strawberrysodaslut

[strawberrysodaslut]

The second that happens, you know I'll be there. I'll slip in. Have myself a real good day.

[strawberrysodaslut]

Also the measuring fic… in the works. Finally dipping my toes into Steddie and I LOVE these boys.

[strawberrysodaslut]

having a conversation with my mother about how long stranger things has taken and she says “I don’t care about it anymore! They killed Eddie so now I don’t care. They shouldn’t have killed him.”

I am NEVER telling her about this account so she will NEVER know how funny it is she said that.

Don’t worry ma we’re keeping him alive.

[strawberrysodaslut]

this shit pisses me off so badly like get the fuck off you’re not a writer

[strawberrysodaslut]

something something you walk in on the boys having an argument about whose dick is longer and it ends up with them measuring how much they can fit in your mouth — SOMEONE TAKE MY PHONE AWAY

[strawberrysodaslut]

HOT

HOT

HOT

Steve Harrington x Female!Reader x Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie and Steve are always arguing about something--this time, it's about their sexual abilities. Good thing you're there to referee. Loosely based off of this thought from the other night.

WC: 2.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), m x f x m, oral (f! receiving), fingering, light praise, masturbation (m!), unprotected p in v, handjob, semi-public sex, Reader wears a skirt, brief allusion to public exhibitionism.

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie and Steve were arguing again. 

That wasn’t out of the ordinary; just last week, you walked into work to hear them debating “the most bangable” non-human cartoon character: Rosie the Robot from The Jetsons or Chatta from Pink Panther and Sons. 

Most of the time, you were able to ignore their nonsense. When it got to be too annoying, you’d kick Eddie out or threaten Steve with the task of cleaning out the breakroom fridge. 

Either way, you and Robin generally let the boys duke it out while you gossiped and rewound VHS tapes. 

You could already tell that today was different as soon as you saw Robin listening intently and smirking between the two men. She never paid attention to them—not even the time they argued over the superior cheese to use for grilled cheese sandwiches. 

“That’s not possible,” Eddie was saying, shaking his head in disbelief. “Five times? No way.”

“What can I say, man? I’m that good.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly. “She even said I was the best she ever had.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t count if she’s a virgin.” She met Eddie’s hand in a high-five, much to Steve’s chagrin. 

“Trust me, Linda was not a virgin.” He grinned. “And she definitely isn’t one now.”

You wrinkled your nose as you pulled on the forest green Family Video vest. “Do I want to know what’s going on?”

Three answers arrived simultaneously: “No,” from Robin, “Hell yes,” from Steve, and “Just more of Harrington’s bullshit,” from Eddie. 

“Consider my interest piqued.” You rested your forearms on the counter. The only thing that got you through these monotonous shifts was gossiping with your friends. 

Eddie huffed out an impatient laugh. “King Steve thinks he made a girl come five times last night.”

“I don’t think it. I actually did it,” Steve rebutted. “Just because you’ve never even made a girl come once—”

“I’ll have you know that these babies do more than just strum a guitar.” Eddie wiggled his fingers. 

This time, a fake-retching noise accompanied Robin’s eye roll. “That’s my cue to leave.” She punched her time card and started towards the door. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think either of you are the Casanovas you claim to be.”

Steve’s brows wrinkled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t think either of you dinguses could find the clit if it had an arrow pointing to it,” she called over her shoulder before turning to you. “Godspeed, soldier.”

You saluted her and reached for the pile of returned videotapes waiting to be reshelved, but Eddie’s hand grabbed your wrist before you could even take one.

“Can you just tell him that no woman comes five times in a row?”

“I could, but I’d be lying.” You shrugged and plucked Carrie from the top of the pile. “Have these been rewound yet?”

But your tidbit had Eddie staring at you, wide-eyed. That was your mistake—you should have ignored his question entirely. Whatever, you were in it now. 

“I thought that only happened in por—” he started, the tips of his ears turning pink when he realized what he’d said aloud. “I mean—”

“Relax. It’s not like I don’t know your rental history.” You gestured to the computer. “Unless XL Sausage Delivery for Lola is actually about pizza.”

Steve let out a belly laugh, far too cocky for someone who is most likely lying about his own escapades. 

“That being said,” you continued, looking at Steve, “I highly doubt that you made her come five times. Maybe twice, tops. And that’s being generous.”

You didn’t have any proof of Steve’s sexual abilities—or inabilities, for that matter. But based on your own experiences, no man had the patience to make his woman orgasm five times before he even came once. 

It was enough for Eddie to throw out a haughty “ha!” towards Steve, who promptly retaliated by flipping Eddie off. You took the opportunity to bring some of the tapes into the back room to be rewound, leaving the boys to their spat. 

“Hold on.” Steve barrelled through the door before you could even start rewinding the first VHS. “You really don’t believe me? Or are you just fucking around!”

You didn’t take your eyes off of the rewinder as you answered, “I believe that you believe you made her come five times.” 

Eddie’s shit-eating grin remained plastered on his face. “Sorry, Harrington. Looks like it’s two against one.”

“I can prove it.” Steve blurted out.

You raised your brows, not quite sure if you wanted clarification, but curiosity got the better of you. 

“What? Are you gonna try to make me come?” You snorted, but a serious expression quickly replaced your smile when he nodded. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Look, all I’m asking is for you to let me give you one teensy-weensy orgasm. Or a gigantic mind blowing one.” Steve shrugged. “It’s your body.”

Before you could reply, Eddie cleared his throat. “And then, uh, I get a turn?”

“Why would you get a turn?” And why were you still entertaining this? “If you two are so determined to prove that you can give someone an orgasm, why don’t you give one to each other?”

“Because we,” Eddie gestured between himself and Steve, “are not the ones with lady parts.” 

You considered their offers. It wasn’t as if you’d never fantasized about them touching you–though you could honestly say you’d never imagined one touching you while the other watched and waited for his chance.

The whole notion was utterly insane. Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson were standing in the middle of Family Video and asking you, nearly pleading with you, to make you come. You could barely believe it was actually happening.

Yet here they were, waiting for your answer. As annoying as they were, you knew that if you turned them down, they’d respect your ‘no’ and find some other asinine topic to argue over.

But maybe you didn’t want to turn them down. Maybe you wanted to quell the need building between your thighs and let them take care of you.

You shook Fast Times at Ridgemont High out of its case and popped it into the rewinder, but you didn’t press any buttons. “You have until this movie is done rewinding,” you said to Steve, swallowing the anxiety that caught in your throat. “After that, it’s Eddie’s turn.”

Steve nodded and ran his fingers through his perfectly-coiffed hair. His hand trembled slightly, as though he was caught off-guard by your acceptance.

“Yeah, that-that’s fair. You, uh, wanna sit down, or…?” 

You took a seat on the hardback folding chair that Keith had begrudgingly set out after months of begging him to let you sit during rewinds. 

Steve kneeled in front of you. “Can I take those off?” He gave a light tug on the nude pantyhose covering your legs, careful not to pinch your skin. 

When you nodded, he ran his hands up your thighs until they were underneath your denim miniskirt. He leaned in and pressed chaste kisses through the nylon; despite your nerves, your toes curled in your Doc Martens. God, he’d barely even touched you and you were already gone.

With the one brain cell that wasn’t focused on Steve’s lips, you asked Eddie to start rewinding the movie. You could only assume he did, because the next sound you heard wasn’t the button being pressed, but your tights ripping down the middle. 

“Sorry,” Steve said, though he didn’t seem apologetic in the least as he rucked your skirt up and kissed the wet spot where you’d already begun soaking through your panties. 

Given the time limit and the desire to prove Eddie wrong, you had assumed that Steve would be racing to help you cross the finish line. But he was all but wining and dining you, right thumb pulling your panties aside so he could lick up your center. 

“Shit.” The word came out with a shiver. Steve wasn’t just eating you out—he was full-on making out with your pussy. His lips wrapped around your clit as his tongue brushed against every nerve ending. 

He hoisted your legs over his shoulders and pulled you closer. There was no holding back; not when he was groaning and licking and kissing so loudly that the noises surrounded you. 

Another groan, this one less muffled, tore through your haze. You blinked to see Eddie palming at the straining bulge in his jeans, the other hand undoing his belt. 

Holy shit. Eddie Munson was jerking off to the sight of you getting your pussy eaten by Steve Harrington. 

Steve—he pulled back for just a second, his lips and chin shiny with your slick. 

“Pause the fucking tape.”

“W-What?”

“Munson wins. I don’t care.” Steve’s eyes blazed with determination. “But I don’t think I can stop just to prove a point. I wanna take my time.”

Eddie didn’t gloat like you expected. He kept one hand in his boxers, gripped tightly around his erection, while he clicked random buttons on the rewinder until the tape hissed to a stop. 

“And I want you to tell me how she looks when she comes for me,” Steve said to Eddie, who nodded in response.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were Steve’s tongue in and out of your pussy and three by separate sets of moans. His fingernails dug into your thigh, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks as proof that he was there.

You clenched around nothing as he circled your clit once again. More—you needed more—

“Fingers,” you managed through a jolt of pleasure. “Use—use your fingers.”

Steve hummed his approval and obliged, his middle finger stretching you deliciously. You’d noticed how thick his fingers were prior to tonight, but you couldn’t fully comprehend just how incredible they’d feel inside of you.

Your legs shook atop his shoulders as your orgasm approached. 

“I’m–I’m gonna–”

Eddie grunted, stroking himself while he found his words. “She’s so pretty, Harrington. So goddamn beautiful, oh, fuck…”

Maybe you would have been embarrassed by his compliments if you weren’t being hurtled towards release from Steve’s tongue and now a second finger, slightly curled and rhythmically pumping in and out of you. You barely made out his murmurs, catching the words every so often.

“Good girl–so good–tastes amazing–for me–”

There was no time for bashfulness. You threw your head back and called out his name. Were you shouting or whispering? Were you even saying anything, or were you only talking to yourself? From the feeling of Steve’s smile against you, you assumed it was the former.

He gently lapped up the mess you’d made before bringing your feet back down on the ground. The ground of Family Video. Where you worked. Steve Harrington just tongue- and finger-fucked you at your job, and from the looks of it, Eddie Munson was ready to take his place.

“Bend over the chair.” His voice was a commanding growl in your ear. 

The undone belt buckle clanged as he shoved down his boxers. His erection left a smudge of pre-cum on his Metallica t-shirt, and you had to hold yourself back from taking him into your mouth until he spilled every last drop.

Instead, you followed his very clear directions and positioned yourself over the chair. You hadn’t bothered to fix your skirt or panties from Steve’s turn, and Eddie audibly groaned when he realized you were already on display for him.

And Steve…the poor man was completely bricked up, hazel eyes blown wide with lust. After the pleasure he’d given you, it would be cruel to leave him without his own.

“C’mere.” You crooked a finger towards him and he took a step closer. “Lemme help you.”

“Y-You wanna…you wanna help me? I mean, yeah, of course.” He unclasped his own belt and straddled the chair seat, not bothering to hide his eagerness.

You nearly gasped when you saw him. His cock was longer than Eddie’s, though Eddie’s was thicker. Steve’s curved to the right, and your mouth watered at the prospect of your tongue tracing the vein that snaked down his shaft. If only your position afforded that.

Maybe next time, you thought. Would there be a next time? There was no way you could see both boys like this–that they could both see you like this–and just leave it at one night. Right?

The pondering only lasted for a hummingbird’s heartbeat before Eddie slid inside you. Thank God for the preparation from Steve’s fingers, because Eddie was big. 

“You’re so tight.” Eddie gripped your hips and delivered a swift smack to your ass, not hard enough to leave a bruise but still teetering between pleasure and pain. “Fuck, Harrington, why didn’t you tell me she was so tight and so fucking warm.”

“Why spoil the surprise?” Steve snickered, but his amusement was cut short when you wrapped your hand around him, leaned over, and spit on the tip. “Oh, Christ.”

You moved your hand in time with Eddie’s thrusts. Steve grabbed onto the back of the chair as you worked him, bucking his hips up and giving you total control. It was a stark contrast between the man who had eaten you out with such voracity that you thought you’d pass out.

Eddie wrapped his arm around you until his middle finger rubbed against your clit. The movement had you grasping Steve tighter–not that he seemed to mind.

“Holy shit.” Steve muttered, the swear hardly audible over the lewd noises coming from your pussy. You’d never been this wet before. You could feel your arousal dripping down your legs. “Faster, honey. There ya go, just like that…”

“She’s so good,” Eddie agreed, his own pace speeding up. “The way this ass bounces…Harrington, you’ve gotta take her from behind next time.”

So there will be a next time. Good to know.

Steve just nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his jawline. He thrusted into your grip one last time before pulling away and kissing you. It was sloppy and rushed, his lips almost missing yours, but you still managed to taste yourself.

“Sorry, I just gotta–” He took himself in his own fist and stood beside Eddie, tapping the head of his aching cock on your ass. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come on your ass, okay, honey?”

“Mhm.” You bit your lip as Eddie slammed into you. His tells weren’t totally clear yet, but you had a feeling that he wasn’t far behind. Neither were you, if you were being honest–and you currently lacked the capacity to lie.

Steve let out a groan, his cum warming your skin while he chanted your name. Part of you wished he had finished in your hand so you could taste him the way he had you, but you certainly had no complaints about this option, either.

“Steve…Eddie…” You panted. “I’m close. Please, just a little more…”

A little more what, you weren’t exactly sure. There wasn’t much more you could take without completely eviscerating into a cloud of desire.

“Go look at her, Harrington,” Eddie said through wanton moans. “Your turn to see how pretty she is when she comes.”

And then Steve was there, tilting your chin so he could get a glimpse of you as you fell apart. “Pretty? She’s gorgeous.” He leaned in to kiss you once more, this time slowly and carefully. Like you were something delicate to protect. 

His tongue still held an essence of you, and the moment it touched yours, it was all over. You exhaled a choked whimper into his mouth as you reached your second peak of the night.

Eddie slammed into you, his body crumpling so his chest rested on your vest-clad back the second he finished riding out his orgasm. His heaving breaths tickled your ear before he pressed a soft kiss to the crook of your neck.

“You,” he started, nipping at your skin, “are in-fucking-credible.”

You loosened a laugh. “I could say the same about you both.” You stood up when Eddie did and fixed your skirt. “I’ll have to tell Robin that you both can, in fact, find the clit with no issues.”

“Yeah, but I found it from behind,” Eddie pointed out, tucking himself into his boxers and zipping his jeans. “Harrington was up close and personal. Anyone could find the clit like that.”

“Seriously?” Steve scoffed. “If we’re gonna do this, then let’s talk about how I made her come without having to use my dick. That was all mouth and fingers, baby.” 

You reached for your pantyhose before remembering that Steve had torn them in his quest for your pleasure. The last thing you wanted right now was to listen to another argument. While they weren’t watching, you slipped off your panties.

“Feel free to keep talking, boys. I’ll just be reshelving movies.” You shook the underwear in front of them. “Hope I won’t have to bend over to put them on the bottom shelf.”

--

[strawberrysodaslut]

this is so scrumptious i love bitchy reader

petition to make all readers a lil bitchy incoming

ARE YOU BORED YET? - part one

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're steve's “bitchy” step-sister and are spending the summer in hawkins; eddie is steve's annoying best friend who you can’t seem to shake, but things take a sharp turn when you find yourself sneaking around and ultimately falling for him

contains: slightly enemies to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, smoking, secret relationship vibes, tension, and eddie being a certified tease <3

word count: 7k

chapter song: foxey lady x jimi hendrix

| next part |

| series masterlist | their mixtape I -main masterlist- I

Eddie hates summer.

Most people hate summer due to boredom, but if Eddie’s being honest, he’s never been bored a day in his life— Eddie can make staring at the wall a fun game if he wants to— so, no, Eddie doesn’t hate summer because of boredom. Eddie hates summer because it’s so fucking hot. It’s hot, and the sun is always out, and Eddie burns like fucking bacon in an oven— and it doesn’t help that over half of Eddie’s wardrobe is the color black. Do you know how hard it is to be a metalhead with long hair and black jeans in the middle of a summer heatwave? It’s hard.

Now, you would think that with this knowledge of his undying hate for the heat, Eddie would do everything in his power to stay out of it— except Eddie’s friend is kind of a picturesque summer lover boy and drags Eddie everywhere with him no matter how intense satan’s wrath feels that day. So now, Eddie sits in the airport carpool lane, nearly drowning in his sweat as he waits for Steve’s step-sister to get off the plane.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t ask Robin to come with you,” Eddie grumbles as he tugs the front of his black muscle tee open and shut in a fanning manner. It doesn’t do much to cool him down, considering the dry heat that’s settled over Hawkins. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been this hot in his life if he’s being honest.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching people filter out of the airport, dragging luggage behind them as they spot their rides. Steve doesn’t bother looking Eddie’s way when he responds, “I already told you— Robin’s been too busy shoving her tongue down her girlfriend's throat all summer,” he grimaces, “Plus, I know my step-sister, and I know she has at least three suitcases— all of which will fit perfectly in your van.”

Eddie’s the one to roll his eyes now, irritation settling in his bones as the seconds pass like minutes. “Asshole,” Eddie mumbles as he shifts in his seat. He’s sticky everywhere. Sticky, wet, and gross, and he’s sweating in places that he’s almost one hundred percent sure shouldn’t be sweating. He huffs as he turns his attention to the exit of the airport, eyes scanning through different people as he asks, “...Well, what’s she look like anyway?”

Steve scoffs, “You’ll know it’s her when you see her. Just look for a girl that looks like she came straight out of a Baywatch episode.”

Eddie thinks for a moment, brows furrowing before he speaks, “So… someone hot?”

Steve grimaces and turns to Eddie, “Ew. Gross, dude, no— that’s my sister—” “Step-sister.”

Steve shakes his head and turns back to people watching, “She’s from California, pervert. I meant look for someone who looks like an asshole from California.”

Eddie’s not sure why Steve would ever decide to associate Baywatch with anything other than hot, sun-bathed babes, but Eddie’s too irritated with the heat to argue his point and instead nods his head in understanding. 

“She’s probably wearing heels, and she’s probably in some over-the-top girly outfit— and again, she’s probably lugging at least three suitcases.” Steve further explains.

Eddie nods and purses his lips. “So…” he pauses and thinks for a moment, “Malibu Barbie?”

Steve snaps his fingers and points to Eddie as he glances at him, “Exactly. And forewarning— she’s a total bitch.”

Eddie nods, lips pursed as he takes the information in. Eddie scans the crowd of people for some time, growing frustrated when he finds no sign of a bitchy-looking Malibu Barbie running around Hawkins, but then…

It’s as if a cool breeze drifts through the devil’s heat, and Eddie feels something other than absolute dread when the airport's sliding doors open and out steps a girl that fits the very description Steve had just given— only, you’re even better in real life.

Eddie swears time slows down when he sees you— pretty, glowy skin glistening in the summer sun, the light wash jean skirt you’re wearing is hugging your waist sinfully, leaving little to nothing for Eddie’s imagination as his eyes travel down your legs. Soft, shiny, perfect legs with doughy thighs that Eddie thinks would make his brain short-circuit if he ever got the chance to feel them. 

Eddie’s mouth may as well become a fountain with the way it fills with spit at the sight of your soft tummy, peeking out from the tiny sliver your top leaves— god, is that a fucking belly ring? Your shirt hugs your tits in an ungodly way— well enough to make Eddie stir within his pants because, seriously, how do they look so perfect? Eddie thinks you’ve come straight out of one of the porno magazines he’s got stuffed in his junk drawer.

You’re a dream. Dreamtime fucking central. 

Sex on legs or whatever they say— Eddie doesn’t know; he just knows you’re really fucking hot, and you’re about to get into his disgusting, old, and dirty van.

Eddie’s hand nearly caves Steve’s chest in when he smacks his friend, “Dude,” his face twists in disbelief, “Why didn’t you tell me she’s like—” “Jesus Christ, Eddie, do not tell me you think my step-sister is hot.” Steve groans as he rolls his head on his neck.

“But she is!” Eddie exclaims.

“Well, she’s off limits,” Steve quickly shuts the idea down, "For everybody in this town, especially you.” He points an accusing finger at Eddie, and Eddie can’t help the way his eyes roll. What could Eddie possibly do to somebody like you? As if you would even give him a chance.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s dating some douchebag quarterback from her school. She’s got a new boyfriend every time she comes home.” Steve grumbles— which immediately confirms it; you would never give Eddie, someone who has never willingly touched any set of balls other than his own, the time of day.

That doesn’t mean Eddie can’t admit you’re drop-dead gorgeous, though. Because you are. And Eddie kind of forgets what he’s doing here in the first place until Steve unbuckles himself and gets out, and Eddie remembers— oh yeah, I’m here to pick up this extremely hot girl in my extremely run-down van.

Whatever.

Eddie will live, he thinks. He unbuckles and gets out of the van, rounding the front of his van to step onto the sidewalk, where Steve calls your name and grabs your attention. You spot them immediately, your expression unreadable as you wave a flight attendant over to follow you. And yeah, that’s more than three suitcases being pushed behind you.

You glance at Eddie when you get closer, your cute little kitten heels clicking against the cement floor— who wears heels to the airport?

“This is disgusting.” You say as you gesture to the air. And Eddie couldn’t agree more. This heat is disgusting, and he couldn’t imagine being in it with heels. 

Steve hums, “Welcome back to paradise.”

You roll your eyes, handing your carry-on to Steve. Steve grunts at the weight of it, glaring at you as he stumbles from your force, “Did you fucking move out?” he stresses when he sees the cart of suitcases behind you. You grimace, “Like I would ever move here. Where’s your car?” 

You don’t acknowledge Eddie as you glance around, and Eddie’s honestly too stunned to speak— and is that your perfume he’s smelling? Jesus Christ, Eddie wants to fall to his knees right here on this cracked pavement. 

Steve rolls his eyes at your response and turns to open the back doors of the van, “My car wouldn’t be able to hold your fifty suitcases, so I came prepared,” he throws a fake smile as he tosses your bag in, ignoring your warning to, “Be careful with my stuff, asshole.”

Steve waves you off before he gestures lazily to Eddie, “This is my friend, Eddie, by the way.”

And for the first time, you look at Eddie. It’s then that Eddie’s bodily autonomy finally comes back, and he remembers that he has control over his limbs. He waves, tossing out a lazy hey as he opens the back doors of his van, “Heard tons about you,” he grunts as he loads in another suitcase.

You huff as you cross your arms, “I doubt it.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, not much.” He admits. “But when I heard Malibu Barbie was coming into town, I knew I had to see her for myself.” He winks.

You grimace, rolling your eyes with a groan, “Gross.” You grumble before yanking the side doors open and stepping in.

Eddie can’t help but smile as he finishes loading your suitcases.

Steve had run off somewhere to find an ATM; something about needing to tip the attendant who helped you with your luggage, so it’s only you and Eddie in the van when Eddie hops back into the driver's seat. 

It’s silent for a moment, achingly so, and Eddie takes it upon himself to turn the radio on, forgetting that the volume had been amped to the highest level. The music blares through his speakers— nearly blows them out— and Eddie almost jumps out of his seat as he scrambles to reduce the volume, awkwardly laughing as he glances back at you and speaks, “Sorry about that…”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you stay seated, arms crossed over your chest, legs crossed, and your glossed lips pouted in boredom. Eddie turns back to the front, the radio now a soft hum as he taps his decorated fingers on the steering wheel. He purses his lips briefly, his skin itching because Eddie has never done well with silence, so— “You listen to Iron Maiden?” He asks.

“No.” You flatly respond.

Your tone is dull and bored, and Eddie nods again as if it softens the blow. Eddie avoids opening his mouth again, too afraid that whatever comes out will just piss you off even more, so he keeps quiet. But he can’t help it when his gaze flickers up to find you in his rearview mirror, watching as you huff and gaze out the window. 

It’s silent for a few long, crippling minutes before you speak, “Does this thing not have AC?”

Eddie purses his lips, fingertips tapping against his thigh as he shrugs, “Just takes a second.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you mumble, “Course it does.” 

Eddie lets it fall silent for a moment again, but Eddie’s never been one to like silence, so— “How’s college?”

“Do you usually talk this much?” You suddenly ask, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes at him. Eddie snorts, glancing around the airport for any sign of Steve, and he responds, “No, actually, I usually talk more than this. Wait ‘til you get me going about D&D.” He scoffs. 

Your face twists in confusion, “D&D?”

Eddie waits for a moment before turning to gaze at you. You look at him, an unwavering expression plastered across your face as you wait for Eddie to speak.

“…You don’t know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

You blink at Eddie, definitely contemplating if you could catch a flight back home before you respond, “Am I supposed to?”

Eddie shrugs, “Well, I mean, it’s only like the greatest game to ever fucking exist.” He stresses.

You roll your eyes and softly groan in disgust, “Ew. If you’re about to nerd out on me, I’d rather walk home in the heat.” You grimace.

And Eddie pauses, contemplating the amount of damage he’ll do if he continues to ramble about his favorite game— then he’ll really have zero chance with you, that’s for sure. But it’s not like he ever had one in the first place, right? 

Eddie turns back around, watching as people bustle around the airport. “Do you like games?” He can’t help but ask.

You take a slow and long breath, gathering your patience before you reply, “I can’t remember the last time I played a game, so no.”

Eddie’s face twists in concern, “What do you do for fun?” He glances in the mirror, watching as you gaze out the window.

You shrug, watching people as you speak, “Spend my dad’s money.”

Eddie lets it fall silent for a moment, a few responses rolling around in his head before you roll your eyes and speak again, “It was a joke. I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“Oh,” Eddie awkwardly laughs before glancing at you. “Well, the heels and cart full of suitcases didn’t exactly sell a ‘humble woman’ picture.”

You laugh then, “I didn’t say I was humble; I said I’m not a spoiled brat.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a difference.” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Eddie thinks it’s cute, the way you get flustered by his smart mouth. He wonders how much he can push and prod before you explode.

But before he can respond, Steve is swinging the passenger door open and hoping in, glaring back at you when he speaks, “Next time you come here— and god forbid you do— maybe try to keep the bags to a minimum of two. I just tipped that dude a hundred bucks.” He complains.

You teasingly coo at your step-brother, “Poor Stevie, having to use my dad’s money to pay for things.”

Eddie snorts at that, earning Steve's glare, which quickly directs Eddie’s attention to pull out of the airport. Steve settles in his seat, ignoring your annoyed mood as he grumbles, “Told you she’s an asshole.”

“Not bigger than yours.” You quickly whip back.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. So, the princess does have humor.

The house is quiet, something you hadn’t expected given how obnoxious Steve is, though you don’t take it for granted as you flip through a magazine and let the TV play in the back.

You don’t like coming into town, you never have. It’s dull and dreary in Hawkins, and you’re not quite sure why your father would give up the sunny California weather for this. Conservative townies that grow and die here— that’s all this town has to offer.

But there’s no point in complaining; you’re stuck here for the whole summer; otherwise, your dad will stop paying for your school. So, you do what you can to take your mind off of it, which includes drifting through magazines and wasting away with shitty TV shows.

Your stepmother has been home from work for nearly an hour, but you hardly give her complete sentences, so she made herself scarce. Her son, however, doesn’t get the memo as he bursts into the room. You say nothing, eyeing him as he sits on the opposite side of the couch and puts on his shoes.

“Get up, we’re going out.”

You train your eyes back on the magazine in your hands as you boredly mumble, “Not interested.”

Steve hums in annoyance as he shoves his right foot into a shoe, “Mom said I have to include you in shit, and I’m not in the mood to get bitched at for your shitty mood, so— get up, we’re going out.” He repeats before standing up to place his hands on his hips and look at you. You glare at him from behind the magazine before closing it, folding it over your stomach as you tilt your head, “And where exactly are we going? I can’t imagine there’s anything fun in this town— at least none that you would know of.” You jeer.

Steve sneers at you, stepping forward to dig the toe of his shoe into your shin, earning an annoyed kick from you. You swat at him with the magazine, striking him and earning a few curse words as Steve rips it from you and tosses it on the coffee table. He huffs as he turns to you with a huff, “Eddie’s band is playing tonight.” 

And that’s rich. It’s incredibly bold of Steve to believe you would ever willingly submit yourself to hear his weird, gross friend spit out nonsense into a mic. As if you hadn’t had enough of them two on the drive here. You scoff, leaning forward to grab your now crinkled magazine before laying back on the couch with a scoff, “Absolutely not.”

Steve snatches the magazine yet again, tossing it onto the opposite side of the couch as he glares down at you, “Too bad.” He snaps, stepping over your legs and walking over to the front door, “I’m leaving in ten,” he grabs his keys off the mantle, “Be ready, or I’ll drag you out myself.”

You watch him walk out with a slam of the door, a refusal dancing on your tongue. And Steve is, in no way, your boss. You’ll cut off your limbs before you let Steve boss you around— but fuck. If his mom is this hellbent on you two spending time together, you’re sure she’ll throw a fit at your refusal, which will ultimately end up being your dad’s problem, and he won’t hesitate to cut you off money-wise. So, with a dramatic huff and an undeniable reluctance, you stomp up to your room and get dressed.

The bar is exactly what you’d imagined— loud, grungy, and somewhere you would never be caught dead in. Yet, here you stand, arms crossed with a tabletop dogging into your lower back and a scowl etched across your face.

The smell of sweat, liquor, and cigarettes wraps around you like a dusty old jacket, sticky floors snapping beneath your shoes with every move you make. The walls are covered in graffiti, posters, and old stickers, and the crowd is primarily full of ripped denim, fishnets, and loud groups of friends.

It's not your scene.

Though you can’t seem to stop watching.

It’s like a movie. Something is happening in every corner of the place, with loud music blaring through the speakers and dancing lights kissing the grimy space. It’s chaotic. It’s noisy and dirty. And you feel so… misplaced.

Your outfit isn’t screaming country club, but it surely isn’t screaming anything close to this.

Steve brought a few other friends along, none of whom you care to learn the names of or attempt to hold a conversation with. You’re too busy trying to ignore the intense burning sensation of smoke in your eyes. 

“So, how long are you in town for?”

You glance over at the girl; you think her name is Robin, and shrug, “Unfortunately, the whole summer.” You sigh.

Robin hums, lips pursing in an apologetic look, “Bummer. Can’t imagine giving up a Californian summer for Hawkins.” 

You huff, something like a grim smile splitting your lips, “Wasn’t exactly my choice, but,” you shrug again, “No point in crying now.”

Robin raises her glass to that and takes a sip, allowing you to turn back to gaze about the room. You catch a few people headbanging near the stage, smiling as they enjoy the music pouring through the speakers. After a few moments, you lean into Robin. “Is it always this… rowdy?” you ask.

Robin follows your eyes to the group of friends by the stage and smiles, “This place was a shit hole a few years back, actually. Wasn’t much of anything, but Corroded Coffin brings some traction and, well, their music is pretty intense, just like their listeners.”

Your face twists in confusion then, “Corroded Coffin?”

Robin smiles with a nod, “Yeah, Eddie’s band.”

You nod and drag in a breath, diverting your attention back to the stage. So these people listen to Eddie’s music, or at least music similar to Eddie’s. You find yourself annoyingly intrigued. 

You gaze at the empty stage that awaits the band, and you hardly realize your mind has wandered as you begin to wonder what kind of show Eddie’s band will put on. Are they any good? You doubt it, honestly— you’re two minutes from a headache already. 

You’re not left wondering for long before the boys step onto the stage— four of them, all incredibly different in style yet cohesive in presentation. 

The lights shift, reds and blues pouring over the stage as the band takes their place, adjusting instruments and whatnot. You recognize Eddie immediately as he steps up to the mic, testing it for feedback.

He looks different up there. He looks like he belongs. Like this is his place, where he’s meant to be. The messy hair that you’d wrinkled your nose towards at the airport fits perfectly beneath the dim, flashing lights. His tattoos almost look as if they’re on display, like this is an art museum, and he is presenting the art on himself, there on the stage beneath the red hues.

He’s wearing a worn-out band tee with a name you don’t recognize, the sleeves cut off, and the sides ripped open just enough to be irritating. You can see his muscles working beneath his skin, tensing and relaxing as he moves about. He adjusts the mic, entirely at ease, like he’s done this a thousand times before. 

He greets the small crowd, humble with the low rumble of his voice, and beside you, Robin hollers out a small cheer that makes you jump— you’d been so lost in watching everyone that you’d almost forgotten you weren’t here alone.

His eyes drift towards the back where you are seated with Steve and his friends, mumbling a low thank you to Robin in the mic before his eyes dance a little to her left, and he meets yours. It’s only for a second before he looks away, and you find yourself relieved not to have been caught in that situation as he glances down at the guitar slung across his body, skilled fingers working the tuning pegs.

And then he smiles to himself.

It’s lazy and confident, the kind of smile that says I know you’re watching.

Your teeth dig into your tongue, your gaze immediately snapping away as if you’ve been caught looking at something you shouldn’t have been looking at. 

And as if he knew you were grappling with your resolve and only aimed to torment you more, the first note crashes through the speaker, and the show begins. 

It’s loud and raw. Nowhere close to the polished music you listen to, but despite your innate desire to hate everything about it— the rowdy crowd, the thrumming of bass on your chest, the chaos of it all— you only find yourself fascinated more than anything.

You sneak a few glances at Eddie every now and then. Quick ones that you will, later on, string together in your mind to create a stop-motion picture. He’s lost in it. He sings like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do besides breathing. His fingers fly over the fret of his guitar like he was born with it in his hands— and he works the stage like it’s nothing. He owns every inch of this room whether you like it or not— and the scary part is… you don’t seem to dislike it.

And as if that isn’t bad enough, Eddie keeps looking at you.

At every glance, no matter how little or discreet you try to be, Eddie’s eyes always find yours first. As if they never left. And in between songs, when he’s changing the tuning of his instrument or addressing the crowd, his eyes drift off towards the back and onto you, lingering long enough for you to feel it. 

And you refuse to react. You know what this is. You know what he’s doing, teasing and provoking your disdain for this night, and you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

After what feels like an eternity, the set ends. The bar erupts in applause, hoots, and hollers, and the band thanks them all as they hop down from the stage.

You stay glued to your seat, untouched drink resting on the table beside you as you watch Eddie and his band pack up the stage. You lose interest after some time, eyes going back to watching the different scenes of the room. And you had been so focused on everything around you that you didn’t even notice the curly-headed boy make his way up to you.

“Didn’t peg you for a metal fan, princess.”

You look at him, the devilish smirk on his face as he drags a barstool next to you and swings a leg over— invading your space. You can feel how warm he is, seeping through your clothes and penetrating your very soul as you wonder if he knows the concept of personal space.

“I’m not.” You boredly reply.

His brows raise for a split moment, taunting just like his voice as he asks, “No?”

“No.”

“And yet here you are.” He gestures to the dingy bar. 

You scoff out a humorless laugh, “Not by choice.” 

Eddie grins, shifting on the barstool to let his legs hang more open. You look— just for a second. The thickness of his thighs, the way they strain against his jeans. Stupid. You snap your gaze away before he can notice.

Eddie snags your drink without asking. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” He says, briefly sniffing the drink before deciding it’ll do. His lips press right over the stain of your lipstick. You know he notices. 

Your stomach tenses, but your expression never falters from neutral as you watch him toss the drink back. He drags his pink tongue between his lips, savoring the taste. 

The sight is infuriating. 

“Take drugs before your little show?” You ask, voice dry.

Eddie hums, snapping his tongue at the taste of your drink before pointing a finger at you matter-of-factly, “I did, actually.”

You condescendingly coo, “Must explain your hallucinations then.”

Eddie chuckles, slow and lazy, as if he expected that response. He shifts on the barstool, taking his time to think, swirling his finger around the rim of the glass a few times before tilting his head toward you, “No one’s gonna, like, lose it if you say you liked the show, you know?” He points out. 

Your jaw tightens. 

“I mean,” he continues, “given the few precious hours I’ve gotten to know you,” he places a faux-heartfelt hand over his chest, leaning in like he’s making some grand confession, “I don’t think you’d waste a second being somewhere you don’t want to be.”

You grimace at his theatrical performance. But the worst part?

He’s not wrong.

You hate wasting your time, and you don’t put yourself in situations you can’t stand. But did you really have a choice tonight? Not when Steve’s mom is at home, probably working out a million ways to make your life a living hell by forcing you to spend time with her perfect son.

You shrug, playing it off, “Again, not by choice.”

Eddie hums, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head, “Everyone has a choice, princess.” He lulls, slowly letting a lopsided grin split across his lips when he looks at you. 

The heat that pricks at the base of your neck is aggravating. Not from embarrassment— from irritation. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. And you thank god the lights in here are dim because, god forbid, Eddie sees any physical evidence of his effect on you.

He’d probably misconstrue it and think you liked him. 

You ignore him, “Don’t call me that.” 

Eddie hums, tilting his head like he didn’t hear you, “What? Princess?” 

“Yes.”

He purses his lips briefly, considering, before grinning again, “Would you rather be called Barbie— because those are my top names for you, doll.” He offers. 

Your stomach churns at the thought. 

You visibly cringe then, looking at him as you make a sound of disgust, “Neither.” 

Eddie gives shrugs, “Why not? It fits you.”

You roll your eyes, unable to keep the annoyed look off your face, “Because it’s annoying.” 

“So are you.”

You freeze.

Your eyes snap to him, glaring and hot.  He’s smirking around the rim of your glass before tipping back the rest of the drink like it’s his.

“Excuse me?” You bite out. 

Eddie puts the empty glass down and slides off the barstool with a deep sigh, swinging it back over to the table he’d stolen it from before throwing a wink your way, “Thanks for coming to the show, princess.”

And as he walks away, leaving you steaming, you realize—

This is going to be your entire summer.

The first weeks of summer are miserable.

A thick and relentless heatwave has settled over Hawkins, turning every breath into a chore. It clings to you, wrapping around your bones from the second you wake up to the moment you rest your head on your pillow again. It makes every movement exhausting. 

You spend most of your days sitting in front of a fan, dreaming about California— the cool ocean breeze, the lack of mosquitoes, the ability to breathe without suffocating. 

When the sun begins to dip behind the trees, you escape to the backyard, wasting hours by the pool, dangling your legs in the water, relaxing in the few hours of cool air the evening brings you

At night, you run up the phone bill, flipping onto your back and spending hours talking to friends from school, twirling the cord around your fingers, your friend's voices drifting through the static. You talk about everything— who’s dating who, what parties you’re missing, how much you want to be anywhere but here. 

Inevitably and routinely, Steve ruins it.

He always does.

“Shut up!” He yells from the intercepted line, “Some of us actually want to sleep!” 

You roll your eyes, pressing the phone harder against your ear. You don’t shut up, and you don’t ever plan on it.

Steve isn’t the only problem this summer, though.

No— he’s not even the worst one.

Because for the first time in the history of knowing Steve, he is not the leading cause of your headaches. 

That honor belongs to Eddie Munson.

Eddie is obnoxiously, disgustingly everywhere. 

And you don’t know why.

You’re not sure what path of destruction Steve has chosen, but suddenly, Eddie is constantly in your house. 

It’s like some rotting, stoner apocalypse has overtaken the upstairs— video games blaring, pantry raids, the distinct smell of weed they air out through Steve’s window— it’s twenty-four seven.

And no matter what you do or where you go, Eddie makes sure you know he’s there.

— As you walk past Steve’s room:

“Bring up a soda when you come back, princess!”

“No!”

“Worth a shot.”

— Late at night, when you’re sneakily digging through your stepmother’s stash of chocolate:

“Don’t you get tired of having to match all of your pajamas? I’ve never seen you in regular shorts and t-shirts.”

“Don’t you get tired of wearing that ratty old t-shirt every day?”

Eddie grins, “You noticed. Cute.”

— Or in the backseat of Chase’s car as he drives you to a friend's house:

“You look good today, special occasion?”

“Stop trying to hit on me. Steve, tell your friend to stop hitting on me.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie responds, “I think you like it.” 

“It kills me inside a little, honestly.”

“God, that’s so hot.”

“Gross.”

It’s constant.

It’s guaranteed at this rate that if Eddie is in the vicinity, he’ll find a way to get on your nerves. And the most annoying part of it all is you feel something. There in the pit of your stomach, or sometimes your chest. 

You think it might be early onset asthma from the amount of secondhand smoke you’ve had to endure around him.

That being said, since you’ve spent the past few weeks growing used to Eddie’s constant presence, you can’t help but notice how he has yet to bother you at the bonfire Steve has dragged you to— another courtesy of his darling mother.

You hadn’t seen much of Eddie all night, only at the start of the evening when he had first arrived. And with Eddie and Steve being your only ‘friends’ here and the former having gone missing, you’re kind of pissed when Steve says he’s going off to be with some girl for the night.

“Why can’t you drop me off at home now?” You frown as you storm after your stepbrother. Steve groans, “Because it’s a total boner killer— oh, sorry, I just have to drop off my sister at home real quick,” he mockingly says before cringing, “Are you kidding me? No.” He scoffs.

You’re the one to groan now, stomping after him as he weaves through the cars parked on the hill in front of the lake— “You can’t just leave me here, Steve!” You stress as Steve makes it to his car, which is already occupied by a girl in the passenger seat as she waits for him.

Steve glances at you, “Would you relax? I’m not leaving you stranded; I’ll be gone for an hour— maybe two.” He rolls his eyes when you dramatically groan. “Look, just talk to someone to pass the time. And if you really want to leave, find Eddie.” He shrugs before opening his door.

“I haven’t even seen him all night.” You point out, to which Steve just shrugs again before pointing over your shoulder, “Couldn’t have gone far if his van is still here.”

And sure enough, when you glance over your shoulder, Eddie’s van is parked just a few cars down. You turn back to plead for Steve to take you home but are disappointed to see him already in his car, waving a taunting hand in farewell as he backs out.

Then you’re stranded. You’re stuck, all by yourself, at a bonfire you could care less about with people you don’t even know.

And you miss home more than you can afford to admit.

You find yourself walking towards Eddie’s van, leaves crunching beneath your feet as you grumble your way to the front of the car. Given the height of the vehicle, it's hard, but you manage to climb your way up onto the van's hood, cool metal pressing against your thighs as you settle on it. 

You’re hardly paying attention when Eddie walks up, too busy plotting ways to escape back to your home when he clears his throat. You look up, catching his gaze as he walks up to the front of the van, tilting his head in question as he looks at you perched upon his car.

“Didn’t know you’re so eager to see me, doll.” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, glancing away at the distant flicker of fire, “Don’t flatter yourself; Steve left me stranded here, so I need a ride home.” You grumble at the last part, glaring at him when he hums.

Eddie grins, walking closer until he can turn and rest against the car's grille, “Left you with good company then.” He teases as he digs out a cigarette from his pocket.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat of his body seeping into the skin of your leg. “I’d beg to differ.”

He snickers, pearly teeth peeking out behind his grin as he sticks the cigarette between his lips. You watch him light the end of the stick, thin trails of smoke leaving the side of his mouth before he pulls in one quick drag. 

He exhales, a cloud of smoke wrapping around you both as he glances at you, shifting with a deep sigh before he speaks, “So,” he starts, “What’s it like? The whole college thing.”

You think for a moment, glancing at the bonfire some yards away before you shrug, kicking your heel again, “Fast. Loud. Always something going on.” You briefly reply. 

Eddie hums as he takes another drag, “Sounds awful.”

You huff a small laugh, “Yeah, you’d hate it.” You agree— which is true. Most days, you hate it, too.

You nudge him with your foot, suppressing a grin when he nudges you back as you ask, “What about you?”

Eddie snorts, “M’not in college, princess.”

You roll your eyes, “I know that,” you dismiss, “I meant, like… Do you ever plan on leaving this place?”

Eddie hesitates momentarily, distracting himself with his cigarette before he shrugs, “Nah.”

You suspect he’s lying, but he doesn’t give you a chance to pry before he speaks up, “You ever smoked before?”

Your lips curl in disgust, “No. Gross habit.” You grumble.

Eddie glances at you, raising an eyebrow as he takes a drag. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he says, plucking the cigarette from his lips and raising it to you. “Go ahead, princess. Let’s see what you’re made of, " he challenges. 

Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the burning paper between his fingers, “No thanks.”

Eddie hums, tilting his head tauntingly, “Scared?” He teases. 

“No.” You snap.

He wiggles the cigarette at you, “Then take a hit.” He says with a teasing lilt to his voice.

You glare down at him, eyes slightly narrowed— and it’s so stupid. You know Eddie is only doing this as some silly way of provoking you. You know he wants you to do the predictable thing, which is snap back with some witty remark, but as you look at the curly-haired boy smirking up at you with that dark glint in his eye, you know there’s only one thing you have to do.

You take the cigarette.

“Fine.” You grumble. 

Eddie raises a brow as he turns to face you. He now stands before you, watching you turn the burning paper between your fingers. “Pointers?” You ask.

Eddie’s lips twitch in a smirk, boots crunching against the leaves as he steps closer, the chain on his pants brushing against your ankle. “Don’t cough and embarrass yourself.” He teases, to which you roll your eyes, “Helpful.” You mutter. 

He grins as he cages you in, one palm pressed to the hood of the car as the other gestures to the unlit end of the cigarette, “Lips here and just inhale slow; don’t overthink it.” 

You nod, gazing at the cigarette before you shrug and bring it to your lips with not much of a mental preparation— because how hard can it be to smoke a cigarette? Apparently, it’s hard— because one moment you’re breathing just fine, and the next you’re coughing up a lung on Eddie Munson’s car hood.

You cringe, coughing violently as your eyes well up with tears. “Shit—” you hold up the cigarette with a grimace, “People actually like this stuff?” You question with a groggy voice, coughs still sputtering up from your chest. Eddie laughs, a real, guttural laugh, as he takes his gift from you, “Good, right?” He asks.

You shake your head, eyes wild, as you look at him. “No! Not at all, " you stress. “I won’t be trying that again.” You shake your head, watching as he takes a drag, lips pulled into a smirk as he looks at you.

He blows the smoke off to the side, still gazing up at you as he jokes, “You’re already halfway to a badass reputation, princess.”

You roll your eyes, pressing your palms onto the car hood as you slightly lean forward, your body slowly relaxing after having nearly lost a lung. “Right, because sharing a cigarette with a guy like you in the middle of a shitty bonfire is exactly how I pictured my future as a child.”

Eddie rolls his tongue behind his cheek for a moment, his lips twitching with something like a lazy smile before he asks, “A guy like me?”

You hum in confirmation, and he slightly narrows his eyes. “What does that look like?” He asks.

Your eyes dance, something charged dancing between you both that you, upon weak judgment, decide to ignore. 

“Reckless. Irresponsible. Cocky.” You list off.

Eddie hums, feigning understanding, “Bad company for a girl like you, I assume?” He prods. 

And you don’t have to ask what he thinks you are before you nod, “Absolutely.”

It falls silent momentarily, that charged sensation thickening between you both. And maybe you hadn’t been aware of it; perhaps you had been so wrapped up in the conversation, but you’re not exactly sure when Eddie’s hands had gotten so close to yours.

You can feel his warmth; right there, just inches away for you to grasp and sink your palms into. His calloused fingertips are ghostly sensations against your soft knuckles, daring you to inch forward and just touch him. The space between your fingers buzzes, like a current threatening to connect. 

You could do it.

You kind of want to do it.

It would take nothing to close the distance. 

And Eddie? He’s waiting.

His brown eyes— dark and rich like the earth you walk on— flicker downwards and take in the sight of the space between your hands. 

And you know Eddie.

You’ve been around Eddie enough to know that he likes touch; Eddie communicates through it like his words won’t do his warmth justice. So, when his gaze flickers back to you, and there’s that look swimming in his gaze, you know what he wants to do.

You know he wants to let his touch speak for itself.

And you nearly let your desires win.

But in the distance, a bottle crashes, and an eruption of cheers lifts, and you’re back in your body.

Your spine stiffens. Your throat tightens. Your stomach churns. And your fingers curl away from him.

You pull away— not abruptly, but just enough that the moment feels as if it’s lingering like the smoke that had left Eddie’s lungs minutes ago.

You blink, pulling in the crisp summer air as you sit up, putting space where there was none.

“So, can you drive me home or not?”

Eddie blinks, the moment fractured between you— and you think he might speak on it. 

But he says nothing. 

Disappointment swirls in his eyes, barely showing before it’s gone. You take in a breath, glancing away as he pulls back and clears his throat, dusting his thumb across his nose in nervous habit as he nods, “Uh,” he blinks, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot.

You hate the feeling that stirs in your chest, and you hate that you want to fix it. But Eddie nods anyway, fishing his keys from his pocket and forcing a half-hearted smile.

“Yeah, princess, let’s get you home.”

I wanna take you home

I won't do you no harm, no

You've gotta be all mine, all mine

Aw shucks, foxey lady

- foxey lady x jimi hendrix

part two.

cutie teeny taglist: @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @hereforshmut @emxxblog @mdurdenpitt @glassbxttless @peculiarwren @aactuaaltraash @daveythorntonslocker

————

a/n: HIII if you’ve made it this far i hope you enjoyed the first part to this little 5 part series !! i’ve got a packed summer planned for these two so i hope you’ll stick along for the ride :) also, expect smut next chappy hehe. anyway, as always, thank you for reading, ily and appreciate any and all forms of feedback <3

[strawberrysodaslut]

if i live-posted my reactions to mafs would y’all hate me

because what do you mean TONY PUTS MORENA IN A HEADLOCK?? idc if you do it in a silly way or if you mean well. if you put ANYONE in a headlock and they don’t like it, it’s not silly the next time. it’s not affectionate. that’s literally assault. fuck tony. fuck the group for laughing at that. that’s not fucking funny.

i cannot scroll through twitter on this anymore because… do i even need to explain lmaooo so i fear this is my only safe space

[strawberrysodaslut]

love a little attention to detail

[strawberrysodaslut]

eddie’s head going haywire:

gym!eddie isn’t doing anybody any favors hiding in the vault. cont’d from here and here. 18+, MDNI 1.4k

eddie munson x plus-size!reader (cw: weight discussion, but we keep it fluffy. angst doesn’t exist in this universe)

This was a great fucking day.

It certainly hadn’t started out that way. Between a slew of emails from clients and Zoom meetings that would not end, Eddie’s work day crawled by at a painfully sluggish pace. 

He had even tried going on a run at lunch just to jolt himself with some endorphins, but he hadn’t managed to close even half of his exercise ring before he needed to stop—winded and panting, leaning on a tree for support as he stood there practically hacking up one of his lungs. 

Seriously, how had he never noticed how piss-poor his stamina was?

But any day that ended like this—with you in his bed, his hands getting to roam freely across the softness of your belly and the graceful dip of your waist and the plentiful curves of your hips and ass—was a great fucking day in Eddie’s book, no matter how badly it started.

“You’re so cute,” he sighed, grinning as he nuzzled his face against yours and his stubble tickled the sensitive skin of your neck and ear. “How in the hell did you get so cute? Seriously?”

In the weeks since you’d started seeing one another, he’d finally gotten to the point he could say these kinds of thoughts out loud instead of screaming them inside his head. And it enthralled him to no end you seemed to delight in hearing them as much as he delighted saying them. 

Like now, for instance, with the way your lips curved upward into a smile as you shrugged back, biting down on your bottom lip as you giggled. God, was he obsessed with that sound.

His head dipped low, capturing your mouth with his to kiss you deeply and passionately. And he knew you could feel exactly how hard he was when your hips rolled briefly against his.

“What do you like?” he asked on an exhale, his hot breath rushing over your neck so your spine shook with shivers. “Tell me, please. I want to be ready. How do you want me to be?”

He swore he could feel how the words affected you, arching your back to push your body closer to his, letting out a soft sigh and a breathless hum of pleasure. But when he pulled back to look at you, to see your face and look in your eyes when you answered, he saw something else flicker across your face. Something torn between excitement and trepidation.

“What?” Eddie chuckled. “What was that look?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

You shook your head and looked away bashfully, hiding your face in his pillow. Though you might as well start thinking of it as your pillow now, as far as he was concerned.

“Come on,” he urged, still dropping light kisses on the apples of your cheeks that warmed as blood rushed beneath them with your embarrassment. “Please tell me?”

Your head shook again. “No, it’s dumb.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

He brought his hand up to cradle your jaw and tipped your face towards his. 

The late afternoon sun coming through his blinds splayed across your lovely face, bringing out the brightness of your eyes. He’d honestly paint his whole apartment that very shade if he could. Every inch of every wall, every door frame and baseboard and piece of trim. Even the ceilings.

He wanted to be drenched in you. 

“I, um…” You laughed nervously, all of a sudden sweetly shy in a way he’d never seen you before. “I like the idea of…getting thrown around. Being, like…man-handled.”

It’s like literal sirens go off in Eddie’s ears. His brain straight up flatlines, he’s so overwhelmed by the barrage of images that flood his mind the second you say that. He feels as though all the tiny Eddies in his head are running around and screaming at one other in a total panic—Holy shit! Holy FUCKING shit! What do we do?! Where’s the manual?! GET THE FUCKING MANUAL!

“Just—” Eddie stammered as he cleared his throat, the word coming out in a too-high crack the likes of which he hadn’t heard since puberty. “Just the idea?”

“Well, yeah, no one’s ever…” You blinked up at him, collecting yourself. “I mean, I’m not exactly dainty, you know? So no one’s ever tried.”

“What if I tried?”

The question popped out before he had taken even a moment to think it over, for him to come up with even marginally better phrasing. Fuck it, he thought. Too late to take it back now, anyway. 

And it wasn’t like he didn’t mean it.

His heart still flutters when he hears you laugh, but it stings a bit with the way you look away. “You can’t lift me, Eddie,” you told him flatly.

His brow scrunched, a little offended.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what you bench,” you retorted with a sassy bob of your head.

“Okay.” Eddie’s eyes rolled. “And it’s more?”

“Yes. It’s more.”

“By how much?”

Your expression wrinkles and it stings a little more this time when you shrink away. Shit.

He didn’t mean for it to come out like that. He didn’t mean to ask what you weigh so explicitly. Not that he’s avoiding asking, so to speak. He just knows it won’t change anything. It’s not like there’s some number you’re gonna say that is going to make him balk. He knows what you look like and he knows he likes it. He knows he maybe even loves it, but that’s neither here nor there.

He wants to know for…other reasons.

It takes a lot more reassurance and some more gentle coaxing, but he finally gets a number out of you. And yeah, it’s more than what he typically maxes out at, but it’s not that much more. He’ll ask Steve tomorrow about a new regimen, and he’s definitely seen him do some of those very specific hip thrust exercises that Eddie can only imagine are meant for this exact purpose.

He’s got some time. He can get there.

It’s not like he’s gonna be ragdolling you the first time out of the gate. You guys were still new, still feeling one another out, still keeping everything soft and gentle and sweet.

God, he wants to be so sweet to you. 

But he also wants to ruin you, if that's what you like. He’ll twist your body into whatever shape he can imagine—he knows you do yoga, you must have a whole arsenal of poses—and then he’ll fuck you until your brain is leaking out of your ears if that’s what you want. He certainly does.

Speaking of leaking brains, Eddie nuzzled up to you again and the way you relax into his touch is sort of brain-melting in a totally different way. That breathy little laugh of yours is back as he hooks one of your legs over his hip and starts to nip gently at your throat with his teeth.

His hands gripped your waist and he helped you roll your body against his, trying out what it’s like to guide and direct you, seeing the way it makes you slowly but surely relinquish control.

But he doesn’t push any further, despite the adamant protests coming from between his legs.

Neither of you wanted to go too fast. Eddie, because he genuinely didn’t want to miss a second of getting to know you, and he kind of had this tendency of going full throttle and driving himself headlong into a brick wall. And you, because with him living so close by you felt like you were already at risk for being swept up into a total cling-fest of a relationship.

He doesn’t ask you to stay for dinner, because you and he made a deal you wouldn’t have dinner together two nights in a row. And with tomorrow being his cheat day, he wants to take you to his favorite Italian place because A) the food is incredible and B) it’s got all this soft, moody lighting he’s sure as shit is gonna make you look like a fucking oil painting sitting across from him.

Still, the conversation has clearly made you a little squirrely and he lets you steer him away from his offer to walk you home, not wanting to push any further or faster than you’re ready for. 

And it’s not even been a minute since he’s kissed you goodnight before he’s going into his fitness app and updating his weightlifting goals.

there were supposed to be more parts before we got here—but who cares, I do what I want.

Ty for reading 😘 love you, mean it!

[strawberrysodaslut]

this is the greatest thing i have EVER seen oh my lord

Ascension – the new solo album from Eddie Munson.

Out NEVER. Don’t get your limited deluxe edition bundle TODAY. Pre-order NOWHERE.

The fake deluxe bundle doesn’t include:

- Sulphur green press vinyl (not real)

- Lyric booklet (not real because there are no lyrics)

- A t-shirt (real, but not in that color)

- Exclusive Polaroid set (of photos Eddie would definitely not have taken)

- Signed poster (signed by me, because who else would?)

- Set of 7 plectrums (you’d lose them anyway, so why bother?).

Not available while stocks don’t exist.

[strawberrysodaslut]

UM ???

THE IMMACULATE WRITING? MY LORD???

BENEATH THE BLADE - part one

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: swordsman!eddie x noble!reader

summary: with your father on the brink of war he finds himself in need of a bigger army, and the only person capable of helping is none other than eddie munson, the lord of death, but the only way to achieve his loyalty is through marriage.

contains: enemies to lovers trope, marriage of convenience, alcohol use, themes of misogyny/sexism, SMUT - 18+, mentions of bedding ceremony tradition, loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected — stay safe pls), hint of breeding kink, tiny bit of blasphemy, mentions of domestic violence (brief), mentions of death, mentions of blood/gore/violence, asshole!eddie, and eddie being dark and hot <3

word count: 12.5k

| next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie is handsome.

Charming in a soft light, you’d say— at least when he’s not covered in dirt and the blood of his enemies— his features are vivid this way, sharp yet kind, free of the anger that you’ve known to follow him in tow.

When he arrived, he was a sight to see— a jarring one.

Mud and filth caked over his body; blood smeared down his face to match the blade of his sword, soiled hair tied back and dripping with a liquid you’re not sure you would even want to know the name of. He was walking death. Cold eyes and a honed fleet to match. When his lips cracked to form a grin, you had accepted that nothing could be worse than marrying the very walking doom of the earth.

You hated it. You think you hate him.

Your wedding caused quite the commotion amongst the city of RedGate— travelers from the opposite side of the world came just to see you be wed today, the biggest day of your life, yet you’re struggling to find the joy in it.

When you were little, your mother would tell you stories of how one day you’d be married off to a prince, a handsome one with a gorgeous smile and all the gold in the world to make you happy, and somehow you ended up with the complete opposite.

Still, even if this marriage is the least adhered to your liking, you don’t have a choice. It’s your duty. Your promise to the people of RedGate.

A marriage of convenience, your father told you.

You have the money, and he has the men.

In the eyes of the storyteller, it’s a match made in heaven. You see anything but.

Because the truth is, you don’t know him— Eddie— and he is now your husband.

Despite the circumstances, Eddie seems to be having a grand time. Beside you, fresh in his sharpest clothes and finest jewelry, he sips on his nth glass of wine, loudly laughing at the room's commotion before you. They’ve been entertaining you for hours now. Hours of singing, dancing, and jesting all to appease you, yet you haven’t cracked a single smile.

Eddie sees it. He glances at you and smiles to himself, dark eyes shimmering beneath golden light as he finishes his chalice. He raises the cup, a silent order for more, and you swallow hard, wary of what’s to come with a drunk husband on the first night.

You’ve heard the stories women tell of their first night. You’ve heard the horrors of the pain and dread their men put them through, and it’s sure to say that wine doesn’t help the case— it never does. 

As you prepare for the doom of your evening (assuming it’s yet to happen), you hardly notice the cup-bearer filling your husband's chalice to the brim. You expect Eddie to begin sipping on the fine wine, but you’re proven wrong when the cup is brought down and held steady in front of you.

You look at the cup, shiny gold with twinkling jewels embedded in the sides, rich red sloshing up the walls, spilling over the edges, and snaking around his bruised knuckles. You drag your gaze up the arm holding the cup, decorated fingers, and storytelling ink on the skin that belongs to him. Eddie quirks up an eyebrow, watching you with such precision that it makes your blood run cold.

“A lady doesn’t drink.” You say.

Eddie grins, light dancing in his eyes as he says, “No? How come?”

You straighten in your chair, dragging in a slow breath as you tip your chin up, “It is not of a lady’s nature to drink such poison.”

Eddie’s face stretches in amusement, “Poison?” He hums. He retracts the cup, bringing it to his lips, but he waits as he adds, “You have never drank wine, then?” He snickers. The boom of the crowd seems to drown out as you glare at your husband, watching as he takes a sip, playful humor still painted across his face. You find nothing funny.

“Wine distorts the mind.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, as he shifts in his chair, turning to look out into the crowd, “Wine tastes good, princess. You’re too rich to deprive yourself of such luxury.”

“Dull thinking is a luxury?” You question.

You’re testing the waters. Asking the questions that will ultimately let you know just what kind of a man your husband is— as if the stench of death from earlier wasn’t enough.

“It is when you’ve seen the things I’ve seen.” He responds.

You assume he means the sight of his enemy's severed heads. The sea of bodies and blood he’s sailed upon. All of which are his doing. You can’t find it in yourself to be sympathetic to him, no matter how hard you try.

Eddie sighs again, sinking into his seat as he taps a ring against the gold cup, “You know, wine might make it better for you.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confusion etched in your voice when you look at him with a tip of your head, “What?”

Eddie speaks with a grin around the rim of his chalice, eyes dancing across the dining hall as he says, “Wine makes it better,” he repeats, his eyes finally landing on you as he adds, “Numbs the pain for your cute little cunt.” 

You’re stunned by his words, disgusted and shocked by such crass words as he casually sips his wine. “Have you no manners?” You stress.

Eddie doesn’t respond; he ignores you as he studies you. He adds, “You’re a tiny little thing. I reckon you would have your fill within less than a cup.” You open your mouth to respond, maybe throw some choice words his way, but he beats you to it, “I’m quite big, you know? I’m sure you have heard the stories. You’ll be smart to prepare for it.” He shifts in his seat, hips tilting up just enough to tell you what he’s talking about.

“I will do no such thing.” You quip.

Eddie shrugs with a snicker and a smack of his lips, speaking against the cup as he eyes you, “I’ll go slow then.” He says with a wink.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, an echoing bang of doom resounding in the walls of your skull as his words sink in. It doesn’t help any better when the infamous bedding ceremony music starts up, the men in the room cheering along to the song as they begin making their way to you.

Your nails dig into the palms of your hands, blood sure to rise as your heart races. The bedding ceremony, while for your guests means the nearing end of the celebration, only represents the beginning of the end for you. Your night has only just begun.

The men will carry you away, grab at your clothes, and cheer as they lead you to your bed chambers, and Eddie will soon follow suit with women grappling at his clothes as well, preparing you both for what’s to come behind closed doors.

If you’re lucky, the men will grant you the decency of keeping your chemise on. But even still, that will soon come off as well. You won’t win either way.

Eddie leans in, the sour stench of alcohol seeping from him as he speaks, “Looks like it’s time, princess,” he teases, a white smirk haunting you before you’re hauled up from your seat, a yelp leaving your lips as the men lift you above their heads.

Rough hands and drunken fingers prod at every inch of your body, a song you’ve heard many times before wafting through the air— you still don’t find the joy in it. You always thought the bedding ceremony was a bit unfair. The women were never as ruthless to the groom as the men were to the bride. You’ve seen more than you’d like to admit— and you never wanted to be on the performing side, yet here you are.

You catch sight of Eddie as the dining hall doors open to carry you away. You see the heavy gaze of his eyes on you, an unspoken threat to the men carrying you lingering through the air— harm her, and it’ll be the last thing you do. 

You’d be a fool to think he cared.

Cheerful singing booms down the halls as they tear off pieces of your gown and corset, leaving a trail of innocence through the castle. It’s not long before you’re tossed onto the bed of your chambers, white chemise still covering you, the men still cheering as they leave you alone in the vast room, echoes of the celebration playing harmony to your racing thoughts.

You scramble up from your bed the second the doors close, reaching out for the thin robe that rests on a chair across the room. You pace for what seems like hours, talking yourself down in preparation for what’s to come. To aid you in preparation, you find yourself sitting at your vanity, candlelight illuminating the mirror so you can see as you freshen up— because although you’re not exactly excited, you still (annoyingly so) want to look appeasing for Eddie. You want to fulfill his desires. You will be a failed wife if you don’t.

You find yourself growing worried when time grows longer with no sign of Eddie, and the sounds of the celebration seem to be dying down. You can’t imagine where he’s gone. Maybe he wanted to drink more. Maybe he doesn’t want you— you’re unsure if that hurts or relieves your ego.

Before you can decide to leave and look for him, the heavy doors to your chambers slide open, light seeping into the dim room as your husband steps in. You catch his eye through the mirror before facing him, standing from the worn bench and clenching your fists as you ask, “Where have you been?”

Eddie, ever the dark looming tower he is, steps further into the room, steps echoing in the silence. He’s fully dressed, not a piece of attire missing from his frame, so you suppose the women didn’t drag him here like the men did you. Had something wrong happened?

“Miss me already, wife?”

You grimace, rolling your eyes as you turn back to your vanity, “Hardly so.” You mutter.

A few moments of silence pass before Eddie speaks, “I had a conversation with your lady-in-waiting.”

Your face twists in confusion, chills dancing up your arms at the breeze that blows in through your open balcony doors. “Robin?” You question.

With his back turned to you from across the room, Eddie removes his cloak, draping it across the couch in front of the fireplace. He doesn’t look at you as he walks around the furniture, responding with a smooth voice, “If that is her name, then yes.”

He sits, busying himself with unbuttoning the chest of his shirt.

“Why?” You ask.

It’s not usual for men to speak with the ladies in waiting. There is nothing for them to discuss, really. But Eddie surprises you when he responds, voice steady yet still indirect towards you, “I wanted to know you.”

Suddenly, you find yourself making a journey across the room to stand before Eddie. The light that the candles cast upon Eddie is beautiful, and his eyes glow when they lift to gaze upon you, fingers still busy with buttons and strings. He is handsome and dark, and he is now yours.

“You kept me waiting.”

“And I am sorry.” He admits.

You don’t know why, but you’re left speechless by the apology that rolls off his tongue. From the stories, Eddie is not one to apologize for much of anything, and you expect he would carry the same traits as a husband. Apparently not.

Eddie stands then, tall and broad in nature— intimidating to most, but his eyes are soft and sincere as he looks down at you. You find your feet stuck where you stand, expecting him to reach and touch you, to initiate the big finale, but he never does.

“I want to apologize for my behavior at the feast,” He begins, “That was no way to speak to a lady, let alone my wife. May you forgive me as I am only now learning to be a husband.”

The Eddie before you now is a different Eddie than you had seen at the dining table. Where he had once looked upon you with lustful and roguish eyes, he now looks at you with sincerity. A softness you would’ve never thought could come from a man like him.

“What did she tell you?” You ask.

His mouth twitches, and if you’re not mistaken, you might’ve thought he wanted to smile.

“She told me you like to garden.” He says. “Your favorite flower is the Middlemist Red. You spend a pretty penny each season to import them from Cathay.”

You smile with your eyes, lips pressed into a line, shying away when he finally cracks and lets his lips tip upon the sight of you. “I do. They are beautiful.” You respond.

Eddie nods once, “You will have to show me, then.”

You nod silently. And Eddie doesn’t seem to want to take the initiative, so you take the first step, reaching forward with shaky hands to finish the buttons of his shirt.

You’re too focused on the task; you don’t notice how Eddie looks at you until his warm hands cover yours. His hands are rough and calloused from days of fighting and hours of work, and you don’t know whether the bumps on your skin rise from his touch or the breeze. 

Dark pools of swirling mud sear into you, so kind around the edges that it makes your breath hitch in your throat. Eddie squeezes your hands in his palms, no sense of insincerity as he untangles your fingers from his shirt and says, “Not tonight.”

And for some reason, your heart drops.

You blink at him, confusion flashing across your face for a split second before you mask it. “You do not want to?” You ask, a tremble of worry you so desperately want to bat away dancing around the edges

Eddie’s thumbs drag over the bumps of your knuckles, “You mistake my words.” He says, “I… I do, but I can’t. I won’t.” He shakes his head.

You frown, a feeling of rejection looming over your head as you look at your husband. “Why?” You ask.

He relaxes, shoulders weighed down with the earth as his thumbs drag to press into your palms. Soothing and grounding, yet overwhelming for the moment.

“You’re shaking, my love.” He points out.

Your gaze drops to your hands, heart racing as you realize— yes, you are shaking. Visibly so.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowing as you reply, “It is only excitement.”

You’re not sure why you’re doing this. You would’ve leaped for joy an hour ago had Eddie turned you away, yet you can’t help but find yourself fighting for him to say yes. A part of you doesn’t want to be seen as a failure in the eyes of your counsel if they find out you couldn’t consummate your marriage. And another part of you— a very small yet loud part of you— just… wants him.

He is handsome; that part was never a lie, even in the stories. It isn’t hard to feel different forms of frustration when it comes to him. And well, you’d be lying if you said you’re not curious to find out what it feels like.

Eddie laughs softly, gently dropping your hands before turning away and grabbing his cloak, “I know when a lady is excited, my lady.” He admits. You hate the green serpent of jealousy that hisses in your chest.

You ignore the unwelcome feeling when he turns back to you, eyes still profound as they fall upon you, “And I also know when someone is scared.” He lowly says.

“I won’t have you when you are afraid of me.”

You gaze up at him, fingers curling around the long sleeves of your robe as you gather your strength. “I am not afraid of you.” And you’re not. You’re more so… reluctant of him— unsure of the extent of his morality in the throes of power. But standing before you, you can see he has no intentions to hurt you.

He looks at you as if he’s studying you. Pretty, dark lashes fluttering beneath the movement of his eyes, and you think you see the grip on his cloak tighten for a moment. “You deserve better for your first, princess. Someone soft. Someone whose hands haven’t touched the face of death.”

And he’s right. His reasoning is so right it may be wrong, and you begin to feel sorry for thinking so ill of him at the start of the night. He is trying now, and that is already more than what most receive. 

How much of it is true?

You don’t think much before reaching out and curling your fingers into the cloak on his arm, eyes never leaving his as you step closer, tilting your chin up to size him. “You are my husband now, and I am your wife.” You say, removing the heavy cloak from his hold.

“So long as you are mine and I am yours, we will have no other.”

And something in Eddie’s gaze churns.

Like your words have altered something within him— opened a portal to something you have yet to experience in him.

“I won’t fuck you.” He replies.

Your gaze challenges his, and you don’t think before dropping his cloak to the ground to press your palms against his chest. Two steps and the back of his knees hit the couch, legs buckling beneath him and forcing him to drop onto the plush seat. 

You grasp at your robe and chemise, hiking the thin material up as you gently mount Eddie’s lap, nerves be damned.

Eddie’s hands hover at your hips, but he doesn’t touch you, resistance swimming in his eyes as he gazes up at you. You settle over him, bare thighs touching the rough material of his breeches, your centers ghosting over one another as you lean over him.

“Then I will fuck you.”

He is so articulated with his eyes, bright in the words that refuse to roll off his tongue, and you know you have him caught now.

You lower yourself onto him, shifting your center over his growing bulge, and your body preens at the shaky breath that leaves him. You rest a hand on the back of the seat, nails digging into the stiff material as your other hand settles on the curve of his jaw.

You hadn’t kissed since the ceremony hours earlier when you were still brewing with anger and misfortune— but now, with Eddie’s wide eyes watching you and the brewing heat of pleasure that comes with every drag of your hips, you can’t help but find yourself wanting to feel his lips on yours again.

Eddie, seemingly keeping true to his word, does not show any signs of acting on the intense pull between you, so you take it upon yourself to lower your lips onto his.

He is soft, bittersweet with the taste of wine on his tongue, but it only makes you want more.

You lean into him, body pressing against him as he kisses you back, lips moving in tandem with yours as his hands finally— and hesitantly— touch you.

They leave trails of fire up your skin, coasting up your sides and back, gentle yet firm as he holds the back of your neck and presses into you.

Your hips are steady in movement against his, seeking pleasure with every roll until you can no longer hold back the moan that spills from you. Eddie breathes heavily against your lips when you part, blown eyes focused on you as you crumble beneath the weight of pleasure, chasing that twisting feeling of heat.

He keeps one hand on your neck as the other travels down the expanse of your body, fluid and malleable with the dips and rises of your body. He lands on your hip, gentle fingers pressed against your skin as he follows the flow of your motion. He doesn’t try to take charge, doesn’t dig his fingers into your skin to move you against him in the ways he wants you to, but he’s there.

He is gentle in his guidance, delicate in the way he lets you use him— and he is a sight.

Flushed cheeks and blown eyes, bated breaths, and shaky grasps of restraint. He is war and the solemn peace that comes after.

You want more.

You move in hopes of searching for the ties of his breeches, but he stops you faster than you can move, shaking his head as he speaks with heavy breaths, “Cum like this. Keep going.”

You whimper, hips never having stopped their pace as the pleasure threatens to spill over the edges. It’s an all-encompassing feeling, having Eddie beneath you and encouraging you as you rut up against him, needy to feel that explosion of fire.

It doesn’t take much longer, not with the way Eddie leans up to press soft, fluttery kisses beneath your chin, and you find yourself falling into the abyss of satisfaction, moans and whimpers seeping from you like loose change.

The room seems to spin, candlelight and heat searing through you as you come to, legs shaking on either side of him. But you’re not done.

You kiss him, wet and heavy and needy. Less calculated than the others yet outdoing them by miles.

“Take me to bed,” you pant against his lips, “If you do nothing, do this one thing and take me to our bed.” You say, fingers curled into the soft material of his collar. 

There is a slight edge of reprimand in your words, a taunting lilt— if you don’t want to fuck your wife like a man, the least you can do is carry her to bed— it’s so mean. Yet, it does the job.

Eddie's eyes grow dim, an untamed beast growling to wake in his chest before he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he stands. You are caught in his gaze, chest still rising with bated breaths as he walks away from the couch and towards the bed. 

“Our bed?” He lowly huffs. 

“Against my wishes, yes.”

Your fingers sink into his nicely pulled-back hair, searching for the tie to tug and loosen. His hair falls like a flower in spring, blooming with the dark riches of the earth, orange fire framing his mane of curls. He is beautiful and devastating.

You drop the string, careless where it falls as you run your hands through the soft strands.

Despite the fire radiating through Eddie, he lowers you onto the bed softly, handling you as if you’re a gem, and you squirm when you find yourself missing the heat of him as he stands at the foot of the bed.

He stands before you, tall and brooding, as he untucks his shirt from his breeches, slinking his arms out from the sleeves and letting the thin material drop. 

The reveal of his body is earth-shattering. Mind-numbing. The feeling of awe that overtakes you when you wake up just in time to see how the sun kisses the sea and melts the glass waters. 

He is violent. Sharp and merciless to the mind, a living depiction of the growing demise of the world.

But he is also radiant. Imperfect like a mine of gold, jagged around the edges with cuts and scars that run deeper than you’ll ever know. Inked stories pressed into his skin, thick lines running across his ribs and slithering to his back, hours of pain spent to capture a moment. 

He is so devastatingly beautiful.

The world grows dull in your ears; you hear nothing but the crackling snap of the candles that light the room and the uneven breaths that expel from your chest. Eddie looks at you, steady and calculated, watching you as if hunting you— and you don’t know why, but you find yourself reaching for him.

Your fingers are colder than his body when they touch him, soft tips grazing the sewn skin of his torso, and you leave trails of bumps in their wake as you dance over his skin.

Eddie’s skin is warm beneath your lips, and the steady thump of his heart is so vivid you can almost taste it through the layers of skin, blood, and bone. You gently caress what you can touch, thumbs sliding over raised skin that had once been broken, lips following suit with gentle pecks to each one until Eddie raises his hands to cup your face.

His lips are on yours like hot metal meeting water, sizzling fire and bursting in color. It’s addicting, kissing him. You don’t want to stop.

He presses into you, pushing you back until you’re laid against the bed, steady on your elbows as his ringed hands coast up your legs. So gentle in tow, rough in comparison to your soft skin as they push your gown further up your thighs. The air is cool between your legs, chills dancing up your spine until you shiver and pant against his lips.

Eddie then parts from you, dragging in air like he is greedy for it. His gaze dances over your body as he drags a hand over his mouth, looking at you in seemingly deep thought. He swallows, his resolve loose as the seconds pass before he finally speaks— “Need to be wet.”

Your face twists in confusion, the sheets twisting in your grip as you gaze up at him, “What?”

Eddie sinks to his knees, wordlessly dragging his hands over your thighs as he grumbles, “You need to be wet.” His hands coast up your legs, pushing your chemise up over your hips until you are bare to his eyes. “Wetter than this.” His gaze is hungry yet appreciative, drinking you in as if he will never get another chance to— if he will, you’re not sure. Your face is warm, blooming with shock, and a churning heat that settles in your stomach. 

And you have never had a man kneel before you. You are of high rank, yes, but you are no queen. Neither are you a lord. The people don’t bend a knee to your honor as often as they do to your father, and though you never really understood why men puffed their chest out so high and mighty upon the gesture, you think you understand now as you watch Eddie sink to the floor.

It’s humbling, seeing such a man of his stature relinquish his pride to rest before your feet, and it only gets better when he parts your thighs and leans forward to pepper wet and warm kisses to the insides of your thighs.

You’re shaking already, fists curling into the plush sheets of the bed, chest heaving in ecstasy. The feeling of Eddie’s curls brushing against your thighs makes you tremble, a smile threatening to pull on your lips at the sensation. His lashes flutter as he moves forward, a sense of shock overtaking your body as he pushes his face into the hilt of your cunt, nose pressed to the neatly trimmed hairs of your pelvis before breathing in deep. You whimper, squirming beneath his hold as he noses at you, breathing you in like you’re the last draw of air his lungs will ever receive.

“You smell divine.” He grumbles, voice thick with lust.

You breathe, teeth sharp against the inside of your cheek as you gaze at him with wide eyes, “T-thank you…” Your words fall off in a moan as he drags his tongue against you, through your folds and wetness, humming as if he hadn’t had his fill from the feast.

He leans in more, hooking an arm around your thigh to pull you in before completely devouring you. You can hardly keep your composure, licks of fire running through your veins in pulses as you quiver on Eddie’s tongue. Your vision wavers, eyes fluttering shut as your head tips back, mouth parted in desperate moans as you struggle to keep yourself open for him.

He groans against you, palm heavy on your tummy as the other hand reaches up to drag a thumb over your lips, sinking into the wet heat of your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he says against you, “Look at me.”

It takes everything in you to do so, but you manage, tilting your head back down to look at the man between your thighs.

“I want you to watch.”

Gods— you’re not sure if the air has been sucked out of the room, or you’re just that speechless. But you have no time to figure it out because Eddie is back to licking and sucking at you like his life depends on it. Like you are his last meal on earth. Like your cunt is the fountain of life and he’s spent years searching for it.

You are his altar, his god, and he is your loyal disciple.

The familiar feeling of pressure builds quicker this time, and your grasp on restraint is little to none, so Eddie can feel it when you’re close. He is cruel when he parts from you. A slick, wet sound and a string of spit come with his withdrawal, and it makes your face burn.

You had forgotten how great Eddie is in size with his position beneath you, but you’re reminded when he stands to his full height. You can’t help but watch with hungry eyes as his hands drop to the waist of his breeches, skilled fingers quickly unlacing the ties. 

He is an encapturing scene to watch, his muscles flexing with each movement, stories coming to life with each twist— and you almost become too distracted with it to notice the unveiling of his cock.

But you can not ignore it for long because Eddie… is big.

He had told you so at the feast, and you had taken it with a grain of salt. However, this is no grain of salt before you. This is—

“It’s not as frightening as it looks.”

Your eyes snap to his, wide and no doubt doing nothing to mask your shock. “Well, that is easy for you to say.” You respond.

And for the first time, a genuine laugh spills from Eddie. It’s warming to hear it, a sound that could— arguably— put the mourning doves to shame. And you think you might see little carves of sun in his cheeks. A strong juxtaposition for someone like him to carry an angel's kiss within his smile, yet incredibly appreciative.

He rids himself fully of his trousers, shoes already off, as he kicks them to the side. He is a force of nature as he towers over you, gentle hands brushing against your skin when he cups your face. But he doesn’t take action. No, instead, he steps away and walks towards the side of the bed, climbing up to lay against your pillows.

You watch over your shoulder before turning to him, face twisted in confusion as you ask, “What are you doing?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You look at him for a moment, a long moment— his thick cock the only thing giving away the state of his desire, which apparently, is enough for you to turn and crawl your way over to him.

You frown as you swing your leg over him to straddle his lap, an annoyed tone in your voice when you speak. “This is wrong, you know?” You huff as you unbutton your chemise.

Eddie watches silently from beneath you, eyes failing to stay trained on your face when you begin to untie the neck of your chemise.

“You are supposed to fuck me. Worship me and show me that you want me.” You grumble as you fully open your chemise, your body on full display.

Between you, Eddie drags a slow fist up his cock, his tip ruddy and wet with excitement. A thrum of shock and sick pleasure twists through your body when he lightly taps his cock against your lower tummy, “Not proof enough for you, princess? Or are you just being greedy?” He teases with a tilt of his head.

Your heart races at the sight— Eddie pressed into your pillows, hair fanned out beneath him, his bare and scarred chest pink beneath your touch as his cock begs to be touched. Your core aches at the sight of him between your thighs, your fingers taking his place as you wrap them around his cock— and he is so warm. So thick and full of weight between your fingers, you can’t help but look up and ask— “Will it hurt as you said?”

Eddie gazes at you, never having stopped, brown eyes blown with desire. He can hear it, the slight tinge of fear in your voice. A warm hand resides beneath your open chemise and rests against your hip, a gentle thumb caressing your hot skin. “I licked you for a reason.”

Though lewd, it does well to ease your nerves. You find the tension in your shoulders lessen, and you hardly pay any mind as you wriggle closer to Eddie, softly sighing when you feel the heat of him. 

It makes your body ache.

He is heavy in your palm as you press him against your core, the soft tip tapping the aching bud of your clit. Your body writhes at the feeling, thighs parting further for him. His grip tightens on your waist, his gaze falling to watch as you paint his tip through your folds and down to your entrance.

You suck in a breath, toes curling in anticipation before you sink onto him. It’s an odd feeling at first, something more like a foreign pressure than pain, but the further you sink down, the more the heat rises and the burn of the stretch eats away at you. Below you, Eddie curses, his head dropping when you pulse around him. You pull in a sharp breath, thighs threatening to close as the first wave of pain washes through you. Eddie returns to reality quickly, looking up at you as he reaches out to pull you forward, cooing at you soft and sweetly, “You’re doing so good. So fucking well, princess. Just relax.”

You try your best, taking steady breaths as you continue to wriggle down into him, but by the time he is pressed to the hilt, you hardly have control over the breathless pants leaving your throat. “I— it’s big. It’s so big,” You shakily breathe. 

His lips are warm against your forehead, pressing soft, warm kisses as you flutter around his cock, the burn slowly but surely becoming bearable. Your hips squirm against him and he hums, praising you and caressing every inch of you whilst making no effort to make you move. 

You don’t know how long you stay seated on his cock, but you can feel yourself stretched to the brim with him and suddenly you want nothing more than to feel it move within you. With your palms pressed into the pillows beside Eddie’s head, you find stability on your palms and knees before dragging your hips up, slow and steady— and your vision goes white.

It is indescribable, the feeling of Eddie’s cock pressed so snugly against your wet walls, the feeling of him dragging through you slow enough for you to still feel the lingering burn mixed with that dull tease of pleasure. And you can feel Eddie physically holding back. Can see it swimming in his eyes when he looks up at you.

He wants to ravish you.

He wants to push himself into you so deep you won’t know where he ends and you begin.

He is a brooding force of desire and lust and power, and he could very well do it within the blink of an eye, yet… he doesn’t.

He stays beneath you, hands shaking with impulse as they drag up your sides to softly cup your breasts. His chest rises and falls shakily, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he lets you drag your cunt up and down his length.

He watches your body move, eyes seemingly overwhelmed with where to focus— and you don’t even think he meant for you to hear it when he says, “You are so beautiful.”

You whimper at his admission, head lolling back as you sink down onto him again and again. He kisses your neck, wet and hungry, and your body keens when he wraps his lips around your pert nipple, rough thumb dragging over the other, “Such pretty tits. All mine now.” He mutters.

“Is it—” You can hardly breathe when you fully sink onto him again, it feels like his cock is lodged between your lungs, but god it’s so good. “Is it g-good for you?” You ask.

His hands tighten on your hips, face twisting in pleasure for just a moment before he grunts out a response— “Fuck. Yeah, yeah, keep going.” His voice is low and rough and it sends shivers up your spine as you grind your hips into his. “Is it good for you?” He asks. 

Your mind goes blank for a moment— you hadn’t imagined he’d care, not when he’s so vividly troubled between the throes of his pleasure and the fight to sustain his composure. You drop onto him, harder than before, your cunt fluttering around him as you whimper in pleasure and respond, “Yes.”

He smiles at the action, his cock pulsing within you at the sound of your bliss. You do it again, this time both of your resolves cracking, a broken moan slipping from you as Eddie grunts, fingers digging crescent moons into your skin. 

You lean over him and press a hand to his jaw, a thumb dragging across his lips as your breath hitches, watery eyes gazing into his as the stretch burns through your hips and thighs. Your face twists in a mix of unrecognizable pleasure, a mix of pain and fear, but overall— “Show me.”— curiosity. 

How does Eddie want? How does Eddie need? Is he greedy? Rough? Angry? Or is he soft and kind— just like this?

The clench of his hands on your waist says otherwise.

Eddie shakes his head, jaw clenching as you drag his cock out of your wet, warm heat, just the tip caught in your pulsing entrance as your body shudders at the feeling. You sink back onto him, veins running against your velvet walls as you shakily breathe, “Show me, Eddie.” You say again, your other hand sinks into his hair, nails dragging against his scalp.

“I want to know what you like—” “It isn’t kind.”

Your heart races then— will he hurt you? Will he beat you like you’ve heard other women whisper about their own husbands. A feeling churns in the pit of your stomach, his rough hand dragging over your chest to palm at your breast.

“...Show me.”

Earth, dark and rich, pools swirling with lust as they gaze at you. Eddie’s chest is like restless waters beneath your palms— rising and falling— the beast gnashing its teeth, hungry for something between its jaws.

You give yourself right into him. Placing your gentle nature amongst his riot— you’re unsure if you’ll thank yourself or hate yourself later.

Eddie presses his feet onto your bed, fingers tight on your waist as his hips press into you— as if he could get any deeper than he already is. If he could, you think you would die. Your moan breaks around a sob, one hand grappling to hold one of his as your other curls against his chest and your head falls, your knees digging into Eddie’s sides.

One pull out and one push in— hard and fast— it has you seeing stars. He knocks the breath out of you, his cock so wide and deep in you that you fear you’ll be feeling him for days after this. You don’t care enough to be embarrassed about how much you're gushing around him, or the jumbled moans and words that tumble from your mouth with each punishing thrust. 

Eddie groans beneath you, fingers tight on your hips as he picks you up and drops you on his cock like you’re nothing but a toy. He’s punching out staccato moans from you, that beast thrashing in his chains— so close to freedom and yet…

“Fucking cunt’s sucking me in like I paid you for it— shit.” Eddie curses, briefly letting his head drop onto your pillows before easing back up to watch where he pounds up into you. You whimper, an annoying warm twist in your belly from his words despite the disgust that tumbles from your tongue— “As if I’d ever take your money.”

Eddie’s brown eyes snap up to yours, a growl rumbling deep in his chest before he slinks a hand up your body and around your neck. He squeezes, hard enough to have your toes curl and your nails dig into his chest. He drags you down, hovering your face above his as he drills into you, his other hand grabbing a handful of your ass to help him bounce you on his cock. “You can act as if you are above me all you want, princess,” He pants against your lips, fingers tight on your neck, “But who’s cock are you about to come on, hm?” He lowly asks.

Fuck.

You aren’t sure if your lungs exist anymore. You think there might just be a big, gaping hole in your body— an empty space where Eddie’s cock has carved its way into. Because you can not breathe when you fall apart above Eddie.

You can hardly see or think. You definitely can’t speak. And beneath you, Eddie hums as if he’s some sort of demon and he’s satisfied now that your soul has left your body.

You are speechless from the overwhelming feeling of bliss, and it intensifies when Eddie hits his peak, emptying himself into you with moans so beautiful you would call anything else that reaches your ears after this a disgrace. 

It’s warm, the feeling of his cum seeping into you, and it makes your body feel as if it’s boiling, but you sink into it either way, chasing the filling sensation that erupts within you.

Beneath you, though he had just defiled your body and had nearly strangled you, Eddie is spewing out soft words in appreciation, promises of keeping you forever, making a home, keeping you round and full with his babies. If you had known better, and you do, you would say he is drunk on the feeling. You think you might be as well.

And if the feeling only exists in this room— where Eddie holds you like you’re the last piece of soul he has on earth, where he is warm and throbbing inside of you and you can almost swear you share one set of lungs— then you never want to leave.

Morning light comes quicker than you had hoped. 

After a night spent with incessant writhing as Eddie plowed into you more times than you could care to count, you wake with an aching body and a soft pull of a shy smile threatening your lips. 

Between your thighs, you ache, but it is somewhat of a welcomed feeling knowing where it came from. The breeze of warm ocean-scented air drifts through your chambers like a song, and the sheets are soft against your skin as you stretch your sleep-weighted limbs.

Flashes of yesterday come to you with each moment you spend waking. Anger and frustration, worry of what the next chapter brings, betrayal of having to give your hand to another as you came to terms with the fact that your hand was never yours to begin with. You were always a pawn in the game. You were naive to think otherwise.

Understanding and acceptance, opening your world to the favors of the man who is now your husband. Desire and lust and the bittersweet fruits of passion. It comes crashing down on you like a rogue wave.

You are a wife now. You no longer only live for yourself but for and with another as well— and it is jarring to try and understand.

Still, you are thankful Eddie seems to be… less than what he is known to be. Maybe he is more than what is believed— of course, in the sense that he is not some monstrous being that lives and breathes to destroy everything in its path.

He is not easy to read yet, no, that will come with time. But you are hopeful in the sense that you believe you may be able to live with him without hating all you have become.

And anyway, now that you have fully acknowledged yesterday and the fact that you are now married, you wonder— where is your husband?

You leave bed, limbs cracking and popping at the stretch as you throw your chemise over your naked body. You shrug a robe over for the sake of your decency and slip your feet into the nearest pair of silk slippers, shuffling over to the door. Your hand settles on the doorknob before the door swings open, barely missing you.

Eddie steps in, brown eyes roving over you as you gaze at him in slight shock from his abrupt entrance. His eyes drop to your chest, the soft material of your robe having opened when you stepped back to give him space. You cover yourself, face heating in embarrassment as you clear your throat.

Eddie blinks, stepping further into the room to let the door close, “Pack your things; we leave for Ironhold tonight.”

Your face twists in confusion as you step away, furthering your distance from him, “What? Why?”

Eddie lowly huffs, turning away and pacing towards your dresser, yanking a drawer open, “I don’t know if you noticed, but your father is on the brink of war.” He grumbles as he pulls out various articles of your clothing. You march over to him, grabbing your clothes from his hands and stuffing them back into the drawer before slamming it closed. “Why do I have to go?” You frown. Eddie turns to you and looks at you as if you’re a pain in his ass— you want nothing more than to slap the look off his face.

“Because the council demanded I bring you.”

Your chest brews with a strong sense of annoyance— your father’s council has always found ways to prod and poke at your peace. And have they not done enough within the last day?

You hardly realize you’re pacing out of your room, quick strides carrying you down the wide hallways, ignoring the greetings of maids because how can you think straight when you have just been ordered to leave your home?

The knights at the door of the council chamber don’t ask why you’re there; the fury in your steps says enough to make them drag the heavy doors open.

“I won’t go.”

The councilmen are no strangers to your sharp tongue. Since you were a child, you were never one to willingly bend to their absurd demands— you want me to do this? Then you do this— and they hate it.

The meeting has yet to finish; they are all seated, seemingly still in conversation— but you don’t care, your gaze set on your father— the man at the center of it all. He drags in a breath, shifting in his seat; the slow tap of his finger against the table shows his patience with you— you have never given him an easy day in your life, and he knows your anger best. Which is why he doesn’t hesitate to respond, “You will go.”

You step further into the room, passing the council members to stand at your father's side, the heavy, stone table cold beneath your palms when you lean down to face him. “I will have nothing to do with your corrupt and murderous war.” You sneer.

Across the table, a councilman who is watching the entire interaction barks out a laugh, “My lady, you lost that choice when you married him.”

Your body burns hot and red, frustration pumping through you in riveting waves— that was not your fault. “That was against my wishes. You forced my hand.” You remind them all.

“So you say,” Your father says with a dismissive tone. He taps against the table again, “You owe a service to your country—” “I owe a service to our people. Not your politics.” You snap.

“I will not go.” You slowly repeat.

Your father’s gaze is bothered and bored when he looks at you; a long pause of silence before he speaks, “You are married now. You go where your husband goes—” he lifts a finger to silence you when you try to talk, “You will accompany him in solidarity, and you will provide him the love and care of a good wife— do not forget that he is helping us. He is helping our country— your people.” He mocks your last words. “You will go with him if it is to be the last thing you ever do, am I understood?”

The room, though physically quiet, is loud in suffocating domination. You gaze at the stone table. You remember when you were a child and sat on your father’s knee, here in the council chamber, and you wanted nothing more than to fill his space when you grew older. You know now that his chair was crafted for no one but him.

Your voice is stern when you speak again, “I am not a mercenary.” 

The councilman speaks again, “No, but you are a woman— a wife now. This is now your assignment.”

You stared at your chamber door for some time— how long, you’re not sure, but you feel the heat of your anger as if it’s been there for years. You are no longer your own. You’re now the property of the council, told what to do and expected to follow through with no complaints, and this is only the second time you have felt it hit full force— the first being the second a ring was slipped onto your finger.

You’re being pulled away from your home now, the place you know best, the place that has kept you safe, healthy, and free. The place you’ve grown to love and know— you’re being ripped away from it and it fuels the fire within you.

You pack your things with angry hands, grabbing clothes and necessities and tossing them onto your bed in a disordered manner. Robin steps in just after noon, eyes widening when she sees the heap of clothes on your bed.

“They’re forcing me to go with him.” You huff.

Robin walks towards you where you angrily fold your clothes, stuffing them into bags with an angry scowl. Robin places a hand on your arm, a gentle suggestion to let her take over.

You huff and step away, turning towards the window of your room facing out towards your city's port. “As I have heard,” Robin softly says as she begins folding your things, “I will be with you the whole way.” She tries to comfort you. It’s kind, and although it does ease you a little bit, it’s not enough to put out the burning embers in your gut.

Out in the port, you watch as Eddie’s men prepare the ships, hauling heavy crates of goods and weapons onto the deck. Eddie is there too, on the deck of the biggest ship, pushing crates and barking orders, telling them where to put containers and what shipments go on which boat. He commands like it’s second nature. Hardly thinking about it as he flicks his wrist to gesture towards a ship, never having to repeat an order twice because his men hear him, and they obey him.

You grimace at the sight of him, annoyed that you’re about to be stuck on a ship for him for at least two weeks.

“He is insufferable, Robin.” You grumble, eyes trained on him down at the port.

“One moment he is sincere and kind and the next minute he is the complete opposite. You should have seen him last night,” you say, briefly turning to look at her, “He was like a shapeshifter. And to think I’m bound to him til death— gods, nothing could be worse.” You grumble.

You’re brewing in silent anger, watching the chaos from above as Robin softly sighs.

“I wish he would just disappear.” You softly whisper.

And you do… you think. The only good thing Eddie has brought you was quivering legs and a few purple bruises between your thighs. 

Robin drags in a deep breath as she walks over to you, her shoulder touching yours as you both gaze out into the port. “It will get better, I’m sure, my lady.” She softly says.

Eddie’s ship is not what you had imagined it to be.

In stories and word of mouth, the Lord of Death sails on ships made of bones and steel, with a putrid scent of burning flesh and echoing screams of torture to complete it.

It’s terrifying to imagine. Appalling to hear and nearly impossible not to gasp at, but somehow, the moment you stepped onto the ship, no overwhelming sense of death hit you. Instead, you were greeted with curt nods and quick, warm hellos— surprisingly good hospitality seeing as the men you’ll be stuck with are brooding with rage and a thirst for blood.

Eddie’s quarters are adequate. Where Eddie has a character that exudes chaos and disarray, his quarters are somewhat cleaner than you had expected.

There is a large desk to the right, books upon books stacked on the floor and shoved into the bookcase on the wall behind it. There’s not much room, so aside from the desk and the books, there’s a sofa that rests beneath the window and a bed off to the left of the room. It’s a shameful sight of a bed, but it is now your reality.

Upon boarding this ship, you were under the impression that you would be sleeping somewhere else given the unfortunate circumstances of your presence and rather strained relationship, but after a short (and exasperating) discussion, Eddie told you it would be ridiculous for you to sleep anywhere that is out of his sight on a ship full of men. So, despite your heart's desires, you begrudgingly agreed that it would be best that you just stay in the captain's quarters… with Eddie.

You are not so excited about staying with him.

Along with Robin and your few bags of clothes, Steve has also tagged along despite Eddie’s clear and strong distaste towards him and his ‘unnecessary need to protect you’ as Eddie had said it. 

“Steve goes everywhere I go; he is my guard.”

“I’ll give you a new one in Ironhold. A real one.”

Your face pinches in annoyance, “Steve is a real guard, he’s a sworn knight.” You argue. 

“He’s an amateur.” Eddie grumbles. 

“Well, I only want Steve—” “Oh, would you like to fuck him as well?” Eddie pressed. You looked at him for a moment, realizing this was not an argument of your safety, but one of possession. “Steve is coming. End of discussion.”

Because Steve is your guard. His father was your guard when you were little, and when Steve became old enough and well-crafted with a sword, he became your guard. He has never left your side since and he won’t be doing so anytime soon just because Eddie has some unspoken problem with him. Steve was the deciding factor that you would be sleeping in Eddie’s quarters, even though Eddie refrained from saying it— you can tell.

RedGate is now nowhere in sight, and the only thing you can see through the cabin window is miles of nothing but water and sky. It’s been only a few hours since you left shore, but you are already feeling the burning rocks of yearning beginning to settle within you. 

Or maybe it’s just brewing anger that’s hot within you.

Eddie’s desk is clear of papers and has been replaced with plates of warm food and bread, and across from you sits none other than your beloved husband. It is silent in the cabin, save for the humming noise of the rocking ship and the occasional clinking of Eddie’s utensils. And despite the fact that the meal looks good, you haven’t moved an inch to even try it.

Eddie takes note of this after a few bites of his dinner, glancing up at you as he chews his food, jaw prominent under work. He gestures to the table with his fork, “Are you going to sit there and stare until it rots?”

Your gaze flickers from your plate to the brown eyes watching you. They look like thick honey under the candlelight, and you hate that it stirs your insides. He nods towards the food before you, “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

As if you are a child.

“Do you enjoy telling me what to do? Is that the kind of power you seek in a union?” You prod.

Eddie looks at you, chewing his food as he drops his fork and knife on his plate to rest his fists against the table. He swallows, eyes never leaving you as he shrugs, “If you do not want to eat then—” You don’t care to let him finish before you cut him off, “Because I will warn you now, it will be easier for you to cut off your fighting arm and learn to wield a sword with your other than to tame me to be your pet.”

Honey light spills across Eddie’s face, silky smooth tendrils framing his face and casting shadows— and you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips, but you don’t see well enough before his lips start moving, “I have hounds in Ironhold, I do not need a pet.”

Your eyes subtly narrow, “You’re clever.”

“And you’ll starve,” Eddie drags in a breath as he picks up his utensils again, “Eat.”

You don’t bother moving to reach for your fork and instead reply, “Shouldn’t captains eat with their crew?”

Eddie gazes at you for a long moment, letting your question hang in the air as he cuts his food— and from here, you can see why people are so afraid of him: he glares like his gaze is meant to kill.

He finally drops his gaze from you, focused on his plate, as he replies, “I am a married man now. I should dine with my wife.”

To which you can’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes as you shift in your chair, “Please,” you scoff, “I thought the people of Ironhold do not follow tradition.” You say, reminding him of the conversation he had with your mother right before you left. Your mother had scolded you for being difficult about your situation as you pleaded that there was no reason for you to accompany Eddie on his journey home. 

“I’m sure you have a tradition for newlyweds in Ironhold— you wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?” Your mother pointed out. To which Eddie softly laughed, “We’re not a traditional family, my lady.” 

Eddie grumbles, cutting into his food and still avoiding your gaze as he responds, “That was a lie to get your mother to relent for your and my sake. My people are built on tradition, everyone knows that.”

You watch as he eats, his words turning your head— it was almost as if he was implying your mother isn’t well-versed in her history— and she is. You relent and pick up your fork, pushing at your food before you softly say, “She’s only looking out for me.”

Eddie still does not look at you when he replies, “Good for her then.”

And Eddie’s walls are thick and tall. Indestructible from your point of view. You had hope last night, but now he is as cold as he was at the feast, if not more. And even though this is not ideal for you, it would be foolish of you to not at least try to make it work— at least for your father’s purpose. What does it take to ignite the man from yesterday?

You stare at Eddie for a moment, the candle flickering against his features. Soft and beautiful in this light, always. Your nails dig into the skin of your palms as your fists clench before you abruptly rise from your seat, “You are insufferable.” You huff, tossing your napkin on your unfinished plate and walking away towards the bed.

“If I’m so insufferable, join the fish.”

You scoff out a laugh, forcefully rearranging the pillows and blankets on the bed with a scowl on your face, “Believe me,” you huff, “I would want nothing more than to leave this god-forsaken ship. Anywhere far away from you and this vessel of death.”

Eddie laughs, a screech of his plate bouncing through the room as he replies, “I can guarantee you won’t find that place in my bed, darling.”

Gods, the smug manner of his words infuriates you. You opt to stop replying, busying yourself with getting the bed ready for your rest. Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs, “You have barely eaten, you can not go to bed.”

“I’m not bloody hungry.” You snap

“Stop being difficult.” Eddie huffs.

You manage to tune out the noise of Eddie cutting and eating his food, paying no mind as you begin to undo the laces of your dress. You focus on untying your dress, becoming frustrated when the intricate lacing does not bend to your will because— god, the dressmaker really loves to make your gowns extravagant and storytelling, but it is times like these when you curse him for such talent.

And in the frustration of your dress and your situation, you must’ve missed the tapping of Eddie’s boots on the hardwood floor, only realizing his presence when it’s too late and he presses a warm hand to your arm.

You jolt with a breath, body colliding with Eddie’s hard chest. “Let me,” He says. You shrug yourself away from him, elbow digging into his chest as you huff and continue twisting and prodding at the strings, “I don’t need your help.” You sneer.

Eddie’s hands are firm this time when he touches you, steady and demanding, and flashes of last night roll behind your eyes. “You’ll hurt yourself.” He grumbles, gentle but annoyed as he pushes your hands away. 

You give in, seeing as he is your best way out of this damned dress, and neither of you say anything as he weaves the strings in and out of one another.

His touch is a path of fire, knuckles brushing down the middle of your back, shivers splitting like roots through your bones when you feel the cool air of his breath.

So gentle and affirming, much like the touch you knew just hours ago. As quick as it comes, it goes, and the cracking sound of silence is gone with the clearing of Eddie’s throat.

“It gets cold at sea.”

You clench your jaw, teeth-gritting against one another as you step out of your dress, a loose slip keeping you modest. “Do you think I have never sailed before?”

You glance at Eddie, raising an eyebrow as you neatly fold your dress. Eddie says nothing, jaw clenching as his fingers curl towards his palm for a moment. He paces back behind his desk and sits, ignoring you as you move about the room and he continues eating. You get into the bed— it’s stiff and hard, and the sheets are nothing like the sheets you have at home— but there’s no point in complaining, is there?

You turn your back to Eddie, shutting your eyes in defiance as you try to force yourself to sleep. But… that noise. That constant noise of chewing and utensils clicking, jesus christ— “Could you eat in a quiet manner?” You snap.

You don’t turn to look at Eddie, your body still facing the wooden wall that lines your side of the bed— but you can feel his stare. It burns against your shoulders and spine, heat trickling up the back of your neck despite the cool temperatures of the room.

“This is as quiet as I can be.” He finally responds.

And god, he’s such an asshole.

“Then you’re an imbecile.” You grumble back.

Eddie hums, dragging in a breath as he continues to eat, “Not far off from you then, princess. You’re going to freeze.” He says, an etch of annoyance dancing around the edges of his voice.

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see, “I’d rather freeze to death than be stuck here with you.” You respond. 

And when you expect to get some annoying and rude response, you only get a huff of a laugh and more clinking of plates and forks. As if he doesn’t care that you’d just implied death is more welcoming than the thought of being with him. Though you can’t see him and refuse to turn to do so, you imagine a pained expression on his face— or maybe an angry one— either way, the picture paints in your mind beautifully and you let it dance there behind your eyelids until you fall into a deep sleep.

The room is dark when your eyes flutter, barely able to fully open.

It is still night, the moon bright in the window above the sofa. Eddie is gone, his desk clear of dinner and replaced with his usual stack of scrolls and books. He is not beside you; and though the extra heat would’ve been pleasant, you don’t mind his absence. The boat softly groans against the small waves, the sound pulling you back under the arms of sleep.

And just before you feel the weight of sleep covering you again, you glance down at the bed you are laying in, more blankets spread over you than you remember there being when you fell asleep. You don’t have the time to feel your face warm before your eyes shut and your body falls limp once again.

And in the morning, you refuse to eat breakfast at the table.

When Eddie was a boy, his mother drowned at sea.

He doesn’t remember much of his mother, but from the tall portraits that hang in the vast castle halls, he knows she was beautiful. 

At night, when Eddie feels the most restless, he walks the gallery and studies his mother's portraits, tries to commit as much as he can to memory, and cling to it as if she’s still here. A part of him feels guilty for forgetting his mother; what her voice sounded like, what she smelled like, what she hated, and what she loved. He remembers none of it.

Some parts of Eddie he likes to believe came from his mother. There are the physical parts; her curly hair, her brown eyes, her sharp structure. And there are the other parts, the parts from within; his intelligence, his stubbornness, his strong-willed nature. Eddie inherited them all from her.

At the passing of his mother, Eddie loathed the sea for its treacherous waters that took her from him, and he swore to always carry the resentment in him. But it is hard.

It’s hard when you spend most days of the year bending to its will. It’s hard when the sound of her swishing waves lulls him to sleep most nights. It’s hard to hate the sea when the sea is what knows him best.

He can not sleep tonight. His mind is busy with a whirlwind of thoughts; tasks that need him, things he left unfinished back home, people he needs to see, and— you. It always swings back to you.

He’s been pacing on the deck for nearly an hour now. Trekking to one side of the boat to gaze at the still and dark waters before growing bored and switching sides.

Robin interrupts his silent storm, raspy voice nearly causing him to jump when she speaks, “You do know there are people sleeping below deck, yes?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder, stares wide-eyed as if seeing a ghost, and almost believes he is considering Robin's white gown. He clears his throat, looking away and clenching his grasp on the ship's rails, “Sorry. I did not think I was loud.”

Robin huffs out a laugh, stepping up to the rails, a good distance between them but enough for him to hear over the roar of the waters, “It’s wood. Sound travels. I would assume you, as a sailor, would surely know this.”

He does, though he does not care to point it out or pay mind— again, too busy with other things.

“What troubles you?”

Eddie glances at the woman, scoffs a laugh, and shakes his head, “Nothing you could fix.”

The wind whips around them, wisps of hair brushing across Eddie’s face, salt filling his lungs. Robin hums, “Sometimes it’s nice to talk…”

Eddie thinks for a moment. Considers the waves below him, sees his mother's face in them, catches a glimpse of the rippling moon, and sees you. Hears you. Almost thinks he can feel you. He clears his throat, looking at the sky for a moment, “There’s a losing war I’m joining,” He starts, “Ironhold is starving, I owe debts I don’t think I can ever repay, and my wife— she hates me.”

It’s been six days now. Six days since you and Eddie joined hands, and you just can’t seem to see eye-to-eye. One would think with the sex being as good as it is, the resentment would lessen tenfold— but no. Days go by where you don’t even say a word to Eddie. You refuse to eat with him, you grumble when you have to sleep next to him, and on the days that you do speak to him, it’s never a kind word. 

But Eddie isn’t innocent either. He plays your game just as dirty; says sly and mean things to you, and only ever really tolerates you during the few times you’re on top or below him— hell, most hours he even goes the extra mile to make himself busy with tasks that are usually left for his crew just so he can avoid you. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way either of you can exist without wanting to fling the other overboard.

“You avoid her.”

“There’s work to be done around here.”

Robin scoffs a laugh, “I’ve sailed many times in my life, and never once have I seen a captain scrub the deck.” She points out. “How will you get to know her when you can hardly spend a day with her?”

Eddie clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling in his chest, “I don’t want to know her. It’s better this way. Easier.” Which is true. Eddie may come off as cruel, but he’s doing this for the both of you. Keeping you at arm's length, in the long run, will make life easier for both of you.

“It doesn’t seem easier from this point of view.”

Eddie drags in a deep breath, turning to Robin, “It doesn’t matter what it looks like to you. Our marriage is political, it doesn’t have to be anything more and it never will be. For the sake of peace, don’t encourage it to be something bigger.”

Robin looks at Eddie as if she can see right through him. Sear the skin off his bones and see to his heart, the true and devastating foundations of Eddie Munson. 

Eddie hates it.

Robin takes a short breath, shifts on her feet and tips her head, “You can learn to co-exist, you know?”

Eddie nearly forgot Robin was even there. He glances at her, freckled face and soft eyes watching him, picking him apart. 

“It doesn’t have to be a beautiful harmony, but… you both know the circumstances of your marriage, I'm sure you could both come to an understanding if you just… talked.”

Eddie looks away and grunts in response, fingers curling over the railing. “She is smarter than you think.” She adds.

“I don’t underestimate her wit.” Eddie quickly corrects. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“She shouldn’t want to.”

“So you expect her to happily lie with a stranger? Protect a stranger? Risk her cause for a stranger?” Robin challenges. “She lost more than you see. She’s grieving.”

Grieving. What could you possibly know about grieving? A noble woman who’s only ever known sunshine and the riches of your father’s work. If anything, Eddie just feels sorry that he’s ripped you from the luxury he’s always wanted.

Eddie grips the railing, leaning forward slightly, annoyance bubbling through him as he acknowledges Robin's words. At the very least, Eddie should make sure you don’t hate his entire being. You carry his name now. You hold the title of his home— his people will look to you as an emblem. Having this division between you two— it’s not only putting your image at stake, but his as well.

You swore a promise to the council, a promise to your father and your people and despite the tensions between you and the world you’ve grown to detest, you’ve done a damn good job at never losing sight of your duty— no matter how much you despise it.

But how long until you grow tired of him? How long until you destroy him for all his worth? How long until you realize you and Eddie will never be the same? You are like oil and water.

Eddie can admit you're good for the game you were forced to play a hand in. You have the strength to withstand any obstacle thrown your way. He just can’t say he’s all that happy to play a part in it— not when half of his name resides on your shoulders.

“She can not read your mind. Talk to her.”

Eddie glances towards Robin again, watching as she turns and walks away, back to sleep he supposes. And Eddie is left with this new task of having to figure this out— figure out what is best for the stability of this union in the eyes of the crown and his home. 

Eddie hates to admit it, but Robin is right. He will have to set aside his pride and meet you in the middle, no matter how much it pains him.

part two.

————

a/n: OH EM GEEEE, guys this has been in my google docs for over a year LMAOO, I'm SHOCKED she's seeing the light of day honestly. if you've made it to the end of this chapter, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the ride if you choose to stick around !!!

as always, thank u for reading and being here, ily and love appreciate any form of feedback <3 THERE'S MORE TO COME, ILY MWAH <3

————

cutesy lil royal taglist: @munson-blurbs @ali-r3n @rogueinmymind @pretty-vulture @jasminelafleur @georgeweasleyslostearhq @emxxblog @3rd-conchord @leelei1980 @t00thfairy20 @bl00d-puppy @hereforshmut

@sst0txx @mdurdenpitt @stylesxmunson @l1ving-d3ad-girl-69 @chaoticgood-munson @sirensleepingsoundly @missjadesfics @awkward00noodle @darknesseddiem

[strawberrysodaslut]

just thinking about taking eddie to the family events i don’t go to so he can keep [REDACTED] far away from me

[strawberrysodaslut]

jeeesus holy shit

everything about this is so… incredible feels like the wrong word bc it’s so sad but like… that’s what it is. you feel every emotion as it happens, the longing, the anger, the depression and the numbness. eddie is a fucking legend and steve, i hated him in the earlier parts but i just feel so bad for him here. even in the last flashback you can tell he’s fully gone before it happened

what an amazing piece of art

when you come in the cold (troubled!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve succumbs to his demons, and you reflect on your past with him as his present comes to an end.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy

☆ the sinner ☆ the library

tags: reader is given an insert name “rebecca” because i hate y/n (biblically, “rebecca” means “to tie firmly”); addiction; death; angst/hurt, literally no comfort, their daughter's name is not butterfly, it's just used to refer to her.

recommended listening: house in nebraska, amber waves, and onanist by ethel cain (because that's what I listened to while writing this and we should all be miserable when we read this)

somewhere in the midwest. november 2011.

Wind whistled through a crack in the bedroom window. They rattled in the cold seasons, but you learned to sleep right through. Eddie used to complain, rubbing his eyes in the morning and complaining of poor slumber after a particularly nasty storm. But he watched you shrug and your daughter maintain oblivion at the breakfast table, both perfectly accustomed to sleeping through the night no matter the weather or storm.

He learned a few months in just why that was.

But tonight, you were all sleeping soundly. Contently nestled under layers of clothes and blankets. Eddie's arm weighed down on your waist. A ray of moonlight bled over the tops of your plaid-covered toes.

At 11:33 that night, a particularly sharp howl broke through the window and woke you. You shot up, knocking Eddie's arm away and rustling the bed pillows. The alarm clock blinked in small red numbers. You massaged your head, suddenly pounding. One glance over Eddie's blanketed mound showed the curtains in the midst of a billow. The great oak tree in the front yard bobbed against the night.

Still, as you sank back down and blinked up at the ceiling, you could not quite stop feeling a pulsing in your head. A lump in you throat, hard and obstructive. A sensation in your chest like someone was holding you upside down. It all felt off. Something was wrong.

Your first thought was Butterfly, asleep in her bedroom across the hall. You had just swung your feet free from their confines and touched them to the floor when your phone rang on the nightstand.

You answered it quickly, unwilling to wake the rest of the home.

"Hello?"

"Rebecca? It's Sheriff Peters."

You pressed your heels firmly to the cold floor. It shot through you like a spurt, reaching your mouth where you brought your fingers to hold.

Squeezed your eyes shut tight. "Yeah?"

A heavy sigh. You moved your fingers to your head and felt it pulse again.

"The Harrington kid…”

Scrunching your eyes closed tighter, a picture flashed of 21-year old Steve. Chestnut tresses soon to be shaven by a stint at County right before his 22nd birthday. Dirt tracks on his bare arms. Oiled-dipped rag tucked in the back pocket of his Levi’s. A smile bright as the sun around a cigarette. A beam of afternoon light across a pair of freckled cheekbones.

“…well...he's gone, honey."

29-year old Steve slumped on the front steps of the old house. Thinner, greyer, sunken in. You went to tell him about the hearing. How Eddie was adopting her. Steve dug two dirt-caked fingers in his eyes. A cigarette withering between them. Track marks on his long arms. Holes in his shirt.

A shell of the man you knew.

“Rebecca?”

Your own sharp sniffle jolted you awake. “Y-yeah. Um…h-how did…”

Hooking your chin over your shoulder, you found Eddie still fast asleep. Silver light kissing his cheek. He spent the day making pancakes and coffee and giving your daughter piggyback rides around the house. She got antsy in the cold, always aching for playtime in the sun. She still didn’t understand that it wasn’t always warm.

She didn’t understand that some things went away.

“Uh…we found some stuff. Coulda been the booze, coulda been the drugs. It…it wasn’t pretty the last couple a’ months, kid.”

A whimper bubbled through your throat, wrapped around a dollop of vile snaking its way up. You brought your knees to your chest and hugged them tight.

“He’s at the house?”

“They’re takin’ him off now, but…yes.” Sheriff Peters sounded pained. There were voices and sounds of movement behind him.

The chirp of dispatch walkies. The slam of squad car doors. The shriek of gurney wheels. Of ambulance latches. A siren carrying him away. You didn’t want to close your eyes and picture the white sheet they’d take him in.

So you kept them open. Watched the shadow of a tree branch paint the bedroom wall.

“They’re just…they’re gonna need you to come ‘n identify him. Protocol. Everybody knows you…well…”

A breath shuddered through you, then out. You must’ve started to shake, because Eddie, who didn’t even wake for the storm, shuffled in bed. Jerked like he was pushed, sat upright and laid a hand on your arm.

“Baby, whas a’ matter?”

“O-okay,” you wept into the phone. Your cheeks were warm and wet and you could taste something sweet on your tongue. Everything felt swollen and wrong and rotten.

The world felt suspended. Time felt suspended. Like watching a creation of your own life, but not living in it.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Sheriff Peters whispered.

You hung up the phone.

Eddie had never heard someone wail the way you did that night. Like someone in the war who just lost their son. Like someone being torn apart arm by arm. It sent a terrifying panic through him like never before.

He folded his arms around you and held you against his chest to stop the shaking. Shushed you and rocked you and pet your hair when you began to sweat. As your phone fell to the floor, he noticed the most recent area code. The Sheriff’s personal number. A number he came to know well.

He knew this day was coming. Knew it was soon when he saw Steve stumbling through town. Knew it wasn’t long before he just couldn’t do it anymore; and not even the thought of getting better for that little girl in the room down the hall could save him anymore.

“Oh, God, baby,” Eddie murmured into your cheek where his lips pressed while he swayed. “Oh, God.”

Your daughter slept through any storm. Thankfully.

☆ ☆

November 17th, 2006

Dear Diary,

It’s freezing here. An early winter, they said. It might even snow. Steve’s out with his father, hunting. I miss him so much and I don't really know why. He's not very kind when he's here. He's been especially mean lately. Quiet, but mean. Maybe he doesn't realize how much it hurts when he won't look at me.

Is it wrong to imagine the kind of man he could be? To pretend he's someone else when I talk about him? When they ask about him, if they don't know him, I can come up with all these lies. He's kind, he's romantic, he's sweet. They don't know the difference.

There are instances when these things are true. When he's tired, or he's hurt. I think he's sweetest when he feels guilty. When I find his wallet thick with a fresh wad of cash and there's blood on his coat. When he makes a mess and I have to clean it up. When he takes it too far. He can be so sweet then. Tender, even.

He's never soft, but he can be very tender. I wish they could know that.

But maybe that's our secret to keep to ourselves. The things that happen in this cold and hollow house.

I think I hear his truck pulling up. What a strange thing, how alight my body feels when he's near, no matter what.

☆ ☆

The hospital morgue was quiet. The creak of steps through the tile above you, the swish of doors flapping open, then closed, the soft shudder of your own breath stuttering out of you. Those were the sounds of the last place you'd ever see Steve.

A crumpled tissue sat permanently under your nose on your trudge down the hall. It caught the thin drippings of a morning full of unconsolable sobs.

Each time Eddie poked his head into the bathroom, where you stationed yourself on the bath mat against the tub, you broke down again. His poor attempts at comfort were futile. Every stroke of his hand over your hair, each glance of welled-up doe eyes, every soft murmur and gentle shush—it sent you right back over the edge.

But the sound of her delicate voice through the bathroom door truly tore you apart.

What's wrong with mommy?

Mommy's just not feelin' too good today, bug. You wanna go color her a picture?

Why couldn't he have gotten better for her?

It's a thought you tried to swallow down as the sheriff lead you into the room. It was sour and thick on the way down, like trying to swallow a lemon candy whole. Though, perhaps that was the scent of the cleaner they used to mask the underlying smell that'll never leave this room.

Death.

The chemical acidity immediately swelled in your throat, urging you to throw up. The sheriff's hand on your back moved in slow circles. It didn't even register to feel bad about it when you shrugged him off. He understood.

After all, they all knew Steve.

The sheriff stood near the door, eyes on his feet while you approached the metal slab.

The sheet billowed toward his chest, caved in with freed weight. His skin marbled in the cold, in death. Like the pale surface of deli meat, splotched with discoloration. His eyes were closed.

You felt your lips move to confirm what they all knew, but no sound registered. The sheet moved slowly back over his face until only the silhouette of his nose stared back at you.

☆ ☆

November 2008

Dear Diary,

It's strange, being without him every day. Especially as the world creeps toward winter. For some reason, I find myself aching for him most when it's cold. Maybe because it was his favorite season, winter. Winter when it was frigid and bare and empty and he had an excuse for slinking away. "Nothing better to do than get into trouble," he used to say.

They all think I'm so weak, the way I keep crawling back to him time and time gain. Mama says I'm pathetic. That if I can't see what kind of man he is after all that, I never will, and he'll get away with murder. But hasn't she ever loved someone terrible? Doesn't she know how it feels? To be someone's light? To be the only thing someone who doesn't love, loves?

He might not say it often, but even everyone can admit it. Steve loves me.

But, something's felt different lately. When I lay with him, it feels like laying with a stranger. I don't think we can do this anymore. Not unless he wants to be better.

That's like asking a wolf to forget its nature, isn't it?

☆ ☆

For some reason, all you could think the entire fast-paced walk back to your car was: idiot.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You slammed the door, got behind the wheel, and pounded your fists on the leather.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Why did you do it? She's just a little girl. This wasn't who you were.

You jammed the keys into the ignition and slurped the snot back into your nose. Fucking idiot. The car rumbled to life, yellow headlights splicing through the grey afternoon. Goddamn idiot.

With every grumbled syllable, you began to hiccup. Hyperventilate. The car died back down under a trembling hand, sitting still in the hospital parking lot.

You leaned forward and pressed your head to the steering wheel. The leather was cold against your skin. Your breaths shuddered out in puffs of white. Closing your eyes squeezed free more tears, plopping out in hot, fat drops across your lap.

Closing your eyes materialized a Steve that hadn't been alive for a very long time. A healthy Steve, sun-kissed skin and cords of lean muscle, steady hands and green-flecked eyes full of life. He crumpled as time went on. Caved in on himself. You remember having to tip your head back to look at him that very first day.

But the last day, he looked at you through the mesh of your screen door. He seemed almost a child on your front steps, banging with fists that could barely clench together. Wobbling back and clutching the railing to find footing.

I wanna see her.

The camo Carhartt swallowed him whole then. The camo Carhartt that used to block his shoulders and swaddle you by the zipper. It drooped at every odd angle. It felt like another man's token of a life no longer lived.

I'm her father.

He once told you that he thought if he'd been given a different man for a father, he might not have turned out this way. Murmured in the rosy rise of another day, when the one before it had been spent screaming at each other until your throats were raw and more plates were unusable—when you had another bag packed at the door, and Steve came shuffling back in with a bunch of limp-stemmed daisies.

His arm around your shoulders, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm. His lips scraped over your forehead in wintered appearance. He said if what happened to him as a kid never happened, he'd be on the other side of the town line. But you wouldn't love him like that, would you?

As he looked up at you from the bottom step of your front porch, bleary-eyed and red-nosed, you thought about your daughter wishing for a different father. You thought about your daughter on the other side of the town line, saying if she'd just been born to a different man, she wouldn't have ended up like this.

Not until you get better, you told him.

And you shut the door on his slumped shoulders, suddenly too small, under a too-big coat.

Would she remember him? It was the next thought that churned in your mind as you lifted from the wheel. Pressing on the brake to turn the key and start the engine, you thought about the corners of her mouth that curled like his. Would she ever know that? Would she recognize that in photos, tucked under your bed until she got older?

When the gear clunked into drive, and the left turn signal clicked to a steady beat, you found yourself thinking about that beastly silver truck. They'd impound it, no doubt. His last prized possession, the last piece of his former life left unscathed.

Your heart squeezed in mourning for the four-wheel possession as you rolled into the road, jostling over buckled pavement and snow mounds.

How odd, to mourn a vehicle you froze and sweat and cried in. How odd, indeed.

☆ ☆

November 2009

Baby's first snow! Butterfly looks so sweet all bundled up in her little coat. Like a little doll, all squished cheeks and snug buttons to her chin. She hates her boots and keeps trying to kick them off, but they make the cutest little imprints in the backyard.

Steve put money in the mailbox again. Sometimes he leaves little notes on the envelopes, each more eligible than the last. "For diapers" or "for you" or "for her" or sometimes, just "I'm sorry." They used to make me cry, but now I don't even want to look at them. Every pair of boots and every new coat buttoned snug to her chin is purchased by me. The money tucked into crumpled envelopes scrawled with his handwriting, a smaller amount each time, goes into a box in the back of the closet. Maybe she'll get to go to college one day. Maybe she'll have a better life than Steve and I did. That's the hope, isn't it? That she turns out better than we did.

I try not to think about where he got it. Or the fact that every time I see him, he looks worse than the time before. I know he's using and I know it's bad. They still called me every time he got busted until I told them to stop. Phone calls at 3 a.m tend to wake sleeping babies, and I can no longer trek out in the middle of the night to save him anymore. And maybe I could no longer stomach hearing "heroin" and "Steve" used in the same sentences.

But Butterfly looks sweet in her coat, purchased by mommy. I take pictures for Steve, hoping one day he'll see them with clear eyes.

Just like the box of cash in the closet, there are things waiting for a future, grown-up Steve.

☆ ☆

Her body hurtling toward you came like a stop-motion, stuttered and slow. She flung into your knees, accustomed to your waiting arms, and you braced her with a palm to the back of her damp head. From the bleary looks of it, she'd spent the day running amok with Eddie. But you couldn't stop to process the mess. It passed by like a cloud, something barely even acknowledged.

"Hey, bug." It came from your own mouth but took a few extra beats to hit your ears. You only felt your jaw working up and down to form the words.

Eddie watched your eyes glaze over the him, the room, your daughter—time. You were in your own state of it, meandering aimlessly through the front door. He took the purse sagging at your side and placed it on the hook beside the door. He slid his hand around your waist and pulled you the rest of the way inside.

"Wanna get mommy a pair of pajamas to wear?"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah? You pick, okay, bug? We're gonna give mommy a little bath time to warm up."

Her little feet pattered up the steps overhead. Like raindrops on a car roof. Your eyes flickered her way just in time to catch a flash of purple tulle, prancing around the banister.

"Come on, honey," Eddie cooed into your ear, the same octave he used with Butterfly. It felt like he was across the room, calling through a closed door.

He had one arm around your waist, one hand against your arm. Bracing like you'd just come home from surgery. Waiting for your body to give out.

She brought a pile of red fabric placed on the closed toilet lid. Eddie thanked her, ruffled her hair—just like Steve's in thickness—and told her to pour the bubbles into the rushing water. It all came like radio static, like words creeping through interruption. You thought your fingers were cold. They certainly hurt, curled into tight fists at your sides. Eddie had to pry them open so you'd stop shaking.

Your coat came off first, unzipped and dropped to the floor in a noiseless thud. Sleeves slipped off your arms, fabric slipped over your head. Butterfly was gone when you turned, a mess of muffled noise and clattering across the hall. Playful chattering and five year-old pretend. You found a dark blob of woodgrain and let your vision swallow it until the room fizzled away around it. Eddie tugged your jeans over your hips and peeled them off your legs.

"Alright, step, step. Sit down—there you go."

It was warm then. It burned a moment on your toes, the stinging sensation of when cold meets hot. It dulled when the warmth touched your calves, your hips, your stomach, wading under your breasts. Eddie lowered you back against the porcelain. His hand was a big warm gust of wind over your head.

Big brown eyes blinked slowly in the white light of afternoon. He was sitting on the floor beside you, arms tucked over his knees. How long had he been there? How long had you been home? Did you lock your car when you parked it? Were the keys still in the engine? You don't remember coming home.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

You don't remember replying, but he was standing anyway. He lingered a moment, swaying on the bathmat. You stared through his leg into the door. He thought he might have to manually turn your head to bring you to life. But he busied himself with scooping your clothes off the floor, putting your pajamas where you'd find them before he reached the door.

It thumped closed and you placed your hands over your face. Steam emanated from your flesh, tendrils licking the frost-bitten surface of your cheeks. Did they smell like lemon cleaner, or did the stench of the morgue just bury itself in your nose? Would it go away? You lurched with rising bile just once, hunched into the bath water. Butterfly chose lavender bubbles.

Don't go, honey.

You dropped your hands and let them sink into the water. You could not open your eyes and see another moment of this new world. How different the colors seemed when someone you loved was not here to fill them in.

You can't leave me.

☆ ☆

"Hey, bug."

"Are you feeling better, Mommy?"

She was warm, recently-bathed and bubblegum-scented. Eddie brushed her teeth, plopping her on the step stool to sing the "tooth song" in the mirror. He rummaged through the dinner mess left in the kitchen while you padded across the hall into her room, where you slipped into her bed against the soft pink glow of her nightlight.

"A little," you whispered, placing your head on the pillow beside her. "Mommy's just a little sad."

She bunched her hands under her cheek and blinked at you in the darkness. "Why?"

You mimicked her, feet hanging over the edge of the bed, hers tucked under the blankets. "Someone I used to know died."

She searched your eyes, lashes tapping. Her hand came out to touch your arm, where it sat in gentle pressure. You smiled at her, feeling the dryness sting with wetness again.

"Will they come back?"

You swallowed and it clicked in your ears. A teardrop plopped against her pillow. You swiped at it and smiled again.

"No, he won't. But, I'll always remember him. I hope you will, too. I'll show you his picture tomorrow, would you like that?"

Butterfly nodded. You nodded back, reaching out to smooth your hand over cheek.

"He looks kinda like you," you told her, and matched her toothy grin with one of your own.

"Really?"

"Really. Come on, bug, snuggle in."

She wriggled into your arms and pressed her cheek to your chest. It was the slow and even rhythm of your breaths, and the perfume clinging to your clothes, that sent her to sleep. You let your eyes close, your breathing slow.

In the darkness, Steve's amber eyes blinked goodbye.

In the morning, you'd pull the box from the closet and show her a photograph over ten years old. She wouldn't see herself in it just yet, but one day she would.

[strawberrysodaslut]

lowkey wanna do a friends to lovers vibe with eddie where neither of them like actually considered dating eachother before hooking up and then it is like “oh shit i guess i love you now??”

[strawberrysodaslut]

why are house inspections so stressful omgg

[strawberrysodaslut]

OH DEAR

just thinking about steddie and how they would react to seeing reader with pierced nipples 😌💕

Okay but them seeing your nipples for the first time just to find out they’re pierced! 👀 Like maybe you three, along with Robin and Nancy, all travel out to the mountains somewhere to stay in a cabin on a lake for a weekend to celebrate graduating from high school and since the cabin is in a more private area, you bring up the idea of skinny dipping. Of course all of you are comfortable in your friendships with each other to just strip down and bare all for a swim, so the five of you are soon down by the shore of the lake ridding yourselves of your clothing. 👀😏

word count: 740

warnings: (18+ only, so minors move along!) BOOBS! And pierced ones at that 😏, unmentioned nudity (they’re all basically nude from the start), perv!Eddie and Steve, brave!Robin (she cops a feel lmao), profanity, etc

Robin was the first to notice your nipple piercings, eyes bugeyed and mouth agape as she couldn’t help but stare at the shiny metal shimmering in the sunlight, her cheeks flushing a deep pink when she looked up to realize you caught her gaping at your tits. “You never told me you had nipple piercings...”

You smirked and gave your piercings a quick rub with your thumbs before shrugging your shoulders. “Got them done on my 18th birthday. My treat to myself. Didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t think it mattered.” You laughed softly, reaching up to gently pinch her blushing cheeks between your thumbs and forefingers before teasing in a not so hushed manner. “You’re so red, Robs. Tell me you’ve never seen pierced nipples before without telling me you’ve never seen pierced nipples before.”

“What? Pierced nipples? Where?” Eddie came up behind you seemingly out of nowhere, making a wide smirk tug at the corner of your lips at the sole fact that you finally had the chance to show Eddie fucking Munson your tits. Eddie waited with bated breath for one of you to answer and when you finally turned to face him looking up at him with a Cheshire cat-like grin, he had his answer before he even had to look down.

“Riiiiight...here.” You answered while grabbing him by the jaw and tilting it down to bring his gaze to your pierced nipples for him, watching with a smirk as his eyes went wider than Robin’s and he visibly and audibly swallowed the build up of saliva pooling in his mouth. You knew he wanted to put his mouth on your tits, could tell from the way his tongue slowly and subconsciously swiped along his bottom lip, and as much as you wanted that you knew it had to wait.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sweetheart... I finally get to see what your tits look like and find out they’re fucking pierced?” Eddie groaned before his gaze was back on your own, trying his hardest to fight the urge to reach out and pinch your nipples.

“I wanna see your nipple piercings.” Steve chimed in as he hip chucked Eddie out of the way, who growled dangerously with a warning glare thrown Steve’s way. “Oh shit, that’s hot.” Steve gaped at your tits, which had you smirking even more. What next? Was Nancy gonna gape too?

“Yeah no shit, but I saw them first so fuck off.” Eddie said as he hip chucked Steve right back, gaze immediately glued back on your piercings where he licked his lips some more.

“Actually,” Robin added, shoving Eddie out of the way. “I saw them first.” She grinned before grabbing both of your tits in her hands and savoring the quick squeeze she gave them, earning a soft gasp and moan of surprise from you in return.

“Aww come on! I wanted to touch them first.” Eddie huffed out with a pout as he crossed his arms over his chest, which you snorted out a laugh at.

“Really Eddie? Eager much?” You teased, absolutely loving the fact that Eddie was whining over the fact that he didn’t get to feel your tits first. You’d fantasized many-a-times about flashing Eddie your tits and the things he’d do to you following it, and you were sure he would do such delicious and filthy things to them.

“Oh trust me, Sweetheart, you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined what your tits look like, what they feel and taste like...” He commented, tossing his head back with a low groan at the fact that they were much better than he expected. They were perfect, in fact. He just needed to feel and taste them.

“Fucking same.” Steve groaned, which had you blushing not realizing Steve had sexual thoughts about you too. You thought he had no interest in you in that way, but it seemed like you were totally wrong about that. Maybe this trip would turn out to be better than expected.

“Well fuck... Guess we’re having a threesome this weekend.” You stated before running towards the water before they could say anything and diving in to join Nancy who’d been in the water for minutes now, Robin joining you right after and leaving Eddie and Steve standing on the shore in wide eyed shock at your comment.

Oh they were going to have a lot of fun during this trip.

(If y’all want that threesome, you’re gonna have to like, beg comment, and reblog because I don’t typically write Steddie fics and I’m gonna need some sort of payment in return for it and those likes, begging comments, and reblogs on this will be sufficient enough payment for me. 😏🤭)

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