#eddie is devastatingly sweet

[liminalpebble]

I'm seriously very late to this party, but I stumbled upon this absolute beauty of a story by @word-wytch and cannot stop blazing through it (hearting furiously along the way). It's deeply literary and well-crafted and so so poignant. (Sorry, to not comment individually on each chapter, dear author, I can't stop hurdling headlong through this beautiful story and I literally want to write essays about all the amazing techniques you use every single chapter and then I just short-circuit and swoon. Bravo, author!

Series Masterlist

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

✏︎ Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him.

Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

[rootbeermilktm]

ya so i just finished watching stranger things.

some things i didn’t reblog but feel STRONGLY about:

bob newby superhero

will and el as siblings

will being rObbed of his childhood

will in s3 just trying to move on from his trauma and be a kid while his friends are all out there actively seeking out his triggers

joyce being the mom ever esp with her decision to move from hawkins cause damn is will’s trauma tied to that place

nancy with a gun

steve with a bat

babysitter steve the hair harrington

the bad creative choice it was to bring back papa <- hated that

dr Owens’s redemption arc being nerfed

el’s legal name being jane hopper <3

steve and eddie’s little rivalry to be dustin’s big brother

the way the s4 finale kicked my ass i was bawling fresh tears no less than three separate times

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ DUTY-BOUND ꒱ AKAGAMI NO SHANKS X READER

warnings ⟢ minors do not interact—i will block you! very suggestive. alcohol use. period talk. foot worship. scent kink. female reader. reader and shanks are married, and shanks uses a few pet names—some silly, some serious—including: “lady love” / “ma’am” / “my love” / “my wife.” please note that shanks only has his right arm.

word count ⟢ 1115

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was shanks + period sex. this is my first time writing shanks, and truthfully, it reignited my lust for him... i hope i did him justice. please enjoy!

“What’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

It’s late; you lost track of time when the sky was still an azure ocean, the sun floating peerless in its splendor. An expensive—now empty—bottle of spiced rum lies at your feet, its warmth eddying through your veins, limbs steeped in honey. Swathed in night’s royal velvet, your hotel room is illuminated only by shivering candlelight and stray moonbeams. You left the balcony door ajar. Outside, the balmy breeze stirs palm leaves, and the sea’s siren song plays, ebbing and flowing with the tide.

For the first time in months, you’re on a real bed. Swapping your trusty hammock for a down-filled mattress feels like a luxury—one you refuse to take for granted. While your earlier beachside dinner left you satiated and wooed, your date led you to a nearby bar for drinks and dancing. Laughter rang in your ears as you draped your wrists over his broad shoulders, a thick arm anchored low across your hips, chin kissing the top of your head. The merriment concluded with what he insisted would be a “borrowed” bottle of rum.

(“Cap’s favorite,” he whispers conspiratorially against your temple, cradling the stolen cargo inside the billowing fabric of his cape.)

But as you lounge in bed together, your mind wanders. Shanks rests on his side, head propped up with his right arm. You’re curled against his bare chest, the vitality of his battle-worn flesh and the ardent beat of his heart setting your nerves alight. His hooked nose is buried in your hair, lips pressed to your crown.

“Nothing much,” you belatedly reply.

“Hmm…” He pulls back to study your expression, playful gaze narrowing, mapping the contours of your profile as though he’s navigating an uncharted island. After a few beats of silence, he finally announces: “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He hums. “You always have something to complain about.”

(That earns him a swift smack to the shoulder.)

“Ouch!” he gasps, face contorting in mock anguish. “My lady love wounds me.”

“If you must know,” you huff, ignoring his antics to instead twirl a delicate finger through his chest hair, “it’s my time of the month. So I’m not exactly feeling my best and brightest.”

“I see…Is that it?”

You indulge the petulant urge to roll your eyes. “If only I could ball up my pain and force it upon you, Mr. Can’t-Leave-His-Hammock-All-Day-When-He-Has-A-Mild-Cough.”

“No—you misunderstand me,” he sighs.

Slipping his arm beneath your waist, he shifts to hover above you, the ring hanging from the golden chain around his neck gleaming with reflected moonlight. His frame is almost comically large; almost. The way he so effortlessly maneuvers you, his body eclipsing yours, trapping you in place—forcing you to stare up at him: your captain, your lover, your husband—has heat blooming in your belly.

“What I mean is that there are ways to deal with this sort of pain.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, craning your neck to brush your lips against the ring; his jaw flexes. “Enlighten me, then,” you challenge.

You’ve fallen right into his trap and you know it. His grin is devastatingly radiant. Vast and blinding as the horizon on a cloudless day, it holds a sly promise. He leans down, lips grazing yours, breath so sweet your teeth ache. “Yes ma’am.”

Shanks considers himself lucky that you’re mostly undressed: your frame drowns in one of his old, sun-bleached shirts, the excess fabric pooling at your thighs. Underneath it, a simple pair of cotton panties is all that separates him from what he desires most.

Sliding down the length of your form, his excitement is apparent as it strains against his breeches. He nudges the hem of your makeshift nightgown with his nose, teasing it upward, careful to scrape the stubble on his cheeks and chin across your tender flesh. Continuing until the garment reaches the apex of your thighs, he then bites down on the soft linen, dragging it up to your hips with his teeth.

When you raise an eyebrow—Leaving your work half-finished, Akagami? he can hear you goad—he rasps, “I quite enjoy this view. As long as my love doesn’t mind, that is.”

(If the quickening of your pulse is anything to go by, you don’t mind in the slightest.)

Sitting back on his heels, he skims his fingers along the sinuous outline of your leg, supple hip to the arch of your foot. He splays his palm across your ankle, rough thumb stroking the bone. Gingerly, he raises your foot to his mouth, blotting a kiss against the sole before lifting his lips to your toes, slick pink peeking out, messily dragging his tongue across each digit. His eyes never leave yours, stormy with lust—fresh ichor seeping onto the salt-damp deck of a pirate ship: sublime.

Even in the throes of worship, crimson strands marring his vision, he looks every bit the Emperor he is.

Soon, he works his way back between your legs, wasting little time as he shoves his face into the seam of your underwear, inhaling deeply with a groan. You want to harass him for acting like an ill-trained mutt, but the knowledge that he’s getting off on your scent—that after a day of exploring and sweating and bleeding he still yearns for you—makes your head fuzzy.

You clear your throat. “Shanks. You don’t have to…you know.”

He doesn’t move even a hair’s breadth, eyelids heavy, the low rumble of his voice resounding in your core as he drawls, “I’m a big boy; a bit of blood isn’t gonna hurt me.”

His hand creeps downward, slowly—purposefully—until it rests atop your final layer. His fore and middle fingers sneak past the waistband and tangle in your pubic hair. Meanwhile, he stretches his thumb out to stroke your aching clit, featherlight, still not touching you directly.

“Besides,” he adds, no mirth in his manner for the first time all evening, “it’s my duty to help my wife.”

[sidekick-hero]

I can't stop thinking of Eddie as Cyrano de Bergerac.

He's in the drama club, he's known for his way with words, his ability to bring whole worlds to life with them. Few people know that he also writes poetry, poems about love and loss, society and justice, whatever comes to his mind. Many of them are about a mysterious person with gold-flecked eyes and autumn hair, constellations on his skin, and the sun in his heart.

Eddie guards his notebook full of poems like a dragon guards his hoard of gold. And yet.

And yet Susie Bowers finds it where it fell out of his pocket when that asshole Tommy Hagan pushed him against the lockers. She reads it and realizes how devastatingly beautiful Eddie's words are.

It makes her think… think about her crush on Steve Harrington, the fallen king who is still the most eligible bachelor at Hawkins High. Especially since he refuses to just take girls home to fuck them. No, he wants to date. He wants to fall in love. It's catnip for everyone, but at the same time so frustrating because no girl has managed to catch his eye yet.

Maybe this little notebook is her ticket to a relationship with Steve Harrington.

She approaches Eddie and shows him the notebook, pulling it out of his reach as he attempts to grab it. She offers him a deal: she won't spread copies of all his cute little writings all over the school, exposing his deepest secrets for everyone to see and ridicule. In exchange, Eddie will help her sweet-talk Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees and writes love letters to the boy he's been in love with ever since he found him drunk and depressed on the side of the road after his girlfriend dumped him. He had taken him home, listened to him ramble on about what he had done wrong, why no one would want to love him, and then put Steve to bed and watched him sleep until morning to make sure he was okay.

He left before Steve woke up, and the next time they saw each other at school, Steve didn't even look at him. It had broken his heart and inspired most of his poems, because nothing inspires like heartbreak.

And now Eddie can tell Steve all the things he thinks and feels about him - just to make it seem like it's written by Susie.

It seems to work, because Steve replies to her letters. His replies are simpler, less lyrical, but just as earnest. His words are sweet, and he's funny and thoughtful.

He's everything Eddie knew he was going to be. And Susie couldn't care less, she just wants to go out with him, have him take her home, have everyone know that she's Steve Harrington's girlfriend.

They go out. After a dozen letters, he gives in and asks her out.

Eddie cries himself to sleep that night.

Someone knocks on his bedroom window. Confused and a bit nervous, because he doesn't have only friends in this town, far from it, he goes to open it.

And finds Steve Harrington standing right outside his window.

"What -"

"Did you mean them?" Steve asks and he can't tell from his tone what he's thinking.

"What?"

"Your letters, did you mean what you wrote or did you just write down what you thought I wanted to hear so I'd go out with Susie?"

His tone doesn't really change, but Eddie can see his eyes shining in the dim light coming from his bedroom. He looks upset, and Eddie wants to fix it, but he doesn't know what answer would do that.

So he chooses the truth. "Yes. I meant every single word I wrote in those letters."

"Then why didn't you send them under your own name?" When did Steve get so close? And why is the window sill digging into his stomach?

At Steve's question, Eddie can't help but laugh bitterly. "Did you look at me, Steve? I'm the town freak! A fuckup. Trailer trash. A small-time drug dealer who failed his senior year. Why would anybody - why would you want to get love letters from me?"

Steve nods, not saying a word as he turns and walks away. And okay, he deserves it, he guesses. Hanging his head in defeat, he shuffles away from the window and face plants on his bed, letting fresh tears fall from his eyes.

Until there's another knock, this time at his front door.

He's out of bed in record time, almost breaking his neck in his haste to get to the door. It can't be - it's impossible that this is -

Steve is standing on his front porch, looking devastatingly handsome in his light-washed Levi's and red sweater. His date outfit.

He walks up to him before Eddie can say anything and cups his cheek.

"I've been looking at you, Eddie. All I've done since the night you brought me home and listened to me and took care of me, I've been looking at you. Looking and waiting. Hoping. Wanting you to give me a sign, any sign, that it wasn't just chivalry that made you do this, but the fact that you cared. About me. But you never did."

"Steve," Eddie whispers, but Steve isn't finished.

"And then I get these letters, and all the words, they sound like you. I couldn't be sure, not until I read the line, 'You deserve someone who wants to love you, all of you, the good and the bad and everything in between. I want to be that person. I want to love you.' You're the only one I've ever said that to. I knew it had to be you."

"But why? Why go out with Susie?"

"Because I had to be absolutely sure that it wasn't Susie. And after ten minutes with her, I was. I drove around until I couldn't… I had to talk to you. To see if you mean it. If you want to love me."

Eddie kisses him.

There's nothing else on his mind but the need to finally kiss the boy he's been in love with for almost a year.

Steve kisses him back, soft, tender, then deeper, dirtier.

When they pull apart, both gasping, Eddie leans in closer because his next words are meant for him and Steve and no one else.

"I want to love you long after my body crumbles to dust and my soul finds yours in the afterlife. I want to love you as the ocean does the moon, forever bound, forever following its call, until the end of time."

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part eight; final)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)(part five)(part six)(part seven) (ao3 link)

It was an “if” if Eddie would actually be discharged today, but now, after some more poking and prodding, he's finally on his way home with prescriptions for pain meds and physical therapy. 

Wayne helps him up the three creaky, beautifully familiar stairs into the trailer, and Eddie collapses onto the old, beautifully familiar couch the second he gets inside. The weary groan he lets out is only slightly over-dramatized. “I feel like an 80 year old man,” he complains, entire body sore and aching to the bone already. “Now I know how you feel.”

“Oi, I ain't that old,” Wayne protests. When Eddie snorts derisively, Wayne rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Alright, fine, so we both got creaky knees now. You, at least, will be young and spry again in no time, though,” his uncle tells him. “Just get some rest, old man.” 

Eddie heaves a great big sigh, takes another breath to steel himself, and then does just the opposite of that. 

“What did I just say?” Wayne mutters as Eddie moves to stand again. 

“I said I’d call Steve,” Eddie says. Steve had to go to work, but he'd told Eddie that morning to call him if he ended up making it home today. “I’ll dip out of work and come hang out, help you settle in, if you want,” Steve had said. 

Wayne offers, “I can call him for you.” 

“No, no, I got it,” Eddie insists, words broken by a grunt as he hauls himself back to his feet. “I can make it to the phone, Wayne, I'm not a complete invalid.”

“Alright.” Wayne raises his hands in defeat and backs off. He’s never been one to hover. “You just shout if you need me.” 

Eddie limps - slowly, painfully, with difficulty - to the phone on the wall by the tiny dining table they never use, the surface littered instead with unopened mail and haphazard papers scribbled with notes and reminders and important phone numbers. He leans heavily against the table as he paws through the piles trying to find a note of Steve's number. Eddie finds it buried deep, probably long since memorized by now before his memory got erased, but there it is: a notepad paper with Steve's name scrawled on it and two phone numbers written underneath, home and work. 

“Bingo.” Eddie grabs the paper, takes the phone off the hook, and dials the work number. 

The phone rings a couple times, and then: “Family Video. How can I help you?” 

“Hey, Stevie.” Eddie smiles at the sound of his voice, as if he hadn't literally just heard it only a few hours ago. 

“Eddie!” Steve's bored customer service voice brightens. “Are you home? How are you feeling?” 

“Yeah, I’m home. I’m alright. I mean, I’m bone-fucking-tired and feel about a million years old, but it's really really good to be back,” Eddie says honestly. He adds, “I’m under strict orders to rest, though - gonna be bored out of my mind, so I could use the company if you were serious about ditching work for me.” 

“Of course I was serious,” replies Steve. “It's a slow day today anyways.” 

Eddie grins. “Get your sweet ass over here then.” 

A smile is evident in Steve's voice too. “I'll be there in ten.” 

Eddie hangs up, tries his best to wipe this stupid lovesick grin off his face. He stumbles his way down the hall to his room next, flicking on some music from the cassette player on his dresser and looking around. His room is just as beautifully familiar as the rest of the trailer, not much changed from the way he last remembers it. The same music and D&D shit clutter his surfaces, the same posters clutter his walls. His bed is unmade, clothes litter the floor, same as always.

The only differences: his beloved electric guitar no longer hangs on the wall by the mirror (he was told, devastatingly, that she hadn't survived her trip to the Upside Down), and there are photographs he doesn't recognize taped up around the corners of that mirror. Eddie staggers over to get a closer look, only to first be momentarily jumpscared by his own reflection. His face is pale, eyes sunken, and his hair frizzes out in a greasy, tangled mess around his head, unwashed and unbrushed for who knows how long. Gross, but whatever. He manages to ignore his sickly appearance and inspects the pictures he had apparently deemed important enough to stick to the edges of his mirror. 

There are photos of Eddie smiling with Hellfire and his band and the kids, in large groups and small groups, with old friends he remembers and newer ones he doesn't quite. But what catches his attention the most is a photobooth strip of him and Steve. The first picture shows the two of them grinning, arms slung around each other’s shoulders; the second, a silly face photo, Eddie sticking out his tongue and Steve crossing his eyes; the third, Eddie giving Steve devil horns while Steve laughs; and the fourth- 

Eddie plucks the strip off the mirror, stumbles, so taken aback he trips over his own lame feet until he plops down heavily onto his bed, and he stares. He stares at the last image in the row, which depicts - clear as day and undeniably real, immortalized in ink on photo paper - Steve kissing Eddie, tender hand on his cheek, both of them smiling against each other’s lips.

He stares and he stares and he stares. And the longer he stares the more he can almost feel it, taste it, see the events of that photo strip playing out in his mind’s eye like a waking dream. Like a memory. 

~ 

Steve pulls up to the trailer, the one with the metal music blaring from somewhere inside that announces to the whole park that Eddie Munson is back home. He smiles at the sound, gets out of his car and bounds toward it. 

It's Wayne who lets him in when Steve knocks on the door. “He's in his room,” the older man tells him as he steps aside to let Steve in. “Make sure he's stayin’ off his feet, will you? ‘Cause lord knows he won't listen to me.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Steve says, and his tone and his smile say I got him. Wayne nods. 

Steve makes his way down the hall to Eddie’s room. He raps his knuckles against the door first, but he doubts that can even be heard over the music so he pushes it open without waiting for a response. “Hey, Ed-” Steve starts, only to falter when he sees Eddie sitting statue-still on the edge of his bed, eyes boring holes into a photo strip of the two of them together. “Oh.” 

Eddie blinks, expression unreadable as he looks up and over at Steve. “Why didn't you tell me?” 

“I-” Steve doesn't know what to say, what he should say. His veins buzz with a nauseating mix of hope and anxiety and it's making him feel a bit sick. He takes a deep breath, turns down the music so he can think. “I wanted to. I just- I thought it would freak you out. You didn't know me. I didn't want to force anything on you.” 

“So…we were together,” Eddie says slowly. “For how long?” 

“Since July.” Steve’s desperately searching Eddie’s face for something, anything, to clue him in to what Eddie’s thinking or feeling right now. “Are- are you freaked out? Because you look a little freaked out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Eddie says, and it's almost convincing. “I'm just…processing.” 

“Oh-kay…” Steve breathes out, leaning cautiously against the doorframe, still hovering by the exit just in case Eddie decides he doesn't want him there anymore once he's finished processing.

“I’ve, uh-” Eddie looks back down at the photo strip he holds in his hands and takes a breath. “I’ve been remembering some things, you know, little things - in dreams - about us. But I- I thought I just had a crush or something, because I thought if all of that was real, if we had really been that happy - that…in love - then you would've said something. You would've told me.” 

When Eddie's eyes meet his again, Steve realizes he'd misread his expression before. Eddie's not freaked, he's upset, hurt, not because of what he's learned but because it was kept from him. Of all the worst-case scenarios Steve's spiraling mind had come up with over the past couple weeks, he had not considered this one. So preoccupied with his own angst over being forgotten and fear of being unwanted, Steve hadn't thought to consider that him hiding the true nature of their past might make Eddie feel unwanted too. That's the last thing Steve wants; the ache of that trumps any other ache he feels. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I just- you didn't know me, and I panicked; I didn't think, or-or I thought too much, but I should've just told you.” Steve pushes off from the doorway and goes to sit beside Eddie, because he can't stand Eddie looking at him with those big doe eyes and not being close to him. He leaves a bit of space, barely holds himself back from taking hold of Eddie's hand. “Because it was real, all the things you've been remembering. It was real- it is real, and I’m so sorry I didn't tell you.” 

Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. His gaze flicks him up and down and across his face, and then Eddie grabs him, hands dropping the photo strip to instead clutch at Steve's cheek and jaw as he pulls him in and kisses him. As their lips slide together, familiar, the both of them sigh into the kiss. Steve feels a bursting in his heart, so similar to the way it felt the very first time they’d done this: the giddiness of reciprocation, the intuition that this is right. 

When Eddie pulls back after a few long moments, something is changed, something returned. Steve watches Eddie’s eyes flutter open; and when they do, for the first time since he'd woken up in that hospital bed, Eddie sees him, knows him, loves him. 

“How could I ever have forgotten that?” Eddie says, almost whispered, running his thumb across Steve's cheekbone. “How could I ever have forgotten you?” 

Steve could cry. Tears made of relief and joy blur his vision, because Eddie is looking at him with all the tenderness he'd been missing these past weeks, the painful emptiness of before now filled. It's all back. His Eddie is back. Steve pitches forward and hugs him bodily. Eddie returns the embrace; Steve sinks into his arms and it feels like coming home. 

He closes his misty eyes, buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck and the tangles of his hair, and he breathes him in, clinging onto him like Eddie might just disappear if Steve ever let go. Eddie holds him just as close, one arm wrapped firm around Steve's waist while his other hand cradles the back of Steve's head and strokes his hair. Steve soaks in every touch, feels every place where they are pressed against each other, so warm and safe and loving after so long without it. He is whole again in the arms of the man he loves.  

“I missed you,” Steve mutters, lips brushing against the skin of Eddie's neck as he speaks, muffled. 

“I know, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, “my Stevie, I’m so sorry.” 

“S’okay. It wasn't your fault,” Steve mumbles, and he thinks maybe they both need to stop apologizing for this. 

Eddie must think the same, because he says, “And it wasn't yours either,” like he knows every twisted, guilty thought that's been haunting Steve lately and he absolves him of them. He tugs gently at Steve’s hair to get him to lift his head and look him in the eyes. “You know that, right?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says quietly. Eddie reaches up to brush from his cheek a tear Steve didn't even know had fallen, and as he wipes it away he wipes away everything - all blame, all fear, all pain. Eddie had forgotten him, and it sucked, but now he remembers again, and none of that matters anymore. Steve hangs onto Eddie's wrist. “Just-” His voice rasps with emotion, making it rougher. “Don't you ever forget about me again.” 

It's not a promise that can be made with any certainty - anything can happen at any time, just as unexpectedly as it had this time - but Steve doesn't need certainty, he just needs to hear the words, and Eddie gives that to him. “I won't, darling,” he vows, with gentle reassurance. “Never again.”

“Good,” Steve sighs, turning his head into Eddie's hand to press a kiss to the palm. 

The last of his heavier emotions drain out of him then and now he can feel the joy of Eddie's return in its whole entirety. As he rolls his face out of Eddie's hand and settles his eyes on the beautiful boy in front of him, a grin begins to spread across Steve's face; Eddie's smile grows in tandem with his, like he's smiling just because Steve is. Steve says, giddy in full now, “You're back.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, lovely and bright, ducking to bump his forehead against Steve's. “I'm back.” 

Steve lets go of Eddie's wrist to tangle a hand in his hair, and he tilts his head up to kiss him again, just because he can, because he's making up for lost time. They draw each other in close once more, lips and bodies moving against each other, easy and natural. Steve could stay right here like this forever, never wants to stop holding him or stop kissing him. 

But a thought - a question - tickles at the base of Steve's skull, and when he does pull back he asks, hopeless romantic that he is, “Just in case - I mean, just so I know - what was it that brought your memory back? Was it like a…true love’s kiss breaking the spell sort of thing?” 

Eddie laughs, gives Steve another quick peck like he always does when Steve says something endearing. “Not quite, Prince Charming,” he responds with a grin so fond Steve thinks his heart might burst. “It was more like…the things I had remembered were just dreams to me, shallow and unreal, but kissing you was like an anchor, a reminder that allowed those dreams to sink in as proper memories and become real.” 

“So…basically it was true love’s kiss,” Steve says cheekily, just to hear Eddie’s laugh again, just to receive another affectionate press of Eddie's lips against his. 

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie concedes, smilingly, never one not to indulge whimsy, “we can call it that.” But then he amends, with a little less levity, “It wasn't exactly a magic cure-all, though. It didn't bring everything back, there are still gaps in my memory.” He looks at Steve with eyes like pools of melted chocolate, soft and endless. “But I remember that I love you; I remember that much.” 

And Steve tells him, “That's enough," and he pulls him in for another true love's kiss.

THE END. taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (continued in replies)

[ghost-proofbaby]

the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending. 

It was always going to end this way. 

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her? 

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows. 

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars. 

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October. 

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him. 

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure. 

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside. 

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly. 

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go. 

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.” 

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?” 

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?” 

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.” 

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle. 

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.” 

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.” 

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.” 

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.” 

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis. 

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting. 

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face. 

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?” 

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.” 

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.” 

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong. 

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start. 

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use. 

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance. 

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood. 

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went. 

That was only the first night. 

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat. 

“Come over.” 

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense. 

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door. 

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you. 

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you. 

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring. 

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch. 

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.” 

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.” 

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him. 

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him. 

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception. 

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough. 

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem. 

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year. 

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake. 

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys. 

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie. 

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out. 

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it. 

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by. 

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear. 

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again. 

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure. 

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby. 

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same. 

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?” 

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his. 

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.” 

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. 

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.” 

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows. 

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night. 

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid. 

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.” 

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson. 

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside. 

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature. 

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you. 

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be. 

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie. 

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes. 

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?” 

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness. 

You shake your head. 

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised. 

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.” 

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans. 

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs. 

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?” 

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief. 

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.” 

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter. 

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry. 

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas. 

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light. 

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you. 

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance. 

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.” 

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night. 

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?” 

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?” 

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further. 

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.” 

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet. 

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him. 

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss. 

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement. 

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months. 

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him. 

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?” 

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town. 

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were. 

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours. 

To feel like enough. 

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register. 

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat. 

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner. 

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name. 

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do. 

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.” 

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own. 

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?” 

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?” 

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up. 

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?” 

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected. 

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them. 

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.  

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again. 

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy. 

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about. 

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt. 

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes. 

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind. 

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out. 

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?” 

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames. 

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.” 

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up. 

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.” 

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.” 

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling. 

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself. 

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least. 

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring. 

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing. 

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?” 

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to. 

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?” 

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it. 

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson. 

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful. 

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides. 

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.” 

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay. 

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with. 

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose. 

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him. 

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would. 

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised. 

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected. 

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged. 

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you. 

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room. 

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough. 

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you. 

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it. 

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side. 

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known. 

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had. 

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover. 

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.” 

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs. 

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.” 

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously. 

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you. 

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder. 

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days. 

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known. 

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard. 

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon. 

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to. 

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?” 

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room. 

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze. 

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter. 

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step. 

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas. 

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all. 

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill. 

“It never does.” 

Stay with me? 

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

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[leothil]

fic recs: archive edition 29

Too tired yesterday, but I'm back today with some more fic recs from late 2021!

Previous rec posts can be found here!

Home Is Where You Are by @dancer-me Belated Christmas fic, but I missed this one last week. Right before Christmas they find asbestos in Buck's apartment building, so he goes to live with Eddie and Christopher until it's fixed. Very cute, and leads exactly where you'd think! 10.3k words, rated T

eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by @mmtions The PTA at Christopher's school are all enamoured with Buck, which for some reason makes Eddie want to throw a hissy fit. Eddie working to recognize his jealousy for what it really is is a glorious thing to behold! 19.7k words, rated M

Close Enough for Comfort by allyasavedtheday (@littlespoonevan) Touchdowns in Buck and Eddie's relationship from S2 to 5A, and how their physical relationship evolved from casual friends to seeking comfort in the other's touch. Manages to be both longing and comforting at the same time! 14k words, rated T

Your Name A Promise In My Mouth by @kitkatpancakestack An unspecified time in the future, married Buck and Eddie attend couple's therapy, and we get to see them in a time of struggle through the eyes of their therapist. Devastatingly lovely (and don't worry, they never doubt that they love each other). 7.6k words, rated T

love is the dawn by @renecdote Rounding off this recommendations list with a sweet little early morning established relationship smut! 1.1k words, rated E

Happy reading, and remember to leave kudos and comments for the authors!

[diazsdimples]

Buck’s been stood up by his date and the waitress keeps asking if he’s ready to order but he keeps asking for more time hoping that his date is just late. People are starting to look at him with those apologetic looks like they know and Buck starts to feel worse and worse about the whole situation but as he decides to just get up and leave, this guy he’s never seen sits down explaining loudly “sorry i’m so late, babe, traffic is crazy right now.” and he quietly adds, “i’m Eddie. just go with it, yeah? whoever didn’t bother to show up is a dick.” and so Buck goes with it because Eddie is hot af and funny and really sweet and as they’re leaving the restaurant after the best non-planned date ever, Eddie asks Buck out for real this time.

Eddie saved the day with that one. He'd been watching Buck get increasingly more and more dejected as time went on (Eddie was also waiting for a date who bailed but he didn't really want to be there anyway so he's not as bummed) and he felt so bad for this sad wet rag of a man with devastatingly blue eyes that he had to go talk to him, and boy wasn't that the best decision he's made!

[steddieunderdogfics]

for challenge monday 'fics with 6/6 chapters' i'd like to rec Sugar's Sweet (And So Is He) by PradimeShifts @paradimeshifts7

Sugar's Sweet (And So Is He) by ParadimeShifts

@paradimeshifts7

Rating: Explicit

42,372 words, 6/6 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Sugar Baby Steve, Lit Professor Eddie, author eddie, Rich bitch Steve Harrington, Awkward Eddie Munson, Reverse Pretty Woman vibes, Steve has dyslexia, POV Alternating, Dom Bottom Steve Harrington, Sub Top Eddie Munson, light degradation, Rough Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Smut, Slow Burn, in the way that they're fucking the whole time, They're Just Emotionally Constipated, Friends to fuck buddies to enemies to lovers, thigh fucking, Semi-Public Sex, Panties, Fucking by the fire, Switching, Spit Kink

Summary:

“I mean it,” Steve pushes, a soft clink echoing through the room as he sets his empty bottle down atop the glass coffee table. “I’ll show you the ropes, and you…” he makes a vague motion with one of his hands, “entertain me. What do you say? I help you, you help me?” His face is so devastatingly charming that Eddie wants to rip out his own hair about it. Fuck it, he thinks, and clinks his bottle against Steve’s, earning him a bright smile that warms his core better than any booze ever could. He watches Steve take a sip, his sinfully pretty lips tucked around the opening of the bottle, and wonders what the fuck he’s just gotten himself into. OR The sugar baby!Steve and lit professor/author!Eddie au, wherein Eddie is a disaster at fine dining, and Steve helps him out.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks!

[piratefishmama]

For one night only | part 1

“Huh?” Oh, how eloquent of him, truly, what a wordsmith. Steve only smiled wider, not a fake one either, it reached his eyes in a way that made them sparkle and Eddie couldn’t believe he’d just thought about a guys eyes sparkling when he smiled good lord how gay was he?!

“I’m Steve, I know you’re a metal guy, right? All that loud music do your hearing in, sweetheart?” Steve didn’t need to do homework on his clients, the company did that for him, but he did get access to the guys profile when he accepted the invite, the profile containing bits of information such as occupation, height, weight, age, etcetera.

He’d not even thought twice when the invite pinged into his inbox shortly after he’d switched his availability to SFW only, not for any particular reason. He just wasn’t feeling the need for sex. Wanted to be wined and dined, maybe flaunted, and pampered, an awards event with a gods honest rock star who might be accepting an award that night? Sounded perfect to him.

“S-sweet… Sweetheart?” He would later deny how high his voice got as he parroted that word, Christ, get it together, Munson! “Music… uh… loud, yep, yep loud music, that’d be it. Uhm… you uh… Steve, Steve Harrington. Right.” Hey, um, brain? How about you start working. Sound good? Steve didn’t remember him, he didn’t remember him, what a crushing blow, but… could he really claim to have expected anything less?

His high school crush not remembering his name, or who he was, or what he even looked like. Yeah, it was a little crushing, but Steve had always run in different circles. He’d never been cruel to him or the D&D gang, but he ran in the circles that had been cruel. Circles containing people now working in office 9-5’s or... as devastatingly handsome escorts, holy fuck.

A smile like that didn’t deserve to be judged by association, though. They weren’t in high school anymore. They weren’t in high school, and he was a rockstar. He did not have any reason to go all wibbly-kneed over the hottest man he had still ever seen. How was Steve still the hottest man he’d ever seen? He was a goddamn rockstar, he hung around celebrities every other week and here he was mooning over his high school crush again, when said high school crush didn’t even know who he was, again.

“Steve Harrington, that’s me. Are you going to let me in or are we going to go through everything in the hallway, I’m not fussed either way, but discretion is usually preferred in these circumstances.” Eddie had had his kinks listed in his profile, of course, but considering the SFW nature of the evening, he didn’t think he needed to worry about that blatant ‘Expeditionist’ kink among the others that he’d definitely looked once or twice at in interest. The security guards seemed to be fighting back smiles, professionalism an all that jazz.

“Y-yeah, yep, c’mon in Steve Harrington, into my hotel room, yep.” Jesus H Christ. He hung his head in shame as Steve let out the most charming of laughs and walked in when invited, the subtle breeze as he passed by carrying the scents of jasmine, bergamot, a note of amber undergrowth, and... God he didn’t even know but it smelled pricy and delightful. He shut the door to block out the subtle snort from the security guard on the left as he struggled to hold back his laugh, shoulders trembling as he fought to hold it back.

Shut up, Darrell.

“You seem kind of stuck on my name, should I be concerned?” Steve turned around, the backdrop of his window overlooking the city behind him, fuck, how was he still so handsome? What the shit was in the Harrington's DNA to create such a masterpiece?

“Uhm...” To tell him, or not to tell him, the band would probably blow it unless he could get to them and tell them to zip it, but... keeping it from him felt dishonest. Starting anything, even a loose acquaintanceship with an escort shouldn’t start with dishonesty, but... did he really not remember him at all?! “You... don’t remember me, do you?”

Steve tilted his head a little to the left, brows furrowing a little in thought “I’ve never accepted an invite from you before, have I?” Ouch. Alright then. A particularly vindictive little gremlin on his shoulder declared he should keep the connection a secret, see where dishonesty took them, but his little angel was thankfully much louder.

“N-no, no, uhm... we ah—we went to school together, Steve.” It was out there, in the space between them, Steve seemed surprised but didn’t answer, clearly trying to remember. “Super senior? Stood on tables and yelled at people in the cafeteria for conforming to the man? D&D club president...? Any of this ringing any bells?” Steve’s gaze dropped to the carpet, eyes searching, brows furrowed further. “It’s OK, man, it was a long—”

“No no, I... shit, I got knocked around a little in high school. The old man had me in boxing to make me a man, I guess. I wasn’t very good at it, so I uh... my memory isn’t what it should be, concussions an stuff, but... did we talk?” Oh, understanding dawned on him.

Steve used to just appear in the halls, looking like he’d gone toe to toe against a goddamn brick wall at random. Perfection painted in purples, blues, reds, and yellows but never not perfect.

“No... no we didn’t, it's OK...” and it was, it wasn’t Steve’s fault that his old man had been a douchebag. “Best place to start is fresh I guess!” He could be totally normal about this. He held out his hand “Eddie Munson.” Steve’s smile returned, radiant and kind as he reached over and took it. His hand larger, warmer, his grip strong and his fingers impossibly soft.

“Steve Harrington, nice to officially meet you, Eddie.”

Part 3

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

Sugar's Sweet (And So Is He)

by ParadimeShifts

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Robin Buckley, Wayne Munson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Sugar Baby Steve, Lit Professor Eddie, author eddie, Rich bitch Steve Harrington, Awkward Eddie Munson, Reverse Pretty Woman vibes, Steve has dyslexia, POV Alternating, Dom Bottom Steve Harrington, Sub Top Eddie Munson, light degradation, Rough Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Smut, Slow Burn, in the way that they're fucking the whole time, They're Just Emotionally Constipated, Friends to fuck buddies to enemies to lovers, thigh fucking, Semi-Public Sex, Panties, Fucking by the fire, Switching, Spit Kink Words: 42,372 Chapters: 6/6

Summary

“I mean it,” Steve pushes, a soft clink echoing through the room as he sets his empty bottle down atop the glass coffee table. “I’ll show you the ropes, and you…” he makes a vague motion with one of his hands, “entertain me. What do you say? I help you, you help me?” His face is so devastatingly charming that Eddie wants to rip out his own hair about it. Fuck it, he thinks, and clinks his bottle against Steve’s, earning him a bright smile that warms his core better than any booze ever could. He watches Steve take a sip, his sinfully pretty lips tucked around the opening of the bottle, and wonders what the fuck he’s just gotten himself into. OR The sugar baby!Steve and lit professor/author!Eddie au, wherein Eddie is a disaster at fine dining, and Steve helps him out.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️ HELLO

Oh jeez more than your usual 129. Okay let's GO.

198 for 🛏️:

---

Buck is chasing it like a fucking drug.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” Buck tells Eddie one evening, when the glow of the setting sun shifts the brown to a warm bronze. “I’ve always thought that, you know.”

It’s forward. It’s risky. But the bright, happy look on Eddie’s face when he hears it is so entirely intoxicating. And it’s not just Buck. In fact, it’s not even mostly Buck. Eddie is just as bad, if not worse. 

“I love your laugh.”

“I could listen to you talk about this for hours.”

“You smell really good today.”

And eventually Buck realizes that, okay yes, things have shifted. But also, Eddie has always been like this? He has always praised as much as he teases. He has always showered Buck with such devastatingly sweet things to Buck that Buck’s lungs have stopped working. They’re just changing in tone, a little. And Buck is just advancing in his own understanding of the way they make him feel. 

He didn’t get it, years ago, when Eddie told Buck there was no one in the world he trusted more with Christopher. He didn’t get that the breathless feeling was more than just platonic devotion. He’s starting to get it. He feels like a camera lens, finally coming into focus.

So eventually, when it keeps happening, Buck can’t keep playing chicken.

They’ve got a movie set up on Buck’s laptop. Eddie’s freshly showered. His hair is damp, smelling like Buck’s green tea and ginger shampoo that he’s been using. The one that apparently smells really good. Buck slides a bit closer to Eddie, until they’re a little tangled together. Eddie’s thumb is rubbing small circles over the bone of Buck’s wrist. Something he’s been doing more and more lately.

“That feels good, you know,” Buck whispers. 

Eddie pauses the motions for a second, like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it until Buck pointed it out. Then, tentatively, it starts up again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. “It… You… I mean you always feel… Uh, good.” 

Eddie inhales sharply. Buck wonders if he’s said too much.

“I do?” 

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, a slight complaint in his tone. “You know.” 

Eddie nods a little. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Buck holds his breath. He won’t be the one to do this. He needs to wait for Eddie. To be sure. Though, he thinks it is a sure thing. 

He doesn’t need to wait long. 

Eddie drops Buck’s wrist and raises his hand to cup Buck’s jaw, and suddenly they’re kissing. Kissing. It’s warm and soft and perfect. And honestly, if Buck could have guessed what kissing Eddie would be like, it would be this. Like sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. Like the sun beaming through the window and landing perfect on your cheeks. Like a breath of crisp fresh air. 

It’s everything. 

It’s so good, in fact, that Buck has to pull away from it, terrified. 

“Wait,” he begs. 

Eddie freezes. His eyes dart back and forth between Buck’s eyes and mouth, like he’s torn between the polite thing and his impulses. God, that’s hot. Buck just wants to let him do whatever he wants. 

“This isn’t because I mowed your lawn, right?” Buck asks.

Eddie’s jaw drops. “What?”

Yeah, okay. That sounded ridiculous. 

“Like, you’re not kissing me right now because I’m letting you stay in my bed and I mowed your lawn and you feel like you have to kiss me?”

Buck really hopes not. Because that might genuinely break his heart. 

“What?” Eddie asks again. “Buck? Seriously?”

“I-I don’t know!” Buck stammers. “You’ve never… So I just want to make sure that I didn’t accidentally pressure you or something.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans forward and kisses Buck again. 

“I’m kissing you,” Eddie says, between a series of small, quick kisses. “Because I really, really want to.”

Oh. Oh, well that’s the best case scenario, then. Buck turns off his brain. He kisses Eddie back with enough passion and fervor to make up for six years of not kissing him. 

After that, kissing becomes a thing they do, too. 

vi.

It’s early August when Buck makes the suggestion. 

He doesn’t predict that this will lead to any sort of negative response. Hell, it seems innocent enough. Here they are, nearly two months into Eddie being here, with no sign of leaving. Kissing has escalated into other things. Buck thinks, maybe it would be nice to have multiple pieces of furniture that can support both of them, for when movie nights are really just movie nights. So he asks.

“Do you want to help me find a couch on our next four-off?” 

But instead of an easy-natured reply like Buck is expecting, Eddie’s face sort of freezes. He is not happy with this question. Buck just doesn’t understand why. 

“Eddie?” He asks, frowning. 

Eddie swallows. “Uh… I don’t know.”

“O-Okay,” Buck replies. “It’s fine. I can do it by myself.”

“No,” Eddie blurts. “No.”

“No, you’re coming or no, I shouldn’t do it by myself?” Buck asks. He really doesn’t get what the issue is, here.

“No, I don’t think you should get a couch,” Eddie says. 

Buck blinks. “Since when? You’re, like, the first person to make fun of me not having one.”

“That was Chris,” Eddie mumbles.

Buck’s chest hurts a little. 

“Why don’t we bring my couch here?” Eddie asks. “It’d fit.”

Buck’s head cocks to the side a bit like a confused puppy.

“Uh, Eddie… Why would we do that? Your house needs a couch.”

“Does it?” Eddie asks, nervous edge in his voice. “No one lives there right now.”

“Right, but then when Chris comes home, we’ll have to move the couch back, and the problem remains. I still need a couch.”

Eddie looks at the ground. 

“Eddie?” Buck presses. “Come on, what’s going on?”

Eddie takes a shaky breath and looks back up at him. “What if he doesn’t come home?”

Oh. 

Fuck. 

Buck can see how he got here from a couch, but it’s still some seriously anxious pathways of logic. Buck doesn’t need to buy a new couch, because Chris isn’t coming home, so they can move Eddie’s here, and Eddie will stay forever. Because he can’t go home if his son isn’t there. Jesus. 

Buck grabs his hand. “Of course he’s coming home, Eddie. That’s… That’s not a concern. He’s coming home.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie argues. “He’s barely talking to me. And when he does… He doesn’t want to come home.”

“I do know it,” Buck shakes his head. He squeezes Eddie’s hand tighter. “Chris is coming home, okay? I know you don’t trust yourself fully right now, so trust me.” 

Eddie’s eyes glaze over with tears. “I want to. I do.”

Buck hugs him, squeezing him. “I’ll believe it for both of us. And then get the honor of saying I told you so.” 

“You do not get to tease me when-”

“Ah, you said when! Not if!” Buck exclaims triumphantly. 

Eddie groans, defeated, but then sinks deeper into Buck’s arms. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. 

Buck kisses the top of Eddie’s head. 

“Always,” he replies. “But I still need a couch, Eddie. When was the last time we comfortably played video games?”

Eddie sighs. “I don’t want you to get a couch that isn’t mine.”

It feels like a sort of confession. And maybe it’s entirely ridiculous, but Buck wants to give him exactly what he wants. 

Buck squeezes him again. 

“Well, okay then.”

vi.

A few days later, they’re moving Eddie’s couch into the loft. 

Buck tries not to complain about the tight squeeze and awkward journey into the elevator and up to his floor. He supposes other couches might be just as difficult. And, without the added bonus of already knowing it’s the perfect couch. So he deals with the ridiculousness of moving a couch into the loft which he knows will return home before too long. Regardless of what Eddie believes. 

They’ve had a good talk about things. Which is something they actually hadn’t done before. They just sort of kept slowly inching forward, not addressing much of anything with words or formal understandings. But the way things are going, that wasn’t quite sustainable. They needed to lay it all out in the open. And when they did, this is what they found. 

They are both pretty entirely and devotedly in love with each other. With or without shared bed arrangements. No matter what.  Eddie is still figuring himself out. A lot of himself. Not just the parts that are new in terms of their relationship.

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Five - Hot Chocolate

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - "I go back to December all the time" - Back to December by Taylor Swift

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

8K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: This was a hard one to write and get everything laid out correctly I'm not gonna lie but we are getting there!!

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“Roadkill”

Such a simple and–to be honest–gross word held such heaviness and uncertainty.  A new meaning you’d dare to even suggest in the back of your brain.  

Neutrality?  

No.  

Surrender?  

Couldn’t be.  

Pity?

Quite possibly.  

The man was pitying you and at the expense of your involuntary vulnerability.  You weren’t sure what was worse, him being so cruel to you for years and years after the night he ultimately made a decision—a decision that severed ties and forced you to build walls taller than one could believe—or the fact that he was feeling sorry for you because your best friend was willingly engaging with the enemy, which happened to be him and that made the atmosphere that much more sinister.

How could he venture as far to think that a damn cup of coffee would provide you any comfort?  If that was even his intention.  Maybe it was poisoned.  Cutting you out of everyone’s lives so him and Steve could continue whatever it was they were doing.  No, your thoughts were becoming unrealistic and to be honest, even with how exhausted you’d been the night before, you were restless, tossing and turning all the way into the early hours of the morning when you could just make out the faint hustling and bustling of Hawkins’ early risers.  Sleep wasn’t as kind to you anymore and you couldn’t remember the last time that it was.  

An inner monologue of push and pull threw off your rhythm, suddenly glued to the floor as you’re forced into the spiraling void–it almost felt like you were sixteen again at this moment, just as you did the previous night.  It felt bitter, more than likely resembling the steaming liquid in the cup before you.  Utterly bitter.  How could something once so sweet and innocent become so vile and foul?  Devastatingly horrid.  It was mocking you, that stupid little cup.  Chanting over and over that you had nothing left meanwhile he would remain unchanged, untouched, and unbothered.  

And within your seconds of insanity, you missed the whispers of Steve and Robin just outside of the room until they made themselves known.  Robin’s piercing blue irises held such remorse as they looked into yours but you offered no solace.  Her eyes rimmed with smudged black eyeliner and fingers trembling as they toyed with the string of her apron clutched in the other hand revealed that she was a nervous wreck.  Then again, so were you and you were the one with all odds against you, not her.  If she wasn’t the instigator she was the bystander, comfortable in your cluelessness until now.  

Then there was Steve.  Quiet, uncharacteristically quiet.  Head bowed as if he were a child being sent to his room while he tossed his apron over an empty chair.  The stillness in the room was discomforting and you weren’t going to settle for another second of it.  With work to be done and bills to be paid, you refused to let them take up any more of your valuable time.  If they had anything further to say, you weren’t listening, swiping your phone from the table top and brushing past the two of them, only leaving them with a small breeze as you passed.  The cup that had haunted you those few moments sat neglected on the crumby surface of the table.

The sight of Eddie preparing a coffee as you rounded the corner had you internally groaning.  Now you’d be forced to face whatever sick game he was playing at.  You wouldn’t engage in it but would he be smart enough to lay off?  To your surprise a customer had been waiting patiently next to the to-go counter despite the weather just outside becoming more horrific by the minute.  It was pouring, water smashing against the pavement with no mercy and as Eddie handed the small piping hot coffee to an older man in a well worn denim jacket and what seemed to be some navy coveralls underneath, the man tipped his head at you with a friendly grin to which you returned the favor.  

“You didn’t go on and put all that fancy syrupy stuff in it, right?”  The man grumbled at Eddie, narrowing his eyes.

“No, old man.  Now get outta my shop.”  Eddie rolled his eyes which in turn pulled an astonished gasp from you.  What you failed to catch was the way his face contorted into a grin and how the man chuckled as you began repairing the damages.

“Eddie!”  You scolded before returning your attention back to the man who seemed way too calm.  “Sir, I’m so sorry–”

“Darlin’ don’t go gettin’ yourself all upset.  My nephew ‘ere was just clowning around.”  The man’s voice was deep and a bit gravelly but welcoming nevertheless.

“Nephew…”  You pondered.

“Wayne.  Wayne Munson.”  He introduces himself, sticking his hand out over the counter to properly greet you to which you accept.  

His hand is rough, no doubt showcasing a labor intensive job that he seemed to have either come from or was just heading off to.  Gracefully giving him your name as he shakes your hand, you notice a few similarities between the two men.  You can’t quite put your finger on which features they share but they’re there aside from the bright blue eyes Wayne possesses, a stark contrast to Eddie’s deep coffee colored eyes.

“Listen, don’t let Ed ‘ere drink too much sugar.  Kid is a fiend for the stuff.”  There’s a playful gleam in Wayne’s eyes, his lips pursed in an effort to keep from laughing, a smile pulling at your lips in return.  “Swear he’s a sucker for those frap milkshake things.  He comes over to my place with more energy than the tasmanian devil–”

“Pops.”  Eddie glares at his uncle and there seems to be an understanding as he begins backing up toward the door, humor written on his face.

“It was nice meetin’ you.  Eddie ever gives you any problems you come ‘n get me.  I’ll set ‘m straight, don’t you worry.”  You can’t help but giggle at Wayne’s words and at this moment in time, it's as if Eddie isn’t some opponent but rather an old friend.  It was strange but you shook it off immediately.

“Thank you Mr. Munson.”  It was all you could say as he began to embark back into the cold rain.

“Sure, honey.  Son, you behave.”  He gave Eddie a stern point of his finger as his nephew waved.  “Oh and don’t go racin’ that damn bike around in this rain.  Supposed to get a bit of floodin’ so take the back way home.  Slow.  Hear me?”

“Uh huh, got it.”  Eddie replies as if he’s a teenager who thinks he knows better, a sigh falling from his lips.  “Get outta here Pops, you’re gonna be late.” 

With one last raise of his brow, Wayne was suddenly gone and you could just barely see him rush out to what appeared to be his truck, keeping as dry as possible.

The energy had shifted the moment he left and you were ready to put Eddie in a chokehold if you could.  An accidental slam of the back door notified you that Robin and Steve opted to go out the back, your head snapping in the direction of the noise only to quickly shift back to the man in front of you who was now counting out some change from the tip jar.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Relax, you’ll thank me later.”

“Oh-thank you?  No, put that back.”  You reached for the coins only to be bumped out of the way by Eddie’s hip.  He hadn’t even completely finished training and he was acting like he ran the place.

“Munson, if you don’t–”  You’re unable to finish your thought as you catch on to his intentions.  The register opened and he pulled out in cash what was represented by the change, tossing each coin into its respective spot and then shoving the cash into the tip jar, finishing off by shutting the register and turning to you with a smirk.

“Ta da.  Unless you would rather take the change.  You’re not one of those annoying people who pays in all quarters are you?”  It’s unbelievable, the way you have to hold back a laugh.  A genuine laugh that he spurred on out of nowhere.  But you manage to remain unbothered.  At least you think so.

“No.”  You answer, arms crossed, earning a breathy laugh from him as he continued to lean over the counter.

And then it was silent.  Only the violent patter of rain on the windows and the faint jazz playing through the speakers filling in the gaps.  The lights casted a comfortable glow among the shop and Eddie continued to check off items on his training checklist placed in front of him.  You could bathe in the absence of his voice except you insisted on keeping it chaotic and you didn’t understand why.

“Why’d you do it?”  Well you only had yourself to blame if this blew up and turned into another argument after you insisted that this would be a night of avoidance, just work.  No talking.  No trying to reason.  That motive went down the drain the second you dared to ask the question.

His head snapped up from his current task, looking up at you curiously as he was still bent over the list.  Brown curls draped over the paper and you should tell him to pull his hair back but you don’t.  You figure it’s because you’re too occupied in being mad at him but something is telling you that the way they fall in front of his face is far too perfect.  

“Do what?”

Everything.  Everything that led us here.

“Hook up with Steve.”

A glance down at the pen he was using and a click of his tongue later he provides a response.

“Think that’s something you need to take up with Steve.”  He decides.

It’s not the answer you’re looking for and you both know it.  A shaky exhale leads him to believe that this isn’t something you’re going to drop, your eyes glassy as they stare directly into his.

“Stop it.”  A frown is now etched onto your face, the kind that you can’t control because you know you’re about to cry and you’re just trying to hold back.

“Stop what?”  He’s well aware he needs to stop playing dumb.  That he needs to man up and accept responsibility for everything because truly, all of this traces back to him.  But he is his father’s son.  At least that’s what he always chalks it up to.

“Stop trying to divert me to Steve.”  A single tear wins and escapes down your cheek only for you to rapidly wipe it away, sniffling back the others that were building up.  You were not going to cry again.  “You hurt me just as much and you’re the one with the reputation.”

The statement stung because it was true.  It burned like salt in a wound and all Eddie knew was that sting over and over again and again.  It was the story of his life.  With you.  With his childhood.  His adolescence.  He had reputation after reputation and he couldn’t seem to stop making a foul name for himself, further proving to everyone what a delinquent he was.  Except there was one person throughout all of it that never once fed into that narrative.

–

The Previous Night, Eddie’s Trailer

The slam of the fridge door and the sound of a fresh beer being cracked open wasn’t an uncommon sound within the Munson trailer.  Or at least what is now Eddie’s very own trailer just a few down from the one he grew up in which now only housed Wayne.  Metal blared from the speakers in the confined living room that practically shared the kitchen if you took a few more steps.  Slumping down on the beaten up couch, Eddie cursed under his breath as he sat on a pencil wedged in between the cushions, more than likely from a DND session last week.  This was his daily ritual but somehow it was different.  Angrier.  Soul-stirring.

He should go to sleep, the clock on the outdated stove read 11:00 PM which in theory isn’t very late however he would despise himself in the morning for not cherishing his sleep as he worked at the garage at 7:00 AM with bags hanging from his face.  But even if he did lay down, two beers in his system to aid him in place of melatonin, it would be no use and he would remain in the solitude of his trailer wide awake.  Tonight it was particularly bad due to the events that transpired earlier.  Steve asking him to hook up again and him accepting even though he knows he shouldn’t, it would only fuel his disaster of a life.  That’s what he told himself and as it turns out he was right.  But what kept replaying in his mind and plaguing every thought was the way you cupped your face in your hands for that brief second before disappearing around the corner to your apartment.  The look of despair in your eyes when he told you to get out.  He was a self destructive force that should never be unleashed upon anyone and yet he let the fallout ruin everything and ultimately, unleashed it upon you all this time.

As he remained a lump on the couch, he thought about how he couldn’t keep doing this anymore.  Be miserable.  Be the reason for your hatred.  He didn’t want to do it anymore and that’s what he told himself every time but without fail he sabotaged every good thing that ever happened to him.

So when Wayne receives a specific combination of knocks at his door at 11:05 PM while enjoying a night off watching old western movies, he knows either his nephew got locked out of his own trailer again or he needed him.  And when the door swings open to reveal a choked up Eddie with damp hair from the rain, Wayne just knows.

“What’s wrong, son?”  

Eddie doesn’t need permission to enter yet he remains at the doorstep, rain collecting on his eyelashes as he looks at his uncle with large lost eyes.

“C’mon, get inside.  You’re gonna get soaked out there.”

Wayne tugs on the sleeve of Eddie’s black sweater, not roughly, just enough to lure him into the warmth of the trailer.  Enough to keep him out of the rain.

“What happened, son?”  Wayne tries again.

There’s a distant look in his nephew’s eyes as he stands in the middle of the living room, and before Wayne can assess the damages and figure out what might be troubling him this time, Eddie interrupts.

“Why am I–why–am I–the way I am?”  The words don’t come out easily and it's as though he’s still searching for more to say.  “Why is there so much–wrong with me?”

There is no way to explain the twist in Wayne’s stomach.

“Why–why do I act like him?”

No explanation is needed when he says it.  Wayne just knows.

“Ed, quit that.”  It’s not said unkindly but rather in an attempt to steer him from those thoughts.

“No!  Why do I keep becoming more and more like him?”  The question is genuine, he just wants to know and though Wayne won’t have an answer, he still can’t help but ask.  His eyes are burning with unshed tears and all that flashes through his mind are images of you from earlier in the night.

“Son, you listen to me.”  Wayne’s hands grip Eddie’s shoulders, firmly but reassuring, his blue eyes wide with empathy.  An old western movie continues to play in the background, long forgotten in his nephew’s sudden need.  

“Who made you think that?”

Eddie wants to sink in on himself, become dirt and just blow away in the wind.  He’s so sick of this constant cycle.  He acts out, makes people hate him, pushes them away, and then turns to self loathing time and time again.  It was old, he’d admit that.  But he couldn’t stop, it felt like it was embedded in his DNA at this point.  And every time Wayne would be there to gather him up and still treat him with dignity even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Me!”  He shouts, hands running through his hair anxiously.  “I-I can’t stop.”  A sob is held back until after he weakly repeats himself.  “I can’t stop.”

Wayne doesn’t hesitate to pull him in and hold him close, letting him cry into his shoulder.  And if that’s all he needed then that would be fine.  But Wayne would give him the world and he wasn’t sure if Eddie quite knew that despite showing him over and over.  Before Wayne can run his hand down his back in an effort to comfort him, Eddie is pulling away again.

“She hates me.  I hate me.”  Eddie’s ringed hand reaches up to collect some fallen tears, trying to regain a fraction of his composure.

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Ed, is this still about that girl from high school who works at the coffee place with you?”  Wayne sighs, running a hand over his sparse hair.

All he receives in response is a nod.  A sad and defeated nod.

“Well, it don’t help much that you won’t tell me what happened between you back then.”  His uncle gives him an apologetic shrug.  Suddenly gun shots sounded from the TV, cowboys shouting over them throughout the living room, urging Wayne to grab the remote and select mute.

“Wayne–”

“Look, all I know is you keep saying you did somethin’ pretty bad.  Not bad enough to tell me I guess, but is it bad enough that you’re both so bent out of shape ‘bout it this many years later?”

Eddie tries to come up with an answer but Wayne continues, doesn’t even give him a chance.

“And if it is that bad, why don’t you man up and apologize?  Why you givin’ this girl so much damn grief over a mistake made by a damn stupid teenager?”  Wayne finishes with a finger to Eddie’s chest.  He knows his nephew fragile right now but he’s tired of hearing vague details about him and this supposed girl that he can’t let go of because he ‘fucked up a really good thing really bad’.  And how they apparently can’t stand each other to this day.  He finds that maybe this time Eddie needs some tough love.

“Because I’m just like him, isn’t that why?”  Eddie seems to try and make sense of it himself, his features contorted into uncertainty as his brows draw together.

His uncle stares in disbelief, knowing better than anyone that Eddie is nothing like his father.  Not by any means.  Eddie has always been a timid boy hidden underneath a loud and outspoken exterior harboring more complications than the typical kid.  Sure he seemed to let his anger get the best of him at times but in no way did he release it in ways only his dad could.  At most he’d snap, say something a bit mean but he’d always come back and apologize.

“You aren’t.  Quit spewing that shit.  You know you aren’t.”  While the remark may seem harsh, his tone carries compassion.

“No I don’t.”  Eddie hates himself for whimpering like a kicked puppy.  “She thinks I’m some monster and I haven’t given her any reason not to think that.  I just keep pushing it until-until I make her upset or-or cry.”  Chest heaving, Eddie sits on the edge of the couch, the bridge of his nose pinched in between his fingers as he works to control his breathing.  “She’s right though.  I am a monster.”

“Boy, you’re no monster.”  Wayne settles next to his nephew, knees cracking and joints groaning beneath him.  “And you ain’t like your dad.  Not one bit.  Never were.  Think you just need to learn to control yourself when you get riled up.  And let good things happen to you.”

The advice resonates but Eddie is still prone to self sabotage so he’s not sure how to keep himself from digging himself into holes like he’s a dog having a hay day.  He’s not even sure he’ll ever have a chance at declaring a truce with you.  That ship seems to have sailed long ago.

“I don’t think I know how to.”  He admits, voice wavering like a terrified child.

“Well, then at least you know the problem, right?  Take that and learn.”  Wayne was always pretty straight forward and in a sense, it was very grounding.  No bullshit, just the truth.  “And if you care ‘bout someone, and it seems you care a whole lot ‘bout this girl, don’t you think it’d be better to own up to your mistakes and make nice?”

It’s so simple yet so difficult.  Yes, he wants to make nice.  It’s all he wants.  But he’s made himself into some kind of villain, feeding your depiction of him as some heartless asshole who only thrives on bloodshed.  But ultimately his uncle was right and he knew that before he’d even said anything but sometimes, it takes the right time and the right place for things to click.

–

Present day

“You hurt me just as much and you’re the one with the reputation.”

There Eddie stood, wanting to fume with anger, craving the adrenaline of just lashing out because it’s what he knew best.  But he couldn’t be that guy anymore.  It was miserable and lonely and it just wasn’t fair.  The fact that his uncle made an appearance only further encouraged him that he shouldn’t live in his self hatred, that he should man up and do the right thing.  Even after so long.  Even if it was too late.  And he had a slight suspicion that Wayne’s visit was calculated.

A nervous tongue poked out to lick his chapped lips, gaze darting between your eyes and your fingers now fidgeting with a pen, clicking it repeatedly.  Any other time he’d tell you to knock it off.  You were growing uneasy at his mellow demeanor, not used to seeing his face so relaxed, always familiar with his furrowed eyebrows and pupils that contained a fire, frown usually engraved into his face with you around.

“I know.”

Two words created a disturbance in the air, the nature of it still unknown as two minds considered the weight it carried.  The most shocking component of it all was that he didn’t appear as if he was internally searching for an out, scrambling to take his words back and replace them with something awful.  There was no evidence of backtracking from sentimental words, no sign of reversing and throwing it right back in your face.

I know.

What was the true scheme behind it all?

I know.

Was he admitting to his wrong doings?

“What do you mean you know?”  You try to force him to clarify but before he can even provide any further information your mind screams at you to keep questioning.  “And what the hell was that in the break room?”  It’s said with such defense, walls up and ready to protect your delicate heart.  “What are you playing?  Is this some kind of sick fucking game?  Again?”

Had he really fucked up your perception of him so bad that you were standing before him swirling into insanity at the premise of him taking the first step and acknowledging his mistakes?  Millions of words tug at his tongue but none of them make it out as you storm into the back and he’s sure he’s just made the situation that much worse.  Maybe things were beyond repair, he was naive to think that there was any chance of undoing even a fraction of the destruction he caused.

Of course things were beyond repair, he’d be an idiot to think there was redemption somewhere on the horizon.  Even if it was millions of miles away at least it would have been there.  He supposes he only has himself to blame.  No.  He does only have himself to blame.  Where was the change of heart though?  He was trying to add it all up.  Was there ever a change of heart even?  Or was it always the same feelings disguised, creating an armor that only managed to hurt others?  And now he was growing out of it, realizing that he couldn’t hide forever, couldn’t watch himself be the man he was starting to become.  He had to stop being a boy.  A stupid emotionally stunted boy.  His past didn’t grant him a pass to treat others how he’s treated them.  Though he couldn’t just patch things up, he could sure as hell try and learn from his mistakes and use that to his advantage.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been in his head when you come racing out from the back, familiar coffee cup in hand and face twisted in disgust.  It’s shoved into his line of sight, the black ink spelling out the letters just inches from him, your hand shaking the beverage as some sloshes out of the little hole in the lid and nestles a fat drop onto your thumb.

“What is this!?”  You shout, practically begging for an explanation.

“What is what?  It’s a drink!”  He’s forced to stand straight at your insistence.

It catches you off guard, the way that there’s no sarcasm laced in his response.

“Stop it.”  Again, you’re pleading with him but you’re not quite sure what for.  The drink trembles in your hand, still floating a bit too close to his face.

“Stop what?”

It’s as if you’re repeating the same conversation in circles, creating a tornado of confusion and heart ache.  Pulling at emotions and plucking them like the strings of a guitar.

“Dammit, Eddie!  God fucking damn it!  Why are you doing this?!”  You were crying again and you’d never forgive yourself for letting him see you cry so much within the past twenty four hours.

“Doing what?!  What am I doing?!”  There’s something lingering in his eyes, something sad, and his shoulders are slumped as if almost defeated.  This was not the man you argued with time after time and it was messing with your psyche.

“Tormenting me!  What the fuck is this?!”  Voice strained, you continue shoving the drink in his face.

The storm outside seems to agree with your outburst, only growing more intense with every one of your heightened emotions.  Eddie glances from you to the drink and then lands back on you, trying to approach the situation differently than he normally would on autopilot.  He assesses your exterior and gathers that you’re visibly distressed.  Shaking, tears streaming down your face, lip in between your teeth, gnawing on the skin.  How could he ever say such atrocious things to your face all those times if this was the result?  Granted, you didn’t allow him to see it and you always scurried off before you could provide any proof of damages left by his words.  And now here he is trying to breathe.  Trying so desperately to not say the wrong thing as he’s done so many times.  Trying not to react in the way that you’d expect him to.  He’s piecing your words together–tormenting.  Tormenting.  The cup just a hair away from his face continues shaking violently.  The writing on the cup.

Oh.

“So now you shut up?!  What is this?!  Cause I’m not understanding the mind fuck that is you and Steve and Robin and why I’m the butt of some gigantic joke that–”

“Hot chocolate.”  

Oh he really was a dumb boy at the root of it all.  Failing to realize that at the base of your agitation over a beverage was insecurity in the fact that it seemed no one was on your side and even the mere idea of the ‘enemy’ offering anything remotely resembling a peace offering was considered a threat.  The sadness in his eyes only grew at the sight of you before him and at the realization hitting him.  Your next word came out fatigued, breathy as if you’d finally given up on your vocal cords.

“What?”

Though there wasn’t a lot of bark behind your tone, your gaze mirrored everything.  How horrible he was.  How convoluted and fucked up everything had become over time.  Your eyes were portals he was looking into, seeing himself from past, present, and even future.  He didn’t like what he saw.

“I-uh, it’s–it’s hot chocolate.”  Eddie swallows hard, fingers nervously twisting his rings.  “You asked what it was.”

He swears you soften for the quickest second before tensing back up, slamming the cup onto the counter next to him which causes even more of the chocolatey substance to spill over onto the pristine dark granite.

“Munson, I’m gonna ask you one more time.”  You suck in a breath and he’s not sure how to gauge your emotion this time.

“What.  Is.  This?”  Your finger points at the writing scribbled on the cup.

Now it was really confirmed that he was a stupid boy.  And the way the corner of his mouth twitches upward only makes you fume, fists clenching at your side as you glare up at him.  He was really getting a kick out of this and you wanted to punch him.  Except something was off in the way his eyes glimmered, where there would usually be a touch of mischief, there was something unfamiliar, something kinder if you’d dare to even trek that far.  But you wouldn’t.  Couldn’t. 

“Roadkill.”  He mumbles more to himself than you, eyes focused on the cup.

“Are you fucking high?”  It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary to assume however he still turned his head with offense in his expression.  But he let it go.

“Roadkill.  You’re Roadkill, remember?”

“Stop it!”

You’re beginning to think he’s even more evil than you were led to believe in the first place.  Why was he toying with you?  Suddenly he’s facing you, gaze softer than you’ve seen in a long time.  There was a gravity to him, you felt like you had no choice but to let it pull you in.  That sweetness to him years ago was faint in the air and it felt as though you were clinging to it.  Clinging to something, anything that would let you feel tiniest bit normal again.

“No.”

No, what did he mean no?

“No?”  You keep yourself grounded in your inquiry, wading in the sweetness while still weary of your surroundings, your face remaining serious.

“You don’t tell me what to do.  I think we both know that by now.”  Usually the statement would be said with such malice and disgust but the attitude was absent from his tone and there was a trace of an authentic smile tugging at his lips, dimple almost visible.

You were in awe, why was it as though seventeen year old Eddie was standing before you again?  Why did it feel like your stomach was bubbling with giddyness like the teenage girl you once were?  This wasn’t right, it wasn’t in the script, at least, that’s how it felt.  No, this was a show of some kind.  If everyone was against you, Eddie would surely use it to his advantage.

And yet he stood there with round eyes and a subtle smile awaiting your response, any response.  All you could see was the boy with charming dimples and curly hair and it was ruining your current perception of him, even after all he’d done, all the damage he inflicted.  A heavy exhale released from your lungs and you seemed to snap out of your trance.

“I–um–I have to…”  You didn’t seem capable of finishing your thought as you stepped away, suddenly far more interested in cleaning the espresso machine.  That was fine by him.  If it meant he didn’t scare you off crying again then he would take it.  And while the bar was still on the floor, he was determined to raise it at your pace.  The vandalized cup remained atop the counter, a token of his new objective.

–

The Harrington House, December of Junior Year

“Steve, you are such a cockblock!”

“Nance, it was Eddie The Freak Munson!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna agree with Nancy here.  Total cockblock.”

The two girls nitpicked Steve’s approach to tear you away from Eddie’s hypnotics, claiming they’d never seen a look like that in your eyes ever before and yet Steve inserted himself which led you to excuse yourself to the bathroom as the two conducted a deal.  Once Steve had what he wanted, Eddie banished himself to the basement which you had caught just as you stepped out from the bathroom, now only seeing Nancy and Robin scolding Steve.  For what, you weren’t sure but it wasn’t abnormal so there wasn’t much thought to be put into it.

“Where’d Eddie go?”  You ask innocently, linking an arm with Robin as you try to make sense of the distaste on her and Nancy’s face.

“Basement.”  Steve shrugs, earning a more intense glare from your friends.

“I’m gonna go find him, he owes me a–”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  Steve’s hands find his hips, staring at you like a parent which only makes your blood boil.

You hated when he got like this, overprotective and over stepping into your private endeavors.  He was almost like a big brother, inheriting the position since freshman year.  At times it was welcomed but in circumstances like these you just wished he’d back off.  He and Eddie didn’t get along and Steve did little to hide his repulsion.  It was the classic jock versus outcast trope and it grew very old very fast.  Knowing how much you liked Eddie, he tried his best to keep his comments to himself but again, there wasn’t a lot of effort put forth.

“Steve.”  It didn’t take a genius to know that the way you seethed his name meant that he should excuse himself for a ‘time out’.

Mumbling your name, he tried one last time to reason with you.  “Anyone but Eddie Munson.  Please–”

“Steve.”

“He’s a lowlife, how’s that going to work out for you–”

“Steve!  Enough!”  Nancy reinserted herself, face tinting red.

“You really wanna go for a drug dealer?”  Steve continues, Nancy smacking his chest with her palm.

“Steve Harrington.  You quit it and you quit it right now.  How would you like it if they said the same thing about you when we got together?”

You were grateful for a friend like Nancy.  She seemed timid and shy at times but wasn’t afraid to put a man in his place.  You only wished you could possess that kind of power.  That seemed to shut Steve up, his lips forming a tight line as he glared toward the basement.

–

The air was stuffy and cloudy, skunky and smelled of tequila.  The basement included a toss up between the stoners in the corner and soon to be frat boys occupying the pool table.  They seemed to ignore each other and coexist just fine however you wouldn’t be surprised if every now and then a jock would intrude on them to poke and prod for some free weed.  Over exaggerated boyish yells erupted in the room, causing you to cover your ears.  A few girls lingered around, their boyfriends practically groping them in front of everyone but none of them sober enough to comprehend it.  The music booming upstairs trickled into the room but didn’t overpower it, the bass mainly taking over as it vibrated through the entire house.

The wood paneled walls should deem the basement outdated however Steve’s parents did well at keeping it feeling up to date and it almost didn’t feel like it was built in the 80’s.  It was dim, some multicolored lights decorating the molding at the very top of the walls and an overhead light hanging above the pool table that didn’t do a very good job at illuminating much, however it contributed enough for the party scene.  A frown pulled at your face as you searched around for Eddie but you had no success in finding the metalhead.  No shaggy curls in sight.

That is until the sliding door leading outside opens, pulling your attention toward it, answering your silent question of where Eddie had gone.  There he was, stepping inside with his signature black lunch box in hand, cheeks dusted pink from the biting cold outside.  Your heart couldn't seem to remain at a steady rhythm at the sight.  Although you’d just seen him minutes ago upstairs, he took your breath away all the same as when you first laid eyes on him across the room over the blaring music.  Tucking some cash into his front pocket, his eyes met yours, pausing his movements to grace you with an endearing smile that had your breath hitching.  You had no shame in sauntering up to him as he leaned against the door frame, the two of you nestled in the corner opposite of the group of stoners.

“Hey, you.”  You greet, cartoon hearts just about floating over your head.

“What’re you up to, trouble?”

“Me?  Trouble?”  Batting your eyelashes up at him, he was willingly in the palm of your hand.

“Yeah, you.  Most trouble I’ve ever seen.”  

There was a smirk playing on his features, charm dripping from his every word that only left you captivated.  His eyes were heavy but not due to substances.  If anyone were to pay any mind to the two of you, they’d see you were drunk off of each other.  No amount of pills or powder could create such an enchantment between two individuals, not like this.

“I could say the same about you.”  You say it so shyly, so quiet and yet he’s hanging on to every syllable.

“And you’d be right.”

“I–I was thinking–”  

Before you’re able to finish you shut yourself down, your sentence fading into nothing as the jocks behind you proceed to cause another uproar in their game of pool.  The smidge of confidence you had was gone.

“Thinking what?”  Eddie encourages.

“Oh, um.  Nothing, it’s nothing.”

A mischievous glint crosses his eyes as he leans toward you and if your nerves weren’t shot already then they definitely were now because his breath was fanning over your cheek and his distinct smell was invading your nose.  Something cinnamony and minty.  He was chewing gum, oh god he was chewing gum and he looked so hot while doing it.

“Did you come find ‘lil ‘ol me to smoke?”  Those big beautiful brown eyes swirled in honey hues remained heavy, lashes creating perfect shadows over the apples of his cheeks.  His eyelids were lazy but in the way that he was comfortable and dazed in this one vision, his sole focus on the way that you brought your finger up to toy with your lip nervously.

“Well I–I mean only if you w-want to.”  You were beginning to get self conscious and suddenly, all you wanted to do was dart upstairs and run into Nancy’s arms.

“Hey, I extended the invite, didn’t I?”

A rush of relief washes through you as he grins down at you.  Like a flip of a switch, you no longer wanted to run off to Nancy.  No, you’d rather stay in the newfound comfort of the basement.

–

“And then you just roll your thumb—there you go!”

The flame sparking to life from the lighter slightly burned at your thumb and your first instinct was to react and even tilt the flame closer to your thumb due to your inexperience.  A few lessons with Eddie changed that and you were now aware that you just needed to roll your thumb and keep the lighter upright, that way the flame wouldn’t singe you.

“It’s gonna burn my finger–it’s gonna burn–”

“No it won’t, see?  Just hold it like that and the flame isn’t gonna go anywhere near your finger.”

“Okay.”  You sigh, holding the lighter as still as possible in the air.

The bean bags you sat on made it difficult to keep still as you leaned back into the pliable pillow, your hand beginning to shake as you pulled your thumb from the little metal wheel, wincing.  The secluded spot just underneath the basement stairs was still within reach of the party however it was out of the way enough that no one would bother you.  Eddie lounged in his own respective bean bag, long legs splayed out across the carpet while he twirled the unlit joint with his fingers.  While you should have recommended smoking outside, you couldn’t be bothered when it was so icy and cold just beyond the frost coated sliding door, the warmth of the Harrington home wrapped around you like a hug and you refused to leave its embrace.  How could you bring yourself to care about the smoke embedding itself into the furniture when a whole smoke circle was happening right across the room and Steve seemed to have no issue with it earlier?  So what was just one more small smoke session initiated between a pair within the wooden walls?

“See, you got it.”  An alluring grin was offered, giant bambi eyes consuming your every movement.

“What do you mean?  My finger slipped.”

“Try again.”

For all you knew, it was only the two of you in the basement, that’s how enamoring he was.  It was unbelievable how everything was playing out, how for once things were going well for you.  A boy was showing genuine interest in you.  A boy you had been pining after for the last year and a half.

The pad of your thumb dug back into the little metal wheel, creating a bigger indent in your skin but you didn’t seem to mind.  The flame sparked once again and your eyes lit up with it.

“You definitely got it, you’re a pro now.  Just needed a little practice.”  Sweetness was drenched in his tone like honey drizzled over the freshest pastry.

No response came, your hot cheeks and a bashful smile directed down to your lap were all you could muster up.  You could feel his gaze on you, his head ducking to try and crack your shyness.  For a split second you felt a daydream come to life, a reality where Eddie may reciprocate your feelings but you quickly pushed it away.

No.  That’s not how things went for you.

Eddie was handsome.  Older.  Only by a year but it still contributed.  More experienced.  Had to have been.  Though you’d never seen girls hang around him you were sure he had a decent amount of experience, how could he not?

And you were some prude.  At least according to the higher social class of Hawkins High.  Specifically the jocks Steve still tolerated.  It was certainly none of their business whether you’d decided to put yourself out there or not however no one seemed to find anything wrong with the comments they made.  “Smile, babe.  If you’d smile every once in a while we might be hanging all over you.”  Gross.  They made you feel gross.  “C’mon, give us a smile.”  Embarrassed.  “Why so shy?  A sexy lil thing like you gotta get outta that shell.”  Violated.  By words.  It was worth noting that anytime these words were tossed your way and Nancy heard them, she would step up to the plate and defend you.  She had no problem but it never stopped them from continuing, they even went as far as to sexualize both you and Nancy.  As much as you tried not to let it get to you, it always lingered in the back of your mind that you were not enough.  Too shy.  Too timid.  Not up to your full potential since you wore clothes that hide your figure more than enhanced it.

“You okay?  We don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to.”  A gentle voice breaks you from the overbearing thoughts, the vicious cycle of internally tearing yourself apart at the male perception of you.

“Y-yeah.  Yes.”  It comes out breathy, almost as if you’d just run a marathon.  Cause in your minds it’s like you had.

“Listen, we can just save it for another time–or–or not.  If y’know, you don’t want to anymore–”

“No, no!  I still want to.”  A delicate hand rests on his forearm, something you’d usually scold yourself for doing but there was a comfort in the leather underneath your fingertips.  And there was his gorgeous boyish face, soft but slowly becoming more adult in every passing month.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie playfully squints, eyeing your face for any hesitation.

“Okay, okay.  You light it.”

“Wha–no!”

“C’mon, just like I taught you.”

He grabs the lighter from you, sparking it quickly before returning it to your clammy hand.  Maybe you should’ve taken one more shot before subjecting yourself to the humiliation that is getting high in front of Eddie.  Sure you’d smoked before but it was always in a controlled environment with Steve, Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle.  Always on the deck just outside.  Who knows how you’d behave in front of someone you were head over heels for.

“Oh shit, wait before we do that–”  Eddie plucks the lighter just out of your grasp once again, clutching it in his palm as he pushes himself forward, closer to you, knee brushing against yours.  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Me?”  You perk up, your finger poking your own chest as if you were in disbelief.

You can’t seem to grasp that this is your reality as he leans even further forward.  It’s probably for help on homework.  Stop getting your hopes up.

Except something in the back of your brain persists, a hope–an intuition that the way he’s looking at you isn’t just the way a boy would look at someone just to seek homework answers.  Not that you would know but your gut was screaming at you that this was it.  It was always difficult to imagine a boy desiring to kiss you but for that split second it seemed very plausible.  It scared you.  Terrified you.  But in a way that was more exhilarating and had you anticipating every small movement, analyzing each twitch of his fingers as they rested on his thigh, the way he fidgeted with his lighter, it consumed your every thought.  And the moment you dared to glance up at his chocolatey pools of eyes, you’d become putty, melted caramel pliable only by his hands at this point.  His gaze held such care.  Something you’d never experienced by a boy before.  The slope of his nose suddenly became your favorite thing to look at aside from his giant sparkling irises.  It felt like every interaction with him before now just made sense.  His lingering glances, dimpled grins only reserved for you when you happened to see him across the cafeteria, every playful eye roll in O’Donnell’s last year when she attempted to snap at him for whispering some funny story over your shoulder,  each thumbs up he offered with a turn of his head as almost a question on days when you looked particularly down, all the times his voice would crack at the most inconvenient time and his face would go red, everything, everything, everything.

“Yeah, you.”  

It’s said with such sincerity.

“Okay.”  

The softness in your voice almost has him on his knees.  Until a not so soft voice burrowed its way in between the tenderness of the conversation.

“Well done, Munson.  Looks like you’ve won yourself a hundred bucks.”

~end~

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tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface @rustboxstarr @3rd-conchord

[steddio]

steddie vegas au part 7 (and epilogue)

part 1; part 2; part 3; part 4; part 5; part 6; ao3

(ok this is it, the last part! these two middle-aged sweethearts and their issues have occupied all my thoughts for the last few weeks, and I appreciate everyone who joined me on this journey. this part is a bit spicy; if you want to skip, it starts with “So get me wet, sugar.” you can come back at “They sit like that, foreheads touching.”)

--

The calm that settled over them as they took in the view together breaks when Steve finally glances at his watch. “Shit, I lost track of time. Don’t you have a show tonight? I should take you back.”

Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “Always looking out for me, Steve-o. But no, I have the night off. Jeff is gone, visiting his mom.” 

Steve turns to face him, eyes hopeful. “Is there any chance I could take you… home? With me?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’d want that?” he can’t help but ask. Steve just leans in to kiss him again, letting his hands trail down Eddie’s arms. He breaks the kiss to whisper in Eddie’s ear, “baby, come home with me. Let me cook you dinner.” 

“Oh, now you’re cooking me dinner?” Eddie tries to play it cool, but it comes out a little broken. He can’t remember the last time someone cooked for him.

Steve just smiles, kisses him once more on the cheek, and takes his hand. The descent is way easier than the ascent, and Eddie feels so light he wants to run. Only his sobering awareness of his own clumsiness keeps him from doing so. That and Steve groaning about how his knees ache when he walks downhill, which means Eddie gets to tease him about being an old man. Their playful banter helps Eddie shrug off the last bit of anxiety; they’re both done running, done hiding.

Steve’s suburban apartment complex is just as brown as the rest of Vegas, but the inside is a riot of color. He must notice Eddie’s look of amazement, because he laughs. “Max and I painted it, and I let her pick out the color for every room,” he shrugs, as if that isn’t the most devastatingly sweet thing Eddie has ever heard. They go into the (bright orange) kitchen and Eddie settles himself at the counter while Steve pours them iced tea. Steve hands Eddie a glass then clinks his own against it. “To second chances,” he says solemnly, but his eyes are smiling.

“To second chances,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to cover Steve’s hand with his own. They sip on their drinks in companionable silence until Steve stretches and then disappears into the bedroom to take a shower, telling Eddie to “be as nosy as you want, sweetheart. No more secrets.” 

Never one to deny a chance to snoop, Eddie pokes around Steve’s (bright yellow) living room with its faded blue couch and well-loved leather armchairs. The bookshelf is full of photos of a little red-haired girl Eddie knows to be Steve’s daughter Max, and the art on the walls, although framed, was clearly drawn by a child. Meandering down the hall, Eddie finds another bedroom painted a soft lavender and covered in band posters. 

Despite its dull exterior, this apartment feels so much more like a home than any of the flashy, beautiful, expensive places Eddie has lived. And even if Steve lives alone it’s clear his family is never far from his heart. Eddie is hit suddenly with a wave of gratitude that Steve brought him here, that he trusted Eddie enough to let him in. 

He hears the shower turn off and makes his way toward Steve’s bedroom. The door is cracked slightly, so Eddie pushes it open, only to be met with the glorious sight of Steve wrapped in a towel, bare chest still dripping slightly with water. Steve smiles when he sees Eddie, so genuine that Eddie’s heart thrills in his chest and he can’t stop himself from approaching, drawn in by this gorgeous man. 

“Eddie, baby, I’ll get you all wet,” Steve laughs in protest as Eddie wraps him up in a hug. 

“So get me wet, sugar,” and Eddie didn’t mean to have that come out so sultry, but Steve’s eyes go dark and his breath catches. Eddie chases that inhale with a kiss, tender at first until it deepens into heavier want, and he’s backing Steve against the bed. He unwraps the towel and thrills at having Steve bare beneath him, looking up through dark eyelashes. Eddie starts to kneel, but Steve pulls him onto the bed so they’re laying side by side. 

They kiss slowly, letting their hands explore, taking their time, and Eddie is aching with want by the time Steve finally kneels above him, pulls his joggers down, and bends to lick a long stripe up his cock. Eddie jolts in surprise, halfheartedly protests that he’s still sweaty from their hike, but Steve just smiles and shakes his head. “I need to taste you, sweetheart,” he tells Eddie. “To make sure you’re really here.” And how can Eddie deny him that? 

Steve goes luxuriously slow, licking and mouthing for what feels like ages until he finally takes Eddie deeper, bobbing his head gently, curling his tongue around the entire length of Eddie’s cock. It’s so messy, and so good, Eddie just melts into the bed, into the wet warmth of Steve’s mouth, content to stay like that forever. Steve seems to feel the same, because he doesn’t stop, just lies between Eddie’s legs. 

Eventually Eddie realizes Steve is grinding against the mattress. “Look at you,” he groans. “So good for me, Stevie, keeping your hands where I can see them. You’re so–shit. You’re so good at this, sugar.” Steve just hums around him and keeps going, and like always, Eddie wants more. Except this time, he feels safe asking, knowing that Steve wants to give it to him.

“Stevie, baby, I want to ride you,” Eddie tells him. This gets Steve’s full attention. “Get me ready, sugar.” Steve groans deep in his chest and then reluctantly lets go of Eddie’s cock, gets up to grab lube and a condom from the bedside table. Eddie just watches him, content to wait and appreciate the vision before him. Steve, flushed, golden, hard cock jutting out proudly. He lets Steve finger him open just as slowly as he’d sucked him off, but the moment he feels ready, he takes the lead, flipping them over so he’s on top. He takes a moment to imprint the visual in his memory forever–dark hair covering lean muscle, plush lips spit-slick and swollen, brown eyes dark with lust and so trusting–before he lowers himself. And wow, Steve is huge, Jesus H Christ, but the stretch is so, so good, and Steve’s moan of “Eddie, baby, fuck” is even better. He gives himself a moment to adjust before he’s grinding down again, trying to find that sweet spot. Steve grabs his waist, both encouraging and taking some of Eddie’s weight. And normally Eddie would perform a little bit, show off for his partner, but Steve is already looking at him with such affection that he just… lets Steve look. At all of him, while he chases his pleasure. 

He feels himself approaching the edge and suddenly the distance between them is too far, and he bends down to kiss Steve, who meets him in the middle so that he’s sitting upright with Eddie on his lap. Eddie doesn’t want to break the kiss, just lets himself come untouched, spilling over Steve’s stomach. Steve moans in delighted surprise, let’s out a whispered “fuck, fuck, that’s so hot” before he’s grinding in even deeper, following Eddie in pleasure. 

They sit like that, foreheads touching, breathing in each other’s air, for a long moment. Eventually, they’ll extract themselves and muster the energy to shower. Eventually, Steve will cook Eddie dinner and they’ll sit at the kitchen counter, wholly domestic. But for now, Eddie is content to stay a little longer in the safety of Steve’s arms.

–

Steve is jolted awake by a pounding knock on his front door. Alarmed, he extracts himself from the tangle of Eddie’s limbs with a whispered “be right back, sweetheart” and tugs on a pair of sweatpants, grabbing the baseball bat he keeps next to the bed “just in case” (Max and Nancy had laughed at him, but you never know!). There’s another loud knock, and he has half a mind to chastise whoever it is for disturbing the neighbors even if they are some sort of intruder, but when he looks through the peephole and sees a disheveled Chrissy, he immediately swings open the door.

“Chrissy, what’s wrong?” he asks, only to be met with a loud and almost-enraged, “Steve!?”

Steve just lifts a hand in an awkward wave and quickly hides the bat in the umbrella stand. “Is Eddie here?” Chrissy pushes past him into the apartment. 

“Yes, he’s in the bedroom, asleep. What the hell is going on?” He’s starting to get annoyed now, and his bitchy side is coming out. 

Chrissy turns to face him, relieved and a little sheepish. “We have one rule, while we’re in Vegas, which is that Eddie has to sleep in the hotel room.” Steve is about to interrupt with one of the million questions racing through his mind, but Chrissy holds up a hand and continues. “I know, it’s infantilizing, but it was our agreement since his relapse. It’s just so I can keep an eye on him and be there for him if he needs. Didn’t you wonder why we shared a suite?”

Steve in fact had wondered this, but just chalked it up to another celebrity quirk. 

“He didn’t text me last night, and I knew he was seeing you and I wasn’t sure if–.”

“If it had gone well?” Steve supplies.

“Well, yeah, exactly. I tracked his location here. You’re sure he’s okay?” 

“Oh, I’m more than okay, Chrissy babe. Steve took good care of me, if you know what I mean.” Both Chrissy and Steve jump and turn to face Eddie, who had somehow snuck out of the bedroom and is standing in the hall, wrapped in the duvet. 

“Ew, gross,” Chrissy admonishes, before running toward him and grabbing him in a fierce hug. Steve gives them some privacy and goes to make coffee. When Chrissy and Eddie join him in the kitchen, they both look like they’ve been crying, but they’re smiling, and Eddie comes and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. 

“So,” Chrissy starts. “You two, huh.”

Steve just looks down at Eddie, who is smiling into Steve’s chest. “As long as he’ll have me.”

--

Epilogue 

Eddie is probably wearing a hole in Steve’s living room carpet with how long he’s been pacing back and forth. Well, technically it’s his carpet too, seeing as he lives there, so he has every right to destroy it with nervous energy. He’d moved in about a month ago, with no hesitation after Steve had asked him (on Valentine’s Day, of course, the absolute sap). Steve had waffled, wondering whether Eddie might want a nicer place, something more fitting for his lifestyle and career, but Eddie had spent years chasing luxury and now he just wanted a home. And this vibrant apartment in the middle of the desert had become his, thanks to the dorky, delightful, and delicious man he lives with.

Except Eddie is about to face the final judgment on whether he can keep it. Them. Both the home and the man. Because Max is coming to visit for spring break, and Eddie cannot fuck this up; his forever happiness depends on a 15-year-old girl’s approval. No sweat.

Steve had gone to get her from the airport, where she’d flown in with Nancy (who would be spending a kid-free week at the hotel in what she jokingly told Eddie was her annual “mom tax”). Eddie had wanted to come, had been about to get in the car, but Steve had gently reminded him that he’s a world-famous rockstar and would probably attract too much attention at the airport. Which, fair, but now he’s here, alone, waiting and pacing. 

He hears keys jingle in the door and runs to sit down on the couch. Crosses his legs then uncrosses them. Tries to lean back casually. Is so caught up in the awkwardness of his own body that he doesn’t hear Max come into the room until she’s right in front of him.

“So you’re my dad’s new boyfriend.” She’s looking at him with absolutely no expression. Eddie tries to smile reassuringly and then he’s stumbling over his words.

“Yes, hi, Max, it’s great to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you from your dad, and your mom actually, and from Robin, and really everyone and…” he trails off. Max just stares. “Oh, I’m Eddie, by the way,” he sticks one hand out and then cringes, because do teenagers shake hands? 

Max just reaches out and pats his head. “I know.” And then she’s turning over her shoulder and shouting toward the kitchen, “Dad, I’m hungry, did you buy lucky charms?”

Eddie has a brief moment in which he lets himself believe he’s off the hook before Max is giving him a death glare that startles him so badly he nearly jumps back on the couch. “If you hurt him, I will kill you. And I could get away with it too. I know how to hide a body.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. Is he really getting a shovel talk from a 15-year-old girl? He recovers enough to say, “I won’t. I promise.”

Max assesses this answer briefly before she nods. “Cool.” And walks away.

“Okay, cool,” Eddie repeats under his breath. He stays there a long moment, slowing his heart rate, before getting up to join his family in the kitchen. Because damn, lucky charms really do sound good right now.

--

read on ao3.

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[daedalusdavinci]

My Riddlebat Recs

ive read most of the stuff in the riddlebat tag. most of it. i dont really read any batman 22 stuff, but ive read just about everything else. that said, heres a list of some of my favorites ive read!

first of all, jovialJuggernaut and fromjannah write my absolute favorite riddlebat fics of all time, so theyre gonna be on this list a LOT. i dont think i put all of their fics on here, tho, so im just telling you right now that you should 100% check out everything both of those authors have. i will link some of my favorites below tho along w some of my other recs

baby lose the costume

by @fromjannah

"Hey," Eddie says, impossibly soft. The lights are so bright. "C'mon, Crusader. You're here. Listen to my voice." Bruce can only oblige. Easy as breathing.

Bruce, Eddie, and a late night visit to Arkham that goes a little sideways.

read all of fromjannahs unburied fics. do it. immediately. rn. they are all devastatingly good and frankly some of the best riddlebat fics out there. this one in particular is so melancholy and aching and it wrecks me every time yes i reread it all the time i reread ALL of their unburied fics

once more to see you

by @fromjannah

The Riddler has been missing for over a year -- that is, until tonight. Bruce Wayne has very normal feelings about this.

shortened version of the summary bc im just reccing everything from fromjannah and you need to just start accepting that theyre all good. the way they write eddie is so perfect

ghar aaja pardesi

by saheeli (@sa-heelies on tumblr i think?)

Bruce gets the news on a Tuesday. The letters start coming on Wednesday. Or; Eddie escapes from Arkham again. He leaves a trail of clues behind him so that Bruce and Barbara can follow.

ohh this one is so good. i think its the longest of the unburied ones and i think it was the first one i read?? the set up and eventual payoff is so good and sweet and barbara and eddies relationship OFC is iconic. this was the fic that made me realize i desperately needed to listen to unburied

a dreaded sunny day

by @lesbiantriphosphate

“Who do you think I am, Bruce Wayne?” He smirks. “Or should I be asking: do you know who you are?” Bruce takes his time to decide whether to continue the banter or answer truthfully. He can’t tell whether Eddie wants to continue their comfortable Riddler-versus-Batman game of talking around in circles, or if he’s just searching for an entrance into a more geniune conversation. “I think…” he starts and stops again. “Far too much, in my humble opinion,” Eddie quips as he makes his way over and sets two steaming mugs on the table.

more unburied bc the unburied dynamic is the best dynamic. this one is really fucking sweet ;;;;;;; i love it so much its very short but its such a good read

Unasked

by penguistificial

Edward had thought the only flaw in his perfectly planned crime was that nobody would ever be able to appreciate it - apart from himself. And yet, Batman had deftly deciphered all his clues, seen the solution Edward hadn't thought anyone would ever find. Doesn’t a correct answer deserve a reward? But, what to offer? What would be both acceptable and accepted?

this ones good! its a different take on their dynamic than the fics i usually read but its a very good take

Kings, Knights, Pawns

by jovialJuggernaut (@jovialjuggernaut-draws on tumblr)

riddle man gets to smooch the batman but its a slowburn so thatll be checks watch in a while updated summary when i can think of a good one update: it took 12 chapters but we made it, they smooched

the summary doesnt do it justice, honestly. as far as comics riddlebat goes this is THE riddlebat fic of all time as far as im concerned. this is the blueprint. this is It(TM). liam has such a way of writing eddie hes so irritating and whiny and fidgety as hell you just HAVE to love him. this fic is peak adhd4autism and the way they write bruces autism in this honestly totally influences the way i write bruce all the time. gamechanger of a fic, youve GOT to read it

Hurricane

by jovialJuggernaut

A hurricane hits Gotham and something (someone) washes up in the Batcave.

eddie w eds!!!! yes!!!!! one of my favorites of liams fics. that said, you should read ALL of liams riddlebat fics. they all go hard as fuck and honestly if i looked any further into my bookmarks itd all just be liam all the way down

[mojowitchcraft]

Fave WIP Round Up [Part 6]

Find the rest of my WIP Recs here

offer your throat, starve without me by jackpack Rated E | Words: 139k | Chapters: 22/24

At first, it’s just squirrels. Well. Saying it’s just squirrels is like saying in a thunderstorm, what’s coming down is just water: it’s not the substance that’s remarkable, it’s the amount. So, then: at first, it’s a lot of squirrels. -- Eddie Munson is a vampire. Steve Harrington just wants everyone he knows alive until Christmas.

Chiroptera [Series] by @stevieschrodinger Rated G-E | Words: 32k | Works: 5

Steve opens his bedroom door to find...absolute carnage. His bed has moved, the mattress is off the frame, there’s blankets and pillows strewn everywhere, feathers swirling in the air. “Eddie?” Eddie pops up on the other side of the bed, shirtless and frantic looking, “I didn’t, I didn’t do anything,” he says guiltily, “it just, it just...it just exploded,” and then he mimes an explosion, waving his hands in the air. Steve stares, the feathers settling. Eddie’s actually naked again and appears to be building some sort of fort on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, Steve blinks, “the pillow doesn’t matter Eddie.” Eddie nods decisively, “good.” Then, after a moments thought, “do you have more?” And then he’s back on his hands and knees rearranging his fort, naked ass in the air, like a feral racoon or something.

In Your Room by @lostinadmiration Rated E | Words: 6.5k | Chapters: 2/?

“You’re fucking Steve Harrington.” Eddie chokes on the Pbr he was just beginning to down. “Jesus Christ!” He coughs and sputters, “what the hell—” “Oh, don’t play coy with me,” Gareth sits behind his drum kit, twirling a stick between his fingers with an utterly unimpressed look, “you are the most unsubtle son-of-a-bitch. Sir Steddingham? The new Npc with perfect hair, who regularly throws himself in harms way to protect the party? Really?” Eddie takes long sip, watching Gareth warily. The rest of the band hasn’t arrived yet, but it won’t be long until they do. “I’m surprised you didn’t break an ankle jumping to that conclusion.”

Baby Boy, Boy Toy by @eddywoww Rated E | Words: 10k | Chapters:1/?

“Your skin is very skin,” Eddie blurted out, face heating immediately as he realized what he said. “I meant nice. Your- it’s nice. You have nice skin. I sound like a serial killer, oh my god.”

Sugar's Sweet (And So Is He) by @paradimeshifts7 Rated E | Words: 27k | Chapters: 4/6

“I mean it,” Steve pushes, a soft clink echoing through the room as he sets his empty bottle down atop the glass coffee table. “I’ll show you the ropes, and you…” he makes a vague motion with one of his hands, “entertain me. What do you say? I help you, you help me?” His face is so devastatingly charming that Eddie wants to rip out his own hair about it. Fuck it, he thinks, and clinks his bottle against Steve’s, earning him a bright smile that warms his core better than any booze ever could. He watches Steve take a sip, his sinfully pretty lips tucked around the opening of the bottle, and wonders what the fuck he’s just gotten himself into. OR The sugar baby!Steve and lit professor/author!Eddie au, wherein Eddie is a disaster at fine dining, and Steve helps him out.

He's All That by @bifuriouswaterbender Rated E | Words: 30k | Chapters: 7/?

After his breakup from Nancy, Steve refused to believe his popularity could slip. Tommy made a simple bet: prove it by making a nobody so popular they'd be prom royalty. Stevie figured it would be a cinch, especially when he could date whatever girl Tommy picked to make her popular. Except Tommy didn't pick a girl. He picked Eddie Munson.