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steddiealltheway · 1 year ago

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Steve lays in his bed with thoughts of Eddie in the boathouse. For some reason, he wants to go to him. Hell, he knows he probably can't sleep, and they need him as well rested as they can so he can stay on alert through this whole hunt the freak thing.

Plus, a small part of him knows what it's like to be stuck with your thoughts late at night after dealing with the Upside Down shit. And it's not pleasant. Especially alone.

Another part of him knows that Dustin would never be okay if something happened to Eddie after they told him things would be fine.

But things will be fine. Especially if Steve goes to the boathouse and keeps watch for part of the night.

He throws on some more layers and grabs a protein bar for Eddie before driving that way, trying not to get too weirded out by the concept of him hanging out with Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

Hopefully this time he won't be threatened with that damn broken bottle.

He pulls up a little ways away from Reefer Rick's place and parks before grabbing his nail bat and creeping his way to the shed. He rounds the side toward the door and knocks lightly, whisper yelling, "Eddie! It's Steve! Open up!"

He waits a few moments before sighing and raising his voice. "I'm opening the door. Just don't kill me."

He slowly opens the door, glancing around the boathouse and finding it empty. He glances at the tarp over the boat and sighs, "Eddie, I know you're under there. It's just me."

The tarp shifts slightly, and Steve stares up at the ceiling in annoyance. "Okay, I get it. You don't trust me, and you have no reason to really. But we both know Dustin would kill me if I ever attempted to hurt you or turn you in. Plus, I know you're innocent, so I'm just going to stay here until you come out." He pauses before adding on, "I'll even hum so you know where I am."

He starts humming the first song that comes to mind which ends up being "Everybody Wants to Rule the World."

The tarp shifts and Steve watches as Eddie slowly reveals himself, bottle in hand, pointed at Steve. His eyes flicker to the bat in Steve's hand.

Steve stops humming. "It's for your safety," he says, lifting it up a little.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, and Steve gets the message before he drops the bat and raises his hands in surrender.

Eddie nods at him. "What's in your hand?"

Steve glances up and tosses the protein bar at Eddie. "Food," he says as Eddie curses, failing to catch the bar.

Steve takes a step closer but Eddie holds out the bottle to him and stands up. "Why are you here?"

"To make sure you're safe."

He looks unconvinced.

Steve shrugs and crosses his arms. "Okay, I know what it's like trying to process all this shit on your own, and it sucks, man. I didn't have anyone with me the first night after everything went down, and I didn't think I would make it through the night without that thing coming back."

"So what? You're here to help the freak with no ulterior motive, and I'm supposed to believe that?"

"You can tell me to leave, but I don't really want to spend the night alone either," Steve confesses, hoping that it will help Eddie trust him a bit.

Eddie only stares at him for a few moments before leaning out of the boat to pick up the bat before sitting down and picking up the protein bar. He unwraps it and bites off half of it before asking, "Tears for Fears, really?"

It takes a second for Steve to really understand what Eddie's asking before he smiles slightly. "That's what you're worried about?"

Eddie shrugs, taking around his mouthful, "I was just wondering if you really thought that's the type of music I'm into."

"It's the first song that came to mind. But no. I know you're into that metal stuff that Mike's been going on about." Steve takes a tentative step forward, watching the way Eddie's eyes follow the step.

He raises his eyebrows when Eddie glances up at him and shifts a bit before gesturing to the spot in front of him. Steve takes the invitation and sits in front of him, shifting a bit around the boat before grimacing.

"I bet you're missing your bed," Eddie comments as he finishes off the bar, dropping the wrapper in the boat before grabbing his broken bottle again. Luckily this time, he doesn't point it in Steve's direction.

"A bit," Steve confesses as he fails to get comfortable. He wishes he could take Eddie back to his home and maybe even give him the guest bedroom so he doesn't have to stay here.

Wait.

Steve glances up to where Eddie is tightly gripping the handle of his bat and the neck of the broken bottle and slowly reaches out his hand, asking for the bat. As Eddie hands it over reluctantly, Steve says, "Why don't you stay at my house for now? No one would guess you would be there."

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. "I'm not risking you getting caught with me."

"Well, it's too late for that." Steve says before circling back a bit to ask, "Why?"

Eddie shrugs and glances down at the bottle. "Because Dustin would kill me."

Steve sighs and lays the bat on the side of the boat. "You can hide in the back of my car on the drive there. It'll be easy to sneak you in."

"And your parents?"

"Gone for the foreseeable future. And even if they do come back, I can hide you in my closet or something."

Eddie shoots him a look. "Comfortable."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Eddie glances around the boathouse. "I don't mind staying here at the moment."

Steve's not sure why he wants to fight him on it so bad, but he gives in and says, "Just consider it after we've killed Vecna and we're going through the whole clearing your name process, okay?"

"Why?"

The question takes Steve off guard, but he easily deflects saying, "Because Dustin would kill me."

Eddie nods and looks off, getting that same far-off haunted look on his face. Before Steve can attempt to distract him Eddie snaps out of it asking, "And if someone comes here now, how will you explain why you're here?"

Steve glances around and looks at the windows and door. "Okay, maybe we should get under the tarp before that happens."

Eddie stares at him. "You want to get cozy with me in this boat?"

"I want to save both of our asses for now. If we hear something, we stay hidden, and if they come inside, we grab the bat and bottle and we attack." Get cozy with him?

Eddie sighs, "Can't wait," before shifting to sit next to Steve, placing his bottle carefully down toward the end of the boat before grabbing the tarp.

Steve shifts the bat, nails side at the end of the boat and shifts to lay back.

Eddie glances down at him and asks, "Ready?"

Steve nods as Eddie pulls the tarp over them and lays back. In the process, he ends up jostling Steve and shifting him to the side, almost getting his leg stabbed by the bat as Eddie curses about the bottle. They both shift to face each other, quickly noticing that they're around the same height with the way their feet are knocking into each other their breath is mingling together.

It is very weirdly intimate.

"Steve?" Eddie asks.

Steve hums in response.

"Maybe we should pull the tarp back until we hear something."

"Great plan," Steve says quickly, reaching up to pull the tarp back a bit.

There's a bit of moonlight shining through the windows which illuminates Eddie's face enough for Steve to be able to admire him. Steve blames the intimate position for his thoughts about how Eddie "The Freak" Munson is kind of beautiful.

Eddie's eyebrows furrow. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Steve quickly looks away and lies, "Just thinking."

"About?"

Steve takes a moment and readjusts a bit. "Just never thought I would be hanging out with you."

Eddie shifts as well, accidentally brushing his hand against where Steve's own hand lies between them. Eddie's hand shoots back to his chest. "if it makes you feel better, I wouldn't call this hanging out. We're just two people who are linked through some supernatural shit with parallel worlds and are trying to keep each other alive so Dustin doesn't kill us." He lets out a slow deep breath through his nose and glances away. "It doesn't have to mean anything. Trust me, I know you wouldn't be here unless you had to be."

Steve lets the feeling of regret run through him. "That's not what I meant."

"No?" Eddie challenges him.

"No," Steve confesses. "Dustin didn't ask me to come here, you know."

"So, you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" Eddie asks, tone dripping with disbelief.

"I didn't want you to be alone."

"Yeah, you said that before."

Steve's eyebrows furrow. "And?"

"And I'm sorry if I have trouble believing it."

Steve just blinks at him, unsure what to say other than his usual apology for being an asshole in high school.

Eddie beats him to it and sighs, "You're just... Steve Harrington. And I'm 'The Freak.'"

Steve can't help but snarkily reply, "I didn't realize that was your legal name."

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. "You know what I mean."

As much as he hates it, Steve does understand what he means. He looks him in the eye and says, "You know if I could go back and change how I was in high school, I would. Because, trust me, being 'King Steve' was not all that it was chalked up to be. And everyone I love still sees me that way. It's like they're waiting for that guy to come back or something because they're always in disbelief that I've changed or whatever. It's all just... bullshit." He sighs out the word, trying not to think too hard about understanding what Nancy meant when she called him it.

Eddie continues to stare at him, eyes wandering over his face as if he's trying to make his own assessment of him. Or as if he's waiting for the real Steve to pop out, the inevitable asshole. Instead, he just says, "You're different than I imagined."

"Is that a good thing?" Steve can't help but ask.

"Give me a business day or two, and I'll get back to you about it," Eddie says with a smile.

The response startles a laugh out of Steve which he quickly covers with his hand before he rests it in the space between them. "Maybe you're different, too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks.

"I thought you'd be way less willing to accept my presence here."

Eddie shrugs the shoulder he isn't laying on. "Well, being alone seemed to be slightly more appalling than spending time with you." He smiles and nudges him with his foot. "I'm joking. At least, now I'm joking."

Steve rolls his eyes and nudges Eddie with a little too much force, sending them both off balance and causing Steve to end up a bit sprawled out on top of Eddie who stares up at him with wide eyes.

For some reason, the new angle really does something for Steve who can only think of kissing Eddie. He leans back and takes a deep breath before an idea strikes him. He blames his tired, anxiety-ridden mind on the reason for voicing his thought, "You know, I can think of a better way to explain why I'm here if someone comes in."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, face carefully blank but a heavy swallow gives him away.

Steve shrugs. "Who is to question King Steve hooking up with some random girl in Reefer Rick's empty boathouse?"

"Christ," Eddie mumbles out, eyes flicking down to Steve's lips. "Are you suggesting we...?"

Steve looks down at him innocently. "I mean, if it comes down to it, I would be down to kiss you. Your hair is long enough to hide your face," he turns to the door and windows, "And from this angle, they would barely catch a glimpse of you."

Eddie swallows again and breathes out, "You're definitely not what I thought you'd be like."

"And is that-"

"A good thing?" Eddie finishes for him. "Yeah, I would say it is definitely a good thing."

Steve smiles down at him and is about to shift off of him when there's a sudden noise outside of the boathouse. He feels Eddie freeze beneath him.

"Steve... I know it was probably a joke, but either cover us with the tarp or kiss me," Eddie whispers quickly.

Steve reaches out for the tarp and pulls it over their heads, noticing the slight look of disappointment on Eddie's face before the tarp blocks out the light. His hands reach out, landing on Eddie's chest before trailing up to cup his jaw.

"What are you doing?" Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his heart thudding in his chest impossibly faster at the sensation.

"Why not do both?" Steve whispers into the air between them.

He waits as Eddie's own hands come up to his shoulders, tracing their way into Steve's hair. "Both. Yeah. Both are good."

Steve's not sure who moves first, but their kiss is frenzied, filled with the anxiety of Hawkins crumbling around them along with the possibility of Eddie being caught, mixed with the fact that they're "The Hair" and "The Freak." And this is not supposed to be happening.

But Steve doesn't care. He deepens the kiss, groaning when Eddie tugs at his hair and pulls him closer. God, Steve can practically feel the kiss go through his full body, and he can't remember the last time a kiss made him feel like this.

The air around them under the tarp gets warmer as the kiss goes on, and Steve finds himself breaking away for air only to chase Eddie's lips again. It's all intoxicating. And the warm air makes it feel like he isn't getting enough air as Eddie practically sucks it out of him.

He breaks away and gasps, "God, I want to lift the tarp, but I can't risk anyone seeing you."

Eddie doesn't answer, he just pulls the tarp slightly off them before pulling Steve into another kiss. Steve can barely register the relief of the cool air hitting the back of his damp neck as he gets lost in Eddie.

"Can't see me remember?" Eddie says against Steve's lips.

"They can- mmm. See the rings," Steve manages to get out.

Eddie's hands slowly drift down Steve's back, resting on the dip of his spine that's still under the tarp. "Better?"

Steve pulls back and looks down at Eddie, his mouth pink and damp, cheeks flushed red, pupils blown wide. "God, you're beautiful," Steve says without thinking.

Eddie stares at him for a moment, face carefully blank before he glances at the window. "Do you think they're still here?"

Steve glances out the window and debates what to say next. He settles with the truth. "I'm pretty sure it was just a branch that hit the window."

Eddie nods and worries his bottom lip, not looking at Steve. He's still struggling to catch his breath, but Steve can't say much when he is equally as winded.

Steve pauses and says, "But maybe someone's out there. Or..." He shakes his head, trying not to finish the thought out loud.

"Or what?" Eddie asks.

"Or maybe I just want to kiss you again," Steve confesses.

Eddie looks up at him and pauses, eyes searching Steve's face for something. He glances toward the window and says, "I can't exactly be on high alert if you kiss me again, but..." he glances at Steve and finishes his thought, "I think it's worth the risk."

"If you really think about it, it's more risky if I stop kissing you."

Eddie tilts his head in confusion. "And why's that?"

"Because I'll only be able to think about kissing you again and won't be on high alert," Steve flirts easily. "And really, it's a great cover."

Eddie smiles and even momentarily laughs. "You're so full of shit," he says, but pulls Steve down to him, kissing him again with the same frenzied energy.

Only, Steve pulls away and winks at him. "We've got all night. We can take it slow."

"I think you're going to kill me."

Steve brushes a strand of hair out of his face. "And is that-"

"A good thing?" Eddie finishes for him again. "Yes," he answers, kissing Steve again but slowly, taking his time with him.

It's fair to say that Steve's original plan of keeping watch and letting Eddie sleep goes out the window, but he's pretty sure it's worth it.

It's definitely worth it.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #all of this to explain steve's little finger waggle wave at Eddie the next morning

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flowercrowngods · 2 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They most certainly sound like they do.

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck is happening?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Munson?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat. “Everywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They said my brain is hurt, Eddie.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“Hagan did that to you?”

Steve nods. “Started going off about Billy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Know what, Harrington? Eddie can barely breathe anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where‘re we going?"

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

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

"Safe?"

"Safe."

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

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

(addendum 7 december) onwards to part 2

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

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handymanjoesmith · 1 year ago

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roguelov · 1 year ago

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Let Me Help

Summary: On a mission with Miguel to stop a variant of Doc Ock, you accidentally inhale something you shouldn’t have. You actively try to ignore these burning desires raging through you. However when Miguel notices your odd behavior, he finally confronts you. A confrontation that leads to this thing you need most: him.

Word Count: ~6.6k

Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)

Warnings: SMUT (sex pollen, fem!masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, multiple orgasms, slight praise kink, voyeurism, cockwarming, switch!reader, switch!Miguel), smut with some feelings, unestablished relationship, mutual pining

MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY

The salty harbor water splashed against the algae covered docks of the warehouse district. Smog of the city filtered into the already cloudy night sky. The sea and city - cars and boat horns - clashed together in an odd cacophony. Your nose wrinkled as the sting of salt mixed with newly poured asphalt.

On top of a warehouse, you and Miguel stood side by side overlooking the massive, old and rundown, area. Another anomaly was plucked and dropped off in a universe where they shouldn’t be. The Spider-Man, Peter W. Parker, of this world was unfortunately and temporarily subdued by the anomaly, a variant of Doc Ock. Peter was completely paralyzed from his encounter and was resting back at HQ as a team tirelessly tried to work on an antidote for him.

“Be careful,” Miguel warned.

“Always am,” you smirked under your mask, before leaping off the building to search the west end of the docks.

Miguel scoffed. Yet, his eyes watched you intently as you landed on another building. You slipped inside one of the broken windows and disappeared from view.

He paused, hesitating for a second, then turned away.

Searching through your area, the anomaly wasn’t in the first building. Or the second. You hoped, sending out a small prayer to the universe he was in the last building. If not, maybe Miguel had more luck than you.

The last warehouse was filled with wrecked boats strewn up on lifts, scattered repair parts, and half broken shipping crates. Moving around, your footsteps were light, and unheard. Nothing creaked, and dust barely moved. You tried a few office doors only to find them locked, or rusted shut. Sighing, you knew of another way to enter and luckily they all lined the edge of the warehouse.

Outside once again, you carefully scaled the building approaching the first set of windows. Brown paper covered most of the dirty glass, yet one window had no covers. The paper was luckily torn back. Peering inside, it was a packed room.

A manager's office was reinvented. The desk was pushed to the far wall. Crates piled into the room, acting as other workstations. Old and battered scientific equipment, some even haphazardly thrown together, filled the desk and crates. Cracked glass - cups, beakers, and vials - were scattered about. Scraps of tarp were laid across the floor and hung from the walls as if for protection. A harsh pungent smell soon assaulted your nose. Your face scrunched up in disgust. Chemicals, any and all so it seemed, were carefully placed into rows on the floor and on top of crates. While vials lined a chipped wooden shelf, poorly screwed into the wall. Each one a different color, and labeled with a system you didn’t comprehend or care to understand.

It was crowded, an office turned into a makeshift lab.

Yet, your eyes fell back to the obvious man taking up the cramped space.

If you could call him that.

He was an experiment, a genetic splicing, gone wrong. He was a human on top while stormy blue grey tentacles were his legs. Strangely, he moved so easily. The appendages carried him with perfect posture, and also effortlessly reached for material around the homemade lab. As a tentacle slithered past your view, you quickly noted the tips had black barbs.

You carefully pushed on the window to thankfully find it unlocked. You crawled through and softly dropped in. But, he was somehow alerted to you.

He whipped around, beakers and vials with unknown liquid swayed in his hands. Massive goggles were strapped around his bulging inky black eyes. Tubes of water wrapped around the side of his neck over gills. A torn, stained lab coat hung off his bare torso. Yet, despite his somewhat menacing appearance, he cowarded at your presence. A whine, a bubbling of water, erupted from him.

You raised your hands, hoping to calm him, “Hey, hey, there’s no need to be scared. We’re just going to get you back home, okay?”

As if proving your point, he glitched. He groaned, leaning into a wooden crate. His massive eyes locked with yours. He violently shook his head. “No, I’m not going back.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to. If you don’t you’ll destroy yourself and possibly this universe.”

“No!” He immediately threw whatever vial he had in his hand.

You easily dodged it, but it splattered into the wall behind your head. A sickly sweet aroma filled your nose. You coughed, waving it away. While you were distracted, he fled. He moved with surprising agility, and squeezed through a small air vent.

“Shit.” You coughed one last time. You pressed your watch, calling Miguel. Clearing your throat, you said, “Miguel, I found him. Far west end of the docks, and he’s on the move.”

“Understood.”

You stepped forward and the world tilted. You quickly stumbled into the crates. You grunted as a dull ache rolled through you. Clenching your jaw, you shoved down the pain.

Not now. We will deal with this later.

You dove through the window to catch Doc Ock who was scrambling down an alleyway. His tentacles made a distinct ‘thwap’ as he ran away. For a moment, your vision blurred. Your grip loosened as you slid down a few inches down the brick wall. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head. Everything cleared again. Ignoring the obvious signs, you fired a web and swung down into the alley.

Miguel, however, beat you to it.

Landing in the alleyway, Miguel stood over the now unconscious Doc Ock. The red glowing webs secured around his torso and tentacles. You let out a silent thanks.

Miguel turned around, and approached you. “Are you okay?”

His voice reverberated throughout your body. Your heart leapt into your throat. You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His eyes trailed over you. You were breathing heavily, why? Did the two of you fight? How did this anomaly slip past you?

“Ready?” You asked, already opening up a portal.

“Yeah,” he muttered, grabbing the anomaly.

After dropping off the anomaly at HQ, you said your quickest farewells and practically ran back home to your universe, to your apartment. Your chest started to constrict horribly when Miguel was nearby. It wasn’t the giddy childhood crush you were already accustomed too, but this deep heart wrenching ache of desire.

It frightened you.

You had to get away from him.

Returning home, you found your city basking in the moonlight. Neon signs and billboards flickered in the distance. And the usual rush of cars quieted down just enough for most of the city to fall asleep. However, sleep would not come tonight for you.

You tossed and turned endlessly. Your heart raced, like a hummingbird in flight trapped in a cage. Sweat beaded over your forehead. The dull ache from before started to move farther south of your body. You groaned and arched your back.

What … what the hell is this?

You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow.

We’re fine. It’s fine. It’ll pass.

It didn’t.

The moon, with its siblings of stars, fell and the soon burning and bright sun rose over the horizon. Yet, these sensations never wavered. Dare you say, they intensified. Your sheets were kicked off the bed, pillows tossed across the floor in fits of rage, and your clothes skewed and damped with sweat.

Fuck.

Your body ached horribly.

Hot flashes surged through you in intense waves. You groaned, curling into a tight ball. However, it was the growing heat between your legs that was becoming unbearable. You unconsciously rubbed your thighs together. The minimal friction, basically nothing, caused you to moan.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

Shower. A cold shower might help.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. You turned on the show to the coolest, and still comfortable, temperature. This should help, hopefully. Stripping out of your sweaty clothes, you hopped in. You hissed slightly. The water was a shock to your overheated, clammy skin. Pressing your palms into the shower wall, you dunked your head under the water like a poorly done baptism. You needed to cleanse yourself and your unholy thoughts.

You forced yourself to stay there. You gritted your teeth, and squeezed your eyes shut. The water pounded over you. Each drop were needles: sharp, quick, and irksome. But, standing under the water, you were still unbelievably hot, still painfully aroused.

Screw it.

One hand skimmed down your body between your legs. One swipe over your soaking folds and your knees nearly buckled. Still holding yourself up with one hand, and hunched under the running water, you slowly dipped your fingers inside yourself.

And immediately, his face appeared behind your closed eyes.

You could easily conjure up a scenario, and you happily indulged in your fantasy.

He was in the shower with you. Still bent over, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you up. His chest pressed firmly into your back. His skin was so warm compared to the cool water. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear. His thick fingers were inside you, it was his fingers bringing you to your release.

You moaned, pumping yourself faster.

“That’s it,” his voice whispered in your ear. “Just like that.”

“Shit,” you hissed.

“Come on,” he encouraged with a light chuckle. His hand brushed up your sides to your breasts. He gently pinched and played with your nipples. “Come on, cum around my fingers.”

You curled your fingers, making your walls flatter. You whimpered. The sinfully wet sounds mixed with the water rushing over you. You were close, far closer than you expected.

His lips skimmed down your neck. “That’s it, almost there.”

You bit your lip. You quickly flipped yourself around, supporting yourself with your back to the shower wall. Your other hand played with your clit, swirling around, as your fingers worked faster. It was messy, it was desperate. A whine rumbled in the back of your throat.

“Oh, please, cum for me. You’re so close, I can feel it.” His fingers curled, beckoning you towards your end.

It built and built, then it all snapped so suddenly and forcibly. You came hard around your fingers. “Fuck,” you hissed out.

He hummed, working you through your orgasm. “There it is.”

You leaned heavily into the wall, panting and dizzy from your rapid orgasm. You closed your eyes for a second, and let the water wash everything away.

Meanwhile, a familiar looking portal opened up in your bedroom. Miguel stepped out with a tension wrought into his shoulders. His mask retracted and his crimson eyes slid over your room, your messy room. He raised an eyebrow, surveying your room. The one thing that concerned him the most was you weren’t here.

Where were you?

“Fuck.”

Miguel’s head whipped over to the closed bathroom door. He heard you so clearly. He almost moved, almost burst through the door, but he stayed rooted in place.

Why couldn’t he move? What if you were in trouble, what if -

The shower turned off. He heard you move around, and he saw your shadow flash under the door. If you were moving, then maybe nothing was wrong. Then without warning, the bathroom door swung open with a resounding bang.

Miguel flinched, startled by the sudden noise.

Water still dripped down from your hair and down your face. Hunched forward, you propped yourself up with one hand on the doorframe. Your chest heaved. You gulped down air as if you ran a marathon. You wore only a baggy shirt which clung to your still wet skin. Your eyes swiveled over, instantly clocking Miguel’s unexpected presence.

Miguel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, ignoring his initial question.

“You haven’t responded to my calls.”

You glanced over to your watch, blinking on your nightstand. “Sorry, I was busy.”

His eyes trailed over your body. Concern filled him. He repeated, “Are you okay?”

“Just dandy.”

His lips thinned. Why were you like this? So goddamn stubborn sometimes. “You don’t seem fine, especially since our mission last night.”

“I’m just tired,” you huffed. “And a little sore.”

God, even now your body was still aroused. And with Miguel being here, it was making everything so much worse. Your fantasy from only moments ago was seared heavily into your mind.

He needed to leave before you did something you regretted.

Miguel sighed, crossing his arms. “Are you sure? Did -“

“I said I’m fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever.” So be it. He pressed a button on his watch, opening up a portal back to HQ. He paused. He clearly wanted to say something, but didn’t. He stepped through without uttering another word.

You wanted to call him back, you wanted to shove him onto the bed, you wanted to him and happily bounce on his -

You groaned loudly, rubbing your hands over your face.

Dear god - universe, whatever - just someone save me from myself.

You reluctantly crawled back into bed. Maybe, the shower helped. Maybe, with Miguel gone you could rest. Maybe, this was all over.

Maybe, you were just delusional.

Tonight was no better than last night. In fact, it was probably worse. Fantasies of Miguel flooded your mind, and you couldn’t satisfy yourself no matter what you did.

You will find a solution tomorrow.

There had to be one.

The next morning, before the sun properly greeted the world, you pushed yourself up and out of bed. You had an idea on where to start. Not bothering with your suit, you kept your baggy shirt and pulled on an old pair of sweatpants. You slipped on your watch and opened up a portal to HQ. You marched directly towards the area where all the anomalies were being contained. Containers lined the area as their chorus of voices begged to be released. Your eyes swiveled around, trying to locate the one anomaly who had any possible explanation to your current endeavor. But, you couldn’t find him in the sea of people. Getting frustrated, you turned your attention towards the person operating the ‘Go Home’ machine.

“Spider-Byte.”

Margo, the purple holographic girl, whirled around. She smiled only for it to falter given your appearance. You were obviously and very plainly pissed. You glared icily, unable to calm yourself. Worst of all, every time you moved, pain and pleasure rolled through you.

“Whoa, are you -“

You cut her off, “The Doc Ock, the one Miguel and I brought in yesterday, is he still here?”

“Uh.” She brought up a screen and tapped on it. “Yeah, he’s still here but not for long. I’ll have him back home in a few hours.”

“I only need a few minutes. Just point me in the direction where he is.”

Margo did so without question, she gestured down a row of anomalies. Mumbling your thanks, you spun around weaving down the aisle until you finally saw him. You stomped over and pounded on the container.

“What the hell did you do to me,” you gritted your teeth.

The man blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry - oh, oh! You! Oh, this is fantastic! I’ve been hoping to see -“

You slammed your fist again. “Answer me! What the hell did I inhale!”

He shrank, and squeaked. “Oh, uh, that’s … that’s complicated.”

“How so?” You sneered.

“Well,” he fidgeted, his tentacles squirming around. “I don’t know exactly what I gave you.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I … I was experimenting with my toxin and - and I was constantly adding new compounds to it or trying to rewrite it.”

You clicked your tongue, and raised an eyebrow.

“And well, I was trying to make it stronger, more of a deadly venom than a paralyzing agent.”

“And so you don’t know what you gave me or what was in it?”

“… no … I needed more time to study it.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, what are your symptoms? Tell me, what are you feeling? Any discomfort? Any pain? What about hallucinations?”

He was like a giddy child.

“Oh, yeah definitely some discomforts,” you sarcastically replied. You shook your head and turned away. He shouted after you, but you simply ignored him. It took all of your strength and willpower to not break through the containment and pummel him.

Taking calming breaths, you swiftly left the area. Passing by all the anomalies, each of them shouted at you as you tried to think of a way to make this suffering end. Peter W. Parker apparently was still in the medical wing dealing with his paralysis. So, time seemed to be the only reasonable solution you could think of. And it had been a day, surely it would wear off by now.

Even if you felt worse every hour.

“(Y/N).”

A hand curled around your wrist.

A fire unfurled in the pit of your stomach by such a delicate touch. You shuddered. You kept your head trained forward, and your back to the last person you wanted to see. He couldn’t see you like this.

Not now, not after yesterday.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel asked, then took in your disgruntled appearance. “You look like …”

Horrible? Like shit?

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” you quickly answered, tugging your wrist out of his grasp.

“Clearly,” he sarcastically replied.

You bit your tongue. Dear god, his voice. So smooth, so rich. “I’m tired, okay? So, I’m just going home.”

“Wait -“

“Good day, Miguel.” You pressed a button and stepped through the portal.

Miguel clenched his fists. He was about to chase after you when Lyla appeared saying others needed him. Begrudgingly, he left. But, this wasn’t the end for him. He will get a proper answer from you.

You sighed deeply, standing back in your room alone. You collapsed forward onto the bed. A muffled groan erupted from you.

I can get through this, I’ll be fine.

An hour passed.

An ice pack, barely cold anymore, laid across your forehead. Your pants and underwear were discarded. You constantly tugged on the collar of your shirt and fanned yourself. Your body ached. You wanted to claw at your skin, you wanted to rip your hair out, you wanted -

You wanted Miguel. God, you wanted him terribly. You wanted him to bend you over.

“Just like that,” you imagined he would coo as he slipped his cock inside of you.

You tried pleasuring yourself, but nothing helped. Nothing satiated you. This swelling sensation only became more and more intense.

You hissed and curled up onto your side. The ice pack slid off your forehead. You lazily picked it up, tossing it onto your nightstand. Your eyes blinked slowly. You stared blankly at the wall, trying to focus on something - anything. Anything but the dampness between your legs, anything but your spiraling perverted thoughts.

Move.

Do something.

Call for help.

You languidly pushed yourself up, and hunched forward. Your head fell into your hands. Your chest continued to heave and tighten. Your heart pounded and rang in your ears. “Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Miguel chuckled.

You shivered.

Almost summoned by your thoughts, yellow and orange lights burst to life behind you. You twisted around. A portal opened up, and a familiar hulking figure walked through: Miguel. Seeing his face, your heart sank. You whipped back around, unable and unwilling to face him.

Why? Why the hell was he here?

He squinted, seeing your decrepit posture on the edge of your bed. “Still fine I see.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want? I’m trying to rest.”

Miguel shuffled over. “I came here to see why you’ve been acting weird.”

“It’s nothing.”

He sighed, a short disappointed sigh. He lowered himself onto your bed. A notable gap was between the two of you. Yet, you could feel the heat roll off of him. You unconsciously leaned slightly towards him, desperately seeking him out.

“Talk to me.”

I’m worried about you, he thought.

He hadn’t stopped worrying. You were constantly on the forefront of his mind. Most of all, he wondered why you were avoiding him. Why were you locking yourself away in your room? What happened?

You stayed silent.

Miguel gently rested his hand on your shoulder. “Look -“

You flinched. You leapt away and hastily took a few steps away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

One touch and your body nearly crumbled.

His hand fell. Shock evident on his typically stoic face. His fist clenched. Anger was now getting the better part of him. “I’m trying to help you.”

You hugged yourself, keeping your back to him. “I’m - I'm fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He stood up. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated harshly.

Miguel clicked his tongue. He had enough of your constant dismissal. He grabbed your shoulders and whirled you around to finally face him. You gasped. He stared intently down at you, dissecting and analyzing you. You were panting, your skin glistened with sweat, and notably your pupils were completely dilated.

“What -“

You jerked away from him. And you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together.

Oh. Oh.

Miguel’s cheeks darkened faintly. He placed his hands on his hips, and glanced away. He cleared his throat, “How �� how long have you been like … like that?”

You crossed your arms, and sighed. There was no use hiding it anymore. “Since our encounter with Doc Ock.”

His eyes flickered up. “So, he did do something to you.”

“… yes.”

“Which was?”

“He … he threw some substance at me and I accidentally inhaled it.”

He rubbed the spot between his brows, a common place for his headaches to start. “And why did you tell me?”

You tsked and sneered, “Oh sorry, boss, I can’t come in today. I can’t focus or do anything because I am unbelievably and painfully horny.”

God, this is humiliating.

Miguel sighed deeply, dropped his shoulders. “Well, maybe Doc Ock can -“

“He can’t help. I already confronted him, he was just a mad scientist who didn’t know what he created.”

He shifted his weight side to side. “Well, have you … you know …”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Miguel, we are not having this conversation.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes scanned over you again. God, he couldn’t deny that you were absolutely delectable right now. His mind ran rampant with impure thoughts. It was the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily, it was the way your body squirmed, it was the way you desperately tried to bury the noises ready to jump out, it was the way you adamantly avoided his gaze, it was the way your hardened nipples poke through your shirt, it was the way how he could smell you and your arousal.

He wasn’t blind to your beauty. He was simply ignorant to his feelings and attraction. He buried it deep within him, unwilling to acknowledge any of it. But, seeing you now, seeing the discomfort you were in, seeing you in such a needy state, he wanted to help. He took a cautious step forward, “Maybe I can help.”

You snapped your head up, staring wide eyed at him. “What?”

“I said maybe I can -“

You shook your head and backed yourself away from him until your back bumped into the wall. “No, no, what needs to happen is that you need to leave.” Swallowing down such desire, you closed your eyes and muttered, “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Fucking hell.

You shouted, “Just get the hell out of here!”

Miguel didn’t respond. Cracking open your eyes, his gaze bore directly into you. It was a searing gaze. Your knees nearly buckled under the intensity. He stepped closer.

“Please,” you whispered, practically begging. “I - I … just … just not like this, not because of my dumb mistake.”

He froze, and his eyebrows knitted together.

Your gaze dropped to the ground. You couldn’t - and wouldn’t - look at him.

He slowly continued to walk towards you. You forced down a whimper. Sandwiched between the wall and him, he gently grabbed your chin. You flinched and squeezed your eyes shut. It pained you immensely to fight so fiercely against your desires and needs. He tipped your chin up. “Look at me.”

You kept your eyes closed, and your face scrunched up.

“Por favor, cariño. Please, look at me.”

Your heart flipped at his unusually sweet tone. You opened up your eyes, and was immediately greeted by his strangely, endearing, rosy crimson eyes.

“Good,” he murmured.

Oh, fuck.

Biting down on your tongue, you forced down any noises that almost dared to crawl out. You dug your nails into your palms. You wouldn’t dare touch him because if you did you wouldn’t let go.

“If I didn’t care for you in this way, I wouldn’t be here. I would be back at HQ working on a cure, on some antidote.” His other hand reached out and rested on your hip. He drew you close, flushing you to his chest. “But, am I at HQ right now?”

You didn’t trust your voice. You simply shook your head, a small twitch.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m right here asking - begging - to let me help you.” He bent his head down, brushing his lips over yours. “Please, I want to help … I’ve … I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Miguel.”

“Please.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t … I don’t know what’ll do. I don’t know if I can control myself.”

He slowly pulled up the hem of your shirt. His hand skimmed across your lower back. He laughed once, “I can handle it. Please, let me help.”

His fingers lightly touched your skin. A groan rumbled in the back of your throat. “I don’t want you to think differently of me,” you whispered as your eyes dropped to his lips.

Your excuses were hollow now.

He moved his head, letting his lips brush over your neck. His hands snaked further up your back, and his talons gently scraped down. You moaned, arching your back into his touch. Your hands latched onto his biceps, squeezing them.

“My opinion of you won’t change,” he muttered into your neck. His leg slid between yours. Your swollen clit rubbed against his massive thigh.

“Fuck,” you hissed, clinging onto him.

“Just say yes, cariño.” He nuzzled his face into your neck. “I want to help.”

You cupped his face, looking directly into his eyes. His eyes were begging, pleading, for you. You brought him down, giving him a sweet, loving kiss. He hummed, wrapping his arms around you. However, you quickly broke the kiss before he could truly enjoy it.

Miguel didn’t understand. How would he know? He inadvertently poured gasoline over the already raging fire inside of you. Your eyes darkened. You pushed Miguel backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he flopped backward. He held himself up on his forearms, stunned by your sudden change.

A smirk curled over your lips. A beast, one you had been holding back for more than a day, was finally unleashed. Locking eyes with him, you slowly stripped out of your shirt - your only article of clothing - letting it dramatically drop to the floor.

Miguel’s eyes greedily drank in your naked figure.

You crawled onto his lap, straddling him. You pushed him down so he laid flat against the bed. His hands instantly rested on your waist. You hovered over him, planting your hands on either side of his head.

He looked up at you with absolute adoration. He could not describe how thrilled he was right now.

You bent down, kissing him passionately. As you took the lead, you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss. Miguel hummed. He brought your hips down, making you grind down on him. You moaned into the kiss. Breaking apart, you muttered, “Fuck.”

You peppered kisses all over his face, and across his jaw. You desperately wanted to trail your lips all over him. It was such a ravenous feeling. You needed to mark him, to bite him, to taste him.

“Take the suit off,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw.

He let out a pleased sigh. The digital suit retracted with a whirl of colors, revealing himself to you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your inner thigh. Your lips brushed down his neck. He tilted his head, allowing you better access to do whatever you wished. Your heart soared. You slowly - teasingly so - kissed the crook of his neck. His grip on your hips tightened. Like a switch, you attacked his neck. Your teeth scraped across his sensitive skin. You nipped all along his neck needing to mark his skin. Oh, it excited you to know that these bruises would be under his suit tomorrow. Your tongue swirled over soothing any pains.

Miguel moaned.

What a beautiful sound.

Stopping your attack on his now blemished neck, your lips trailed further down his body. You kissed over his chest, occasionally biting his skin. Your eyes flickered up, seeing his head tilt back. You ran your teeth over his nipples. He groaned. You licked up his chest, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. You kissed up his jaw to his ear, and gently nibbled on his lope.

Miguel clenched his jaw. His heart flipped in his chest. He didn’t expect this, he didn’t expect to ever be here like this with you. He surely didn’t expect the control you quickly had over him.

And oh, he loved it.

Lifting yourself up, you teasingly rubbed his tip across your dripping folds. He groaned, almost whimpering.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you moaned.

At such a simple movement, you were seeing stars. You weren’t sure how long you would last. You wanted to draw this out longer, you wanted to have more fun with him, but you couldn’t.

You needed him. And you were nearly insatiable.

You slowly sank down on his cock. Miguel hissed. You placed your hands on his chest, panting. Miguel soothingly rubbed his thumbs over your hips. You moaned, feeling how he stretched and filled you. No one made you feel this full or good. As you bottomed out, you swore under your breath.

Miguel chuckled to himself.

But, his amusement was cut short when you started to move. Lust flooded back into his veins. He moaned out your name. His talons popped out and dug into your hips.

You set the pace, a nearly brutal but wondrous pace.

And Miguel thought you looked divine.

Your head tilted back to the heavens. Your lips parted as you whispered his name like a prayer. Your body arched like an angel soaring up, like a renaissance painting. Your hands traced up your hypnotic body, playing with your breasts. He wanted to draw you back down, he wanted to shower you in kisses, he wanted to flip you over and pound into you. But, this was all for you. You were the one who was affected by something strange, you were the one to take the lead. You rolled your head, glancing down at him. A soft smile tugged on your lips.

Oh, the way you looked at him, the way you bounced on his cock, the way your eyes softened with affection, he felt his heart was going to explode.

His cock twitched inside of you.

You hummed.

You rolled your hips, and he swore in Spanish. Smirking, you changed the pace. It was slow and easy - just to have your fun, no matter how short lived it might be - then flipped to hard and fast - desperate to reach your end. And your end was coming quickly.

You happily split yourself and continuously moaned out his name. “Miguel,” you moaned, dropping your hands back on his chest. “I - I won’t last much longer.”

Miguel felt your walls clench around you. He gritted his teeth, and moaned. “That’s okay, that’s okay,” he whispered.

He helped you, lifting your hips along with your movements. He slammed you back down right as he bucked his hips up, grinding you further onto him. You gasped and swore.

“Fuck, Miguel, keep doing that,” you whimpered.

He smirked, enjoying your sounds. Moving you faster, you pounded on his cock. Your nails scratched across his chest in red ribbons. The coil tightened and tightened in the pit of your stomach.

You whined.

Miguel wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and lose himself in the feeling of you. But, he also wanted to watch you come undone. So, he watched hungrily.

It was getting sloppy and erratic.

You closed your eyes. You dropped your head, tucking your chin to your chest. But, fingers gently guided your chin back up. “Eyes on me,” Miguel murmured. “Please, I want to see it.”

You melted into his touch, then he bucked his hips right as you went down. The coil snapped. Your walls clamped down around him as your orgasm crashed through you. You moaned out his name as you stared down at him with hooded eyes.

Miguel clenched his jaw. Oh, what a sight. His cock jumped.

Your movements, however, didn’t slow down. You wanted Miguel to cum, you wanted to feel it. You grabbed Miguel’s face and forced him to sit up. You kissed him heatedly as you still rode him. Miguel hummed. Your fingers threaded into his dark curls, and yanked on them.

He whined.

Your eyes sparkled. “Come on, Miguel. Cum for me.”

Miguel shivered. Your words, your body, it was so wondrous. He bucked his hips up, cumming inside of you.

Finally stopping your relentless movement, you dropped your head onto his shoulder. Both of you were gasping for air. Your eyes flickered down, seeing the mess you both created.

You shivered.

Miguel, however, surprised you. He flipped you over, landing you on your back. You gasped. Before you could do or say anything, Miguel dropped to his knees onto the floor, yanked your body down the bed, then nestled his face between your legs.

He devoured you like a starved man.

Your lips parted in a silent moan as your eyes rolled back. You arched your back, and tangled your fingers into his hair.

He wanted to taste you. God, he dreamt of this so many times. Although, he didn’t dare admit it out loud. He groaned. He lifted one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder. His hands fiercely grabbed your thighs. His talons scraped along your inner thigh. He buried his face deeper. His nose brushed over your already sensitive clit and you cried out. He growled, the taste of you and him on his tongue was divine.

“Miguel,” you gasped.

He forcibly pulled himself away, panting. His chin and lips were covered in mixed juices. His eyes were lit with primal desires. He smirked, flashing his fangs. You scrambled up. You grabbed the back of his neck, smashing your lips to his. You easily slipped your tongue inside his mouth, swirling it around. You hummed in delight, tasting him and yourself.

You still wanted more.

Needed more.

The residual of whatever affected you still lingered.

You pulled away from him. Your combined hot breaths filled the minimal space between the two of you. With you still on the bed on your knees, you finally had some height over Miguel. You cupped his face, and tilted his chin up. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you into him. You smiled then brushed your thumb over his lip. Without hesitation, he parted his lips and you slipped your thumb into his mouth. His tongue ran over the pad of your thumb, and the tip of his fang grazed over it.

You shivered, causing him to smirk.

You removed your thumb. You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned down, kissing him sweetly again. It was a confession, and a thank you. He sighed into the kiss. You slowly parted, lingering for a second. It was so tender, despite the cum and saliva coating his chin and your lips. And your following words reminded Miguel how and why he got into this bizarre, surreal situation.

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whispered.

Miguel’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, then he chuckled. “Of course,” he purred. Whatever you wanted, he was happy to do. “Can you get on your hands and knees for me?”

You bit back a smile. Your fingers skimmed along his jaw as you backed away and got into position. Miguel watched, transfixed. His eyes trailed down. Seeing your soaking folds, he moaned softly. He can still taste you on his tongue. He licked his lips. Crawling onto the bed, he carefully grabbed your hips.

“You’re too good for me,” he confessed quietly.

You sighed under the simple praise.

He lined himself up, just teasing your entrance. You began to fist the sheets in anticipation. He leaned down. His broad chest pressed firmly into your back, and he whispered in your ear, “But now, let me be good for you.”

He easily pushed himself in.

You moaned unabashedly.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he grunted.

This round was hot and fast. There wasn’t adoration or love this time, this was solely desires and sins. This was using each other’s bodies.

And Miguel was animalistic. God, it was utter bliss.

You grinded back, meeting his thrusts. You dropped down onto your forearms unable to support yourself fully. Your face buried into the sheets as you cried out. His cock was kissing spots you didn’t think was possible.

Miguel smiled, enjoying your muffled sounds and how you squirmed. His fingers reached around and began to play with your clit. You swore as your body shuddered. Your walls fluttered around him.

He rolled his head back at the sensation. It was as if you were made perfectly for him.

“Miguel,” you whined.

You wanted this so badly. You moved your hips feverishly in tune with his. Skin slapped together, wet noises echoed, and voices cried out. Miguel gasped. His talons buried into your hips, drawing out small specs of blood. He gritted his teeth, almost baring his fangs.

“Ay dios mío,” he grumbled.

Neither of you would last long.

You were begging under your breath. You needed it, you needed him. “Fuck, Miguel, please.”

“I know, I got you,” he groaned, pounding into you. “Let go, cum for me.”

You moaned.

With his fingers, his pace, and your already stimulated body, you came. You gushed around his cock, and slumped heavily into the bed. As your walls clamped down again, Miguel hissed as he spilled himself inside of you. He continued to gently rocked his hips as you both came back down to reality.

The air buzzed with the aftermath.

Your grip on the sheets loosened. You turned your head, glancing back at him: his chest covered in new bruises, his sweat covered forehead, and his fangs and talons were still out. You shivered at the sight. His eyes flickered over, connecting with yours. He gave you a tired smile. He bent down and kissed the spot between your shoulder blades.

You hummed softly.

Miguel rolled onto the bed. His arms wrapped around your waist as flushed your back to his chest. His now softened cock still buried inside.

“Better?” He murmured into your ear.

You nodded.

“Good,” he sighed. “Just … just stay like this with me, please.”

To be fair, you had no energy to argue or care. A day of exhaustion finally caught up to you. You relaxed into his embrace, enjoying the comfort as well as the fullness of him still inside of you. You placed a hand over top of his and intertwined your fingers with his. You squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” you muttered.

He kissed your shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now rest, cariño, I got you.”

I always will, he thought as you drifted off in his arms completely satisfied.

#across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x afab!reader #miguel x reader #miguel x afab!reader #afab!reader #smut

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gh0stsp1d3r · 10 months ago

Text

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Chapter 3- dried flowers

Season 2, ep 2

Series masterlist

Mentions of drugs, some comfort/fluff, ntm goin on in this chapter but :3 I’m trying to grow the relationship yknow

Summary: rafe tries once again to get be the best for Ward, your dad disappears, rafe is the only one to help you and he’s off to Nassau with his dad the next day.

Days had passed since the funeral, and Rafe had his arms tightly wrapped around your body, the warmth radiating from your body enough to lull him to sleep.

And just when he thought that he wouldn’t have to deal with anything, when he thought he was safe in his dreams, he was woken up by a whisper and a hand on his shoulder.

“Rafe.”

He jolted, turning around to look at Ward, then glancing back at you to make sure you’re still asleep.

“I need your help.”

He hesitated to leave you, but he gave you one last glance before standing up and throwing on the discarded shirt on the floor, following Ward outside.

“I need you to just stay calm and stay quiet, okay? Okay?”

“Yeah.” Rafe replied. Ward slowly took the tarp off from behind his truck, clearing his throat.

“What is that?” Rafe asked, his voice shaking as he stared at what laid in front of him.

“It’s a body, son.”

“Oh my god.” He mumbled, throwing up his arms and turning around out of panic.

“Oh my God, it’s a body?” He repeated, his voice louder. This was insane.

“Sh.”

“I gotta know, did you do this? Whose… whose body is it?” He pointed to it, panting.

“It doesn’t matter, Rafe-“

“It doesn’t matter? What are you talking about? Whose body is it, dad?”

“Be quiet.” Ward spoke, holding his hand out to stop him.

“You need to tell me whose body that is! Whose body is it, huh?” He shouted. Ward was quick to cover Rafe’s mouth, his talking was muffled.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop talking.” He said through gritted teeth. “It’s Gavin.”

“Gavin?”

“Gavin.”

“Wait, the pilot?” He shoved Wards hands off his face, taking steps back and looking at the body.

“I don’t.. I don’t understand, what’d he do?” His eyes were glossy, he paused. “What’d he do? What he’d do?”

“He was trying to blackmail us, son. I-“ he took a deep breath.

“What? Blackmail? What are you talking about!” He desperately just wanted to be back in bed now, forget this ever happened and just lay with you again.

“That day at the… on the tarmac when you shot Peterkin, I needed to trust him because I needed him to fly the plane to the Bahamas. Okay?”

“Right.” Rafe was hyperventilating at this point.

“I gave him the gun, the gun that you used, and I told him to throw it out the window over the ocean on his way to the Bahamas. But he didn’t.”

Rafe turned to face him now, his eyebrows furrowed.

“He kept it.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what… what do you mean, he kept it?”

“He kept it. He kept the gun that you killed Peterkin with so he could blackmail us for more money.”

“Why would he do that?” He turned back to the body now.

“He was gonna turn you in, Rafe. He said you were a psychopath and he wasn’t going to jail for you. Now will you please help me carry him to the boat?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The sun rose, the yellow sun peaking in from behind the curtains. You had a small smile on your face as you woke up, you began to reach out for Rafe, but realized his spot was empty. You opened your eyes.

You furrowed your eyebrows, grabbing your phone and looking at the time and date.

Shit.

You had 5 missed calls, from your dad. You stood up, not wasting any time as you grabbed your keys and ran downstairs, straight past the family and shut the door quietly, getting into the car and heading home.

They just gave each other looks and brushed it off.

—

“I’m sorry, dad.” You said as soon as you stepped into the house. But he wasn’t there.

“Dad?” You repeated, worry growing. The back door was slung open.

“Shit.” You mumbled, going to the bathroom and opening up the medicine cabinet. He had taken every pill he had in there, then you went to his usual spot.

Every joint, every needle, every bit of coke, everything he had was gone with him. You tried to call him back multiple times, but he didn’t answer.

Knowing him, he was dead or running away from the cops.

You opened the drawer, searching for the gun he usually had.

“Shit. This is all my fault. This is all my fucking fault!” You shouted, running a hand through your hair and kicking the bottles on the floor, they shattered as soon as they hit the ground.

You choked out a sob, leaning against the wall. Maybe you were overreacting, you thought. But you knew what happened when he was gone and brought his stuff with him.

This week was not your week.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Rafe 🩷:

Sorry for leaving you this morning. I had to go do something. How you feeling?

You stared at the text, not sure how to reply. You had told him about your dad over a call, you called him panicking.

“It’s okay, dw about it. I’m fine.” was all you said back.

Rafe 🩷:

If it makes you feel any better I can take you out tomorrow.

“I can’t. Sorry.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. He had made you upset, he thought.

“Girlfriend troubles?” Barry chuckled from beside him. Rafe glared at him.

“Think you have bigger problems than her, country club.” He was referencing the gun he failed to find.

Rafe shook his head and chuckled. “Yeah. I know.” He mumbled, throwing on his helmet and driving away from Barry’s trailer and to the hellhole that was known as Tannyhill.

—-

“I looked everywhere. I swear to God.” Rafe told Ward. Ward paced around the dock, groaning.

“I know. I’m not mad at you. I’m just-“

“Listen, if those pogues got the gun we can just say John B stole it, yeah?”

Ward turned to him now, spluttering. “Yeah. He lived at the house. He’s… he’s a known thief. Absolutely, yes. Yes. What about the car?”

“I left the car at the airstrip.”

“That’s perfect. That’s good work. Thank you, Rafe, thank you.” Ward spoke, Rafe nodded. Ward began to walk away, before turning back to his son.

“Listen buddy, I uh… I have to fly to the Bahamas tomorrow, and I… would you go with me?”

Rafe’s eyes widened. Finally, he noticed him. “Yes, sir.”

“All right. It’ll be good to get you out of here. Honestly, I… just feel like I need someone to have my back, you know?”

“I got that.”

“You got that?”

“All day.”

“You do, don’t you?” Ward said. Rafe nodded slowly. Ward put his hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, bud.”

“Yeah.” A smile was on Rafe’s face, watching Ward walk away.

That smile disappeared and he had one thing left on his mind when he went back onto his motorcycle.

He went to the nearest open store, buying the best bouquet he could find. Along with your favorite snack, and drove straight over to the cut.

The cut was one place he was not welcomed. As he drove down the streets, he ignored the stares and whispers. You heard a motorcycle pull up, getting up from your spot on the couch and looking outside.

It was Rafe. You looked at him, confused as he stepped up to your door, holding out some flowers and snacks for you.

“Hey.” He spoke first.

“Hi.” You whispered, your gaze dropping to the ground.

“Can I.. come in?”

You nodded, opening the door more for the man. It made you slightly embarrassed, the mess. He looked around.

“Sorry. It’s a…” you struggled to close the door, the hinges broken. He set down the stuff and helped you.

“It’s a shithole.” You mumbled, a quiet laugh following.

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s fine. I came here for you.”

You stared at him, the tears already welling in your eyes again. You wiped your eyes.

“Sorry. Today’s been…” you sniffled.

“Interesting. Believe me, I know.” He chuckled. You sat down on the couch and told him to as well.

“I don’t really have a vase or anything..” you told him when he handed you the flowers.

“Oh. Shit.” He chuckled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love them. Me and my brother used to air dry them, actually. It keeps them just as beautiful and preserves them.” You spoke with a smile, and pointed to one of the only pieces of decoration in this house, admiring the flowers you had in your hands.

“Really? That’s… interesting. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. They’re pretty.” He nodded to the flowers hanging on the wall.

You nodded and put the flowers down onto the table now, turning to him.

“How’d the whole… gun thing go?”

He swallowed. “Didn’t find it. But if anyone does we have a plan. Everything’s good. Nothing you need to worry about.

“That’s good.” You hummed.

“But uh, listen… I wanted to let you know that I’m going to the Bahamas tomorrow. With my dad.”

You stayed silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Why should you not go because of me?”

“I’m worried about you.” He mumbled, his hand going to your face, rubbing his thumb on the bottom of your lip.

“Don’t be.”

“I always am.”

You just leaned into his touch, getting comfortable with him. You got closer and put your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Rafe, I didn’t just bring you here because I need your help. I wanna show you something.”

“Is this the deal you’ve been working on?” Rafe asked, throwing his bag onto the couch.

“You could say that.” He went over to the safe, and began to push buttons. “You ready?” He asked, turning to Rafe.

“What you got in there? The hope diamond?”

The both laughed and Ward opened it. Rafe’s eyes widened, turning to Ward.

“Is that real?” He asked, shocked.

“Son, that’s the realest thing there is.”

“How…” rafe said, Ward handing him a piece of gold. He picked it up.

“I found it.”

“You found… you found the royal merchant?”

“It’s what all this has been about. All this gold, it’s ours now.”

“Jesus.”

“It can’t bring your sister back, but it can save us. By the time hurricane agatha hit, we were in a financial hole. A deep one. Not in a hole any more.” He handed him some more.

“I mean, I’m looking… I’m looking at what here?”

“Half a billion.”

“Half a billion. Oh my God.” He mumbled, walking out into the balcony, his hands on his head. “Holy shit!” He screamed.

“Dad! What? How is this possible, huh?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Who knew transporting gold could get so messy?

He held the gun in his hands, holding it to John B. At least that’s who he meant to shoot. Instead, when he shot it, the bullet grazed Sarah. Rafe noticed.

The two now were sitting, waiting.

“It was her. That was her, right? That was Sarah.”

“It was her. Yeah.” Rafe rasped out.

Ward nodded. “She’s alive. I don’t know what the hell you were doing, though. Shooting a gun right at her. She’s lucky you didn’t hit her. Can’t be shootin’ a gun-“

“I did.”

“What?” Ward turned to him.

“I hit her.” He whispered.

“You shot Sarah?”

“I was trying to shoot John B, okay? It was an accident, she stepped in the way.”

“Is she okay?”

“I did not mean to shoot her.”

Wards fuckin’ golden child. He thought.

“Okay. Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“But I don’t care that I did.”

“What did you say? Rafe, that is your sister, okay?”

“My sister?”

“Yes, your sister.”

“The one who- the one who stole from us? The one who had her boyfriend pointing a gun at us, right? Get the blinders off.”

———-

Taglist: @cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx

#rafe fluff #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron x y/n

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super-cosmic-library · 6 months ago

Text

kiss with a fist (better than none)

written for @steddie-week day 2 I prompt: hands

wc: 1299 I rated: M I tags: omegaverse, dubious consent, alpha eddie munson, omega steve harrington I cw: mentions of billy hargrove I [ao3]

Steve has only ever known the cruelness hands bring. The sting of his alpha father’s fist, when he acted too much like an omega. The hollow promises penned by his omega mother, who couldn’t stick around, even for her only pup. The pain of a kick or a shove given to him by partner after partner, who all claimed their actions were out of love. It’s no wonder Steve’s wires got crossed.

When Billy beats the shit out of him in the Fall of their senior year, Steve can’t help but wonder if the alpha loves him too. And when the man continues to beat and harass him throughout the rest of high school, he assumes he’s being courted.

When Billy dies in the summer of ‘85 after the hands of a stranger had bloodied the omega up, he can’t help but fall into rejection sickness.

He closes himself off from the rest of the world, only pretending to be fine when the kids ask for him. Even then, he’s too blinded by his own heartache to see that Max is suffering from the loss too. The only one to know he’s sick is Robin. The beta had bullied her way into his heart through drug-addled confessions on a bathroom floor.

In the months following that awful July, she forces her way into his life and home, making sure he eats and tries her best to distract him from his sorrow. And it works. Over time, he learns how to take care of himself again. On several occasions, she even gets him to laugh again. But it’s not quite enough.

It’s not Robin’s fault, no matter how much she acts like it is. She’s a beta, after all. How could she know what he needs? And how would she be able to give it to him? He tries to reassure her of this. His body needs the embrace of an alpha. He needs the comfort of a nest. But Billy is dead, and when his father was around, he’d never felt safe enough to learn how to make a nest. The ones Robin tries to help him with never feel or smell right.

So, he tries to get by with what he can. He starts dating again. The attention of an alpha brings him some level of comfort, but then when he learns he isn’t wanted for more than a night of fun, he finds he feels worse than before. So, he goes back to his lumpy nest and curls up with Robin, watching cartoons until the world around him numbs enough for him to fall asleep.

It goes on like this week after week. He’s too tired to watch after the pups in his pack. He doesn’t see how the group has been slowly drifting apart. He knows some of the pups found a new person to idolize. Super senior alpha Eddie Munson is all Dustin can talk about whenever he stops by Family Video. If he could find it in himself to care more, Steve would fight back against the feeling of being replaced. But he doesn’t.

And life goes on.

March of ‘86 rolls around and with it the Upside Down rears its ugly head. Dustin and Max, who’s looking worse for wear, rush into Family Video, talking a mile a minute about how Eddie has gone missing. While he might not be the biggest fan of the guy, he knows the alpha is important to the pups, so of course he agrees to help find him. Besides, the search is a nice distraction from the ever-present ache in his chest.

When they enter Reefer Rick’s decrepit boat house, Steve imagines himself as a Scooby Doo character investigating a haunted old mansion. For the first time since the Fourth of July, he feels a bit like himself again. He’s heckling Dustin, and Max is snarking at them both, while Robin rambles on about the dangers of tetanus. The three of them don’t even notice the saltwater smell of a feral alpha.

Steve’s attacking a tarped boat with a wooden oar when it happens.

Hands grab him, forcing him up against a post. The jagged glass of a broken bottle grazes his mating gland. Distantly, he hears Robin freaking out, while Dustin tries his best to reason with a near-feral Eddie.

The alpha doesn’t seem to notice the pup. All his focus is trained on Steve, who’s overcome by the smell of ozone and the wide brown eyes staring into his soul.

Slick runs down his legs, soaking through his jeans. He lets out a needy, involuntary whine.

Madness and longing are slowly creeping into his being, but they feel entirely different than what he’s experienced over the past nine months. He feels like he did when Billy had towered over him in the Byers’ old home but more intense.

Glass breaks the skin on his neck as Eddie starts to rut up against him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his friends advance to help him, but Eddie lets out a sharp growl. He somehow knows that if he could, he would be growling too.

The broken bottle clatters to the ground. The alpha places his arms against the post on either side of Steve, shielding him from his friends. The action makes his knees weak and his head light.

“Eddie, it’s me, Dustin,” the pup says in a calm voice. “We come in peace. Please release Steve, and we can talk.”

Steve has to squeeze his eyes shut in order to force the words out. “No. I wanna . . .”

He nuzzles against Eddie, who’s been scenting him. It’s been so long since he’s felt the care of an alpha, that he loses his train of thought. His mind feels sluggish. His sole attention is on the hard line of the alpha against him.

Robin ushers the pups out, understanding in a way that only a soulmate could, that this is exactly what Steve’s body needs. Later, he’ll figure out a way to thank her. And to apologize for surely scarring her and the pups for life. For now, he nips at Eddie’s musky skin.

With rough hands, Eddie shoves him to the ground. Seams rip as the alpha tears off their clothes. Laid out bare beneath him, the feral beast runs his hands over Steve’s skin, threading his fingers through his chest hair and kneading at the bit of extra omegan fat around his belly.

“Mine.” Eddie’s voice sends shivers straight down to his toes.

Eddie pushes Steve’s knees up to his chest, leaving bite marks that break the skin on his calves and thighs. His heart flutters. Unlike the other alphas he had slept with, who had demanded he present to them, Eddie wants to look him in the eyes and see the pleasure he wrings out of him. The omega swoons.

When he fucks him, it’s rough and desperate and just what he needs to feel levelheaded again. Eddie pounds into him with so much force, he pushes Steve against the weathered floor. His skin catches on each splinter, leaving hundreds of tiny cuts that will make laying on his back uncomfortable for at least a week. The prospect of having lasting marks from their union fills Steve with excitement.

Eddie’s knot expands inside him, filling him with warmth and pups. Before he knows what’s happening, the alpha’s razor-sharp teeth sink into the omega’s mating gland.

Euphoria rushes through him. Finally, he has someone who will love him the way his inner omega needs and will not leave him.

The alpha presents his neck to him, and he bites down, blood filling his mouth, completing the bond.

And for the first time since July, Steve feels like he can finally breathe.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie omegaverse #steddie week #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson

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loveinhawkins · 1 year ago

Text

When Eddie’s terrified, he feels cold—and it’s not a mild thing, not just goosebumps on his arms. It’s violent shivers: his breath catching as ice forms in his lungs, crystallising up his throat until he can barely talk.

It was bad at the middle school talent show: stuck in the wings with fellow students pressed up against him, all jostling for space. He should’ve been sweating.

And technically he was, but it was as if his brain hadn’t checked in with his body or maybe the other way round, and he kept biting down hard on his tongue as his teeth chattered.

A teacher noticed and even asked if he was feeling sick, if he wanted to be sent home.

He shook his head, felt his legs shaking; Jeff had to speak for him until it was finally the band’s turn on stage, and the ice thankfully thawed enough for him to sing.

But right now he thinks the ice is here to stay.

He’s sat back in the boat, the tarp tangled up by his feet; he can’t stop one knee from bouncing up and down erratically. He knows he isn’t really shaking because of the literal cold, but it doesn’t exactly help that it’s damp as hell in here.

He’s not alone—he’s still surrounded by quite possibly the most random group of people in history. Dustin’s leading the conversation, which has devolved into Max teasing him about some girl called Suzie.

Eddie suspects the change of tone is deliberate, that these kids who are somehow well-versed in a literal fucking war have an admirable intuition; have sensed that he needs a cool down after learning about an evil alternate dimension. Kinda like what he does if he watches a horror movie late at night—makes sure to read some light-hearted crap before he goes to sleep, so the scary shit isn’t the last thing on his mind.

Eddie appreciates the thought. If he wasn’t still repressing shivers, he might even find it sweet.

But the chatter isn’t helping.

He can’t grab a hold of it, the sounds slipping away before he can make sense of them; his mind keeps drifting away, and he’s suddenly stuck on the thought that he can’t remember what Chrissy’s last words to him were. He can hardly even recall what her laugh sounded like in the woods—like everything about her has been trapped underwater, stifled beyond all recognition.

He let her die, and he can’t even manage the decency of remembering her. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He exhales shakily. Neither Max or Dustin seem to notice, which both relieves him and sets his teeth on edge.

His lungs are tight, but he still feels a sudden urge to talk—for once wishes that he’d just bite his tongue instead.

Something’s cracking deep inside him.

He’d thought his breaking point had been reached long ago, but it keeps getting worse; as the kids talk, he can’t avoid the fact that they’ve already watched him profoundly lose it, and shame spreads from the pit of his stomach—merges with the ice, culminating in a bitter wave of self-loathing.

Leave me alone, he desperately wants to say, but he knows it’ll just come out in a scream, knows it’ll sound like he’s furious. That’s always been the way of things, at least for him: deep-seated fear hiding underneath anger.

He opens his mouth. His teeth are clacking together.

He manages to temper the feeling right at the brink so that all he says is, “D-don’t you assholes have a bed time?”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Dustin says, over the sound of Max scoffing.

Please go, just fucking go, I’m gonna fall apart and I don’t want you to see it, not again.

“Yeah, well I have a bedtime, so let’s get outta here, dickheads,” Steve says.

He sounds dry, borderline snippy. But his eyes fleetingly meet Eddie’s as he speaks, like he’s heard him somehow. Like he understands.

Dustin stands with some customary grumbling, pulling Max up with him.

“Night, Eddie. It’ll be okay,” he says, so optimistic—with an unshakeable courage that Eddie has never once possessed.

Eddie attempts a smile. Has no idea if he succeeds.

Robin’s already standing, walking off behind Dustin and Max—but then she spins, doubles back on herself; Eddie jumps at the sudden movement.

“Water!” she says, “I’ve got some in the car, you should—hang on, Eddie.”

“I’m—I’m fine, I don’t need…” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, fades out on him. He coughs, tries again, slightly louder, “I said I don’t need it!”

But Robin’s already too far away to hear him.

The quiet rustle of a jacket: Steve is still here.

Eddie lunges forward as quick as he can. His hand clasps around Steve’s wrist.

“Harrington, seriously, tell her not to bother, man. I’ll—” He swallows. “I’ll just throw it back up.”

It’s almost too dark to see, but Eddie swears Steve’s eyes are flickering over his face. He doesn’t know what he’s seeing. Doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.

“Dude, you need to drink, at least,” Steve says finally. He gently tugs himself free—stepping back with an apologetic air, slowly enough that Eddie doesn’t startle. “Gimme a sec.”

He’s back in under a minute, passing Eddie a bottle of water with the cap already off.

Eddie drinks. Despite his protesting, he knows it’s for the best; his head is pounding. He spills the water more than once; his hand is trembling.

Steve doesn’t mention it.

“I can get you some food,” he says.

Eddie shakes his head. “I ate before. Not hungry.”

He’s telling the truth, although he can’t remember what he ate. Can’t remember much of anything.

Steve doesn’t look very happy with that response. His frown is audible when he asks, “Don’t you have a blanket or something?”

Eddie laughs, horribly false. “Why, Harrington? Wanna tuck me in?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

Eddie wants him to retaliate with what he deserves: cutting words. Wants Steve to throw out something cruel, then leave him be.

No. That’s not…

He wants… he wants…

“Don’t move,” Steve says. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie laughs again—a little more genuine. “Can’t exactly go anywhere.”

He doesn’t know how long Steve takes. He loses track of time after the sound of the car reversing fades away; the darkness stretches out before him, and his fingers flex, tremulous, and he almost starts to believe that no-one’s found him after all, that he’s alone, that he’ll always be—

The soft crunch of tires rolling over gravel. The twin clunks of a car door being opened then closed, not too loudly, followed by even footsteps. Slow. Safe. And Eddie hears Steve singing, quiet enough that he can’t really decipher the lyrics.

He doesn’t know why he recognises it, why it’s so familiar. But he understands why Steve is doing it, the realisation burning in his throat: that Steve is signalling his approach, so Eddie knows it’s him.

“Hey,” Steve says, and there’s a gentle kind of thud—something being dropped by Eddie’s feet. Then the soft press of fabric behind him: a pillow.

Eddie manages to shift his feet a bit. More fabric. It’s a blanket.

“I just thought, like, two layers, y’know?” Steve is saying. “Not ideal with the tarp, but it should trap more heat compared to…” Eddie’s throat tightens even more. It’s so… so fucking kind.

“Thanks,” he manages.

“Hey,” Steve says again, softer—a hand lands on Eddie’s knee; his palm is warm. “You’re okay.”

Eddie realises belatedly that he’s crying again. For a little while, it just feels automatic, as if he’s detached from the tears; Steve gives him space, working around him.

And Steve’s not tucking him in really, just sort of shaking out the blanket, but he lets it fall with intention—smoothes out the creases when it gathers around Eddie’s knees.

Eddie doesn’t know what changes, just knows that he’s abruptly aware of the silent tears building into something more. There’s a false jagged sensation of something getting caught in his chest as he swallows, and he gasps, inhales sharply—once, twice; feels that panicked stutter to his breath, like when he was a kid failing at treading water.

Steve crouches by the side of the boat.

“You’re okay,” he repeats. He’s rubbing his throat ever so slightly while he says it—doesn’t seem aware that he’s doing it.

“I’m s—” Eddie chokes on the words again, a distressed hum cutting through instead. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Eddie, it’s—”

Eddie points to Steve’s throat. “C-could’ve—mm, mm. Could’ve been bad.”

He remembers the feeling of Steve’s skin against the shard of glass, remembers his stupid shaking hands—so close, too close to blood being spilled.

Just a hair’s breadth away from…

It could’ve happened so easily. Two deaths on his conscience.

“Eddie,” Steve says calmly. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t have let you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a reassurance.

His hand falls away from his neck, as if making a point.

Eddie stares and stares—and it’s definitely too dark to tell if there’s a bead of blood on Steve’s skin, but his mind does the work for him.

Vivid, wet. It wouldn’t stop. Chrissy. Her eyes…

The ice freezes over completely, stops up his throat.

Eddie can’t breathe.

“Yeah, you can,” someone’s saying, “hey, it’s gonna pass, it’s gonna pass, okay? I’m just gonna…”

A snap.

Eddie flinches, cries out with a wordless noise of anguish.

Through the roaring in his ears, he hears, “Shit,” before a contrite whisper of, “Sorry, sorry.”

Steve. Steve’s here, guiding his hands until they’re cupped around something.

Something warm.

It starts the thaw, draws air back into Eddie’s lungs. His head clears a little. He knows where he is. Wishes he wasn’t…

He wants someone to tell him that Chrissy didn’t suffer, that she didn’t feel anything.

No.

He wants someone to wake him up, to tell him it was just a nightmare, that he can go home; he wants the universe to rearrange itself so that Chrissy never even met him—that the only trouble she ever has to deal with is which shoes to wear with her graduation robes.

“I want,” he gets out, “I want—”

“I know,” Steve says.

His hands are still wrapped around Eddie’s.

And Eddie senses the source of the heat now, a packet of some kind.

A hand-warmer.

He manages to take a proper breath, deep enough that he can smell the pillow Steve has given him; it doesn’t smell of the detergent Wayne uses, but it smells like a home at least. The dip in the middle makes him suspect that Steve’s brought the pillow from his own bed.

Eddie breathes in again. Out.

“There you go,” Steve murmurs.

Gradually the warmth against Eddie’s palms brings about a repeatedly suppressed, bone-deep tiredness. His eyes are stinging with it, and he feels like the boat’s been pushed out onto the lake; he sways forward without meaning to.

“Sorry,” he says, tongue thick.

He lifts his head to find Steve looking at him intently, brow furrowed.

“You should lie down,” Steve says quietly. “You look exhausted.”

Eddie does, turns onto his side so he can still just about see over the side of the boat. But…

“I won’t sleep,” he tells Steve through a sigh. He’s not arguing the point; it just seems inevitable.

Steve shrugs. “Just shutting your eyes is better than nothing,” he says casually enough, but it sounds too knowing, like he’s speaking from experience.

Eddie wonders what Steve sees when he falls asleep.

Steve stands up slowly. Hesitant.

“I’m—um. I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d stay, believe me, but I just—I don’t want the car here too long in case someone…”

“Go, Harrington,” Eddie says, hopes it comes out as gentle as he means it to be. “You’re the taxi service.”

Steve smiles. “We’ll be back,” he says. “Tomorrow, okay? I promise. We’ll bring food.”

“Tomorrow,” Eddie echoes. Tries and fails to push down a yawn. “Food.”

It’s not so bad, listening to Steve walking away. Eddie’s eyes close, burn with relief; in his head he follows along with the sound of Steve’s footsteps as they get more and more distant.

Car door opening. Closing. Seems farther away than before. His head is heavy.

He doesn’t expect to fall asleep. But he does his best to keep his thoughts on something light anyway. Maybe the continual warmth between his hands helps, ensures he doesn’t spiral back down to… to…

It comes to him fuzzily: why he recognised Steve singing in the first place.

Last summer, going to the mall to catch a movie, walking past an ice-cream parlor and hearing…

It was an unselfconscious kind of singing—no tension in the high notes. The sort usually done alone.

And do you feel scared? I do. But I won't stop and falter.

Eddie glanced over. Steve had been mopping, head down, but he looked up suddenly—for a moment, Eddie worried that he had been spotted. But then he watched the surreal sight of a group of children walking all over the wet floor, Steve beckoning them onward with fond exasperation.

He tapped at his wrist. “You’re cutting it fine tonight. Through the back, round the—”

“We know,” came an already distant chorus.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“And if anyone hears about this—”

“We’re dead!”

A door shut—alone again, Steve shook his head to himself. Smiled.

And if we threw it all away. Things can only get better.

Eddie remembers thinking that his voice wasn’t all that bad. It was nice.

It was…

Eddie wakes up warm.

The sight of the tarp disorients him for a few seconds—but he’s too sleepy to be panicked. The blanket against his jeans feels perfectly heavy. Keeps him still. Keeps him…

He thinks he must unintentionally drift off again; when he comes to, he feels that the hand-warmer he’s holding has gone cold. His feet knock against something, and he opens his eyes enough to see that Steve’s left more pouches. He takes one, hums when he cracks it so he doesn’t hear the…

It’s another day. He’s still here, damp wood against his back. A pillow beneath his head.

He knows the nightmare hasn’t stopped; Chrissy is still dead.

But there’s things he can touch, hold onto—evidence that he’s not been left alone, not really. He knows that Steve will come back. They all will.

His hands are warm.

And that’s something.

#this is my first ‘the boathouse’ fic! ❤️#pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve and the party

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ahsokaismyqueen · 5 months ago

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Finding Eddie Pairing - Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Summary - After a long day of trying to find Eddie, you, Steve, your brother, Robin and Max all find your way to Reefer Rick's house where the time finally comes to tell the truth to your ex-best friend. Word Count - 2.8k Warnings - Language, but that's it! Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Masterlist

You could feel it in your gut. Eddie was here. While you hadn’t been in his life much in the past year, you had been best friends since middle school before that, and this is the last place that you could think of that he would hide. You eased the door open to the boathouse, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Is he in there?”

“Shit!” You jumped, turning around to slap your brother in the arm. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Dustin gave you an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

You turned back to the door, opening it up the rest of the way without worrying about being quiet. After all, Dustin had ruined any hope of that. It looked as you expected, a mess, but there was no obvious sign of Eddie yet.

“Maybe he’s not here?” Steve said, walking up behind Dustin and glancing around the room.

“Or he’s hiding.” You said, unwilling to believe your only lead to finding him was a dead end. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”

Steve nodded, holding his arm out to make you let him go first. You rolled your eyes, but followed behind, with Dustin, Robin and Max next. “Hello! Anyone home?!” Robin called as she used her flashlight to sweep the room.

No one answered.

“What a dump.” Steve said, looking around. After a couple of moments walking around. Steve turned his flashlight off and reached out to grab an oar from the wall. You watched as he then started stabbing the covered boat in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing?” Dustin asked before you could.

Steve continued to poke the boat. “He might be in here.”

“So lift the tarp!” Dustin said.

“You’re so brave, you take the tarp off!”

You rolled your eyes at their ridiculousness, and continued sweeping the room, catching up with Max and Robin, who were looking down at something. You glanced at the food wrappers they were observing, and your heart leapt into your throat. “He’s been here.” You said, and when Max and Robin looked at you, you continued. “That’s his favorite snack.”

Robin shrugged. “Maybe he got spooked and ran.”

“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar.” Dustin said.

Good God. These two would be the death of you.

“I know you think you’re being funny, but considering everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally I don’t find it funny in the slightest-”

Everyone in the room leapt back in shock as Eddie burst out from the boat, and you realized with horror, started after Steve with what looked to be part of a broken bottle. “Eddie!” You ran towards the man who now had your boyfriend pinned to the wall and grabbed the arm that was holding his makeshift weapon. “Eddie, stop!” You tried to tug his arm away from Steve’s neck, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s Steve! He’s not going to hurt you!” Eddie wouldn’t even look at you and panic started rising in your chest. Oh god. What if he was possessed by something from the Upside Down?

“Steve, why don’t you drop the oar, show Eddie you’re not going to hurt him.” You heard Dustin say behind you.

“Right, yeah.” Steve nodded, but as soon as he did, it caused a loud crash that startled Eddie, making him put the bottle closer to Steve’s neck.

“Eddie!” You pulled hard on his arm when Steve groaned, but it was useless, he wouldn’t back off.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asked, and you felt the slightest hint of relief that at least his voice sounded normal.

“We’re looking for you.” Dustin said.

“We’re trying to help you!” You added, glancing over at him and then Steve. “But I can’t help you if you hurt him, Eddie.” You said, and at those words Eddie turned to look at you. “Please.” You implored, giving his arm a squeeze. “Let us help you.”

Eddie stared at you, a stare that pierced your very soul, and you were reminded once again of how much history the two of you shared. How many years of friendship that you had both thrown away for a stupid fight. A fight that you regretted every second of. “You want to help me?” He asked, and you had the feeling he wasn’t asking about everyone else. No, he was asking about you.

You didn’t hesitate a second to respond. “Of course I do.” You reassured him, and then glanced back at Steve. “As soon as you let him go.”

He turned back to Steve, and you watched with bated breath until Eddie shoved Steve back and moved away. You rushed forward and grabbed him around the waist with one arm, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek for a moment before brushing back the hair from his face. “Are you okay?” You asked him, biting your lip as you looked him over.

Steve nodded, and glanced over at Eddie as he sank to the ground. “Do you think he’s himself?” Robin joined the two of you while Dustin went to go sit with Eddie.

Thinking about it for a moment, you nodded. He was stressed, panicked, terrified, but he was Eddie. “He’s scared.” You said, looking at him and Dustin again.

Steve stared at you, reading your expression, and then pointed his head in Eddie’s direction. “Then he could use a familiar face.” He said, reaching out to touch your waist. “You should go to him.”

You looked back and forth between the two of them. You wanted to go to Eddie, but you didn’t want to leave Steve either.

Steve squeezed your waist again. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Go.”

Your heart swelled with emotion at the unselfish action, and leaning forward, you placed a lingering kiss against his cheek then headed to join Dustin and Eddie on the ground.

“You know, it’s ironic that you were the one so worried about getting murdered, and you’re also the only one who ended up with a bottle to their throat.” You heard Robin tell Steve.

“Shut up,” Steve said, sounding exasperated.

You took a moment to glance over at Eddie, studying his body language. He clung to his makeshift weapon with shaking hands, and he was collapsed in on himself, almost as if he was trying to make himself smaller. He wasn’t looking at either you or Dustin, but his eyes were wide, almost as if memories were playing over and over inside his mind. You’d never seen him like this. Eddie has never been afraid to be himself, very few things fazed him, but this? This had. “Eddie, we want to know what happened.” You said, trying to catch his gaze again.

He looked at you, letting out a sniff. “You won’t believe me.”

God did he really think that? After all the two of you had been through together?

But Max answered before you could. “Try us.”

The story he told made you sick to your stomach. You couldn’t imagine seeing something like that in person. The horror of the image he painted in your head was bad enough. You looked over at Dustin, and his expression told you that the two of you were sharing the same thought. Whatever had happened to Chrissy . . . Something from the Upside Down was behind it.

“You all think I’m crazy right?” Eddie said when he was done, covering his face with his hands.

Dustin shook his head. “No, we don't think you’re crazy.”

But Eddie didn’t believe you. “Don’t bullshit me man! I know how this sounds.”

The emotion in his voice broke your heart a little, and despite your earlier thoughts, you couldn’t help but almost wish Eddie was back in his naive bubble, not having a clue about the danger surrounding him. At this point though, you knew he’d never be able to go back to that.

“We’re not bullshitting you.” Max said.

“We believe you.” Robin added.

Eddie just shook his head, and Dustin glanced over at you, signaling you were up.

The feeling in your stomach of wanting to throw up intensified, but you knew you couldn’t hold back the words any longer. He had witnessed it. He had a right to know now. “Eddie . . . I’ve been keeping something from you for two years.”

That got his attention. He stared at you, hanging onto every word you were saying.

“Remember junior year when I got that concussion and wound up in the hospital? And senior year when you saw those bruises on my neck and ankles?” Eddie nodded, and you saw him glance up at Steve. You knew he had always thought some weird connection between Steve and you had started to form senior year, and now he was connecting the dots of how it might have come to be. “I was kinda fighting creatures from an alternate universe.” You bit your lip and nodded to the rest of the people around you. “With all of them. Well, not Max, until senior year anyway. Or Robin, she came along this past summer when the mind flayer came back and destroyed the mall but-” the expression on Eddie’s face told you that you had said too much way too quickly. “The important thing is, we think whatever you saw happen to Chrissy . . . We think it was something from this alternate dimension. We call it the Upside Down.”

“How - how the hell does that even happen?” Eddie asked, his brow furrowed.

Dustin spoke up then. “Sometimes this dimension . . . It bleeds into ours.”

Eddie still looked confused. “You mean like ghosts and shit?”

“There are some things worse than ghosts.” Max said, and you wished you didn’t agree with her.

“These monsters, from this other world, we thought they were gone, but they’ve come back before.” Dustin said.

“And that’s one of the reasons we needed to find you. We had to see if they were back again.” You told him.

Robin, Dustin and Max continued to probe Eddie with the sights you usually associated with the Upside Down, but he just shook his head, denying that he’d seen anything of the sort. You wished it meant that it wasn’t something, but when he described how he tried to wake Chrissy, one thing kept popping up in your head.

“It sounds like she was under a spell.” Dustin said.

“Or a curse.” Eddie said.

You shared a glance with Dustin again, and then Eddie, realizing all three of you were thinking the same thing. “Vecna’s curse.” You said.

“Who’s Vecna?” Steve said, speaking up for the first time, and you turned to him, trying not to let the panic show on your face, but from the way his body tensed, you knew he saw right through you.

“An undead creature of great power.” Dustin answered.

“A spell caster.” Eddie added.

“A dark wizard.” Dustin finished.

Silence filled the room as everyone absorbed this new information. It was almost too much to take in, especially in one night, and if your mind was spinning, you couldn’t imagine what Eddie’s must be doing. The guilt inside of you from keeping this secret for so long came roaring back to life, and you started to speak. “Eddie, I’m sorry, I should have told you-”

“You guys should get going.” He interrupted, standing up and pointedly not looking at you. “No use in all of us being stuck here all night.”

You hesitated. “I feel like someone should stay behind with you just in case -”

“I’ve been doing fine on my own Henderson. It’s one night.” Eddie said, looking out at the lake.

Everybody agreed, and while part of you wanted to stay behind, he clearly didn’t want that right now. “We’ll bring you some supplies tomorrow okay? Food and stuff.” You promised.

He did turn to look at you then, but all he did was nod.

It almost hurt worse than the fight did. You found yourself holding back tears as you all walked back to Steve’s car. Moments later though, you felt an arm slip between yours and looked over to find Robin, giving you an encouraging smile.

You gave her a small one in return, resting your head on her shoulder until all of you made it back to Steve’s car.

————————

When Steve pulled up to your house to drop Dustin and you off, it was safe to say all of you were exhausted. You let Dustin go ahead of you, pausing by Steve’s side as he got out of his car as well. His hand reached out to touch your waist, his thumb rubbing against your skin. Neither of you said anything for a moment, watching Dustin head into the house. “Window?” He asked, bringing his eyes back to yours.

You nodded. “Please.”

Steve gave you a small smile, giving your waist a squeeze before climbing back in his car and going to park it in his usual hiding spot.

While he did that, you went inside, covering your sleeping mom with a blanket, checking to make sure Dustin was going to bed, and changing into an old sweater of Steve’s just as there was a tap on your window.

No sooner than Steve had both feet firmly planted in your bedroom were your arms around him, and you finally allowed yourself to let out the tears that had been pushed down all day. You knew you could let them out now that you were in your safe place.

“I got you.” He said at once, one of his hands settling on the small of your back while the other cupped the back of your head, swaying you back and forth as you tightened your grip around him.

“I’m all over the damn place.” You admitted against his skin. “I feel guilty for not telling him earlier, but then I don’t because he got to live two years not knowing that place existed. Then I can’t help but wonder if things would be different if he had known about it. He’s so upset that I lied to him Steve, and I can’t blame him for that. I know I would be the same, but at the time I thought it was the right thing to do. Then I feel even more guilty for being worried about our friendship when at any moment it could be announced that he’s wanted for murder which is a much bigger deal. And an even bigger deal is Vecna because God if he’s real, we don’t-”

“You’re doing that thing again.” He pointed out. “That thought spiral thing.” Steve pressed a kiss to the top of your head, no doubt trying to distract you, and you let out a little sigh at the affection before pulling back to look at him.

“Tell me how terrible and self centered I am.” You said.

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.” Steve replied, shaking his head. “One because you’re being bossy, and two, most importantly, because you’re not.” You let out a groan and buried your face in his neck again. “Munson got a lot of information thrown at him tonight. Give him some time to process. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” You murmured.

Steve’s fingers ran through your hair, and you closed your eyes at the calming sensation. “The guy was your best friend for years. Gotta believe there’s some good sense of judgment in there.”

Despite everything, his words made you smile. “What does that say about you then, huh?”

“Hey, I wised up, and got the girl, so really, I probably have the best sense of judgment here.” Steve said.

“You’re such a dork.” It was stupid, and corny, but it made you let out a laugh. You pulled back enough to look at him, and at that moment you couldn’t help but marvel at how good he was at making you feel better by putting his arms around you, and just . . . listening and assuring you that it would be okay. You’d never had that. Well not since your Dad had died anyway, and you had forgotten how much you needed it, wanted it, to have someone you felt you could unburden yourself too. Someone who wanted to make sure that you were okay. “Thank you, by the way.”

He gave you a confused look, his brow furrowing. “What for?”

You smiled at him, a soft smile that mirrored how he made you feel. “Trying to take care of me today. Even when I didn’t want you to.”

Steve smiled back at you, a smile filled with affection and care that made you feel all warm inside. “I love you. I’m always going to try and take care of you.”

His words sent another wave of emotion through your body, one that you didn’t feel often, but you knew what it was. Peace. Peace because you believed him.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine

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