. Y/N, you have no idea how liberating it was for me when I threw that first punch and hit the bag in front of me.”
Your fingers tenderly caressed his face as his own hand slid down your back to bring you closer to him.
“I always thought about you. I told myself whenever I came back here my first goal was to find you and FINALLY get to know you better.”, he chuckled.
You smiled as you blushed as his words. “What if I had been with someone!?”
“Pfft. Then I would fight him.” Steve leaned back and pretended to box the air making you laugh.
“Or what if I saw you and I was like ‘Ew. Look at the god-awful Steve Harrington! With the muscles and the pretty hair. Ugh!” His lips cut you off mid-cackled as he rolled his body on top of yours.
“Then I’d fight for you. You’re mine, pretty girl.” The way his eyes were penetrating yours had you shiver at the intensity. His face hovered as his nose grazed the tip of your own. “Can you say it for me, honey?”, he whispered, your eyes fluttering closed as he trailed kisses down to your neck.
“I belong to you.”, you moaned as you ran your fingers through his hair.
“Mmm…you belong to who, baby girl?”
“I belong to Daddy.”
Three years had passed since then and you couldn’t be happier or prouder of everything Steve had accomplished. Next Friday was supposed to be a big fight. If he won, it would lead to more eyes on him which in turn would lead to more revenue.
“Hey, Y/N. How are you doing today, angel.”
“I’m good, Jimmy. How are you?”, you beam at his coach.
“Oh, never better, baby. Never better.” As you climb up the ropes to hang over the ring, Steve hastily runs over to you as he pulls off one of his gloves and helps you into the area. “Do you want some gloves, missy? Give Steve here some real competition.”
You giggle as your boyfriend tilts your head up for a kiss. “God, no. He’d knock me out in a second.”
“What’s the matter, honey? Scared?”, Steve teases.
You playfully glare at him as Jimmy brings you some gloves that are your size and places you across from him. You both do the gloved fist bump you’ve seen him do with opponents numerous times and take your stance.
Steve smirks as you circle around each other and after a few moments you take your first swing that he swiftly blocks. Both your moves at each other are light and joking, not in any way meant to harm.
“That’s good, baby girl. You have to twist your arm a bit more.” You concentrate as he shows you the move and once you follow through, he claps his gloves together making you smile with pride. “That’s my girl!”
You grin as you fall into his chest and he pretends to fall over bringing you down with him.
“Let’s hope you do better than that on Friday, yeah?”, Jimmy asks as Steve nods. “Alright, I’m out of here. Harrington, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for our last training session and talk strategy for the fight, alright?”
“Thanks, Jim!”
“You are…disgustingly sweaty.”
Steve turns his attention back to you as you lean forward to grab his wrists and remove his gloves.
“Yet you’re still on top of me.”
“I’m doing it to hide the gigantic erection in your shorts right now.”, you whisper.
“Hey, it’s not my fault when you walk into the room, I get all hot and bothered.” Once his hands are free, he rests one on your thigh as the other comes up to caress your cheek. “Did you have a good day today?”
“I did. My boss was only half an idiot today.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to him?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m sure.” You grin leaning down so your lips are just above his own. “I can handle one stupid, ignorant man.”
“I know you can, sweetheart. I just hate the way he talks to you. He better hope he doesn’t say any bullshit in front of me.”
“Oh, big tough Daddy. I like it.”
Steve smiles as his hand glides to the back of your neck and roughly brings your face closer to his. “You know you love when Daddy takes care of you.”
You bite your bottom lip as he begins grinding hips up against your own.
“Do you wanna take care of Daddy while he takes a shower? Say it.”, he commands when you nod your head.
“I want to take care of you. Please, Daddy. Let me help you relax.”
His grin grows as you both rise to your feet and he helps you down from the ring. As soon as his feet touch the floor, he lifts you into his arms, and you giggle as he carries you into the empty locker room.
############
The night of the fight came and Steve was more than ready. You stayed by his side until exactly an hour before he was meant to exit to the ring, kissing his lips before hugging him tightly to you.
“Good luck, baby. You got this.”
He curtly nodded as you gave him one last comforting smile. You understood he had a process and this was usually how he was before a fight. He was zoned in and prepared, ready to take on the world.
As the ushers walked you to your seat in the front, you froze when you saw who was sitting beside you.
“Hey, Y/N! How are you, sweetheart?”, Mrs. Harrington cooed as she got to her feet to give you a hug.
“I’m…I’m good. What are you two doing here?”
“This is a big fight, right? I don’t know why my son didn’t invite us. ‘You can watch it on TV he says.’”, Mr. Harrington rolls his eyes.
As the announcer began to speak, you panickily looked around, trying to figure out what you should do. He never had his phone on him on nights like this and the match was about to start so you couldn’t go back to the locker room.
Please don’t let him notice them.
Steve entered the ring with his usual bout of confidence that made you swoon. You continued to pray as you watched them introduce him and rattle off some of his stats. His eyes found yours for a moment before he looked beside you. Your heart shattered into a million pieces when you watched this version of him and the high school version have their own fight within his beautiful, brown orbs as they noticed his father.
When his focus shifted back to you, you silently mouthed that you loved him, and again he nodded before the match finally began.
***
Steve angrily stalked into the apartment you two shared and headed for the kitchen, grabbing a glass, and filling it with the hardest liquor there was. Your eyes carefully watched him as he moved about, finally stomping outside onto the patio, and lighting a cigarette.
Nights after a lost match were always the worst, you never knew how he was going to behave. Sometimes he would do like he had just done and sit outside for hours smoking and drinking till he passed out on the furniture. Other times, he would take that anger out on you and you allowed it. You allowed him to be rough with you in bed till you both were fully spent. Even when he was upset, he needed to make you feel good to.
More than anything you just hated how hard he was on himself. He always gave 110% in everything he did but it wasn’t enough for him. If he lost at something he was a failure and there was nothing you could say or do to make him feel otherwise.
Normally, you left him to his thoughts but you couldn’t do that tonight. You knew he was in a lot of pain, not just physically but emotionally as well. Slowly, you stepped outside and tiptoed to the other chair that was next to him.
Steve was leaning back lazily with his legs stretched all the way out as he held the cold glass to the bandage just above his eye. Occasionally, he brought the cigarette to his busted lip before dangling it back over the arm of the patio chair.
“Baby…”
“Go away, Y/N.”
You heavily exhale as you try again. “Sweetheart, you did really well. Don’t let your dad or anyone else make you feel like you didn’t do a good job.” As you spoke, he casually got up, tossing his cigarette, and walked back inside. “There will be other fights like this one.”
“Y/N, I’m only going to say it one more time. Get…away…from…me.”
“No.” His head leaned to the side at your answer. “Baby, everything’s going to be okay.”
Steve sarcastically chuckled, taking another sip of his drink before abruptly raising his arm and violently throwing his glass against the adjacent wall.
“You wanna play, baby girl. Let’s play. First off, fuck you. Don’t stand there and pretend like you understand anything when it comes to boxing or my job, alright? You are my girlfriend not my coach or my manager. Your job is to stand by my side and shut the fuck up while I do what I need to do.”
Oh, that’s how he wants to play tonight? He had just entered another ring and you were the challenger. He needed to spar with you and he knew you were a worthy opponent. You knew how to challenge him and you didn’t take his attitude or temper lying down. He needed you to put him in his place so he could properly put you in yours.
“Secondly, we needed this fucking win tonight. You like this apartment, the pool, that fucking outfit you’re wearing? All of that cost money, Y/N.”
“I see…so this is all my fault? I’m the one that wants expensive things apparently? I’m not some gold-digging trophy wife, Steve. I work and I help pay for things around here. I have never once asked you to buy me anything extravagant because I don’t fucking need it. And yes, I am your girlfriend but I actually fucking listen to you when you talk. You will have more fights. If you wanted a girl who would be silent and just swipe your credit card, you should have looked somewhere else!”
He fumed as you yelled at him, his fists clenching by his side as he listened and his angry eyes never leaving yours. You pointed your finger in his face as you stepped closer to him.
“You can blame me all you want, Steve Harrington, but you needed to win that fight for you and your fucking ego.”
“Take off your dress.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said…take off your dress. You don’t need these nice things anymore? That’s fine. I can return that and the other fancy things I bought you. Tomorrow when I wake up, I can go look for one of those studio apartments for you so you can move in there.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t need you to help me look. I can find a new Daddy on my own who won’t act like a fucking baby.”
There it is. That particular look in his eyes that tells you he’s in the right headspace. He may not look like he’s in control to any outsider looking in but you’ve been in love with his man for three years. You knew.
You two stared at each other for a few seconds before you turned and bolted to the bedroom. You could hear him hot on your tail before he practically tackled you onto the bed. Your hands tried to push against him but he was too strong, straddling your waist as he pinned your wrists to the mattress.
“You want to find a new Daddy? HUH?!”, he screamed in your face. “You think someone else can take care of you as well as I have?” Steve shifted your hands so he could hold them with one of his own he climbed off you and reached under your dress to bring down your panties. A couple of his fingers roughly slid into your core as he set a brutal pace.
“Little girl always talks a big game but when we get down to it, you’re always still so fucking wet for me.” Your eyes squeezed shut as you moaned, still trying to fight against hold but not wanting him to let go. You buck your hips but it just pushes him to be rougher as he curls his fingers inside of you. “There you go, baby. That’s the spot right there, right? Daddy knows. I know every fucking inch of your body and how to please you. You think anyone else can make you cum like I do?”
His palm released your wrists and quickly slid down your throat, gripping it just so between his thick fingers as he watched your eyes roll back. Your hands feebly reach for anything they can, settling on taking hold of his knee. Steve always made sure to have some part of his body near you that way if you couldn’t speak but felt like you needed to tap out you could.
Just like with his boxing, he had rules and regimens in bed. He always wanted you to feel safe and gave you strict guidelines for how to get his attention should you need to. Three taps meant stop but right now all you were doing was grounding yourself as you focused on your own high.
You whimpered, digging your nails into his skin as you came. While you laid there panting, he climbed over your limp frame and yanked off your dress. With hooded eyes you watched as he removed his clothes before tugging you to the edge of the mattress like a ragdoll and flipping you onto your stomach.
His strength always amazed (and intimated) you. Being a bigger woman, you weren’t exactly light and all the men in your past never even bothered to try lifting you into their arms. When Steve did it that first night you were together, you were awe struck. More than anything, you swooned at the fact that he didn’t even hesitate; he just did it knowing he could.
The first time you questioned him about it he looked at you like you were speaking gibberish.
“Honey, you’re not heavy.”
“Uh oh, I think you’ve been hit one too many times. You’re going blind.”, you giggle.
Steve grinned slightly before his face got serious. “Y/N, just because past relationships couldn’t handle a beautiful woman like you doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”
“I know. I just…no one’s ever even bothered to try and lift me let alone everything else we do.”
He stepped forward and lifted your chin with his fingers. “You have a real man now, baby. You and your curves don’t scare me.”
You smile, lifting up on your toes to kiss his lips. “You don’t scare me either.”
His rough, calloused hands lifted your hips and spread your ass cheeks apart before his palm came down hard as he spanked you. You moaned when you felt him spit into your cunt before aggressively breaching your entrance with his cock.
“Daddy!”
Steve’s arm came into view beside you as you felt him hover over you and begin rolling his hips.
“You want to act like a fucking brat, I can…I can treat you like one.”, he grunted. “No more fucking dinners, fa-fancy clothes, fucking nothing! You—f-fuck—can just be Daddy’s toy. Huh? At least until you find your new Daddy who’s not a fucking baby.”
His fingers gripped your hair as he stood up and thrust into you so hard the bed shook underneath you.
Your eyes fluttered closed as he continually hit all the right places inside of you, overwhelming your senses. Tears began streaking your face as you felt the warmth build in your tummy again. He really was the only man that knew how to satisfy you.
He noticed your lips moving but couldn’t hear what you were saying. Steve’s palm smacked your ass as he yanked you to your knees till your back was against his now sweaty chest.
“What’s the rule?”, he growled “If you’re talking I…I need to fucking hear you. What were you saying?” When you don’t answer, he stops pumping into you before reaching down to pinch your clit between his fingers making you whine and try to pull away from him. “Answer me, little girl.”
Your head lazily falls back on his shoulder as you continue to cry. The hand that was in your hair loops around to your chin, turning your lips to his as he softly placed a kiss on them.
“I love…you… Just want…you.”, you panted out as best you could.
Steve released your nub from his grasp and wrapped his arm around you stomach as he began thrusting into you again.
“Cum, baby. Cum for Daddy.” You laid your arms over his own, clinging to him as your body spasmed and you did as he commanded. “That’s my girl. Fuck… my beautiful girl.”
As he chased his high, you continued to try and whisper things in his ear.
“MY…Daddy. No one could…make me…feel this good. I’m…oh my god… so proud of you, baby. Please…cum, Daddy. I need…need it.”
His hips began to sputter and he grips you tightly as he roughly pumps his release inside of you. You both were still like that for a while, trying to catch your breath as he held you.
“I’m going to pull out now, ok?”, he whispered.
“Okay, Daddy.”
You winced as he cooed softly, placing feathery light kisses on your skin as he praised you. He detached from you for moment; long enough for you to hear the shower turn on before he was back by your side and lifting you into his arms.
Steve wasted no time taking care of you as he cleaned your body and washed your hair.
“I DO listen to you when you talk. One of the things I love about you is how passionate you about boxing. I remember in school you always seemed like, I don’t know, you were coasting by. On our first date, you told me about the maneuvers and explained things to me.”, you smile as you continued. “Your hands were moving a mile a minute and your eyes lit up. It was amazing.”
His fingers lightly gripped your shoulders as he turned you to face him. “I may not know everything about it, Steve, but I know you. I know there will be another fight and I know you’re going to win because you are the most dedicated man I’ve ever met. You’re not going to stop until you get where you want to be.”
He pulled you into his arms, pressing your cheek to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you and said all that stuff. I don’t really feel that way. I was just upset.”
“I know, baby.”
After turning off the water, he quickly grabs a towel, drying you both and guiding you back to bed. Steve grabs his boxers and throws one of his big, baggy shirts over your head making you laugh.
“I love that you speak your mind and challenge me. Hell, if you hadn’t done that in school, I never would have gotten into boxing.”
“I’m so proud of you, Steve. I really am. Whether you win or lose, buy me fancy things or give me gifts from the dollar store…” Your smile grows as he laughs and kneels down in front of you, laying his head on your thighs as you gently pet his head. “I’m always going to be in your corner.”
#boxer!Steve Harrington#dom!steve harrington#daddy steve#steve x plus size reader#steve x reader#brat reader#steve harrington#steve stranger things#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fluff#joe keery#joe keery smut#stranger things#fan fiction#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x reader#daddy steve harrington#plus size reader#Steve Harrington ask
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girls just wanna have fun
a rockstar!eddie x actress!reader / boxer!steve/librarian!gf crossover extravaganza.
Get ready for the FEELINGS train, it’s rolling in!
Today’s lesson is on minding your own business before you get your feelings hurt. The girls have a girls day after being bored at the gym and we learn a little something about everyone here in crossover land. God forbid I ever write a real happy ending and if you didn’t want Boxer!Steve and Actress!Wife to fuck, you might by the end of this crossover. (One day I’ll write Rockstar!Eddie smut, I promise.)
To get the full effect, please listen to Madi Davis’s cover of ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ near the middle to the end. It’s what I listened to on a loop while I wrote this.
For context, I might recommend reading ‘Not Givin’ It Up’ part one and part two but long story short, Rockstar Eddie and Actress Wife separated for half a year after a lot of promises of Eddie getting clean and always coming up short. He’s semi sober now, just not doing opiates and we are PROUD OF HIM!
I’m not a huge Y/N girl, so for all purposes I’ve inserted the name Stella for actress!wife and Libby for librian!GF as approved by @rollergirlworld who also helped me in the creation of this crossover!
WORD COUNT: 9k+
WARNINGS: Swearing, controlling behavior, addiction and drug mention, fighting (boxing), blood, sexual innuendo, some sexy shower stuff but no sex. All around sadness but plenty of cuteness – we stan the girls.
Lastly, there’s definitely some mistakes in here and I don’t care. Also, if you’re under 18, don’t read my content.
The drive was longer than you’d hoped, traffic was unbearable, you were sweating — and now you had to go sit in a boxing gym and watch two stupid boys work out and box for who knows how many stupid hours. Your only saving grace was getting to spend a couple days at the beach house and getting to see Steve Harrington’s little woman. The sun beat down on the convertible, a dark cherry red ‘71 Jaguar. It was a gift from Eddie on your twenty-fifth birthday, which was only a little funny because you never really got to drive it.
“Was this secretly a gift for you?” you asked, sliding into the passengers seat to head to your birthday party.
“What?” he feigned offense, but he knew you were right, “No, of course not, baby. You just look so good in red.”
You rolled your eyes at the lie, but still let a laugh sneak out between your teeth.
Today, you wished he hadn’t put the top down, it was too humid. It had been a drizzly month and the rain felt trapped in the air even with the sun out. Thick, sticky, and unforgiving even with the wind whipping your faces. Eddie on the other hand loved watching your hair fan out behind you on the high way. He loved your little squint you made before you’d put your sunglasses on. Big, vintage cateye ones he snagged for you at a big flea market somewhere in Massachusetts on an east coast tour.
“Said they were from the 60s, surprised how cheap they were,” he said, passing them to you in the case, “They got a lot of weight to them. I liked the little engravings on the inside. Kinda cool, right?”
“I love the tortoise print,” you said, folding them over in your hands. He always rambled when he thought you weren’t going to like something – when the gift wasn’t extravagant. When he was nervous you were going to think something was stupid. It couldn’t be further from the truth of course, there wasn’t anything he could get you or find for you that you would think was stupid. The case balancing on your thigh toppled to the ground. Before you could think, he bent down to pick it up.
“You were saying in New York you wanted a pair like that, so – I did my best,” he smiled, still squatting and letting his hand rest on your knee. You tried them on and he dramatically put a hand to his chest, toppling over just like the glasses case.
“Oh baby, you’re killin’ me,” he said from the floor, “You look so pretty.”
That had been a good day until he got arrested for indecent exposure and public intoxication outside of Rainbow bar. You pleaded with the cops to let him go, that he was just too fucked up and you’d take him home – he didn’t mean anything by it. Eddie couldn’t keep his mouth shut though, “Fuckin’ pigs,” pouring out of his lips in a haze while the cuffs got tighter on his wrists. You bailed him out later and he passed out in the back seat of the Chevrolet, liqour on his tongue and coaine residue still on his nose. You used all of your strength training to help carry his dead weight to bed – only making it to the couch in the main first floor sitting room and covering yourselves up with a cashmere blanket. You kept him on his side and stayed up the whole night rubbing his back until he woke up and ran to the bathroom to puke – starting your day with a cocktail of ibuprofen and electrolytes.
You were jostled out of your memory when the car pulled into the gym’s parking lot. You noticed the condominiums that Steve and his little woman lived in were merely steps away. Made sense, you guessed, since he had to train so often – even if they were only here for a few months out of the year.
“You okay, sweet thing?” Eddie asked, taking the keys out of the ignition. He reached out to rub your shoulder but you pulled out of his grasp, getting out of the car. The vintage white tennis dress you wore suddenly felt suffocating even while the skirt of it flounced at the tops of your thighs.
“Hey,” Eddie said, coming around to your side of the car. His tone changed, more worried while he tried to scan your features through your sunglasses, “Baby, you alright?”
You took a deep breath through your nose and nodded while taking your sunglasses off. You reached into your purse and put them back in the case, “I’m okay, Ed.”
He reached over your seat and pulled his gym bag out from behind it, slinging it over his shoulder. His wife beater riding up showing off the top of his black shorts and his tight stomach – a smattering of hair trailed down past the band.
“You upset with me?” he asked, putting his hand back on your shoulder. He could feel how tense you were under his touch. You both had been practicing being more communicative about your feelings after he got clean. He knew he had a long way to go, that you didn’t owe him forgiveness all the time. He’d beg you to tell him what you were thinking about when you got distant so you could talk it through. He wanted to hear you be mad at him, ‘It’s not healthy to hold that in baby, you gotta tell me. It’s okay if it hurts my feelings, I hurt your feelings first.’
“Just thinking about something from before,” you confessed. He put his gym bag on the pavement, touching the edge of his Converse to the edge of your sandals, your perfectly manicured toes looking so different from his beat up sneakers.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, eyes so gentle on you that you’d tell him the sky was red if he asked. The way he’d throw away everything to hear one word come out of your mouth.
“It doesn’t matter, it was in the past,” you shake your head but he doesn’t buy it. He reaches forward to brush some stray hairs out of your face, his calloused fingers grazing your cheek.
“It does matter,” his tone gets serious but his touch is soft, “Don’t say that shit to me, Stell. It does matter if it’s making you upset.”
“I was thinking about one of those nights outside of Rainbow,” you mumbled, looking down at both of your shoes. Your arms instinctively crossed across your chest, a habit Eddie caught you developing when you talked about something that made you uncomfortable – like you wanted to protect yourself from the memory.
“The night I gave you those glasses?” he asked, nodding down to your purse, “I remember.”
You laugh a little, “I’m surprised. You were so fucked up.”
Eddie laughed back with you, your smile making his chest swell and his breath catch in his throat a little. He could never get over how sometimes it felt like he was talking to you for the first time all over again.
“Come here, pretty girl,” his voice was a little gruff while he wrapped his arms around you, squishing your crossed arms against your chest.
“It’s okay to still be mad about that,” he ran a hand soothingly on your back, “I’m still mad at me, too.”
“It feels stupid,” you said into his chest.
“It’s not stupid,” he said, “Whoever is telling you it’s stupid? Is stupid.”
You moved back from his grasp and smiled up him, his boyish toothy grin shining down at you, “You’re stupid.”
“You’re stupid,” he challenged back before peppering your face in kisses. The way he knew would make you giggle.
“You here to box or you here to kiss cheerleaders under the bleachers, Munson?” Big, Steve’s trainer, was at the entrance door, “He’s gonna be pissed that you’re late.”
“By two minutes, you serious?” Eddie hoisted his gym bag up over his shoulder again, reaching for your hand for you to follow into the lobby. Low and behold, there’s King Steve, broody as ever refilling his water bottle. It was clear he trained before this with Big, waiting for his chance to train Eddie after – almost like a pre-game to get the rest of his rage out. Sweat glistened on his shoulders and biceps, down his defined chest. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks burn a little at the sight of him, boorish but so hot. You would’ve had a poster of him if you were still a teenager in Syracuse.
Even just shy of an inch shorter, he loomed big and powerful over Eddie when he approached him. He stared at Eddie down the slope of his nose, “You’re here on my time, Munson. If she’s gonna be a distraction, she can go.”
Eddie’s arm protectively reaches for you to pull you in. Steve doesn’t even look at you while he says it.You started to understand why Eddie didn’t like him. Never a kind word to spare anyone except –
“Wait! Wait, before you go to the locker room!” Ms. Harrington burst out of the gym doors with a book in her hand getting between Eddie and Steve, “Here.”
Eddie took the book, smiled, and looked down at Libby who was gasping to catch her breath after running the length of the gym, “Night Things, Michael Talbot – kind of freaky like Labyrinth but scarier.”
“Fitting, considering how much you remind me of the babe,” he sing-songed while fishing a different book out of his gym bag. He ignored Steve’s clenched jaw, but you notice his hands ball to fists by his sides.
“Preferred The Elementals, but Babylon was okay – 4 stars,” Eddie said, passing the book back to Libby. She cradled the copy of Cold Moon over Babylon to her chest.
“Fair review. I totally agree,” she said, now walking back into the gym with Steve following close behind her, “I’ll try to pull something more Tolkien next time.”
“If it’s from you hot stuff, I know it’ll be g–OOF!” You watched it happen in slow motion even with how swift it was. Steve sent a hard jab to Eddie’s abs without warning, sending him hunched over. You stifled a laugh even though you did feel bad, that had to hurt.
“That was bare knuckle man, that’s not ever fair,” Eddie gasped, holding onto the door frame, “Holy shit, dude.”
Steve didn’t respond, just put his arm around Libby and walked her further into the gym. She turned her head around and mouthed, “Sorry!” to you, but she had nothing to apologize for.
“You gotta get a hold of yourself, Munson,” you teased, rubbing your hand on his back while he stood back up to full height, “You okay, handsome?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, stretching out a little, putting the new book in his bag.
“Plus, I got a real hot nurse to take care of me at home,” he winked, reaching for her hand again, holding it until they got to the locker room. You watched him disappear behind the double doors with a frown.
The leather was stiff on the benches by the ring, you and Miss Harrington sat there with a magazine in your hands while the boys sparred. Sharing eye rolls to each other while they argued over whether Eddie could block or if Steve was just taking cheap shots. (If you’re wondering, Steve was just taking cheap shots.)
You watched them for a minute, wincing while Eddie got a right hook to the face – not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to send him into the ropes.
“If you don’t keep your hands up…” Steve started, pulling him off the ropes, “You’re gonna get a concussion.”
“Ugh, so right, don’t wanna end up like you,” Eddie loved a sassy retort, spitting blood out into the bucket in the corner of the ring. Eddie put his gloves up in time to block the next roll of punches toward his face.
“Y’know his right hook is getting really good,” Libby said from behind her magazine, “He’s a natural at jabs.”
“I don’t know what that means,” you frowned, “But his backhand is getting really good, I can tell you that.” Libby’s nervous giggle floats out from behind the glossy pages in front of her.
“Do you always just sit here and watch him practice? Don’t you get bored?” you asked. You hoped she’d say yes so you’d feel less guilty about being bored yourself, you’d already counted the flourescent lights over your head four times.
“Oh! Um…” Lib looked at you, then back to the ring where Steve looked over at her.
“I’m gonna go get my nails done I think, you should come! My treat,” you offer, “You deserve a break.”
“Ah..um, okay, yeah,” she agreed, sliding her Keds back on and leaving the magazine on the bench behind her.
“HEY!” Steve’s voice boomed across the gym even though you were only twenty feet away at most. Steve looked menacing, breath flaring out of his nostrils like a bull ready to strike, his eyes fixed on his girl.
“Sit back down,” he spat, words coated in dominance, “Where d’you think you’re wanderin’ off to, angel?”
“I’m taking her to get her nails done,” you stepped in front of Libby, feeling responsible for her safety. The way he looked at her made you feel uneasy, but you’d been around types like him before.
“I didn’t ask you,” he barked, “I asked my woman.”
“Woah man, don’t talk to my wife like that,” Eddie yelled coming up behind him, only stopped by a quick gloved jab to the chest.
“Shut the fuck up Munson,” Steve turned his attention back to Libby, his voice softening, “Sit back down, honey.”
“I think I’m gonna go, Stevie. I’ll be back soon!” she squeaked out, grabbing your arm and taking off in a scurry with you out of the gym. You heard Steve’s exasperated sigh, a stern ‘Learn how to fuckin’ block,’ before the squeak of their sneakers disappeared behind the gym doors.
“Whew! Y’know, I just stay cause there’s nothing else to do,” she confessed, a little embarrased.
“Not a bad view, I guess. Surpised you didn’t just sit back down,” you said with a little shiver, “With that voice? I would’ve.”
“Oh his big bad man act? Please,” she scoffed, adjusting her glasses, “He just wants me to be around to give him a kiss when he’s done.”
“We’ll get you back in time for that,” you tossed her a wink, Libby blushing the same way she does when Eddie tells her she’s cute. The air outside is still hot and sticky and with a huff to your banfgs you put the top back up on the Jaguar.
“Let’s take my car,” you call over while Libby steps over to their Caddilac.
“Steve said it’s a death trap,” she’s nervous to let go of the Caddy’s handle, you can tell she’s thinking about all the things he doesn’t want her to do.
“He thinks it’s a death trap because Eddie drives it,” you laughed, “It’s my car. He wouldn’t have bought it for me if he thought I’d get hurt in it, Lib.”
“He bought you this car?” she asked, her eyes wide like saucers. Her hand fell to her side from her car’s handle.
“He can’t stop buying me cars,” you groaned, popping into the drivers seat and leaning over to open her door, “Don’t act surprised. Didn’t Steve buy you a whole house in Indiana?”
“I mean yeah, but that’s our house,” she blushed, bouncing into the passengers seat. The white leather sticking to the backs of her thighs, “It’s for our future. Y’know he wants to open a gym over there? For kids?”
“Why? So he can grind their bones to make his bread?” you asked, putting a hand behind her head rest to pull out of the lot.
“So sorry, it’s like Ed just spoke through me,” you said, feeling guilty at the joke, but Libby laughed all the same. Her eyes lingered on you, like she couldn’t believe that you looked graceful in everything you did.
“No, no, don’t be sorry. He wants to help out kids who were like him,” she explained, “He likes rye bread anyway. I don’t think children come in rye flavor.”
“You better hope not,” you laugh back with her, quickly hitting the street to find the closest nail salon.
–
The scent of acetone was comforting, more so than the plastic, sweat, and blood that filled the gym. You had already gotten started, resting your chin on your other hand while the manicurist filed off your acrylics. You watch Libby nervously look over the wall of nail polishes, reaching out to finger a hot pink bottle only to second guess herself.
“Why don’t you do the same red as me?” you asked, “We can match. It’s Malaga Wine.”
Libby turned and smiled, “I’d love to but I just don’t think Steve would like it. He’s already upset that I left.”
You huffed to yourself: Steve this, Steve that. You’d rather die than let Eddie have that much influence over your day to day life. It’s supposed to be a girls day.
“I think I’ll just get a french,” she meekly told the manicurist leading her to her station.
“A french will be so pretty,” you encouraged. You could tell she wasn’t used to this, being told to pick for herself. Being out and about without Steve to hover over her. She kept looking over her shoulder, maybe not in fear but in uncertainty that she was never making the right choice. With Steve, she never had to worry about it, he’d make the decision for her.
“So what’s it like,” Libby asked, getting seated at the station next to you, “Being with a rockstar? I feel like I’ve never gotten to sit and chat with you about it.”
“Um,” you guessed, “Unpredictable.”
“He keeps me on my toes,” you went on, “Total nut case cassanova, but stuttered for thirty minutes on our first date because I was ‘so overwhelming’. At least that’s what he told me.”
“He loves you, talked about you all the time at the gym,” she said, “Talked to me a lot about how to get you back when you were away. Which like, was totally justified by the way. Totally on your side.”
“I think he just wanted to talk to you,” you were being honest, “He thinks you’re too precious.”
Libby’s face was as red as the nail polishes on the wall, a small collection of sweat beading up under her tied up, pre-faded, blue Malibu t-shirt which definitely had been Steve’s before she stole it. She swung her legs on the chair, her white Keds with white socks tucked neatly under them dragging against the bright white tile of the salon.
“And you don’t have to take sides, we both made a lot of mistakes,” you said, never wanting to fully blame Eddie. It was a disease, you had to keep reminding yourself of that. It’s not who he is, it’s who the drugs wanted him to be.
“Does Eddie like red on you?” she asked inching away from the subject.
“I like red on me,” you said confidently, “If I like it, Ed loves it. I think that’s why we work out so well. Do you like red on you?”
“Y-yeah,” she stammered, “But I don’t know, Steve’s always liked it when I’ve gotten a French done. He always says something about my ‘pretty hands’ when I get a manicure like this.”
You guessed it was probably when she was giving him handies in hotels.
“Get red for me, next time,” you smirked, “Tell Steve to fuck off.”
“Okay, okay, next time I’ll get red,” she nodded, “Just for you, Stell.”
“How’re you liking Malibu?” you asked, switching hands over.
“It’s um, it’s nice? We walk the beach a lot since we’re so close.”
“Just the beach?”
“I mean, we’ll drive into LA every now and again and he’ll take me shopping but – otherwise we’re not here long enough for us to go do any real exploring outside of the gym.”
“Why don’t you meet up with some friends while he’s training? Have them show you around?”
“I don’t…” her voice trailed before she could finish her sentence. Her shoes stopped swinging against the tile slowly until they came to a complete stop.
“Next time you’re here for a stretch, if I’m not working on something – give us a ring. We’ll show you the ropes,” your voice was warm, doing your best to soothe her through words. You knew the feeling of being in a new place with no one to run to but at least you didn’t have a five foot ten middle weight on your back the whole time.
“That’d be nice.”
You spent the rest of the appointment talking about each of your favorite hotels around the country, which ones Eddie is banned from, and where you can get the best mimosas. Giggling up a storm and taking shots at the boys every chance you could, you felt a smidge of normalcy you hadn’t felt in a while. Like when you’d go home to upstate New York and have a girls day with your mom and sisters.
Libby protested for the entirety of you paying her her manicure, not even noticing the bulky silver chain attatched to the wallet you pulled out. Eddie never let you go anywhere without all of his cards and cash, “What’s mine is yours, sweet thing.” If he thought for a second you’d paid for your nails with your own money he’d fall into a fury that would rival Steve’s.
“I got it, I got it,” you hushed her, “Technically Eddie’s got it, but I got it.”
You passed her a fifty dollar bill to tip her manicurist and took out another fifty for yours, Ed’s words from your second date ringing in your ears every time you got a tip ready. “I’d lose my shit if someone even left me two bucks when I was bussing at The Hideout, so I’m always tipping everyone a bunch of money. I mean, I have more of it than I can spend so why wouldn’t I give it to everyone I know, y’know? You never know whose going home to a trailer park like me.”
Your next stop was a little cafe you’d frequent every time you were staying at the beach house, cozying up across from eachother in a booth away from the main street windows for privacy. Sure, it was normal to be stared at and you knew Libby was used to it, too. But sometimes, you just wanted to eat a croissant without The Sun talking about how much you love carbs.
“Can I get a vanilla latte, please?” you asked, “And a chocolate croissant if you have any left over, I know it’s later in the day.”
“I think have a few left, I’ll just make sure. Is almond okay if we don’t have any chocolate?”
“Almond is great. Actually, can you just pack me up an almond one either way? My husband loves them,” you gushed.
“We know. Eddie finds a way to clear us out every time he visits,” the waitress laughed with a knowing look, writing down the order and looking at Libby, “What can I get you, dear?”
“Um, just a coffee is fine – decaf,” she said, pressing her glasses up on her face again. You weren’t much older than her, but she had a way about her that made her seem younger. Wide eyed, like the world was so new.
“Anything else?”
“No, no, just the decaf. Thank you so much,” she beamed.
“Don’t like coffee? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked where you might’ve wanted to go,” you said, your shoulders sulking.
“Oh no, no, I do! It’s just, it’s after twelve and Steve doesn’t like when I –”
“Enough about Steve. About what Steve likes, about what Steve wants,” you’re surprised by the short fuse of anger on your tongue, but this was getting ridiculous. “Do you ever get to be yourself? Do you ever get to be Libby?”
She shuddered out a sigh, her cheeks reddening. Libby toyed with the frayed edge of her Levi cut offs, “We put green tile in the kitchen.”
“But you can’t paint your nails red?” you asked, exasperated, “I mean, Christ Lib, you can pick out kitchen tiles but you can’t have more than one glass of champagne at a New Years Eve party?”
“It’s not like that,” she said, sweat beading at her hairline.
“Then what’s it like? I mean, he’s got you wrapped around his finger I’m – I’m like – I’m sort of worried about you,” you offer your hands to her over the table, she takes them. Warm and soft after her manicure, her French tips glinting in the low light of the cafe with your red ones.
“I know this is so cliche, but it’s just…how he is?” she shakes her head trying to come up with a better explaination, “I know it’s because he loves me.”
“Love shouldn’t come with so many rules, Libby,” you urged, sounding like an older sister begging her to see the light.
“They aren’t, that’s the thing. They’re just suggestions and I…I like following them,” she blushed a little, “He just makes me feel so…safe? When we’re in Hawkins it’s so different y’know? I have all my friends there, I go out and have girls nights, we do all the things we’d do if I was still around. Here I’m just…I’m just Harrington’s ‘little woman’.”
You see her deflate at the title, you didn’t ever have to worry about those things. You were never ‘Eddie Munson’s Wife,’ in fact, it was more common for him to be listed as your husband.
“You’re Libby to me,” you assured, “You’re my friend.”
“I am?” she asked.
“Of course you are,” you let go of her hands while the waitress put your coffees in front of you, a chocolate croissant on a plate placed in the center of the table. Another waitress came over with a bag of almond croissants with ‘Eddie Munson Stash’ written on it and you could barely stifle a laugh.
“On the house,” they said while you tucked the bag next to you.
“No! No, not all these croissants, he’d kill me if I just took them,” your smile was blinding.
“He’s been paying in advance all year, trust me, it’s fine,” she said back to you, “Enjoy, please!”
The women walked over to their other tables and you made quick work of ripping the croissant in half and holding it in front of Libby, “Here, they’re to die for.”
“Also this,” you said, swapping your coffees, “Best vanilla latte on the West Coast, I can’t have you miss out.”
Libby hesitates, taking the croissant and eyeing the latte.
“C’mon Lib,” you smirked at her again, “Have a little fun.”
“Yeah? I should, right?” she said, seeking your reassurance.
“Right! Fuck Steve!” you laughed, cheersing your pastry halves.
“Fuck Steve!” Libby’s smile was so broad you could’ve sworn it hurt her cheeks, but it was sweeter than the croissant melting on your tongue.
You put the top back down when you got in the Jaguar together, making use of the upgraded sound system and not being shy about it.
“OH! I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY!”
“I WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY!”
“WITH SOME BODY WHO LOVES ME!”
Did either of you sound like Whitney? Of course not, but all of Malibu was going to hear you both screaming it out of the car and down the freeway to make it back to the gym. You drove too fast and made too quick turns just to watch her squeal and and laugh while clutching the side of the car when your tires skidded to stop.
“DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE? WITH ME, BABY.”
“DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE? WITH ME, BOY.”
“HEY DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE? WITH ME, BABY.”
“WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME!”
“Don’t you wanna dance, say you wanna dance, don’t you wanna dance?” you both kept singing after the ignition turned off only to realize you might’ve only sounded good with Whitney’s vocals booming over yours. You both laughed with eachother in the parked car, catching your breath before sliding out of the white leather seats and back onto the pavement.
Libby’s hand was still soft in yours when you made it back into the gym, your other hand clutching the bag of almond croissants. The boys perked in the ring, both sitting in opposite corners, shirtless and sweating.
“I got the good stuff, baby,” you called, waving it over your head.
“Fuuuuck me, yes,” he called from his stool, “You’re so good to me.”
“Hi Stevie,” Libby said, letting go of your hand to run to the corner Steve was sat at. He knelt down, putting his head through the ropes to lean down and kiss her. You watched her show him her nails and the knowing look he gave her after he saw them. ‘Pretty hands, angel.’
“You almost done?” you asked, putting a hand on one of the ropes by his calf. Eddie looked down at you and nodded, squatting to meet your eye.
“Missed you,” he said, a sweet smile on his face, looking at you through his eye lashes.
“I missed you, too, baby,” you cooed, flouncing over to the bench from before.
“Gotta be careful in that dress, sweet thing,” he said after you, “You know what you’re doin’ to me.”
You turned your head back to him over your shoulder, tossing him a little ‘Who me?’ look. He blushed immediately, but the distraction might’ve been to his detriment – Steve was right, you should’ve stayed home. Before the last round even fully started, Eddie was on the ground with a split above his eyebrow that could’ve given Steve’s a run for his money.
“Fuck, FUCK,” Eddie called out, ripping his gloves off, holding his forehead with blood pouring out through his fingers.
Steve laughed, “All day Munson, I’ve been beggin’ you to learn how to block head shots. You listenin’? Got a brain under all that hair?”
“Fuck off, man, Christ,” he glowered, “Bell didn’t even ring and you went the fuck in.”
“Gotta be prepared, Munson,” he shrugged, pulling his own gloves off to reveal taped hands, slinging the gloves over his shoulder. He hops out of the ring and calls Libby over, only she looks a little unnerved.
“I don’t think she knows how to fix that,” she says to Steve.
“Not our problem,” Steve furrows his brow while guiding her to the locker room but she stops before they get through the door.
“Well I was gonna invite them come over for a late lunch but I think we should get him to the house to get him fixed up. I saw how hard you hit him,” Libby was urgent and he couldn’t say no to her. Those sweet saucer eyes, her ache to help others – she really was his better half.
Steve ran a hand over his face, “Yeah, yeah, fine.”
Libby met eyes with you, “We’ll meet you at the house, I know just how to take care of stuff like that,” she nods toward Steve, “Have a lot of practice.”
–
The townhouse they have is nice, and clearly recently renovated – in some way still smelling like fresh paint and leather apholstery.
“I was gonna make sandwhiches but I really think I gotta take him to the bathroom,” Libby said, looking over at Eddie in the kitchen who was looking particularly white. Back in his regular rockstar get up, shorts and tank back in gym bag hell where they belonged.
“I can make sandwhiches, Libby,” you smiled, shoving Eddie lightly towards your little librarian, “Take him.”
“Oof, hellllooo nurse!” he said when they were partly down the hall, disappearing into the bathroom.
“Keep that door open!” Steve called down the hall, sitting roughly on one of the barstools on the island. His sunglasses pressed hard against his forheaed.
“Like a couple of fuckin’ teenagers,” he grumbled to himself.
“Oh, Steve, stop, they’re just playing around,” you said, trying to keep your tone as light as possible. You opened the state of the art fridge to find all the cold cuts and condiments and setting them on the counter.
Steve ignores your attempt at friendly conversation, “Breads in the cupboard on the right.”
You realize quickly that he’s just going to watch you make sandwhiches.
–
“Okay, just sit down, I got you,” Libby soothed, wetting a face cloth and wiping all the excess blood away from his forehead. She was gentle while he sat on the edge of the toilet seat cover.
“Can you hold that there for second?” she asked, putting his hand over the face cloth.
“For you? Anything,” he teased, watching her reaching under the sink and pull out a first aid kit and he clicked his tongue.
“Aw c’mon sweet thing, all those bandages?” he asked, his hand motioning toward the gauze and medical tape she was placing by the sink.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with that?” she asked, looking back at him.
“Baby, there’s other ways to make a man feel better. That’s all I’m saying,” he shrugged, his cool voice making her shiver, “Shame you gotta do it the right way.”
Like clock work she covered her face, making him grin.
“I get it though, he’s right down the hall. Don’t want him to hear us,” he egged on, “Maybe next time.”
Libby, barely breathing at this point, takes the face cloth out of his hand and tosses it in the hamper at the edge of the sink counter. She holds one hand over his eye leaving the cut exposed, and the other holds an antiseptic spray about two inches away.
“Ah, shit,” Eddie hissed. The sting of the cut cleansing spray hurt more than he hoped. The stingy burn of it pooling from his eyebrow, mixing with blood, and dripping down to his eye. Libby caught it with gauze before it got to his tear duct, so used to this routine after Steve’s fights.
“Sorry!” her voice was high and gentle, nerves clear on her tongue, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, sweet thing,” Eddie said, his fingers gently reaching out to graze the side of her thigh in comfort, “You’re jus’ doin’ your job.”
“You’re getting good,” she said, trying to bring the conversation to boxing so she could ignore his hand on her thigh.
“Your jabs are starting to look like Steve’s,” she enthused, but frowned at the cut over his brow, it hadn’t quite stopped bleeding. Libby turned to grab more gauze, pressing it up against his forehead with a pressure she knew all too well.
“Stell said your backhand was getting good, too,” she blushed at her boldness to say something so saucy, but two could play at whatever game he was always playing. He laughed, a soft little ‘too cool for school’ chuckle, pressing the tip of his tongue behind his top teeth.
“Did she?” he asked, his voice salacious and syrupy.
“Not like, in the face right?” she blurted out, “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask that. I don’t know why that came out.”
His chuckle got deeper, smooth and dark like seude, “No, no, never in the face. Just a couple on her ass.”
Libby blushed, shaking her head, embarrassed at the information. Eddie rolled with her giddy response, unable to ignore his fondness for her bubbling in his throat.
“Only when she’s been a bad girl,” he said, looking up at her, his fingers gently moving hers away from his forehead so he could hold the gauze that was soaked through with blood, “You’d know all about that, huh?”
She fell into a peal of nervous giggles when he winked at her with his good eye, causing a booming ‘HEY!’ from Steve to ring down the hall.
“Ope! Oops, totally forgot, no smiling. We can’t have any fun at all,” Eddie joked, zipping his lips and tossing the key behind him.
“No fun at all,” she whispered back with a smile, reaching back to get more gauze only to see that they were out, “Oh shoot, let me grab a couple of paper towels. I’ll be back in a second!”
“Don’t go wanderin’ too far, angel,” Eddie said, mimicking Steve’s gruff cadence.
“Stop it,” she said with a laugh, turning back to scold him from the door frame, “I’ll be back. Don’t pass out.”
“I’ve had worse,” he he sing songed while she walked down the hall. He had had worse – woken up with cuts and slices from some unknown source, praying he didn’t have tetanus. Concussions from falling down flights of stairs drunk on absinthe. Face planting on the sidewalk after a long night at the strip club putting who knows what up his nose. Dick still works, he’d say to himself when he’d wake up hung over and covered in a litter of bumps and bruises.
“Hi!” Libby beamed at you and Steve while bouncing into the kitchen. You saw her flushed face, knowing Eddie was in that bathroom working his charm on her. He could never helpself around a nervous girl with a pretty face, she was so easily flustered. Libby’s face fell when she noticed tension in the room, slowly pulling paper towels off the roll.
“Everything okay in here?” she asked, seeing the finished sandwhiches on the counter and you leaning silently up against the counter.
“Sure is, angel,” Steve said with a warm smile, nursing a cup off coffee – he hadn’t offered to make her one, “You behavin’ yourself in there?”
“Steve,” she said with a blush and an eye roll. He reached out to pull her in by the waist while she walked by, holding her close to him while he sat back on the stool. You watched him lean in to kiss her, his arm protective around her, his hand closing over her waist. He kissed her like he was claiming her, the grip on his coffee cup transferring to cup her cheek. You turned away towards the sink, grabbing yourself a glass of water. Their kiss felt like it was supposed to be private. As if Steve wanted it to make you uncomfortable.
You heard them separate and a little yelp come from her mouth when he smacked her ass as she went back into the hallway. Always had to claim what’s his. You rolled your eyes, still staring at the backsplash and sipping your water.
You started cleaning up, hearing Libby and Eddie’s giggles from down the hall, trying not to giggle yourself. God he was insatiable. You turned back around, seeing Steve’s clenched jaw and the way he gripped the mug in front of him.
“Lighten up, Steve,” you said, not even trying to be nice anymore. He hummed, drumming his fingers on counter.
“You don’t let her have any fun, of course she’s gonna find it where she can get it,” you said, crossing your arms,
“I think I’m plenty fun,” he said lazily.
“You know what I mean,” you said, “No caffeine after twelve while you’re sitting here nursing a double shot espresso? I mean for fuck’s sake she was afraid to get her nails painted. Who makes their girlfriend feel like that?”
“You sayin’ I don’t know how to treat my girl?” he snapped, a hand coming down flat and hard on the white quartz of the island.
“You’re her whole life, Steve. Every decision she makes rides on you think it’s the right one. Like – damn, y’know? She can take care of herself, is all I’m saying,” you said, still trying to remain sure in your voice while packaging the cold cuts back up. His harshness made you flinch, cold sweat collected at the back of your neck under your hair.
Steve breathed a small laugh out of his nose, “You would say that.”
“What do you mean?” you said, half way in the fridge, “I would say that?”
“Because you take care of yourself,” he said, “You don’t let Munson take care of you.” His tone was matter of fact, like he knew everything about the both of you from such a short time together.
“He takes care of me just fine,” you huff.
“Don’t think he was doing much of that when you left him for me to clean up.”
“I didn’t leave him for you to clean up, I didn’t even know he was gonna call you,” you glared, slamming the fridge closed, “And who the fuck are you anyway? He started boxing to work his shit out. All your shit’s still there and you’re fighting every week.”
“Oh, ho, ho, there she is,” Steve breaks out in a bitter smile, the agrumentative side of him revving up for a fight. You’re annoyed at him enoying getting a rise out of you, but you’re never one to let it go until you’ve had the last word, “America’s sweetheart with a mouth like a sailor, color me surprised.”
“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes, so used to the same comeback from scuzzy men who’d hear you swear at a bar, “Don’t avoid what I said. You got Libby shaking in her boots every time she’s out and about without you. That’s not okay Steve, she shouldn’t be so scared of making you upset. Like i said, you gotta let her have a little fun or you’re gonna lose her.”
Steve didn’t like that, you insinuating that she’d leave him if he didn’t let up. He was done pushing your buttons, now he was gonna just get mean.
“You wanna tell my girl to go have fun? She can have all the fun she wants, who am I to stop her? But you, Stell, you? You havin’ fun?” He squared his shoulders towards you, hands talking with him while he spoke. He justs his chin towards you while he asks.
“Of course,” you say, but your face and the catch in your throat betray you.
“Yeah?” his voice is filled with mock concern and certainty, “You havin’ fun when he comes home late? When you gotta bail ‘im outta jail? Don’t know where he’s been or who he’s been hangin’ out with? Whose ass he’s grabbin’ at the bar after he’s done doin’ lines? You havin’ fun when the budgets not matchin’ up and he’s lookin’ a little thin? When he stays in Malibu to train a little longer than usual?”
“Stop…” you start, choking on your words. Steve got up, predator to prey, on a roll now, taking slow steps toward you as your press yourself harder against the counter while he gets in your face. He knows he’s right by the way you’re reacting, and with the day he’s had and the giggles from down the hall, he can’t wait to hit more nails on the head.
“And why do you think that is, Stell?” he cocks his head the the side, hair coming with him, “Think it’s cause you kept lettin’ him come back every time he fucked up? Cryin’ on his lap like a kicked puppy, beggin’ him to be better for you? Please. Should’ve cut ‘im off for good – now he thinks he can do whatever he wants. How long you think he’s gonna stay clean this time, hm? What happens when you get that late night call, Stella? And you’ll take him right back, won’t you?”
“I…” you were at a loss for words, his voice was tight and hard. He scared you. Even with his sunglasses on you could see the tension in his face while he glared through you. His scent like Christmas time and blood, it filled you, it made it hard to breathe.
“Keep letting him get away with murder, and you wonder why you’re not sleepin’? Oh yeah, he told me and Libby all about it. Never sleeping, tense all the time. And he can’t imagine why, right? Cause he’s all better now? I know you know better. So be honest with me, huh Stell?” He reached up to peer down at you from behind his glasses, his amber eyes wicked while they met yours – a cool smirk on his face, the tip of his tongue flicking quickly against the inside flesh of his cheek, “You havin’ fun, angel?”
You couldn’t hold it in anymore, breaking down into a wracking sob in front of him – something you hated doing, rarely crying outside of acting. At least not in front of people like Steve. He strolled backed to his stool on the island, putting his sunglasses back over his eyes, the sound of you crying perking up a brewing headache.
Eddie came in quickly, knowing the sound of you crying better than a mother to her child, “Oh no, no, baby what’s wrong?” He ran to you, almost tripping on his sneakers on the tile, his embrace tight and safe – the safest you felt all day.
“What did you say to her?” Ed was shocked to even find you like this, his voice bleeding confusion, his chest vibrating against your ear, “What the fuck did you say?”
Libby came in slowly, starting to recognize that the sounds in the kitchen weren’t people having a good time. She stood in the entry way, eyes flitting from Eddie holding a version of you she never thought she’d see, nand then over to Steve. Her gaze turned to ice on him and he felt it.
“What did you do?” she asked, a bitter taste still on her tongue from your chat at the coffee shop.
“What did I do?” he asked back, incredulous, “You’re down the hall playing doctor with Eddie fuckin’ Munson and you wanna ask what I’m doin’?”
“That’s enough,” Eddie said, putting his hand up, the other still wrapped around you, “You wanna be mad at me? That’s cool man, be mad at me. Don’t be mad at her for putting a fuckin’ band aid on my forehead. You’re in here making my wife upset and that’s where I’m drawing the fuckin’ line. Sorry your girl patched me up and Stella took her out without the okay, but you don’t gotta take that out on her. Take it out in the ring man, isn’t that all you’re good for anyway?”
“Get out,” Steve’s voice was low and measured.
“No, guys you don’t have to leave, I–” Libby’s voice was desperate, aching for them to ignore Steve, but it was apparent that there wasn’t any fixing what might’ve been said.
“We’re heading out anyway,” Eddie interrupted, he got close to your ear, “You got your things, baby? Your purse in the car?”
You nodded and before you knew it you were back in the Jaguar, Eddie erratically pulling out of the condo lot and onto the road.
“Slow down,” you said through you tears, snot pouring down the back of your throat, “You’re going too fast.”
“I’m sorry I’m just…I’m so fuckin’ pissed right now,” he hissed, “The fuckin’ nerve of that asshole. Should’ve kicked his fuckin’ ass.”
The sun was starting to set over the horizon, leaving a hazy orange pink in the sky over the highway. It should’ve been the end of a good day, maybe you would pulled over and got dessert or a night cap before going home. It wasn’t long before you were back at the beach house, the sky an bright magenta behind the white stone of the mini mansion. He pulled his gym bag out from the back and went to your side of the car to let you out.
“C’mere sweet thing,” he held your hand all the way to the door, stepping into the cool air conditioned front hall. He takes you right to the living room, sitting you on the couch while you cry and gets on his knees. He silently takes your sandals off, rubbing your calves after each one, hoping you’ll start to calm down. He knows better than to press you before you’re ready, but he hadn’t seen you like this since your dad passed away.
Eddie’s hair tickled your neck while he sat next to you, one arm around your shoulder while he pulled you in against his chest, “What did he say to you, baby? What’s got you so upset?”
“I’m n-not having f-f-fun,” you said like you had just realized it yourself. You wriggled out of his hold, sitting cross legged over his thighs.
“Today? You don’t wanna come to the gym with me? That’s okay, baby. It’s boring,” he reassured with a little smile.
“No, Ed, I – I’m not having fun anymore,” you said, finally looking at him.
“With…with me? You’re not having fun with me anymore?” you could see his heart breaking in front of you. Replaying the day you kicked him out in his head all over again.
“I just,” another aching cry rolled through you, “When I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re not there it’s like…it’s like I can’t even breathe. Like you aren’t coming home again. Like you’re dead in a fuckin’ punk house or something. If you’re out at the bar too late, what cities you’re playing in where I know you can get oxy easy. I’m always waiting for the fucking call, Ed. I’m always waiting for the call.”
The words just kept pouring out of you, all the fears you’d had since you let him come back, since that night at the beach.
“And I just, I’m always scared you’re gonna be in those moods again. Never knowing who you’re gonna be that day. God you were such a fucking asshole when you needed to use. And it’s like, I gotta wake up and be at my call time but you’re in the bathroom for a little too long and I swear I think I hear you doing lines – and I know, I know you’re not. But it’s like I’ll never shake it off, baby. Like I’m always gonna be worrying about it.”
Your body aches when you really think about it, and you plead to him with begging eyes, “When am I gonna get to stop worrying about you, Ed? When do I get to have fun?”
He’s speechless, looking at you with his full lips slightly parted, his eyes glassy with tears that aren’t ready to fall yet.
“I – Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, his hands were shaking, anxious to hold yours but he could tell you didn’t want him to touch you.
“I didn’t want hurt your f-feelings,” you whispered, trying to control the lump in your throat. Wishing your tear ducts would just dry up so you could move on from the conversation. Eddie could never let it go until he knew were feeling better.
“Stell, I keep saying to you it’s okay to hurt my feelings about this,” he was frustrated with you, the vein in his neck greeting you with a pulse. You wiped your eyes, the weight of the whole day starting to feel heavy on your body, “Why can’t you hear me when I say that to you?”
“Can we maybe just talk about this later? I want to go take a shower and wash this whole day off me,” your groggy voice made his chest ache. He could see exhaustion peeking through under your eyes. Eddie slid his hand back and forth over your thigh and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah, no problem,” his voice was soft, savoring the lull in your tears. Seeing you upset was hard enough when he was shooting up Persian, it was even worse when he was sober, “I’ll go unpack for us, princess. We can order Thai, have a nice little night in, okay?”
You didn’t respond outside of getting off the couch and picking up your sandals to drop off in your closet upstairs before heading into the master bath, already shedding your tennis dress by the bed. Eddie would pick it up anyway. You only turned on the mirror lights, a deep warm yellow that barely lit up the room. You didn’t want any aid in feeling awake at all.
Your bare feet padded against the tile while you turned the walk in shower on, rain water head and deatchable head hissing while the water hit the ground. You caught yourself in the mirror while you waited for the water to heat up, mascara tears staining all the way down to your neck.
“Shit,” you whispered, padding back over to the sink to wash your face spending enough time on it that the bathroom had already steamed up. The steam was welcome, opening up your clogged, post cry sinuses, soothing your throat from trying to choke back your feelings.
With a clean face, you step in the shower, letting the hot water totally envelope you. It stings, but it feels deserved. You run your hands over your hair, breathing through your mouth while the water flows over your lower lip – you feel the tension rinse out of your body and down the drain, too.
You stand in the water for ten minutes, knowing it won’t get cold, before you reach for the shampoo bottle on the inlet shelf. You hear the door open but continue pouring the liquid into your hands, rubbing them together when you see him through the fog of the glass wall separating the shower from the bathroom. He flicks the stereo on, turning the sound on low before coming around the entrance to the shower.
Eddie doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He sees the shampoo in your hands and then looks back up at your face, depuffed from your cry from the steam. He’s all muscle and tattoos, a single chain around his neck with a guitar pick dangling above his pecs, hair getting wilder with the humidity.
He steps closer to you, the small splatter of his footsteps in the water reverberating off the walls. He can’t keep his hands to himself, reaching immediatley to your wet face hunching over to kiss you with more passion than your wedding day.
“You don’t gotta worry about it,” he whispers against your mouth, he weight pressed against you “I’m taking care of all of it, you hear me?”
He doesn’t give you a moment to respond, capturing your lips with his, his tongue snaking in past your teeth. You know he doesn’t close his eyes because you haven’t either – looking directly at each other while you kiss. You know he means it, you can feel him mean it.
Outside of your heaving breathing, the stereo still plays softly in the background. Steam building in the shower from anything but the heat of the water.
‘When the workin’, when the workin’ day is done. Oh when the workin’ day is done, oh girls. Girls just wanna have fun…They just wanna, they just wanna…’
#rockstar!eddie#rockstar!eddie munson#rockstar!eddie smut#rockstar!eddie munson smut#eddie munson rockstar au#eddie munson fan fiction#EDDIE MUNSON FANFICTION#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#stranger things fan fiction#steve harrington fan fiction#boxer!steve harrington#boxer!steve#steve harrington#eddie munson
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