#i think her relationship with steve was kind of just her trying to move on and feel somewhat normal and like

[jobean12-blog]

Everything You Want

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,344

Summary: There's no one you trust more than your husband and he always knows exactly what you want.

Author's Note: Just because I love the idea of being in such a trusting and loving relationship that you can have this kind of fun (whether it's a fantasy or not). Also, we know I love a soft mob!Bucky who will do anything for his girl- even 'give up' control (or let her think he is hehe) Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Dvider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: It's fun and flirty and there's tension and softness, ora-l (m rec), some light dirty talk.

“Where do you think you’re goin’ dressed like that doll face?”

You startle with a yelp and drop your earring, scowling at your husband.

“Buck!”

The muscles in his throat work as he grazes you with a head-to-toe perusal and saunters closer. His splayed hand smooths down your back as he bends to pick up the fallen jewelry. You reach out for it but he pulls it away and takes your chin between his fingers, turning your head so he can put the earring on himself.

“You didn’t answer my question doll.”

“Out with the girls. You know that.”

He spins you around and tugs you against his chest, humming low in his throat when you slide your hands down his chest.

“You need to change.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you practically shout, “I absolutely DO NOT!”

His lips twitch with a smile and he backs you toward the dresser, pinning you in place with his body.

“I can’t come with you tonight. I have business to address.”

“I know. And you’re not invited anyway. It’s girls night.”

You try to cross your arms over your chest but he presses closer and prevents any further movement.

His stare is dangerous but you lift your chin and stare right back.

“You just love to drive me crazy; don’t you doll?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mm,” he purrs, dipping his head, his lips hovering just above yours as his fingers trail down the side of your throat.

Your eyes close and your fingers tighten in the expensive fabric of his shirt. His stubbled jaw scrapes along your neck and his hands continue their slow worship of all your exposed skin. His kiss is possessive and his lips linger until you’re hot and bothered and wanting nothing more than him.

“Behave,” he whispers along the shell of your ear.

With one last soft kiss he winks at you and steps away, turning to walk toward his office and call Steve.

You let out an exhale and smooth your hands over your clothing, setting your shoulders back before you head for the door.

“I thought it was girls night,” Steve chuckles from behind Bucky as they approach the door.

“It is,” Bucky answers.

The bouncer sees Bucky and immediately moves over to hold the door open, nodding as he and Steve bypass the line of people waiting to get in.

“She’s gonna be mad Boss.”

“No she’s not. This is exactly what she wants.”

Loud music and laughter greet them when they walk inside.

Bucky glances back at Steve with a satisfied smirk before motioning to the bar. With a simple tilt of recognition Steve takes his post, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

It’s still early, the bar isn’t yet filled to capacity but it’s busy. Several people are already dancing and Bucky does a double take.

There you are, a drink in hand, dancing with your friends in the middle of the floor. As he moves closer, he notices that your skin is slightly dewy from exertion and your dress is clinging to your curves as you move your hips to the rhythm of the music.

He would stand there and keep watching but he isn’t the only one enjoying the show. When one random guy elbows his buddy and gestures in your direction, Bucky’s feet are moving purposefully toward you before the other men even get up from their table.

As he gets closer, you look up as if sensing him and when your eyes scan his face, your lips part slightly before sweeping over the rest of him. With a lick of your lips you watch and wait.

He crooks his finger at you and you sway toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and stretching yourself flush against his body.

Letting your attention fall to his mouth, your fingers trace over his shoulders and down his chest, toying with the open collar of his shirt.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you tell him then kiss the exposed skin near his neck.

Your lips trace a path higher and graze along his scruffy jaw, ending where your mouths meet. He kisses you hungrily and when you moan in your throat he reluctantly pulls away.

“Well, I happen to own the place,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah…” you trail off. “You own just about…”

He cuts off the rest of your thought with a kiss and you melt closer, pressing all your softness against him.

Your fingers slip between the strained buttons of his shirt and when you feel his muscles tense under your touch you smile against his lips.

“I was behaving…just so you know.”

“Oh I do know doll. But I also know you’ve been waiting for me to show up and I never like to disappoint my wife.”

Your eyes sparkle and using his shoulders for leverage, you lean up and whisper in his ear.

“Bucky, take me somewhere private. Where you can rip these panties off and fuck me hard.”

“Fuck,” he hisses as his hands drop to your hips and he hauls you into him, letting you feel the affect of your words. “Are you out of your damn mind saying something like that to me in public baby doll? It’s all I can do right now not to bend you over the bar and fuck you senseless with everyone watching. Maybe it would teach you to be more careful with that mouth.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and you look up at him through your lashes.

“My mouth knows exactly how…”

Before your words are fully spoken, he starts dragging you across the dance floor, heading in the direction of the office at the back end of the bar.

He pulls you through a door into a dark, empty hallway, the only light illuminating the corridor emanating from the exit sign at the other end. The music is muffled and all you can focus on is your mingled heavy breathing.

“On your knees doll.”

Every cell in your body hums with needy anticipation and you fall to your knees without a single hesitation.

Your hands meet in a tangle as you both struggle to unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper of his dress pants. You devour the sight of him so hard and ready.

He braces one hand above you on the wall, the other gripping the back of your head and urging you forward. At the last second, just before your tongue makes contact, he stops you.

“Uh huh doll face. First, you finish what you were going to say. Your mouth knows exactly how…what?

You look up from your position at his feet and grip the base of his cock.

“My mouth knows exactly how you like it.”

You flick your tongue out and lick the tip, making him groan. He guides himself between you lips and you moan at the smooth feel of him on your tongue. Your hand strokes in time with your mouth, faster and faster until you feel him start to tremble.

“Baby doll, stop. Now. Fuck, please stop.”

You exult in his loss of composure and ignore his request, unable to get enough of having your powerful and possessive husband falling apart for you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, then suck it hard, distantly hearing his metal fist connecting with the wall.

He drags you to your feet and pushes you back against the hard wall.

“Spread those thighs wide for me,” he growls.

His hand reaches beneath your dress and rips at the thin material of your panties and all the while you focus on his flushed face and the desperation you see there.

“Wait.”

You say the word in a whispered rush and he stills.

“Doll,” he warns through clenched teeth.

“Taste me first.”

He groans out a curse and kneels at your feet, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder before grabbing your hips and eagerly burying his face between your legs.

@randomfandompenguin @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @hiddles-rose @buckysdollforlife @lizette50

[ashwhowrites]

Can I request some jealous! Eddie x cheerleader! reader? (Totally inspired to request bc of the Billy fic!) But what if Reader and Eddie had been dating for over a year and Reader is a cheerleader, and Eddie's jealous bc he always find Steve, Billy, Jason, and all those jocks flirting with reader (pretend this is B4 season 4) and once they were at Chrissy's party, Eddie to do deals, but he found the jocks flirting with Reader at a party (reader thinks the jocks are dumb). After some hours, Eddie has had enough, he takes her to his van and they have sex and Reader's like, if you were so jealous you should've told me! (But like, she's not angry, she thinks it's cute that Eddie acts overprotective and all that when he's jealous) ik you just wrote the Billy one, but I can imagine Billy and Eddie being like different kind of jealous boys (if that's a thing!)

Haha I'm glad you got some inspiration. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

If the van is shaking, don't come knocking

Eddie knew that the second he took Y/N off the market, there would be consequences. When Eddie was chasing after her, he wasn't the only one. He was running with every boy in school, all competing to win her heart. He knew she was way out of his league, and he knew if he fucked up, she has many options waiting for her.

But for some reason, she set her eyes on Eddie at the start and they never wandered off. Eddie doesn't understand it, but he isn't gonna question it.

Sadly, the jocks didn't quite stop chasing her after their relationship went official. Eddie felt like he had to beat guys off of her with a stick. Even after a full year of being together, the basketball ball team watched her more than the ball. Eddie almost wanted to join the team just so he could throw the ball at their dicks.

Billy Hargrove, a blonde with blue eyes and a reputation for being amazing in bed. Eddie knows Billy isn't a real competition because Y/N was sweet and hated assholes. Plus he looked nothing like Eddie, and Eddie knows he's Y/N's type. So only a .5 threat to Eddie. But Billy knew how to flirt, and that scared Eddie.

Jason Carver, another blonde and blue eyes, is not a threat to Eddie. Incredibly rich? Yeah, he's got that over Eddie's head. Still an asshole, but less than Billy. A full-point threat to Eddie.

Steve fucking Harrington, has dark hair and dark eyes. Bits of curls were thrown in and moles on his delicate skin. He was rich, smart, stupidly friendly, and one of Y/N's closest friends. And the damn guy was good with kids, which Y/N fawned over. A full ten-point threat to Eddie.

~~~

It was party night at Chrissy's and Eddie didn't want to leave the van. Y/N was wearing dark jeans, an old hoodie of Eddie's, and white sneakers. And Eddie wanted to pounce. The way her perfume lingered on his hoodie made his brain shut off and his dick has full control. He couldn't help but move his hand up her thigh and kiss her neck.

"Let's just stay in here." He whispered, his hot tongue licking up her neck. She whined as she melted into his touch. He always knew how to get her hot and bothered in seconds.

"I wish, but we can't. Chrissy was pissed when we skipped the last party to hook up in the hot tub in the basement." Y/N whined, but not trying too hard to push him off.

"Ugh fine. Stupid cheer squad." Eddie said as he groaned. He pulled himself away and took out his keys.

"Be nice!" Y/N warned. She gave him a stern look but still pecked his lips before they got out of the van.

And just like months to a flame, the boys came running.

"Heya gorgeous, interested in some beer bong?" Billy asked, his shirt unbuttoned as his chest glistened in some type of liquid. Eddie slipped his hand into Y/N's back pocket, a glare sent to the bad boy.

"Maybe in a bit? Eddie and I are going to get a drink!" She said sweetly as she waved. Eddie sometimes hated how sweet she was to everyone.

"I'll let your boyfriend play!" Billy tried again, a smirk on his face when Y/N squealed excitedly.

"Baby! Let's go play. You kick ass at this game all the time." Y/N said, grabbing his hand out of her jeans pocket to hold it and drag him to the table.

Y/N swept the hoodie over her head, she didn't want to ruin it with stains of beer or whatever alcohol was in the cups.

Eddie growled as Billy whistled, his eyes taking in Y/N's tight black long-sleeve. Eddie couldn't help but stare as well, but he's the boyfriend so he's allowed to do that.

"Just go, Hargrove," Eddie said as he rolled his eyes.

"If I win, your girl is my partner for the next round," Billy said, smirking as he threw the ball and it landed perfectly in the red solo cup.

Eddie already planned to win, but now he wasn't leaving until he embarrassed the king of Hawkins.

~~~

"THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!" Y/N screamed, a little tipsy. She held her arms up proud as Eddie sank the ball in the last remaining cup. Eddie smirked as Billy glared over, his girl wrapped herself around his body in a side cuddle. Eddie stood proud, his hand came down on her ass and he gripped it hard. Billy's eyes watched with anger and jealousy as he chugged the drink.

Y/N put back on Eddie's hoodie and grabbed Eddie's hand.

After the game, they finally made it inside the actual party. And to no surprise, Jason found them.

"Well hello, beautiful. How are you?" He asked, his eyes not looking away from her.

"A little tipsy. Eddie and I just creamed Hargrove at beer pong." Y/N said, she was so friendly and sweet that she didn't notice every time she brought up Eddie, these boys fought back a glare. Almost like she was always reminding them without knowing.

"Good. Someone needed to take him down a few" Jason said, and Y/N laughed. Of course, Jason felt like he was the man for making her laugh. But so what, Eddie made her laugh a hundred times a day.

Jason and Y/N talked for a few minutes, Eddie stood next to her but didn't contribute to the conversation. Just kept his eyes on Jason to make sure he didn't try anything.

"Need to run to the bathroom. Be aware of your surroundings and don't let him flirt into your mouth." Eddie said, pecking her cheek. She nodded and moved to peck his lips.

Eddie knew he had to be fast, the boys watched her like a prey. The second the alpha was gone, they prepared to attack.

~~~

Eddie went as fast as he could, washing his hands in five seconds as he raced back out. Only to not find her in the same place he left her.

It was thirty seconds, how the fuck did she move so fast?

He searched the house and made his way to the kitchen. He smiled as he watched her sit on the counter, her feet dangling as she sipped on water. He panicked and all she was doing was being a good girl and drinking water.

Eddie for the first time since they came, felt like it was just the two of them. But then Steve walked right into the perfect picture.

"Thanks for the water." She said as she chugged it down.

"Of course, someone should be watching over something as delicate as you," Steve said, his fingers reaching up to touch her chin, but Eddie's hand stopped him. He didn't say a word, just growled at Steve and shoved him.

Steve was the one guy he refused to let flirt with her for one second. Steve backed off and pouted as Eddie grabbed Y/N's hand and raced them out the door.

"Eddie? Where are we going?" She asked, her feet trying to keep up with his long strides. But Eddie didn't say a word, he opened the back of his van and crawled in. Even though he looked pissed, he was a gentleman and gently helped her up into the van.

"What's wrong?" She tried again as he slammed shut the doors. Instead of answering, he smashed his lips on hers. He easily pushed her down, her back against the soft carpet. His hands were working up and down her body at a fast pace.

They pulled apart to quickly take off their clothes, both eagerly trying to get naked as fast as they could. Y/N didn't even have time to take off her bra when Eddie was pushing her down again.

He dove between her thighs, hot tongue swirling around her clit as he shoved two fingers into her mouth, she swirled her tongue around them. Getting them soaked in her spit. She let them go with a loud pop, then he took the same fingers and shoved them into her cunt.

She whined as his mouth sucked on her clit and his fingers scissored inside of her. He was fucking her fast, and it made her head spin. She could feel him forcing an orgasm out of her. Like he wanted her to cum in seconds. She moaned, her thighs clenching around his head as her hands dug into his hair. She kept his head in place as she rocked her hips against his tongue and fingers.

But before she could cum, he removed himself. She whined after him, her hands reaching for him.

"One second, pretty girl. Just want you to soak my cock." He smirked, leaning down to peck her lips as he pushed his cock inside of her. She whimpered as his cock stretched her out even further. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he started fucking into her.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her. She was screaming and clawing at everything she could. He was ruthless, almost animal-like. His mouth was on hers, then her neck, chest, and every part of skin he could reach. His hands were above her head as he looked down at her. He watched her face as her body took his cock perfectly. The way her cunt would clench around him, letting him feel the pulsing inside of her. Then her eyes would squeeze shut and her mouth would drop open with screams, moans, and whimpers.

Eddie wanted the van to shake. He wanted everyone to hear her. He wanted everyone to know she was getting fucked good by her boyfriend. He hoped Billy was still playing beer pong, he hoped Jason went outside for air, and he hoped Steve followed them outside. He wished more than anything they could see his van shake and know her tight cunt was getting fucked by him and him only.

His fingers went down to her clit, and that's when she saw stars. She screamed as she covered his cock in her cum. Her wetness making a mess everywhere and probably staining the carpet below them. She could feel Eddie in her stomach, his bulge showing as it moved inside her stomach. She pressed down on it, loving the way Eddie growled.

"Gonna fill this pretty pussy with all my cum. Gonna be dripping with my cum inside of you." He growled into her ear, he panted as he felt his balls tighten. His hot cum filled her as he bit down on her shoulder. She whimpered as her cunt grew sensitive and the extra hit of his teeth created marks on her delicate skin.

He slowly pumped himself dry inside of her, gently removing himself. He prepped her face with kisses and praise. Reaching for a spare towel he kept for these occasions. He gently wiped off her cunt, trying not to dive in for seconds as her cunt pulsed and gushed.

"If you were so jealous, you could've told me." She said with a breathy laugh. She was fucked out, barely felt anything.

Eddie looked up at her. She looked down at him with a fucked out, dazed look. A lazy smile on her face.

"Where's the fun in that?" Eddie winked

Eddie- a full threat to Billy, Jason and Steve

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I would love to see Steve being really affectionate with shy reader? Maybe at the beginning of their relationship when everything is really „big” for reader? Only if it’s something that you like. Lots of love and thank you! 🩷

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x shy!reader ♡ 745 words

Selfishly, Steve has an easier time being brave when you’re so clearly the nervous one. 

“So this guy, he wasn’t being a dick or anything,” he says, fingers loosely intertwined with yours as you walk down to the 7-Eleven, “but he just wouldn’t leave Rob alone. Couldn’t take a hint, you know?” 

You hum. Your hand starts to slip in his, and you tighten your fingers almost imperceptibly. Steve adjusts, taking your hand more securely in his so it doesn’t happen again. A bit of pink tinges your cheeks that he doubts has much to do with the warm weather. 

Steve doesn’t mean to fluster you, but if he waited on you to make the first move there’d be no moving at all. That said, he doesn’t mind flustering you either. You get this sweet, startled look on your face and sometimes you try to hide behind your hair so that he gets to move it away. He sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you, and you press your lips together like he’s done something far more brash. 

“What did she do?” you ask.

“She told him we were dating.” 

“What?” You laugh, the sound starting up a pleasant buzzing in Steve’s chest. “But she tells everyone else you’re ‘platonic with a capital P’.” 

“Exactly!” He shakes his head, grinning at you. You smile back for half a second before your gaze drops to his chest. “He’s gonna find out as soon as he brings it up to literally anyone, and then she’s gonna have to cover her ass all over again. I don’t know why she does this to herself.” 

“Maybe she’s panicking,” you muse. “Just, like, saying the first thing she can think of.” 

Steve guesses you’d know something about that. The first time he’d tried to ask you out, he’d suggested going to the drive-in and you’d blurted that you didn’t watch movies. 

“Maybe,” he says, unable to mask the amusement in his tone (and not trying very hard, if he’s being honest). 

You look at him curiously, then shy at whatever you see in his expression. “Oh, I forgot.” You duck away under the guise of digging through your bag. “I got this off my neighbor’s tree today.” 

You hold a peach out to him, and Steve thinks he’s going to melt on the spot. His heart feels all heavy and made of mush. “No way.” His voice is soft, reverent. “You stole from your neighbor for me?” 

He takes the peach from you, and you immediately turn from his gaze, pretending to adjust your bag over your shoulder. Steve knows you didn’t really forget to tell him earlier; you just hadn’t wanted this display in front of your roommates. It’s cool. He’s fine with adoring you in private. 

“I didn’t steal it.” The smile is evident in your voice, and Steve waits until you turn back to shoot you the best one he’s got in return. The pink spreads to your ears. “I asked. They always say they have too many to eat by themselves.” 

“Still.” He thinks about mushing a kiss into your temple, but even Steve’s not feeling bold enough for that yet. He settles for wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s sweet, thanks.” 

“It was no problem,” you murmur, tilting your head so your hair curtains your face. 

Steve is gleeful at this development. He reaches forward with his other hand to brush it out of the way, hooking what he can behind your ear. Your eyes flit to him bashfully. He knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but he can’t help it. It’s just the way his face likes to be around you. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” he says, then decides to put you out of your misery. “So, what kind of slushee are you gonna get?” 

“Mm, dunno,” you reply softly. “You?” 

“Blue raspberry every time.” He nods certainly. “Never wavered since I was a kid.” 

“I don’t think I’ve tried that one,” you say. “I usually get a coke and cherry mix.” 

“You can try mine,” Steve offers. 

“You don’t mind if I sip from your straw?” 

“I mean, I was thinking you could just kiss me to taste it,” he says. And fine, now he might be stirring the pot a little bit. It’s worth it when you put your face in your hands. Steve squeezes you tighter against his side, affectionate. “But that works too, yeah.” 

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part V

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Warnings: light angst

Words: 4938

The early morning light filters through the tall, arched windows of the council room, casting a warm, golden glow over the cold stone floor. The room remains quiet and serene, with only the faint rustling of papers and the delicate scratches of quills breaking the silence.

At one end of the long table, Natasha is already immersed in her work, her quill moving steadily across the paper as she focuses intently on the day’s documents. 

Nearby, Steve occupies another seat, sharing in her early morning diligence. In the quiet company of each other, he, too, works through his own stack of reports and investigations.

Or at least he was working. 

“You have that look on your face again,” Natasha comments without lifting her gaze from the documents. 

Steve turns slightly in his chair, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What look?” he asks, genuinely puzzled. 

Natasha finally glances up, a slight smirk playing on her lips. 

“That disappointed look you get every time we spar, and I beat you,” she teases, her tone light but with an edge of amusement. 

Steve scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Alright, I’ll remember this the next time we spar,” he replies, his voice carrying a hint of playful challenge. 

Natasha chuckles softly, setting down her quill and giving him her full attention. 

“So, what is it?” she questions curiously. 

Steve hesitates for a moment, his fingers idly tapping on the table's edge in thought before releasing a disappointed sigh. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually follow through with Ross’ suggestion,” he admits. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow in question, prompting him to continue. 

“Your breakup with Lady Y/n,” he clarifies, his tone careful, as if treading on delicate ground.

Natasha internally groans as the topic of the breakup resurfaces yet again in her discussions. Even though she knows it's untrue, it doesn't lessen the sting in her heart every time she hears it.

“I didn’t do it because of him,” she grumbles, irritation creeping into her voice. “Sitwell and the others on the council are the ones stirring trouble.” 

Steve leans back in his chair, his expression softening as he considers her words.

“Well, I don’t know about them, but personally, I think Y/n would excel in court,” he says thoughtfully. “She’s smart, fair, selfless, kind-hearted...You know, she even found Bucky a place of his own to help him settle down for once.” 

Natasha holds up a hand to stop him, a disbelieving huff escaping her. “Steve, between you and me, who do you think knows better how great she is?” 

Steve acknowledges her point with a nod, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m just trying to say that maybe you should reconsider,” he suggests, his tone gentler. “Together, the two of you are a force to be reckoned with, not apart.” 

A small smile tugs at the corners of Natasha's lips at his words. It’s refreshing to hear something positive about her relationship with you for once.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Captain,” she replies, shaking her head lightly before masking her emotions with a sarcastic smirk. “Any other opinions you’d like to share?” she teases.

Steve chuckles softly, shaking his head as he turns back to his reports.

“No, I think that’s enough from me about your love life,” he says with a light tone, though a hint of concern lingers in his eyes as he gives her one last glance before returning to his work.

Not quite ready to dive back into her tasks, Natasha leans over slightly, her curiosity piqued as she sneaks a look at the documents spread out before him.

"Is that the report on the missing weapons?" she asks, her eyes scanning the papers.

Steve shakes his head, flipping through the reports until he finds some to show her. 

"No, nothing on that yet. These are mostly incidents of other crimes across the kingdom—petty theft, violent encounters, things like that."

As Natasha examines the documents, her gaze shifts from one report to another, noting the escalating crime rate in various regions. With some prisoners and Rumlow’s mercenaries still on the loose, lawlessness had unfortunately surged, stretching the kingdom's remaining soldiers thin. 

She sighs, frustration evident as she picks up another report, her eyes catching a familiar name—Lord Sitwell—scrawled across one of the papers. The sight reminds her of the growing suspicion surrounding the man.

"How’s the investigation into Lord Sitwell going?" she asks, her tone more serious now. "Anything suspicious?" 

Steve's expression darkens slightly, a frown creasing his brow as he shakes his head.

“Some areas he frequents could be considered questionable, but nothing substantial. I have one of my best knights tracking his movements. If there’s anything to find, we’ll know right away.” 

Natasha nods thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair as she considers his words.

Honestly, she hopes the investigation turns up nothing; it would be easier to handle Sitwell as an irritating councilman rather than deal with the complexities of him being a potential traitor. 

Steve’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention back.

"And what about you?" he asks, a note of teasing in his voice to relieve the tension in the air. "Anything interesting in that mountain of documents you’ve got there?" He pauses, then adds with a knowing glance and a subtle gesture toward the corner, "I mean, besides that lonesome envelope you’ve placed way over there."

Natasha’s gaze flickers to the envelope she’s been avoiding all morning. The mere sight sends a wave of apprehension through her, but she knows she can’t ignore it for too long. 

With a resigned sigh, she reaches for the envelope and turns it over, revealing the front to Steve. 

His eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes the striking crest embossed in rich gold that adorns the seal. 

“Wow,” he breathes, clearly impressed. “Only a few weeks as Queen, and you’re already increasing communications with the Stark kingdom.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Natasha mutters with a huff, shaking her head as she hands it to him. “It just arrived this morning.”

Steve examines the envelope closely while Natasha presses her hand to her forehead with a sigh. She can’t help but think that she jinxed herself when she had wondered yesterday about the kind of person the Stark king might be—now it’s like he purposely sent this to taunt her.

“What do you think he wants?” she asks, her voice tinged with apprehension. 

Steve chuckles lightly, handing the envelope back to her. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t know much about the guy either. But I’ve heard he’s unpredictable.”

“Great,” Natasha mutters, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Steve offers a reassuring smile. 

“Why don’t you just open it and find out?”

Natasha’s fingers trace the edge of the envelope before she finally breaks the seal. She reads the contents in silence, her expression unreadable until she finally looks up and meets Steve’s gaze.

“Well?” Steve prompts, unable to contain his curiosity.

“He's coming,” Natasha says, her voice calm, though an undercurrent of tension betrays her true feelings.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Now?”

“No, in a few weeks,” Natasha clarifies. “To renew the peace treaty between the kingdoms.”

“That’s good, then,” Steve says, nodding in approval. “It’s just a formality meeting.” 

“Right,” Natasha mutters hopefully, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “That’s all it is.”

Before they can delve further into the topic, a knock on the door interrupts their conversation. 

One of Steve’s knights enters, bowing respectfully before handing Steve a piece of paper. With a nod of thanks, Steve takes the document, and the knight promptly exits. 

As Steve skims the contents, his brows furrow.

“More reports?” Natasha asks, her tone casual, though she can sense something off in Steve's demeanor. 

Steve hesitates, his eyes flickering with uncertainty at her before he finally relents. 

“Uh, this is the carriage driver’s account from yesterday’s attack.” 

Alarm flashes in Natasha’s eyes as she straightens in her seat.

“What attack?” she asks, her voice tinged with confusion and growing concern. 

Steve looks at her, surprised by her reaction. 

“You didn’t hear? I was actually wondering why you were so calm today. I thought, maybe with the breakup and all, your mind was still—” 

“Steve!” Natasha interrupts sharply, urgency in her voice. “Who got attacked?” 

“Lady Y/n,” Steve replies, his tone grim as he hands her the document. “It was an ambush from the shadows. And from what the driver is describing about the weapon used, it sounds like something from Rumlow’s missing inventory.” 

Natasha barely hears his words as she skims through the document, her heart pounding faster with each line: arrows, glowing shards, a crash. The words blur together as anger and fear swell within her. The thought of you in danger, combined with her ignorance of the situation, fuels her rising fury. 

Steve’s concerned voice breaks through her haze. “From what I gathered, no one suffered any major injuries, so I’m sure Lady Y/n is okay,” he reassures her before giving her a puzzled look. “You really didn’t receive any information about this?” 

Natasha tightens her grip, crumpling the paper slightly, as she comes to an upsetting realization.

“No, not exactly,” she mutters, her voice tight with barely suppressed rage. 

Without another word, Natasha stands abruptly, her movements swift and determined. She strides out of the room, her footsteps echoing fiercely against the stone floors, each step driven by frustration and a need for answers. 

When she reaches the Councillor’s office, formalities are the last thing on her mind. She slams the heavy door open with such force that it reverberates through the chamber.

“You lied to me,” Natasha states coldly, her voice dripping with disapproval.

Ross lifts his gaze from the papers on his desk, his expression calm as he gives her a slight bow in acknowledgment. 

“How can I help you, Your Majesty?” he asks, his tone casually polite. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow in irritation as she steps closer to his desk. 

“Everything regarding the nobles crosses your desk, and you were the one who assured me Y/n returned home safely yesterday.” 

Ross nods, maintaining his composed demeanor. “That's correct. She was reported safe and sound at her manor after her journey from the castle.” 

“Yet you conveniently left out the part where she was attacked on the way,” Natasha snaps, her voice rising with each word. 

Ross meets her gaze, unfazed by the accusation, and replies, “It didn’t seem like necessary information for you to know, considering everything was already handled.”

"Oh my god," Natasha mutters, rubbing her temples in disbelief as she tries to fend off the headache forming. When she looks at him again, her voice is sharp with incredulity. 

"Are you seriously telling me that you didn't think it was important for me to know that her life was threatened?" 

Ross tilts his head slightly, his expression mildly curious. “Are you upset because this situation involves Lady Y/n specifically?” he asks, probing. “I thought you had already made your decision about your relationship with her.” 

Leaning forward, he clasps his hands on the desk, challenging her. “Or do you perhaps still care for her?” 

Natasha’s eyes flash angrily, and she slams her hands against the desk in warning. 

“This isn’t about my relationships! This is about you withholding information from me,” she retorts firmly.

Ross’s calm demeanor remains unchanged as he responds, “Not every incident involving the nobles warrants your attention, Your Majesty. Surely, there are more pressing matters of the kingdom to focus on.” 

Natasha’s patience finally snaps at the comment—so reminiscent of the many dismissals she has endured from Dreykov concerning you. With a sharp tap of her finger on the desk, she commands his full attention, her eyes blazing with resolve.

“From now on, you will tell me everything—every detail,” she demands, her voice hard as steel, leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to decide what deserves my attention.”

She turns to leave the office, but his next words halt her in her tracks.

“If you’re planning to visit her manor, she’s not there,” Ross remarks calmly. “Lady Y/n went into town this morning.”

Natasha slowly pivots back to face him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she processes his words and comes to a conclusion that infuriates her further. 

“You have people spying on her?” she asks, her tone low and laced with warning. 

Ross shrugs, unfazed, as he rearranges the papers on his desk. “The attacker is still at large, and it’s clear their target was her. What we don’t know is the reason why, so monitoring her is a necessary precaution.”

"For her or you?" Natasha counters, her voice dripping with skepticism of his concern. 

Ross meets her piercing gaze evenly, his expression betraying nothing. “For the kingdom,” he replies with practiced ease.

Natasha scoffs in disbelief, recognizing the repeated excuse. 

Without another word, Natasha strides out of the office, her mind racing. She needs to be more prepared and vigilant if she’s going to keep her promise of protecting you. But how can she do that when she can’t even be seen around you right now?

As she reenters the council room, Steve greets her with a concerned raised eyebrow.

"Everything alright?" he asks.

Natasha pauses, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She can’t afford to let her emotions cloud her judgment. She needs to be strategic and stay ahead of everyone else.

“That knight of yours who’s tracking Sitwell—do you trust him?” she inquires.

"With my life," Steve replies without hesitation.

"Good,” Natasha says, her tone decisive. “I have another mission for him."

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The town remains lively well into the late afternoon, the streets alive with the bustling activity of merchants calling out their wares, townsfolk engaged in conversations and the rhythmic clatter of horse-drawn carts over the cobblestones.

You and Pietro had set out early this morning with a simple goal: to hire someone to repair the manor’s gates. Unfortunately, as the day drags on, you’ve found little success, each conversation uncovering an unexpected obstacle.

“What do you mean you can’t do it?!” Pietro’s voice is sharp with frustration as his fist slams against the counter. 

The pattern of refusals from the blacksmiths and craftsmen across town has become all too familiar. Every shop you enter ends with the same disappointing excuse.

The smith across from you grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I’m really sorry, Lady Y/N. Any other time, I’d be more than willing, but with your father under investigation for treason, I just can’t risk my shop’s reputation.”

Pietro huffs angrily, “But that has nothing to do with—”

“Pietro,” you interject firmly, cutting him off with a stern look before turning back to the smith. “Thank you for your time and your honesty.” 

The smith nods, his eyes filled with regret. “I truly am sorry.” 

With a heavy heart, you and Pietro step out of the shop.

“Let’s try another place,” you suggest, trying to keep your spirits up. 

Pietro kicks at the ground in frustration, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We wouldn’t have to do this if that old man hadn’t abandoned us.” 

Despite the situation, a light chuckle escapes your lips. 

“You know Clint hates it when you call him that. Besides, he’s taking his family on a well-deserved trip. We can’t blame him for not being here.”

“He wouldn’t hold Dreykov’s actions against you like everyone else is,” Pietro mutters, his voice tinged with resentment.

You sigh, feeling the sting of the townspeople’s cold reception. Wary stares and hushed whispers follow you everywhere, a constant reminder of your family’s precarious standing due to Dreykov’s involvement. With the addition of your breakup, Natasha’s apparent distancing from you only exacerbates others’ hesitance to work with your family.

“Let’s take a break,” you suggest, trying to lift the mood. “We still need to pick up a few things for Wanda at the market.” 

Pietro grumbles but nods in agreement, following you as you weave through the bustling marketplace.

After completing your part of the list, you find a spot against the outer wall of a shop, staying near the shadows and out of the way while Pietro finishes up inside.

Suddenly, a commotion across the street catches your attention. The butcher bursts out of his shop, furiously waving his arms as he tries to shoo away a bird that had flown in through an open window.

“This is a shop, not a feeding ground! Get out of here!” the butcher barks, grabbing a broom to chase the bird away forcibly. 

Startled, the bird flaps its wings and retreats across the street but doesn’t leave entirely. It hovers nearby, its sharp eyes fixed on the butcher’s shop, clearly hungry.

A pang of sympathy tugs at your heart, the bird’s plight resonating with your own feelings of rejection throughout the day. You decide to act, stepping into the shop to purchase a small portion of venison, enough to satisfy the bird’s hunger.

Once outside, you approach the spot where the bird has perched, its gaze still locked on the shop. You unwrap the venison, place it on the ground, and then whistle lightly to get the bird’s attention.

The bird’s sharp eyes turn and narrow on you, watching closely before shifting its attention to the meat. It swoops down cautiously, tilting its head as it assesses the situation. 

You take a step back, giving the bird space to approach. Sensing no threat, the bird quickly snatches the venison, tearing into it with its powerful beak and talons.

Satisfied that you could help the bird, even a little, you kneel to observe it more closely, a mix of curiosity and admiration in your gaze. A streak of red feathers lines its wings, setting it apart from others of its kind.

“A falcon, huh,” you murmur to yourself. “What are you doing hunting in town?”

The falcon pauses, lifting its head to meet your gaze with what seems like a grateful glance. It tilts its head curiously at you before fluttering closer and, to your surprise, lands gently on your shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not avoiding me because of what Dreykov did,” you say with a small smile.

The falcon chirps in what sounds like agreement before taking flight, just as Pietro approaches.

“Alright, I got everything,” he announces, a little more cheerful now. “Where to next?”

Feeling slightly better yourself, you give one last glance to the sky where the falcon has disappeared, then turn to Pietro with a small smile. 

“Let’s go visit some friends.”

After a brief walk, you find yourself seated at a small wooden table in the cozy warmth of the bakery. The comforting scent of freshly baked bread and pastries fills the air, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in thought as you stare out the window. 

The problem of repairing the manor’s gates weighs on your mind. You had hoped to handle it on your own, but with the day nearly over, it’s become clear that you may need to ask for help.  

Unfortunately, the one person who could solve your problem effortlessly is the person you’re supposed to avoid at the moment.

A conflicted sigh escapes your lips as you contemplate what you should do. 

The gentle clink of a teacup being placed in front of you draws you back to the present. A comforting hand rests on your shoulder, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t stress about it too much, dear. You’ll tire yourself out,” Martha, your old kitchen staff lead, says softly. Her warm, friendly presence is a comforting contrast to the cold reception you’ve received from the others today.

“She’s right,” Cedric, your old stablemaster, chimes in as he settles into the seat across from you beside Pietro. “You two have had a tough couple of days. You should take a moment to rest.” 

His last words seem more directed at Pietro, who is busily scribbling on pieces of parchment while shoveling pastries into his mouth from the plate on the table.

Martha crosses her arms and watches him with an exasperated sigh. 

“Slow down, Pietro. You’re going to choke.”

Right on cue, Pietro begins coughing, having inhaled one bite too quickly.

Martha sighs knowingly, moving to pat his back in comfort while you push the cup of tea closer to him with an amused huff.

Pietro gratefully takes the drink, gulping it down before slamming the cup back on the table with a determined expression.

“Forget the others. We can fix the gates ourselves,” he declares confidently. “Look, I’ve sketched what they used to look like. I mean, how hard can it be?”

He spreads out several papers covered in rough drawings and ideas for the gate, gesturing pointedly at them. The sketches are a chaotic mix of lines and shapes, more enthusiastic than practical. 

Cedric hums thoughtfully, nodding in agreement. 

“I’m sure we could come up with something if we work on it together.”

Martha huffs in disbelief, shaking her head at her husband. “Maybe twenty years ago, you might have been able to, but now you can barely carry the horse’s feed without hurting your back.” 

Cedric straightens up, clearly offended.

“Who said I would be carrying anything? I’m sure Wanda could move ten times more than Pietro and me combined with her powers.”

At the mention of Wanda, your expression falls. You remember how she chose to stay in her room this morning instead of accompanying you both into town, her face still shadowed by guilt as she curled into herself on her bed, staring blankly out the window.

“I don’t think she’s going to be up for using her powers much anytime soon,” you admit, your voice tinged with sadness at seeing Wanda lose confidence in her abilities after all the progress she’s made in the past months. 

Martha’s expression softens, and she lets out a sympathetic sigh as she heads back to the counter. 

“The poor girl. I’ll see if I still have some of her favorites for you to bring home to her.”

The bell above the door jingles, signaling the arrival of new customers and causing your attention to shift to the entrance as two men enter the shop.

The one in front is dressed in a rich, golden-lined black tunic that contrasts sharply with the humble surroundings of the bakery. 

The man surveys the bakery with a quick, assessing glance, his sharp eyes taking in every detail before they settle on Martha. He flashes her a charming smile that seems almost too perfect.

“What do you think, Y/N?” Pietro’s voice pulls your focus back to him. He’s wearing a determined expression as he continues, “We could just order the parts from outside the kingdom—from people who aren’t concerned with what Dreykov did.” 

Cedric nods thoughtfully and stands from the table. “I think I may know some people from the Carter kingdom who might help with supplies.”

As he heads for the back of the shop, he gives you a comforting and encouraging touch on your shoulder, declaring, “It’s going to be alright.” 

You give him a grateful smile as he leaves. 

“So?” Pietro asks, leaning forward eagerly for your thoughts.

Returning your attention to him, you hesitate in your decision, feeling uncertain about the plan. While you pride yourself on your wide range of knowledge, you must admit that this area is not your strong suit.

“I’m not sure, Pietro,” you answer honestly. “We’d still need precise details for designing the gates properly, and even then, constructing them correctly would be another challenge.” 

Pietro groans in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

“So how do we find someone willing to help us with that?”

Before you can respond, Martha’s surprised exclamation draws your attention back to the counter.

“You want all of them?” she asks in astonishment. 

The man leaning casually against the counter hums thoughtfully before shaking his head.

“You know what? You’re right. That’s a bit much. I’ll take a couple of each one you have.”

He places a heavy pouch on the counter, the sound of coins clinking as they spill over the brim.

“This should cover it. Wait—except those,” he points at one type of pastry and shudders. “Can’t have any of those. I’m allergic.”

Martha, recovering from her initial shock, responds with a warm smile.

“Oh, I make some without raspberries too. My Lady Y/n over there has the same problem with the fruit.”

At her words, the man’s attention shifts to you. His eyes lock onto yours, narrowing slightly in thought. Without warning, he strides over to your table.

“Have we met before?” he asks abruptly, his tone curious yet insistent.

Startled at his sudden presence before you, your brows pinch in confusion as you cautiously lean back from the stranger. 

“Excuse me?” 

Ignoring your cautious response, the man snaps his fingers as if trying to jog his memory. “I mean, your face looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen you.” He groans in frustration, then beckons to the other man, standing quietly behind him. “Come on, Vision, help me out here. Doesn’t she look like someone we know?”

The second man, Vision, shifts uncomfortably, glancing between you and his companion. His voice is apologetic as he responds, “Sir, I don’t believe it’s appropriate to comment on someone’s appearance in such a manner.”

The first man sighs, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand.

“Relax, Vision. I’m not trying to be rude.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, then sighs, seemingly giving up. “Jarvis would probably know,” he mutters, almost to himself, his tone pointed.

Vision bows slightly, speaking softly, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” 

The man waves off the apology with a casual gesture. “No need to apologize. That’s not really part of your job anyway.” 

His attention then drifts down to the papers spread on the table, piquing his interest.

“What’s all this? Remodeling?” he asks.

“Repairs, actually,” you respond cautiously, still taken aback by the stranger's casual familiarity. “The entrance gates at my manor need fixing.”

The man hums in understanding as he glances over the sketches.

“Well, if you’re hoping for your gate to collapse in the next light breeze, then I’d say you’re on the right track.” 

“Hey!” Pietro exclaims, snatching the papers back defensively. “These are just rough sketches!”

The man raises an unimpressed brow.

“Really? They look more like random rectangles drawn by a child.”

Pietro’s eyes narrow into a glare as he rises from his chair, his posture stiffening with the familiar spark of competitiveness.

“You think you can do better?”

You sigh inwardly, recognizing the shift in Pietro’s demeanor. The last thing you need is him getting riled up. You can only hope this stranger doesn’t push him further. 

The man scoffs, crossing his arms with a smug expression. “Wrong again, kid. I know I can do better.”

With that, your hope disappears, realizing this stranger’s personality is no better. Though, his confident assertion sparks an idea in your mind. You interrupt before Pietro can respond.

“Do you have experience building things like this?” you ask curiously.  

The man rolls his eyes slightly, a hint of arrogance coloring his voice at your question.

“Please, I designed the entire security system for my ca—”

He’s abruptly cut off by a loud cough from Vision, who shoots him an inscrutable look.

“The point is,” the man continues, dismissing Vision’s interruption with a wave, “fixing a simple gate is child’s play for me.” 

Sensing an opportunity, you lean forward slightly. “If that's the case, would you be willing to help us with the repairs then?” 

The man considers your request, tilting his head and adopting an air of exaggerated contemplation.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m a pretty busy man. Places to go, people to see.”

Receiving yet another rejection, your spirit deflates in despair, and you let out a discouraged sigh.

Pietro scoffs with a roll of his eyes, crossing his arms and sizing up the man with open skepticism.

“He’s probably lying anyway.” 

The man’s smirk deepens at the challenge, waving his finger at Pietro.

“You know what? Just for that, I’m gonna do it—if only to annoy you further, kid.”

“Stop calling me that!” Pietro moves to take a step forward, but you catch his arm, urging him to stay in place.

Vision steps forward, his expression serious as he addresses the man.

“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. We are not supposed to do anything that draws attention like this.” 

The man dismisses the concern with a wave of his hand.

“Relax, we’ve got weeks before Jarvis and the others arrive. I’ll be done long before then. Nobody needs to know.” 

“So you’ll take the job?” you ask again, your hope rekindled at the thought of getting the task done without needing to bother Natasha. 

The man raises his brows in question at Vision, who eventually relents with a resigned sigh. 

“It would seem so,” Vision replies quietly.  

The man grins, extending his hand to you with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Well, that settles that. I look forward to working with you, uh, Lady…what’s your name again?” 

“Y/n,” you reply, taking his hand, still cautious but undeniably intrigued by his character. As your hands clasp, it dawns on you that you don't even know the stranger’s name. 

“And you are...?” you inquire, your tone curious.

“Tony,” he finishes smoothly, flashing that confident smirk once more. “My friends call me Tony.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

a/n: thank you for reading! And thank you for all the reactions and comments so far on this series and boundless devotion. It's so fun to read how you felt after each part, and I'm glad to see you're enjoying it!

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[vacantwatchers]

Platonic Stobin discuss Steve's relationship with Nancy. It's kind of critical on Nancy bc I'm biased (and a hater). Read it on Ao3 here.

“Explain to me why Henderson thinks you’re into Nancy again.”

“Fuck knows, Rob. I haven’t seen her around, let alone spoken to her since all that shit at the mall.” He didn’t really like the way she’d frowned at Robin when they’d met up, definitely hadn’t liked the antagonistic tone she used when she’d asked who Robin was.

Steve felt Robin sigh before the gentle weight of her head rested atop his. “The little gremlin cornered me at lunch and demanded to know why we weren’t dating–”

“I’m out of your league,” Steve muttered to her right hand as he slowly coated her index in the dark red polish.

“Keep believing that, Popeye. He asked me if I thought you were repugnant or something and that's why I wouldn't give you the time of day.”

Steve paused to swipe away polish with his nail. “What does repugnant mean?”

Robin hummed, a little delay as she tried to find a definition for him. Steve can imagine her flicking through a little rolodex that’s full of what Robin considers Steve approved explanations.

In the space of his waiting, he’d managed to finish the first coat on her right hand and gently lifted her hand up, smiling to himself at the way Robin moved from his hand to his shoulder.

(It took three weeks of working in Family Video, working back to back shifts so dead they made the burnt shell of Starcourt look lively for Robin to come in one day with a bulging pencil case and the demand that “if you’re just going to sit there, at least paint my nails, dingus.” It took three attempts with Robin smudging her nails with her flailing before they established that when he finished a hand, he would lift it, and she would rest it on his shoulder.)

“Repugnant is like when something is really distasteful, unacceptable.”

“Tammy Thompson’s muppet singing is repugnant.”

Robin snorted into his hair. “Perfect use of repugnant, Steve. It’s also a word you can use similar to revolting, repulsive, disgusting and offensive.”

Pulling her left hand closer to his right side so he could see what he was doing, Steve hummed. “Okay. So Dustin thinks you think I’m revolting, repulsive, disgusting, and offensive?”

“Yeah, Steve, I told him I just couldn’t date such a disgusting man who spends twenty minutes on his hair after a shower and ignores me every time I tell him he needs to go to an optometrist because the way he can’t see makes me sad. No. I said that while I am happy to spend my life with you as my soulmate, we are strictly platonic.”

Sliding the brush back into the bottle, Steve gently swiped his nail down the side of Robin’s thumb. “That absolutely didn’t shut him up. Give them a minute before I do the next coat.”

Robin nodded her understanding, which made him nod. “No, me saying that didn’t stop him. Me asking if the reason he was so interested in your love life was because he was the one with the crush on you, however, did.”

“Ew, Robin, he’s like my brother.”

“That is exactly what he said, just with a lot more volume and yelling.”

Steve leaned further into the weight of Robin at his back, taking a moment to absorb the fact that she lets him take whatever touch he needs without freaking out the same way she does whenever someone else tries to touch her in the slightest. Uses the pause to organise his thoughts out of the jumbled train they come at him in. “I’m not sure when, uh. When we dated, I’m not sure it was love.”

“Okay.” Robin’s hum tingled through his diaphragm. “Talk it through, you were convinced last year you’d loved her. Don’t even try to think it out for me like you do, just say it all.”

“The ol’ Robin treatment, huh?”

“I hate that that is what you call it, but yes. Please proceed.”

“We dated, and I tried to be there for her, right? Like I had to go to these absolutely depressing dinners with Barb’s family every fucking week, because Nancy thought it was the right thing to do and I had to pretend to eat the food, and I tried to give her space when it felt like she was pulling away. I’d take her out to get her away from thinking about it all because I could see that she was struggling and thought maybe doing normal shit teenagers did would help. Would sit with her and listen when she needed me to, or just be with her when she needed silence. I’d ask about how she slept, and if she was still having nightmares, I would reach out and just try and hold her hand or hug her.

“But, I don't know. I’ve been thinking back on it, and Nancy never really did the same shit back, y’know. She would have these moods where she’d just be so angry. Angry at herself, the situation. Me. And I get it, it was fucked up and we couldn’t tell anyone without the threat of being taken away. But she’d go on and on about how we killed Barb and it was our fault and then it would turn into how it was my fault she was dead. And then so often she would say this line and at first I was like, she’s saying it in this fond way so she doesn’t mean it, but she said it so oft–”

“What would she say?”

Steve tilted his head back so he could look up at Robin. “What?”

“Nancy. What would she say?”

“Oh.” Steve looked back down, fiddling with the nail polish bottle. “She’d say ‘you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington’ and she’d make these comments, and I don’t even know if she was aware of it. Like she’d call me dumb and say don’t be stupid, or imply that I wouldn’t be able to do something or understand because I wouldn't get it.

“And when she went over my work she’d say it never made sense, and like, her tone, her tone always said it because I wasn’t smart enough. Like, she’d read over things and point and make comments, and honestly, it was more confusing than anything because the points made sense to me, but apparently not to her–”

Robin made her little grunting sound. She did it every time she needed to interject something. “Yeah but that's like, your mind's process. You do it when you talk too, that structuring thing you do where you make these links to things, and it all somehow flows. My mom said you might have something called dyslexia or dysgraphia. One of those two.”

Steve looked up at Robin, eyebrows scrunching up. “You talk to your mom about me? When did she even have time to figure that out?”

“I talk about you to her all the time because we both love you. And she noticed when you were helping me with my English homework.”

Huh. “Okay then.”

“Keep going with what you were saying, sailorman.”

Seven months, and she still hasn't given up on the nautical nicknames. Jesus.

“After early admissions for colleges had closed, Henderson actually found the essay I wrote, and he said it was good. That the parallels were there and with only a little tweaking it would have been great, and when I mentioned what Nancy said he kind of paused before reading it again and said he didn’t see what she was talking about. He even had his mom read it because for a while, she was admin for a college, and she said it would have gotten me in. After Christmas, I asked Nancy if she wanted to go with me to tour some colleges once and she looked at me when I dropped some of the names and said, ‘Do you think they’ll believe you’d fit in there?'"

“Jesus Christ,” Robin muttered.

“It just, it built up and I think at the time I was blind to it because I was trying to lose myself in the relationship, in being there for her.”

“What about you?” Robin’s hand slid down from its perch on his shoulder to his chest so she could pull him closer. “Was she there for you? Like, you told me that since ‘83 you can’t eat meat because of the smell of burning demogorgon put you off, and that having to lure the demodogs with meat was really triggering. And I know you have trouble sleeping and you have those awful nightmares that make it so that sometimes you can’t eat.

“Which, can I just say, is really concerning because you already have this habit of forgetting to eat even when you’ve brought lunch. And I know it’s probably something to do with the way you get stuck into stock or shelving, but I hate it when you get into that groove. But I’ve also figured out that you will eat anything I hand to you, as long as I’ve taken a bite first, so it’s not that bad.”

Needing to move a little, Steve tightened the nail polish and started shaking the bottle.

“Oh, uh. Those dinners with Barb’s family, it was always KFC, that’s why I never ate anything there. She’d actually get annoyed because she thought it was disrespectful? That I only ate the bread and chips? And after that first night where Barb died, Nancy never came over to my house again because she said it had too many bad memories and it made her uncomfortable to be there. So she never really saw the nightmares. When she wanted to see me, she would have me come over and she’d push me on the bed and then when she was done she’d tell me it was getting late, and kind of push me towards her window to go.”

“Steve– that doesn't sound healthy at all.”

"Yeah."

Lifting the nail polish bottle, Robin took it as the signal it was and dropped her hand in his again.

“I think, even when I was dating her, she talked more to Jonathan than me.”

“That’s fucked up, Steve.”

“I think that’s just trauma, Bobby. We weren’t good together. I don’t know. Whatever Dustin is seeing between us is completely in his head. Especially considering the money moves I'm making with Operation Metalhead.”

“You need to stop saying money moves. All you've done is wave at him and blush when he loaned you a Megadeth tape.”

Gently guiding her hand back into his best field of vision, Steve started in on the second coat. “I don't know, sounds pretty money to me.”

Steve felt Robin inhale for a deep sigh, her warmth increasing against his back for a moment before she exhaled. "I think Eddie might have actually graduated before Operation Metalhead gets anywhere close to being a success."

[rocknrollwhcre]

Love Can Burn Like A Cigarette

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F! Reader (18+)

Content Warning: strong language and profanity, emotional manipulation and toxic relationship dynamics, physical altercation (slapping, shoving), depictions of verbal arguments and intense emotional distress, themes of infidelity and jealousy

Summary: Things aren’t looking good between you and Eddie…

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics !!! Not that anyone will remember, but I originally wrote and posted this fic back in 2022. I ended up deleting my work and blog for personal reasons, but I’ve decided to rewrite it and post it again. :)

You barge into the backroom of Scoops with Robin trailing close behind, her footsteps quickening to match your angry stride. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but one look at your flushed face convinces her otherwise. She watches you with concern as you yank off your sweat-soaked shirt, tossing it aside with a huff. The sticky uniform you're required to wear stares back at you from a hook, and you mutter under your breath, wishing you could burn it.

Robin, always the practical one, moves to the mini fridge, fishing out a cold bottle of water. She places it gently on the small, cluttered table between the staff lockers. "Here," she says softly, her eyes never leaving your face. She drops into one of the worn-out chairs and pats the seat next to her, giving you that familiar look that says, I’m here. Talk to me.

You take the offer, sinking into the chair with a long sigh before gulping down half the bottle in one go. The cold water is a relief, cooling you from the inside out. You finally feel the tightness in your chest start to ease.

Robin tilts her head, her brows knitting together with worry. “Okay, so what’s going on? And why do you look like you just ran a marathon?”

“Eddie Munson,” you spit out the name like it’s poison.

Robin’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh. Gross. I swear, if you and Eddie—”

You shake your head, a dry laugh escaping your lips. “No, nothing like that. I’m all hot and sweaty because we got into this huge argument. I refused to get into his van, and he just smirks and says, ‘Fine, walk to work then.’ Can you believe that? Complete asshole.”

Robin’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? You’re like, miles away from here! You could’ve passed out from heatstroke or something.”

You snort. “Well, according to Mr. I-Failed-Senior-Year-Twice, it’s ‘just a short walk.’ The guy’s idea of distance is as bad as his grades.”

Robin chuckles, shaking her head. “Honestly, how do you even put up with him?”

You shrug, feeling a mix of frustration and something else—something like the smallest hint of amusement. “I ask myself that every day.”

Just then, Steve pokes his head through the small service window, trying to look casual, but you know he’s been eavesdropping the whole time. His eyes shift between you and Robin, but he settles his gaze on you with a pointed look. “Eddie’s here. Wants to talk to you,” he says, his voice heavy with the kind of sarcasm that only comes from dealing with Eddie Munson on a regular basis.

You exchange a knowing glance with Robin, who raises an eyebrow. “But, hey, at least he knows when he’s wrong and can apologize,” you suggest, half-convincing yourself as you grab your ridiculous sailor hat. Robin gives you a doubtful look, but you ignore it, adjusting the hat with a small breath to steady your nerves. Maybe this time will be different, you think, as you head out to the front, hoping for an apology but bracing yourself just in case.

Eddie is waiting by the counter, leaning against it with that trademark smug grin plastered across his face. His hair is a wild mess, and he looks far too pleased with himself.

“Hey, princess. How was the walk?” he asks, his tone teasing as his eyes gleam with amusement.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, it was great, actually. I’ve heard getting some sun is good for you—something about vitamin D,” you shoot back, your voice laced with sarcasm.

“Glad to hear it,” Eddie replies, barely missing a beat. “Because you’re gonna need another dose. My van’s busted, had to leave it at the garage for repairs.” He picks up one of the flimsy menus from the counter and flips through it like he actually cares what's on it.

You narrow your eyes. “Uh, don’t you mean we have to walk home?”

He looks up with a lazy grin. “No, I mean you have to walk. Funny thing, I bumped into Roxy on my way here, and she very graciously offered to give me a ride home. You remember Roxy, right?”

How could you forget? The mere mention of her name sets your teeth on edge. Roxy, the redheaded bitch who’s been circling Eddie like a vulture ever since you two got together three years ago. She’s got that classic bad-girl look down: leather jackets, tight skirts with ripped fishnets, blood-red nails, and enough black eyeliner to intimidate a raccoon. The kind of girl who fits right into Eddie’s metalhead world. You feel your eye twitch involuntarily, the familiar surge of irritation bubbling up inside you.

You force a smile, though it feels like it might crack at any second. “Is that all you came here for, Eddie?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Eddie's smirk widens, and you can tell by the glint in his eyes that he knows he’s gotten under your skin. “Actually, since I’m here, how about a small cookies 'n' cream shake and—”

“Oh, would you look at that! We’re all out of ice cream,” you interrupt, your voice dripping with fake cheerfulness. Before he can say another word, you grab him by the arm and start steering him toward the door. “Come back later!”

Eddie doesn’t resist; he’s too busy laughing, clearly enjoying how riled up he’s made you. His laughter echoes down the mall as he disappears up the stairs, probably to waste more of his time somewhere else. You let out an exasperated huff, your patience wearing thin.

Robin, still perched on a stool behind the counter, looks bewildered as she munches on a cookie. “Who’s Roxy?” she asks, her mouth half-full.

“Only the hottest girl The Hideout has ever seen,” Steve chimes in, leaning against the counter and taking a long sip of his shake. His casual tone is enough to make your blood boil, and without thinking, you land a solid punch on his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” Steve yelps, rubbing his arm and giving you an offended look.

“Get back to work,” you snap, snatching his shake right out of his hand and dumping it into the trash without a second thought. Steve stares at the garbage can, then at you, his mouth agape, but you’re already turning away, too annoyed to care.

—

It’s been five days since the argument, and neither of you has made the first move to apologize. In fact, each day has become a new game of seeing who can push the other's buttons harder, and today, Eddie was clearly in the lead.

You’re wiping down the sticky tables, the sweet smell of melted ice cream lingering in the air, when Eddie strolls in with Roxanne by his side. Roxy’s eyes are all over him, like he’s the only guy in the room, but Eddie seems oblivious to it—or maybe he’s just pretending to be. They make their way to the counter, and Roxy leans over to obnoxiously ring the bell, the sound grating on your nerves.

“What’s a guy gotta do to get some decent service around here?” Eddie calls out, his gaze locked onto you with a teasing smirk.

Robin and Steve are out getting lunch, leaving you alone to man the counter. Lucky you. You toss the rag onto the table and head over to the register. “What do you want, Eddie?”

He leans against the counter, his smirk deepening. “Now, is that any way to greet a paying customer?” he taunts, clearly reveling in the way your eyes flick daggers at Roxy, who’s practically glued to his side.

You let out a sharp breath, summoning your best fake smile, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes. “What can I get you today?” you say through clenched teeth.

Eddie clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. “Come on, I’m pretty sure you guys have a slogan for greeting customers. Let’s hear it.”

Roxanne lets out a soft, condescending laugh, her lips curling into a smirk.

You bite back a retort, forcing yourself to keep up the act. “Would you like to sail the ocean of flavors? I’ll be your captain today. What can I get you?” The words come out stiff and robotic, practically dragged out of you, but Eddie’s grin only widens.

“Good girl,” Eddie murmurs, low enough that only you can hear, his voice a mix of teasing and something else that sends heat rushing to your cheeks. You can feel your face flushing, but you keep your expression neutral. “Anyway, I’ll have that cookies ‘n’ cream shake. What about you, Rox?”

Roxy leans in closer to him, practically pressing herself against his arm as she gives you a once-over. “I’ll just share with you. Don’t want to eat too much and mess up my figure,” she says, her gaze sliding over you with a smirk that makes your blood boil.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to leap over the counter and throttle her, but you clench your jaw and turn away, focusing on making the damn shake. Your hands move on autopilot, scooping the ice cream, blending it up, and pouring it into the cup, all while you imagine various scenarios where you tell them both exactly where they can shove this order. With forced calm, you place the shake on the counter in front of them and watch as they saunter off to a booth. Eddie's eyes keep darting over to you, but you pretend not to notice, burying yourself in the never-ending list of chores to stay busy and keep from glaring daggers at him.

Just as you start wiping down the counter for the third time, you glance up and catch Roxy reaching over to brush a crumb from Eddie’s lip with her thumb, her touch lingering longer than necessary. Before you can react, the bell above the door jingles, and Steve and Robin come back, a takeout bag swinging in Robin’s hand. She takes one look at Roxy playing at doting girlfriend and makes a loud gagging noise.

Roxy rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. You decide it’s the perfect time for your lunch break. Tossing your apron aside, you head for the door, but just as you pass their booth, you feel something hard underfoot—Roxy’s boot. You stumble forward and crash to your knees, the sharp pain shooting up your legs.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” you shout, springing up with fury boiling over. Without thinking, you lunge at Roxy, ready to grab a fistful of that perfect red hair and let loose, but Steve grabs you around the waist, pulling you back.

Eddie jumps up, positioning himself between you and Roxy, his hands wrapping around your fists, trying to contain you. “Babe! Just chill out, it was an accident! You’re making a scene!” he says, his tone somewhere between pleading and annoyed.

“Oh, fuck you, Eddie!” you snap, struggling against Steve’s hold. “You’re the one making scenes, showing up here with that slut!”

“Hey!” Eddie's eyes flash with anger. “She’s my friend, and I’m not going to stand here and let you disrespect her like that!”

You scoff, feeling the sting of betrayal sharp in your chest. “Yeah, a ‘friend’ who’s been trying to screw you for years, Eddie! Open your eyes! You know what? Just go. Get the hell out of here.”

“Fine, we will. Come on, Roxy.” Eddie’s voice is cold, his face hard as stone as he turns his back on you, motioning for Roxy to follow.

You watch, stunned, as he actually starts to leave with her. The disbelief sinks in like a weight in your stomach. You wrench yourself free from Steve’s grip, not wanting anyone to see the tears starting to burn your eyes. Without another word, you storm to the back of the store, your heart pounding with a mix of anger and hurt.

—

Night falls, and it's finally time to close up shop. The last of the customers trickle out, their footsteps echoing through the quieting mall as they make their way to the exits. You, Steve, and Robin work together to pull down the metal gate, the clattering sound signaling the end of another long day.

“How about you join us tonight?” Robin suggests, a hopeful smile on her face as she nudges you. “Steve and I rented a stack of horror movies. We’re having a movie night.”

“Yeah! We can order a ton of pizza, make popcorn, the whole shebang,” Steve adds, clearly trying to sweeten the deal. “Come on, it'll be fun. What do you say?”

Before you can answer, you catch a glimpse of Eddie sitting by the fountain alone, his head down, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against his knee. For a moment, you consider ignoring him, letting things stay the way they are, but something inside you pushes you to try and be the bigger person. You turn back to Robin and Steve. “Give me a second?” you ask.

They exchange a look but nod, standing by the gate as you take a deep breath and head toward Eddie. Just as you’re about to reach him, Roxy appears out of nowhere and slides onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss right on his lips. Your stomach twists into knots.

“Oh my god, Eddie, what are you doing?” you exclaim, your heart pounding in your chest as you step forward, disbelief and hurt surging through you.

Eddie's eyes go wide, and he quickly pushes Roxy away, but she just smirks, satisfied with her little display. “Oh no, baby, we’ve been caught,” she says in a mocking sing-song voice, her eyes glittering with mischief.

“What? No!” Eddie stammers, panic flooding his expression. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like!” His hands reach out toward you, desperate to explain, but you slap them away, the sting of betrayal sharper than anything he could say.

“I hope you have a happy life together!” you shout, your voice breaking as you reach for the necklace around your neck—the one Eddie made for you, his favorite guitar pick hanging from it. You rip it off in one swift motion and throw it at him, the small piece of him that you once cherished now clattering to the ground between you. “We’re fucking done!”

“Baby, please, don’t do this!” Eddie's voice cracks, and he reaches out, grabbing your arm in a last-ditch effort to stop you. His eyes are desperate, pleading, but you’re beyond reason now. Without thinking, you use your free hand to deliver a sharp slap across his face. The sound echoes in the near-empty mall, startling even you.

You yank your arm free, turning away as the sting of your slap leaves a red mark on his cheek. Steve and Robin are at your side instantly, and as you storm off with them, you don't look back. But you can hear the ragged breath Eddie takes, his shoulders trembling as he stands there, one hand cradling his stinging cheek, his eyes wet with tears that spill down his face. He's crying, but you don’t let yourself turn around. Not this time.

[solarmorrigan]

54 + 12 for steddie!

Okay, I know the prompt list says I'm supposed to describe how I'd use the tropes in the same story, but I got.... carried away. I just really love outsider POV

Fanfiction Trope Mashup prompts: 54. Secret relationship + 12. Roommate AU

cw: allusions to period-typical homophobia

-

Gladys hadn’t been sure what to make of her new neighbors at first.

She didn’t like the idea of them, to be certain: two young men living in the apartment across the way, who would probably come and go at all hours, noisy and inconsiderate as anything – especially the long-haired one she’d spotted carrying a guitar case.

A month in, however, her initial assessment doesn’t seem to have proven true; she does see them come and go at all hours, but they aren’t noisy about it, and she hasn’t heard any kind of raucous guitar playing. They seem to keep to themselves, and that suits Gladys just fine.

And then grocery day comes, and Gladys is trying to jog from the front door to the elevator before it closes, both arms loaded with bags. She spots her long-haired neighbor already in the elevator, and he spots her, and he holds the door for her before she can even call and ask him to.

He then offers to help with the bags, and Gladys unloads both of the heavy paper sacks on him with a relieved sigh; she tries to keep in shape, but she doesn’t have the strength she did when she was younger, and her joints sometimes ache like mad.

“I’m Eddie, by the way,” the man says into the silence of the elevator as they ride up to the fourth floor. “I don’t think we really introduced ourselves when we moved in, but I live across the hall from you.”

“I recognize you,” Gladys says. Then adds, “Gladys Gaines.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you officially, Miss Gladys,” Eddie says with a grin. “I’d offer to shake, but my hands are otherwise occupied.”

He shifts the grocery bags demonstratively, pretends for a moment that they’re weighing him down, though he’d been having no trouble with them until then, and Gladys finds herself smiling. “Never mind that,” she says. “And it’s nice to meet you, too.”

Eddie helps her put the groceries away, and she finds him to be charming, in an animated sort of way, bursting with energy and humor.

The sink gives him pause, though, after he ducks beneath it to put away a bottle of dish detergent as directed. He watches it drip for several consecutive seconds before asking, “Is the faucet giving you trouble?”

“It’s been driving me up the wall for weeks,” Gladys huffs as she stashes a loaf of bread in the breadbox. “But of course maintenance is taking their sweet time to get to it.”

“Huh. Y’know, Steve—my, uh, roommate—he’s pretty good at home repair stuff like this. I could get him to come take a look at it, if you want,” Eddie offers.

“If he can get that awful drip to stop, I’ll be in your debt,” Gladys says.

Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Madam, that’s a dangerous thing to declare.”

“Oh, hush.” Gladys slaps at him with a dish towel, and the boy pretends to be mortally wounded.

Laughing, Gladys finds that she quite likes Eddie.

She likes Steve, too, when he shows up at her door the next afternoon with a bag of tools and a little wave ‘hello.’

“Eddie said your faucet was leaking?” he offers. “Oh– I’m Steve. From across the way.”

“I recognize you,” Gladys says, and she shows him to the kitchen.

Steve is a solid, steady presence that Gladys can imagine compliments Eddie’s high energy well; he’s boyish and sweet, but there’s something sharper underneath that reminds Gladys of her own Avery’s cutting wit.

Gladys finds out from Steve that he and Eddie are from a tiny, rural town; they’re new to city life, but they’re enjoying it even in their adjustment period. Eddie works full time while Steve works part-time and attends classes – he’s hoping to become a guidance counselor.

“That’s an unusual arrangement for roommates,” Gladys comments. “Eddie doesn’t mind taking on most of the bills?”

It’s a bit of a prying question—rude, some might say, but Gladys doesn’t see the point in getting old if you’re not allowed to be blunt—but Steve only ducks his head and smiles.

“No, Eddie’s– he’s a great guy. Helping me out like this,” he says before turning back to the sink. “Here, try it now.”

Gladys turns the faucet on, then turns it back off, watching as the flow of water comes to a complete stop, not a drip to be seen.

“Dear, you’re a miracle worker,” Gladys declares.

“It was nothing,” Steve says.

He turns away to pack up his tools, but not quite quickly enough to hide the smile on his face – pleased but a little bashful, like he isn’t used to being complimented like this. It’s a nice smile, Gladys thinks, and both Steve and Eddie are nice boys. She decides that yes, she really does like them.

Offering to pay Steve for his services seems a little tawdry, so Gladys invites the boys over for dinner, instead. They end up staying well into the evening, talking and laughing with her. Steve eats up all the gossip about the other building tenants that Gladys can dish out, and Eddie eggs them on.

When they say that they’ll have to have her over for dinner next, Gladys braces herself for the worst: the apartment of two busy young bachelors, Lord have mercy.

She’s pleasantly surprised to find, then, that it isn’t so bad at all. It’s a bit cluttered—particularly the desk shoved into the corner covered in graph paper and what appear to be tiny plastic figurines—but it’s quite clean.

After she’s offered to help with dinner and been politely denied, Gladys spends time looking at the photos they have pinned up on the wall. There are over a dozen, a collage of smiles and laugher featuring the same cast of teenagers in varying stages of growth, often posing with Steve or Eddie. There are quite a few of just Steve and Eddie together mixed in, and Gladys is warmed to see two such good friends.

Steve does most of the cooking that evening, but Eddie is a capable sous chef, anticipating Steve’s every request before he can even voice what he needs.

“Hey, can you hand me the, uh–” Steve snaps his fingers, searching for the word, and Eddie opens a drawer and presses a slotted spoon into Steve’s hand. “Yeah, that.”

Eddie grins and goes back to cutting vegetables.

Dinner is nice.

It goes on like this – trading favors here and there, dinners at one apartment or the other, evenings spent talking and laughing. Gladys finds that Eddie is an excellent opponent when playing cards, and Steve shares her fondness for Murder She Wrote.

Gladys and Avery never did get around to having children. At first, they hadn’t had the money, then they hadn’t had the time, and eventually – well, it had been too late. She’s never really regretted it—her maternal instinct isn’t a strong one—but she does find herself starting to think of these boys as hers. She even starts in on knitting some sweaters; the weather it’s getting cold, after all, and it’s the sort of thing you do when you want the people you care about to be protected from it.

It does strike Gladys as a little odd that she only ever sees them with each other; they’re both attractive young men, after all, and she can’t imagine why they don’t seem to go on dates. She’s never seen two friends as content in each other’s company as they are, but she supposes that’s really all that matters – that they’re content.

Things become clearer, however, one sleepless night months after the boys move in.

Insomnia isn’t new to Gladys; she’s dealt with it since she was young, and it seems like age has only increased the frequency of those nights she lies awake, staring at her bedroom ceiling.

She’s found her own ways of coping, over the years; she’ll fill the time with a good book or do some word puzzles or get some knitting in. If she’s feeling particularly restless, she might clean the apartment or even bake something.

She’s just considering whether or not the boys would appreciate some cinnamon rolls come morning (and whether or not it would top that loaf of cinnamon raisin bread Steve had made last week, not that Gladys is keeping track) when she hears the very subject of her thoughts come giggling down the hall.

The boys aren’t being loud, precisely, but they aren’t quiet, either, and there are fewer sounds in the night to swallow up their noise.

They sound happy – they must have had a late night out, coming home a little goofy and tipsy, talking and laughing and then shushing each other as they come to a halt, sounding close enough that they must be outside their own door, just across and to the left of Gladys’.

There’s a moment of indecision, and then Gladys is rising from her chair and crossing to the door. She feels a little silly, but the sight of a friendly face on a sleepless night can sometimes do wonders to soothe her nerves.

She’ll just pop out and say hello, a fellow after-midnighter, and then let them go.

She’s barely opened her door, however, just catching a glimpse of the boys, when something– unexpected happens.

Eddie is fumbling with his keys as Steve leans further and further into his space, and Gladys wonders if he’s drunker than he sounds, but then–

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, waiting for Eddie to look up, and it’s all the warning Eddie gets before Steve is kissing him full on the mouth.

Eddie drops his keys entirely, but it isn’t in shock so much as it is his apparent eagerness to get his hands on Steve, cupping his cheek in one and grabbing his hip with the other, pulling him closer.

This isn’t drunken fumbling – it isn’t even something new, Gladys realizes. The kiss is slow and gentle and lingering, the love in it so evident that for a moment an ache of longing, of missing Avery, rises up in Gladys’ chest.

Then, though he’d been the one to encourage the kiss, Eddie is the one to break it, and when he speaks, he’s properly quiet this time. Gladys can just barely hear him.

“Someone’s gonna see, baby.”

“Let ‘em,” Steve says, just as soft.

“Steve…”

Steve sighs, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. “I wish I could show you off. Tell everyone how much I love you.”

Eddie in spite of his own warning, holds Steve close for a moment longer, swaying him gently. “No one else matters. I know you love me,” he says. “Come inside and show me how much?”

Glady’s can’t see Steve’s grin from this angle, but she can hear it when he says, “Yeah. I can do that.”

Then Eddie gathers his keys from the floor and actually manages to get the door open, pulling Steve in and shutting it after them and–

Well.

Gladys stands alone now, her door still cracked open, showing her the empty hallway, and–

Well.

Actually– well, actually, certain things make quite a bit more sense now.

“My, uh, roommate,” indeed.

Gladys closes her door, wandering back towards her easy chair as she thinks.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is the two of them having the idea that they have to keep this from her. Utter nonsense.

Gladys will show them, though; her boys—and their secret—will always be safe with her.

[juniperskye]

It had to be You.

Sneak Peek: Modern Day AU! (kinda think late 90’s early 2000’s) Running into your ex at your mutual friends’ engagement party, that was something you had expected and were mentally prepared for. Him looking that damn good and the chaos that ensues…you were not expecting. Flashbacks are bolded.

Eddie Munson x Artist! Fem Reader

Angst/ Fluff (at the end)

Word count: 2301

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, explicit language, past relationship, mention of reader having a troubled past, Steve, and Nancy are together in this (they work ok…sorry not sorry), nobody is dead!, no use of y/n, lovers to enemies to lovers, Eddie is unnamed until the end...idk I felt that it worked for this story (despite you knowing it's him), let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You were elated when you got the call. Steve had called you to let you know that he had officially done it, he had asked Nancy to marry him! You knew he was planning it, hell, you helped him pick the ring for her, you just didn’t know when. You expressed your excitement and congratulated the happy couple asking them about the possibility of an engagement party. Nancy had let you know they weren’t planning one but would love it.

You immediately begun planning the party, creating an evite and curating the perfect guestlist. You called Enzo’s to see if they could accommodate a party of this size. Once that was confirmed and booked, you made sure to call in some reinforcements.

You had called Robin, Chrissy, Max, El, and Dustin. Chrissy had stayed in Hawkins; she went to the community college there and now teaches at Hawkins high. Max, El, Dustin, along with some of the others (Will, Lucas, and Mike) were finishing school at Indiana University, Robin had gone to Butler, and currently resided in Indianapolis. Nancy and Steve had recently moved back to Hawkins after finishing school in Chicago, Nancy was offered an editing position at the Hawkins Journal.

You on the other hand had been living in New York City ever since graduation. It hadn’t happened exactly as you had planned it…which is the exact reason you were nervous to return to Hawkins.

“We’re gonna graduate, then we will pack up the van and hightail it out of here babe.”

“I was thinking New York. You know…that way you can pursue your music, and I can pursue my art.” You replied.

“That sounds perfect baby! Just a few more weeks and we can go.” He grabbed your hand and the two of you laid back against the pillows in the back of the van.

**One Month Later**

You pulled up to the trailer with your car packed full of your belongings. You were ready to get to New York and start your life! You were even more excited to start your life with him. You stopped the car and made your way up the steps, knocking gently.

“Hey kiddo.” Uncle Wayne greeted.

“Hey Wayne! Is he ready to go?” You asked.

“He better be, with all the noise he was making. Head on back.” Wayne gestured for you to go down the hall.

“Babe! Are you packed and ready to…” your voice trailed off as you entered his room, noticing the severe lack of moving boxes or suitcases. “What the hell? Why aren’t you packed?”

“I uh, I don’t think we should go.”

“What do you mean? We’ve been planning this for months; you were the one who always said once you graduated you would get the hell out of here.” You shouted.

“I know, but I just, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I can’t just leave Uncle Wayne, and who’s to say we don’t get to New York, and everything goes to shit? At least here we know things work.” He challenged.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try. Also, we’re stronger than that, just because we move doesn’t mean this is automatically falls apart.” You replied.

“I can’t go, why don’t you understand that? It’s not going to work. We can stay here and build a life. I have a job at the garage, and you can paint here.” He huffed.

“Well, I can’t stay here.” Your gaze drifted to your feet. “Hawkins is too small, we were destined for something bigger, which is why I need to go to New York.”

“So that’s it then? You’re just gonna leave?” He muttered.

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me feel guilty for following through with our plans. If anyone should feel guilty here it’s you for tricking me into thinking that you were actually going to come with me. But instead, you’re bailing on me, just like everyone else.” You bellowed, quickly making your exit.

That day you had left for New York and didn’t look back. You had travelled to Indianapolis and Chicago to visit your friends, but you hadn’t stepped foot back in Hawkins since then, and you really weren’t looking forward to it.

You spent the next week coordinating with everyone, in hopes of planning the best engagement party for your friends. You guys worked on decorations, who would get the happy couple to Enzo’s on time. And in just two weeks, you’d find yourself standing in the nicest restaurant in Hawkins Indiana.

“Oh my gosh, you look gorgeous!” Chrissy squealed, jogging over to embrace you.

“I could say the same about you! Congratulations by the way.” You beamed, gently caressing Chrissy’s now prominent bump.

Chrissy and you caught up with one another, and as the others arrived you greeted everyone and began decorating. Pretty much everyone had arrived except for Robin, she had been the person you assigned to get Steve and Nancy to Enzo’s.

You had been placing the last floral centerpiece on its designated table when you heard his voice. Loud and boisterous as always, greeting Dustin, and the other boys as he made his way back to where you were setting up.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Max inquired.

“The day I left for New York.” You replied, shaking your head as you straighten out the vase.

“You know he came to New York.” Dustin mentioned, having butt into your conversation. “It was about six months after you left, he went to the studio you were renting and saw you painting, he said that he didn’t want to mess anything up for you and that he wanted to make something of himself before he saw you again.” Dustin concluded.

You couldn’t help the look of shock that took over your features. “It doesn’t change anything. He made his choice.” You said with a sense of finality and walked away.

Fifteen minutes later, Robin entered the restaurant with Nancy and Steve trailing in behind her. The room erupted in cheers for the newly engaged, the two of the were passed from person to person for a warm embrace. There was nothing to do but smile at the radiant glow that the two of them wore. The longer you were surrounded by all this happiness, the tighter your chest became, you needed air.

The minute you reached the exit, you felt relief, the cool night air surrounding you, finally allowing you to take in a deep breath. You took a few steps away from the exit and leaned up against the brick building.

“Was the cheerful mood suffocating you too?”

You’s recognize that voice anywhere. It was once something that made you swoon, but now it felt like a knife to the heart. You wanted nothing more than to run far away and hide forever. You had really hoped that by the time you needed to confront him, you’d have already moved on and started a new life.

“I didn’t realize someone was out here. I’ll just go.”

A hand gently gripping your wrist stopped you. Your head whipped around, fully ready to tell him off, but the look on his face stopped you dead in your tracks. He wore an expression that you were very familiar with. It was the same one that stared back at you when you looked in the mirror. Sunken eyes, dark circles, dull looking skin, clearly missing that glow that your best friends currently wore.

“Please just talk to me.” He pleaded.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You murmured.

“Then listen. Please, I have something I’d really like to say to you.” He released your wrist and his gaze shifted up his eyes begging you to stay.

“You have five minutes.” You didn’t have it in you to hold back the eyeroll.

“Thank you!” He hollered. “Okay sweetheart, where do I begin? I um, the reason I didn’t go to New York with you was because I was scared. And I know that sounds like some bullshit excuse, but I mean it. I was terrified that we would get there, and you would become this successful artist and I’d just be like this bum that was holding you back from being great. I just figured that if I stayed here that I’d have the band and the job at the garage, and nothing would have to change. Only everything changed, the guys graduated and went off to college, the band broke up and worst of all, you were gone. I really fucked it all up, which is why I worked so hard to make something of myself.” He explained.

“Dustin told me you came to New York. Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked.

“When I saw your studio, I saw you working on this piece, it was a big charcoal piece, and I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to fuck things up for you more than I already had.”

“The charcoal piece, it uh, it was. Did you see what the piece was?” You pressed.

“No, I didn’t. I bet it was great though. Sweetheart, I uh, can I show you something?”

“Okay.” You nodded.

He led you over to a motorcycle, he grabbed the helmet and went to put it on and turned toward you, offering you the spare. You glanced from the helmet to his face, and he offered a subtle nod. You placed the helmet on your head, and he reached up to tighten the chin strap for you. You let out a sharp breath at the contact, releasing a cough to try and cover it.

The two of you rode through the city, stopping in front of a garage you didn’t recognize. The logo was in large red letters outlined in white. A bright contrast of the black painted brick. He assisted you off the back of his motorcycle and led you into the building.

“This uh, this is my shop.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“So, uh after high school, I kept selling for a while, saving up my money. Then Rick got picked up and sent to prison. So, I got the job at the garage, I worked as many hours as possible, putting in the work. Anyway uh, I got pretty close with the owner and he uh, he left me the place when he died two years ago.” He replied.

“This is great. I’m really happy for you bub.” The nickname slipped out faster than you could comprehend.

“I have something else I’d like to show you.”

“Okay.”

This time, he drove you through a neighborhood you recognized from your youth. It housed beautiful (affordable) family homes, the ones that you had imagined raising your family in. These were the homes you still visualized when you pictured your future. And he was the man that you woke up next to in these images.

When he pulled into the driveway of one of the homes you were confused. He had always expressed his distaste of these homes. You had always known that the reasoning behind his upset was that it was the childhood he was robbed of.

Once you were dismounted his bike, he ushered you to the front door, gesturing for you to enter. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked around the home. You couldn’t help but notice all the details in this particular home, it had a large bay window with a window seat, a big open kitchen, and a breakfast nook.

“What is this?”

“It’s not done, I still have some work to do. But Wayne has been helping me put in all the things we had talked about. Upstairs we put in a clawfoot tub, and we’re working on the flooring.” He gushed.

“This is all a bit much, I uh, I…” Before you could finish, you were out the door and desperately trying to catch your breath in the front lawn.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’ve been working on myself, trying to be better for you. I was gonna come to New York when the house was finished and talk to you and ask you to come home.”

“Bub, this isn’t home anymore. Hawkins isn’t my home. It never was. That’s why we planned to go to New York. Ugh! I just…fuck! You bailed on me; don’t you get that? You did the one thing that I begged you not to! You broke your promise and you let me believe that I meant nothing to you.” You sobbed.

“Sweetheart, I know I fucked this up before, but please give me another chance? I will spend the rest of my life trying to make this all up to you.” He begged.

“It’s my turn to show you something. Drive me back to Enzo’s.” You demanded.

He drove you back to the restaurant and pulled up to your car per your request. You dragged him to the trunk and opened it to reveal a folded-up canvas, a box of your art supplies and a photo storage box. You reached into the trunk and grabbed the folded canvas, slowly opening it to reveal the piece you had been working on when he had come to New York. When you opened it completely he let out a breath.

“It’s me.” He whispered.

“They all are.” You stated.

You opened up the photo bin to unveil hundreds of photos of your work, all varying portraits of the man in front of you. You looked down to your shoes, watching as you dug your toe into the gravel parking lot.

“You see, I realized something through my art. Hawkins isn’t my home. But New York isn’t either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eddie, you’re my home.”

Let me know if you want to know what happens next!

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 27: Gifts

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 27, Part 28 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Sorry about the wait Word Count: 3,816 Warnings: none

The rest of your night is spent tossing and turning in bed. The prickling along the skin of your hand and wrist are your only reminder of what happened in the car, not to mention the memories that flood your mind every time you close your eyes. Billy’s coy smile, how his eyes devoured your every move, the hungry glint in them at the sounds you made. Your stomach writhes, flipping and swirling the more your mind lingers on the interaction. 

It irritates you, the effect he has on you. Every smirk, or touch sends your heart into overdrive. It doesn't help that your experience with relationships up to this point have never gone further than hand holding. But, this electricity that exists between you and Billy seems to be short circuiting all your logic and reason.

You’ve never spent a lot of time thinking about things like this, you’re not a child, Nancy has told you plenty about her relationship with Steve. You just never took any interest in it. Until now it seems. You're plagued by thoughts of Billy pressed against you, his calloused hands holding you tightly, his lips against your skin, the feel of his hot breath mixing with yours. Fuck. 

You turn your head, releasing a pent up scream into your pillow until you're out of breath.

When exhaustion finally wins out, you’re cast into another restless sleep. 

———-

You’ve been here before. It’s dark and cold, familiar. Home. It’s quiet right now, for now. You’re not needed, yet. Fear twists through every tendril of your being, as much a part of you as the darkness. You can feel the shadow in your mind, waiting. Ready to bend, break if needed. You’re tired. But, there is no rest here. No peace. No hope. Forever. 

———

This is different. Not cold, warmth washes over you. The sound of crashing waves is rhythmic, almost like breathing. It soothes the initial panic of being in a new place, so bright and peaceful. It’s so different from the other place. You are able to glance around, there is no one else here. An empty beach. It’s nice. 

———

The sound of your mom trying to sneak out of your room wakes you the next morning. 

“Mom?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow, wiping sleep from your eyes. She stops, her hand on the door. She’s still in her scrubs, the only illumination in the room is the light coming in from the hallway. 

“Hey sweetie.” She greets you softly, turning to face you, an apologetic smile already on her lips. “I was just checking on you, go back to sleep.” She tries to reassure you. Your gut twists, you can barely see it in the dim light but it’s definitely there. The ever present worry you inspire in her. You were having some kind of nightmare, you can feel it in the tense in your muscles and the ache in your bones. Feeling the exhaustion that plagues you from the tension your dreams bring into reality. 

“I’m sorry mom.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair feeling the dampness of sweat. Her smile falters, pulling tighter at your apology.

“Don’t be sorry love. It just takes… time.” She reminds you. You know it’s what she needs to believe. That with enough time your mind will heal, that the nightmares will eventually fade. 

“It’s getting better.” The lie tastes bitter. Her shoulders sag slightly, like she can feel the lie physically. She won’t press though, both of you are happy to let it sit between you. It’s easier than facing reality. 

She pads over to your bed, gently stooping to press a kiss on your brow. 

“I love you.” She says softly. You can’t help the small smile that pulls from you. 

“I love you too.” You reply reflexively. You always say it back, just in case. It’s an easy truth, for the both of you. She pulls away, her smile a bit more relaxed than it was. “Go back to sleep.” She says again, patting your head as she steps back towards the door. She gives you a pointed look you know she normally only reserves for unruly patients, leaving no room for argument. 

“Alright. No need to pull out the nurse mom voice.” You joke, lying back down. She laughs lightly at your joke, slipping out the door. 

“Goodnight kiddo.” She says softly. You roll onto your other side, your back towards the door. You watch the light narrow into a sliver of the wall opposite you as she closes the door, leaving it open only a crack. Then laying still, you focus on slowing your breathing, listening to the sounds of your mom moving around the house getting ready for bed. She’s awake for another half hour, eating leftovers, looking through the mail, showering, and finally you hear the springs of her mattress creak as she gets into bed. 

You listen to the silence for a little bit. You like the quiet. Your life has been chaos for so long, from the moment you woke up in the hospital and every day since it feels like the world has erupted into too many sounds. Everyone talking, a constant low level buzz of activity. It’s sometimes enough to drive you crazy. 

When you're certain your mom is asleep, you quietly slip out of bed and get dressed. Glancing at the clock on your bedside table, you note that it’s only 6AM, still early enough for your morning walk to be peaceful. The house is still dark, but you move through it easily navigating in the dim light of morning. You gather your journal, and fill your water bottle placing both into your bag. When you go to put on your shoes, the dangling remainder of your sole catches your attention. You inspect the dilapidated sneaker for a moment, trying to think of the best way to cobble it back together. You eventually settle on duct taping the pieces back together, wrapping the tape around the shoe a couple of times to make sure it's secured. 

It’s not pretty, but technically it’s a whole shoe again. Satisfied that your solution is functional, you lace up your shoes and grab Steves’ jacket from the coat rack. Slinging your bag over your shoulder you head out the door. The dawn is cold, the sky a dim shade of gray, everything still cast in shadow the morning fog slowly creeping over the earth. 

You pick up a steady pace, heading for your favorite sunrise spot. There is a hill about a mile east that looks out over the currently barren fields and will be the first spot in Hawkins to see the sun. It also happens to have a very comfortable rock that is perfect for sitting and writing. 

By the time you reach it, the sun has just started to peak over the horizon, bathing the top of the hill in golden sunlight. You can feel its warmth on your exposed skin, the cold morning air still clinging to the shadows. You take out your water bottle and notebook, setting the empty bag down on the cold rock. You sit down, positioning yourself to face the sunrise, taking a moment to watch the earth in front of you slowly brighten, the light washing away the remaining shadows. It’s quiet here, as quiet as it can be in nature. There are still the chirps of the birds and the rustling of dead leaves as small animals pass by, but peaceful. 

You know that you can’t stay out too long. You may not notice the cold but your body still has a physical response to it and it's still the middle of December. So you open your notebook and begin.

The story you’ve been working on is not peaceful. It is a terrible story about a young boy raised to fight monsters. He’s known no other life, he was born with the burden of being the only one who can see these monsters, and he can never stop. But the older he gets, and the harder he fights to protect the world from evil, he realizes that a bit of that evil has taken root in him. It starts small, a black spot behind his ear, but it grows. It digs its roots in deep, twisting its way into his soul. 

In the beginning the young man starts off as the hero, but eventually the evil will consume him and he will become what he fought so hard against. You know the ending, but it’s not written yet. There is still hope in the middle of the story. 

When you notice the red tinge in your fingertips brought on by the chilly December air you stop and pack up your things. Taking one last glance around at the now illuminated field, you turn and head back home. 

You arrive at the same time Steve pulls into your driveway. You can see him through the window as you approach and he looks a bit worse for wear. His hair is damp, hanging loosely around his pale face. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses but are no doubt blood shot with circles under them. He cuts the engine as you approach the drivers’ side, opening the door to haul himself out with a grunt of effort. 

“Alright grandpa, how’s that hangover treating you?” You ask, unable to stop your teasing smirk even for his sake. He sighs heavily, closing the door just to lean back against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What kind of friend are you?” He asks, lifting a brow. “How could you let me drink that much?” You come to a stop in front of him, crossing your arms to mirror him. 

“Because according to you, you’re ‘a grown ass man’ who ‘knows how to handle his alcohol’, and because I ‘never let you have any fun’.” You say, throwing air quotes around some of the excuses he gave you when you tried to get him to slow down the night before. A bit of pink brightens his cheeks at the reminder, but he laughs good naturedly at your teasing. 

“Stop holding me accountable for my own actions.” He groans. “I don’t feel good, so I’m just going to blame you to make myself feel better.” He goes on, pressing his finger tips against his temples. His small smile brings a bit of life back to his ashen face.

“Oh of course. Whatever makes your life easier Steve.” You concede, your own smile pulling at your lips. He huffs a laugh, lifting his sunglasses onto his head. There is a beat of silence before he clears his throat, his cheeks flushing a bit more.

“And- uh- thanks. For, you know, babysitting me last night.” He says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his beck. Your stomach drops at the reminder, you didn’t think Steve was sober enough to remember much but apparently he remembered enough. You wonder if he remembers how he had held you against him, crying quietly in the kitchen while you whipped his tears. How he had gently lowered his forehead to yours and held your palm against his beating heart. You don’t want to press the subject, especially if he doesn’t remember everything. 

“Don’t mention it, I’ll bill your parents later.” You joke, forcing yourself to chuckle. Steve laughs lightly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looks you up and down, nodding his head towards his jacket you’re still wearing.

“The jacket looks good on you.” He says. You look down at the old bomber jacket, moving to unzip it.

“Yea sorry I just borrowed it to walk home last night. I, uh, couldn’t sleep.” You tell him, the unspoken truth behind your words not lost on him. He’s familiar with your anxious habits that don’t always make sense. That you have a tendency to walk away when your brain won’t settle down. His hand stops yours on the zipper, pulling it away.

“It’s okay, you can keep it.” He tells you. “I don’t wear it anymore anyways.” He explains, looking down at his hand encircling your wrist. 

“Thanks Steve.” You beam up at him. He smiles back , his thumb running over the underside of your wrist. Your heart leaps. In that moment you wonder if he’s somehow feeling where Billy’s lips had been the night before. But that’s ridiculous. 

“It will be a nice reminder of me while I’m gone. Along with this.” He says, pulling something from his pocket. Your eyes widen at the sight of a delicate gold chain, glinting in the sun, a small pendant hanging perfectly in the center. 

“What is that?” You ask in confusion. Steves’ smile only grows as he drapes the shining metal over your wrist, easily clasping it in place.

“It’s your Christmas present. I’m giving it to you early cause I won’t be back until after new years.” He tells you, one hand still gently cupping your wrist. “The lady told me it’s real so it won’t leave a ring or anything.” He tells you as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

Heat flushes your cheeks as you inspect the bracelet. You take in the intricate beauty of the simple chain, small links twisting and interlocking into a light strand of glittering gold. A simple pendant hangs from the middle. A brilliant shining sun, catching and reflecting the light, casting off its own rays as it hangs from your wrist. It’s beautiful. More elegant than anything you’ve ever owned. Something twists low in your gut.

“Steve, I can’t take this.” You tell him, moving to unclasp the chain. He instantly pushes your hand away. 

“Of course you can.” He insists. Suddenly his eyes fill with worry. “Do you not like it?” He asks, his smile falling. Your stomach sinks.

“No, I- I like it, it’s really beautiful. It’s just too nice.” You try to explain. Steve sighs with relief, his smile returning in an instant. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a bracelet, it’s not like I bought you a car or something.” He laughs at his own joke. You struggle to maintain your smile. You know that money isn’t really an issue with Steve’s allowance but it doesn’t make you feel any better. He should be saving his money for school, not spending it on pretty things for you. Steve’s eyes catch on to your discomfort almost instantly. “Please accept it.” He pleads sincerely. “I saw it and immediately thought of you.” He explains, one of his fingers flicking over the sun pendant. 

Your heart swells at the sentiment. It’s unbearably cheesy, and very Steve. When your eyes glance up to meet his you’re once again met with the big brown puppy eyes, the hangover makes them look especially sad. You have to suppress a groan. 

“Okay.” You finally give in, earning an ear to ear grin from Steve that pulls a smile out of you as well.  “Thank you, Steve.” 

“Merry Christmas, Babysitter.” He says, pulling you into a crushing hug. 

“Merry Christmas.” You reply, wrapping your arms around him. He holds you tightly, pulling you up and into him. “I didn’t get you anything.” You admit, shamefully burying your face in his shoulder. His responding laugh shakes both of you.

“Can I request an official document declaring that I’m your best friend?” He asks. Your cheeks burn at the memory of you and Steve admitting that you are each other's best friends the night before. You laugh, trying to swat at him but he keeps his arms locked around you. “Can I get it notarized as well?” He adds, still laughing.

“Oh shut up.” You groan, earning another laugh. When he finally lets you go, you take a half step back. You’re hyper aware of the bracelet, holding your arm slightly away from your body to keep it from catching on any of your clothes and potentially scuffing it. 

“Aren't you flying out today? When are you supposed to head to the airport? ” You ask, glancing at your watch. 

“I was supposed to leave 10 minutes ago.” He tells you flatly. You gap at him. 

“You what? What are you doing here? You’re going to miss your flight you dork!” You practically yell at him, giving his arm a shot towards his car. 

“I had to come say goodbye.” He says, laughing as he opens the door and allows you to shove him into the driver's seat. 

“You could have just called!” You say, slamming the door closed as soon as his legs are in. You see him laugh again through the window. The engine roars to life as Steve cracks the window, still smiling. 

“No I couldn’t.” He says, like it’s a fact. That gets an eye roll from you.

“Get out of here before I’m stuck with you all winter break.” You tell him, unable to stop the small smile that he always manages to drag out of you. 

“I’ll call you from the resort!” He tells you, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the drive. “Don’t miss me too much!” He calls from the end of the driveway. “I’ll try!” You call back, waving goodbye as Steve gives you one last smile before pulling into the street. You watch the car speed down your street and disappear around the corner before heading towards the house. 

An uneasy feeling settles over you as you make your way to your door. You and Steve had quickly become inseparable since the night the gate closed, it was a seamless partnership. It made you feel like there was someone there who had your back. You know that Nancy and Jonathan are still close but the knowledge that Steve will be alone for the next two weeks fills your mind with a low level of anxiety. 

A chill snakes down your spine and your hurry into the house. You feel unsettled from the thoughts of Steve being so far away and practically unprotected, your palms itch with the need to do something. Instinctively you begin checking the safety of your own home. Moving quickly and efficiently you check locks on all the doors and windows, then lay hands on all the hidden weapons in the house. When you’ve checked all of them, you settle at the table with your fathers Barretta, pulling out the cleaning kit. It's monotonous work, but cleaning the pistol always seems to ease the itch in your hands when your anxiety picks up. 

Rolling up the sleeves on the jacket your attention catches on the glint of gold around your wrist. You examine it for a moment, looking at how the delicate chain contrasts against your sun damaged skin. How it stands in opposition to your calloused hands, your fingernails chewed down to the quick, cuticles picked to an angry red. Your stomach twists. 

It really is a beautiful piece of jewelry, delicate and perfectly balanced. Traits you can’t see in yourself. It really is too nice for someone like you. 

What if you broke it or scratched it? What if you lost it on a walk? What if you fucked it up?

It’s too good for you. You wish it wasn’t, but it is. 

You carefully unclasp the chain, lying it gently on the table before you start cleaning. You lay out the cleaning supplies, setting the pistol down on a rag in front of you. Then you settle into the process of disassembling and cleaning all the small pieces of the weapon. You remember when Hopper had taught you how to properly clean a gun. He told you that he and your dad would sit in silence for hours just sipping on drinks and cleaning the small harmless parts of the deadly machines. He always stressed that it was vitally important for you to understand the inner workings of a gun before ever picking one up. How all the pieces fit together, and if even one small part was missing or broke it would alter the functionality with devastating results. 

Your fingers slowly darken with the combination of CLP cleaning oil and burnt carbon. You work diligently, rubbing at any blemishes remaining. When you’re satisfied that the gun is clean, and the anxiety in your mind has lessened slightly, you reassemble your gun and pack up your cleaning kit. 

You move to grab the pistol, intending to put it back where it was hidden in your nightstand but pause your eyes catching on how dirty your hands are. You go to the sink and scrub at your hands until they are rubbed raw. When you’re sure that no remnants of carbon or oil cling to your hands, you pick up the gun in one hand and the gold bracelet in the other. You walk to your room, securing the pistol to the underside of your nightstand and placing the glimmering chain on the surface. 

You can’t risk accidentally damaging it. Better to keep it here, safe. Your fingers ghost along the edges of the sun pendant, still managing to catch some of the light, glimmering up at you. 

The sound of a revving engine causes you to jump. 

Billy.

Your eyes dart to the time. 1156. You had lost track of time and nearly forgotten that Billy told you he would pick you up at 12. Not knowing what to expect, you just grab your bag, still packed from your walk, and head out the door before Billy can make enough noise to wake your mom. 

Before you step out the door, you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you have killed monsters before and faced shady government agencies, you should not let Billy fluster you the way he does. You are going to be so calm, he’s going to get bored and stop teasing you. That’s the plan. 

His eyes are on you from the moment you step out of the house, his gaze follows you all the way to the car. Climbing into the passenger seat you notice he’s playing a cassette, it’s the first time you’ve actually recognized the song. You can’t remember the name, but it’s one of the songs Max showed you that day after school. 

“You didn’t have to drive me.” You tell him, buckling your seatbelt. Billy immediately rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh. 

“Yea, tell that to the duct tape holding your shoes together right now, loca.” He shoots back. 

“It’s only one of them.” You grumble, settling into your seat. Billy just chuckles.

“It’s just a ride crazy, don’t make a big deal about it.” He tells you, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of your driveway.

AN: sorry this took so long 😬

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[hitlikehammers]

bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[rinniereads123]

One-Shots

SOME OF THESE STORIES ARE MATURE! READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS BEFORE YOU READ!

Last updated 10/29/2024

★ - personal favorites | masterlist | other recs

★blurred lines - @ellemj

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

Shared desires - @veltana

You and Bucky decide to explore something new with Steve.

The Push and the Pull - @delaber

There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts.

Little Bookworm - @heytheredelulu

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Anywhere Away With You - @thevillainswhore

Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

★The Ties That Bind Us - @thevillainswhore

Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warrior/Worrier - @delaber

After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Pink in the Night - @d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n

Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Love Hurts - @urdepressedslut

You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) - @mellowsaturns

When the Avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of Hydra was destroyed. One unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but Bucky knows it. He could recognize those eyes anywhere.

I Hate You - @ellemj

After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

One More Night - @marvelouslizzie

You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

The Things We Carry With Us - @pellucid-constellations

You were injured on a mission and didn’t tell anyone, leaving your already rocky relationship with Bucky crumbling. Was it really hate he harbored for you, or was it something else? 

Control - @bucky-bucket-barnes

John Walker makes the dire mistake of messing with Bucky’s girl. This misstep causes a major fight to break out between the two, ending in nothing but blood and rage.

I Can Save You This Time - @pellucid-constellations

It’s the 4th of July and you’ve never been more sick. Turns out you aren’t the only one in the compound that stayed home from the celebration.

Shaken Up - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Steve and Bucky find their girl passed out.

Under Pressure - @banditthewriter

Y/N hides a nasty injury from the team until they know everybody is safe, and then they collapse. Bucky worries about Y/N.

Injuries - @flowinglocksofbuck

you get injured on a mission and Bucky freaks out

Wicked - @str-spangled-banner

You were injured during a mission two weeks ago and put to much pressure on your healing wounds, doing more damage than you thought possible. Bucky fears he will lose you.

Necessary Evil - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Y/N gets seriously injured and Bucky takes care of her.

fingers fantasy fulfilled - @purple-babygirl

If Bucky's doll wanted his metal fingers then that was exactly what she was going to get.

Lavender - @wkemeup

Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know. 

Give Me A Sign - @lostgirlmuseum

Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

Fulfilled Fantasy - @sergeantbarnessdoll

Y/N admits to Bucky that she wants to have a threesome so he has Natasha help fulfill her fantasy.

Hottest Night of Your Life - @bossbtch1

Bucky and Steve joined you for a night out at the club, but things took a dark turn when a stranger spiked your drink. Bucky and Steve were more than willing to "take care" of you.

Sharing is Caring - @sad-not-glad

Soft Dom! Steve x Sub! Bucky x Dom! reader

My Queen - @adrinktostopyourthirst

The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there's a willing soldier at your disposal.

all the apple cider and no more haunted houses - @witchywithwhiskey

you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light

my everything - @mrsbarnesblog

The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

you were mine just yesterday - @notafunkiller

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.

[carolmunson]

okay, since some of you asked for it:

unpopular opinion but i don’t actually think eddie was a nice soft boy at all. dustin and mike are literally afraid to ask him to move hellfire. ‘he’s always revved up,’ implying that he’s always like this, always a little close to snapping. he’s not nice to them when he asks them to find a replacement. he also guilt trips them about 'taking them in like lost sheep' and shoves them off to find a replacement instead of keeping lucas included. which is why i don't understand the 'fierce protector of his friends' take because he's so quick to drop lucas just because he's 'moved to the dark side.' aka, throwing balls into laundry baskets.

which leads me to when he gets up on the table, people are not trying to fuck around with him. this is a common occurance, people are not surprised to see him up there and yelling. they aren't surprised that he's making a spectacle of himself. if eddie was soft and sweet, he would’ve gotten beat up. if eddie was soft and gentle, he'd probably be scared of jason. guys like jason in the 80s loved being macho and punching out losers — eddie just gave him the devil horns and called it a day. eddie’s absolutely gotten in fist fights before and won (his dad is a literal criminal!) otherwise someone would've thrown something or told him to shut the fuck up. people are scared of him, even his own friends! there’s more reasons than just playing DND and metal that make town certain that he’s a cult leader. you don't just assume someone is a murderer if they haven't shown any interest in violence before, especially considering his dad was likely a shitty dude. he even bullies erica when she first shows up to hellfire and only respects her when she bullies him back and bests him. he is someone you have to EARN respect from. he will never respect anyone outright or be understanding outright. he doesn't fully respect dustin or mike to start either, he views them as underlings.

even chrissy assumes he's going to be mean and scary, there's gotta be reason behind that. he's not nice or kind in school, which is likely a defense mechanism. he’s sweet with chrissy because he likes her, he has a crush on her. it’s very clear that he has since he was a kid, otherwise why would he bring up them hanging out in middle school? why would he even remember that if he hasn’t been pining for her this whole time? he admits too, albiet flirtily, that he thought SHE'D be mean and scary too, because he doesn't like people 'like that', people he assumes are 'on the dark side'. i’m sure he hoped they’d kiss a little when she went to his trailer. he's even a little sarcastic when she's there, again, defensive. 'the maid took the week off'. but ultimately, he's nice to her because he wants to kiss her and has a crush on her. i don't think it's because he's fully 'showing her who he really is'.

also he's a literal drug dealer????? like?????

he only becomes more gentle and open with dustin and co. when he gets pulled into the upside down/vecna stuff because he needs support. they grow a bond over shared trauma. and i do believe eddie had a big brother type relationship with dustin, but just like steve he loves him begrudgingly 'i love you, you little shit bag' kind of shit. i do believe he liked and cared for his friends but i also think he always had a big layer of mean kid armor on because he had a hard life growing up. how i percieved the character is 'mean bully whose secretly nice but is mean and boisterous and loud as a cover' trope. when he explains that his father taught him to hotwire, he seems bitter about it. of course he is, all the other kids were learning to play ball. but he obviously still retains this information and a whole bunch of other crime tricks from his dad. he's BEEN partaking in this shit. he KNOWS he's a shitty guy. you don't just get taught how to hotwire once and then suddenly know how to do it years later. he's done it before! multiple times! he has practice! he likely knows about warzone cause his daddy absoLUTELY had a gun or two. his dad probably took him there once. he was pulled left and right into bad shit growing up and that will HARDEN YOU. wayne says that murder 'ain't in his nature' and i'm sure it's not. i'm sure he's different with wayne, but idk, to me, it doesn't erase the fact that outwardly, i don't think eddie was nearly as sweet and gentle as people think he is canonically. i think he's a very hardened and tortured person and that even becomes clear with his reaction to chrissy's death and how he goes about things going forward. he was a weird kid with weird interests in a cookie cutter conservative town, had a criminal father, and an unconventional family situation in the 70s and 80s, that shit'll fuck you up and over -- look at boomers y'all! they are emotionally stunted! but, i could go on forever with this character analysis. so i'll stop here. but -- in the words of the real housewives reunion meme: that's MY OPINION!

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

Together or Separate

Eddie is pissed.

He knew the risks, he did, he didn't care. The rewards were worth it.

Getting to hold Steve's hand, getting to love him. Who cares if his boyfriend gets flirted with from time to time and he can't do anything to stop it...no biggie...right?

Who cares if their waitress is laughing a little too loudly at a joke that certainly was not a joke. Who returned with their drinks with a button undone on her uniform. Who hasn't given Eddie the time of day and keeps leaning a little too closely to Steve...on their anniversary.

Steve slams on his foot the minute she turns back again.

"Bitch!" Eddie yelps.

"Sorry! What's going on with you? I've been calling your name and trying to get your attention-"

"At least somebody wants my attention."

"Oh is that what this is about? The waitress?" Steve rolls his eyes.

Eddie doesn't dignify that with a response. He huffs and digs a little more into his seat.

"Eds you know we can't do anything in public...you don't think I don't want to hold your hand across the table? To sit in a booth so I can wrap my arm around you?"

Eddie sits up a little more, "Steve I-"

"Alright gentleman!" The waitress interrupts. "Here's the check for the meal." She slides it closer to Steve, her phone number very obviously printed on it.

"You know, I forgot to ask, together or separate?" She flashes Eddie a forced smile.

A dark shadow passes across Eddie's face. They always have to pay separately. Stupid small town. Stupid Reagan. He was going to take advantage of this opportunity though.

"I guess we can pay together since the check is already here." Eddie reaches a hand into his pocket to search for his wallet. He's about to put the bills together when Steve let's out a girlish giggle.

Both Eddie and the waitress are staring at him in shock. Eddie's never heard that noise from him before.

"Steve? Are you-"

"Oh! Isn't he just dreamy?" Steve flutters his lashes at the waitress.

"...him?"

Eddie tries not to take offense to that.

"Steve, what are you doing?"

Steve's smile is evil. His eyes have a terrible sparkle to them. "Taking care of things dear."

The waitress jumps back in shock.

"We never get to go out anymore, he's so busy providing for me. It's so nice of him to pay for dinner isn't it?" Steve blows a kiss at Eddie and the waitress has gone pale.

"It's our anniversary you know? We can't normally advertise our relationship you know? Some people are awfully rude to us. You've been so sweet to us Sharon."

Oh so that's her name.

Eddie couldn't care less.

Steve turns his megawatt smile to him now. Not even giving Sharon another minute of his time.

"Of-of course. People can be so rude to such a lovely...couple. I'll be right back with your change."

"Keep it." Eddie says, standing from the table and walking over to Steve. "Ready to go sweetheart?" He holds out his elbow.

Steve grabs it and giggles as they leave.

"That was some risky move Stevie."

"I don't actually give a fuck." He leans his head on Eddie's shoulder as they walk home. He can feel Steve's smile pressed into his shirt. He finds he can't keep his own smile off his face.

"Happy anniversary."

----

I'm back bitches!

I wrote this on my lunch break:P

Kind of inspired by the date I went on where we paid separately and it ended on a nice note of friendship

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

on the flipside what about fuckgirl reader that falls for steve? maybe billy and eddie are after her too? 🫣😳🙈

Request by anon. (I hope you like this anon, I haven't written anything like before so it's a little bit soft and sweet)

mdni.

❤️

Steve is fast asleep beside you. It's early morning and you should be tired but you've been having trouble relaxing, ever since you had that small epiphany last night.

You liked Steve. You really liked Steve. This was just meant to be incredible sex and then the two of you would move on. Maybe you'd date Billy or that cutie Eddie Munson. Your fling with Steve was meant to be no strings, just like the rest of your relationships.

There was something about Steve that made you soft and eager for more of him. You wanted to know everything there was about Steve, you wanted to wake up every morning and find him beside you and fall asleep beside him every night.

This feeling was dangerous, you had never felt it before but Steve's sweetness, his kind and loving nature had brought down all of your walls. You had fallen deeply for him.

Steve moans as he wakes up, when he catches you staring and a warm blush coats his cheeks and he pulls you close to him so you're flush against his chest. You would never get tired of this feeling.

"Hey beautiful, you aren't leaving are you? It's cold out and I'll miss my sweet girl. I'll be lonely in this bed by myself" you giggle and press a kiss to his lips.

"I have a shift soon but I don't have to leave yet" you're perfectly happy to cuddle into his chest and stay here all day if you could.

Work comes calling eventually and when you leave a sleeping Steve it's like your heart is aching at the very thought. This was ridiculous. You'd see him tonight.

But it didn't stop you missing him as soon as you left.

❤️

Billy hasn't left you alone since you started your shift at the local library, he's been bugging you for the last half hour and normally you'd flirt back with him.

But now? Now the thought of flirting with Billy turned your stomach. Steve's handsome face would flash through your mind and you ignored Billy.

All you could think about was Steve. Did he even feel the same way? This was new territory for you and it was terrifying, how could you open up about your feelings when you were scared that Steve would reject you.

"Come on babe. Let's have some fun" Billy smirks and you shake your head as you return some books to their original place.

"No, I think you should leave me alone Billy" you snap and he backs off, holding his hands up.

"What's up with you? Don't tell me you're actually faking for a pretty boy like Harrington?" He snorts and the disdain in his voice irritated you.

"So what if I am? He's amazing so you can go to hell with that stupid attitude of yours" Billy holds up his hands looking stunned.

"Whatever. I'm out of here" he storms out and your brief a sigh of relief. That relief is short lived as you realise that the feelings you have for Steve are stronger than you thought.

Maybe you really did need to tell Steve how you felt?

❤️

It's late when you head back to Steve's, you had been plucking up the courage to talk to him all day and had avoided seeing him until you knew what to say.

The perfectly planned speech you had came up with disappears as soon as you see Steve. He's poring over lessons for his kindergarten class, trying to think up fun things to do that were also educational.

He had been working as a teacher for two years now and you knew it brought him a lot of joy.

You also knew that he was serious about having a whole brood of his own and for the first time you imagine having a child of your own with Steve.

Instead of scaring you, like thoughts of the future usually did, the very idea filled you with so much longing.

Instead of your carefully thought out planning about what you're going to say to Steve, you merely take a deep breath and settle on his lap.

His arms around you felt like coming home and you knew without a doubt you wanted this for the rest of your life. "Give me two minutes babe then I'm all yours" he assured you but the next words out of your mouth had his complete attention.

"I love you Steve. It's crazy because I've never been in love until now and I understand if you don't feel the same but I just needed to say it"

The look of shock on Steve's features melts away to a blissful smile.

Steve softens. "I'm crazy about you honey, I love you too and I know this is all new for you but we'll take it slow, we're a team and we'll do things together" he strokes your cheek and the elation you feel is incredible.

Together. You liked the sound of that.

[elvenisms]

drunk on you —; s.h.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader [2.4k]

summary: Steve is a needy, needy drunk, and you just can't get enough of it. 18+ MDNI

cw: smut, fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n, sub!steve, dubcon (they are both drunk), unprotected p in v (don't try this at home), mention of oral (male receiving)

author's note: always need more sub!steve in my life, so i got a little carried away. my first piece of writing on tumblr in, like, 5 years. enjoy!

masterlist

Tonight was one of your favorite kinds of nights. 

Eddie’s trailer was littered with empty bags of snacks, beer bottles, and nearly bursting at the seams with how loud the music was playing. In the middle of the room, Robin and Nancy were holding hands, jumping around in a circle, screaming out the lyrics to I Wanna Dance With Somebody; they were just drunk enough to go full slumber party mode, which was highly typical. Coincidentally, Eddie was just drunk enough to sing along, sat back on the couch with a huge grin on his face.

You would’ve joined the pair, had Steve’s arms not been so cozy around you. You were sitting in his lap, hips between his thighs, his arms snugly around your waist. Now and then, he’d drunkenly rest his head on your shoulder, nuzzle his nose into the side of your face, or press a kiss to your neck. God, he’s adorable, you thought. You thought that every day, but when you were drunk, it turned into every minute or so.

During one of his nuzzles, Steve’s lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “Take me home.” His voice was breathy, higher in pitch.

There were lots of reasons tonight was one of your favorite kinds of nights, but one in particular: Steve was a needy drunk. Needed to kiss you, needed to touch you, and needed you to take care of him. It was a special, wonderful change of pace from being constantly cared for by him—one that sent a warm, jittery feeling down your spine.

You could feel his arms around your waist tightening as he began to pepper soft kisses behind your ear, down your neck. It made thinking through the logistics of getting your drunk selves back to his house harder, to say the least. And speaking of hard…

You turned your head towards him, trying to keep it together. “We’ll have to walk. There’s no way either of us are driving.”

“I don’t care.” He replied immediately, his lips coming off of your neck just long enough to say it. 

Unsure if you could last another minute without taking him on Eddie’s couch, you redirected your attention to the group; a lull in the music made for perfect timing. “I think we’re gonna head out.” You bit back a smile, trying to be discreet. Oh, who were you kidding, Steve was still mouthing at your neck, he’d just moved to the other side now. 

Eddie laughed out loud when he noticed the spectacle, kicking his feet like a little kid. Robin did much the same. “No driving!” Nancy, as motherly as she could in her state, wagged a finger at you. “Why don’t—” She hiccuped. “Why don’t you just use Eddie’s room?”

“Absolutely the fuck not!” Came from Eddie, causing Robin to drop to the ground in an even bigger fit of giggles. Even Steve was laughing now, all five of you trying to catch your breath.

“We’re walking!” You managed to get out, patting Steve’s leg to signal you were getting up. “And I would not be caught dead banging in your room, Eds, no offense. I don’t think you’ve cleaned in… like… seven years.”

“Eight, actually.” He held back more laughter, the stupidest things hitting everyone’s funny bones at this point. Within a few moments, you and Steve were saying your sheepish goodbyes, the rest of them poking fun until the door was closed behind you.

Absolute idiots, you thought, and I love them to death.

The walk to Steve’s was cold, but the promise of what was to come paired with the alcohol in your systems made it bearable. He was all smiles and gentle touches; at one point you said you’d race him, but you both nearly fell flat on your face, so that stopped pretty quickly.

By the time you reached his door, he could hardly keep his hands off of you—clinging to you anyway he could, kissing any spot he could reach. His silly grin had been replaced with a furrowed brow and a desperate look in his eyes. He had no idea how crazy it drove you to see him like this, needing you so deliberately, hair messy, nose red from the outside air. So, as soon as you were inside the house, you kissed him with a ferocity you’d been holding back since Eddie’s. 

It was enough to make him stumble backward, but he immediately adjusted, gripping you like you might float away any moment. It was messy, a little rough, not how you’d usually handle him in this state, but you needed to get it out. Your hands slid into his hair, grabbing the strands with your fingers, and he practically whined. “Need you, baby, please.”

“I’ve got you, Stevie.” Your voice was warm and low as you thumbed across his pouting lips. “Gonna take care of you, babe. Let’s go upstairs.”

He nodded, entwining your fingers with his and leading the way to his bedroom. He immediately flopped onto the bed, causing you to giggle as you fumbled with your shoes, tossing each one aside. Soon enough, you were crawling into the bed as well, lowering yourself so that you were lying on top of him.

You put your lips on his gently, and he brought a hand up to cup your face, deepening it. “You’re so pretty like this,” You whispered between kisses, feeling him harden against your abdomen. “Needy for me.” You needed to tell him now, instead of sober, when he’d get all shy and embarrassed about it. One of these days, you’d convince him it was the sexiest thing ever. 

His hips softly bucked up against you, unintentionally, and he made a beautiful noise. “Couldn’t stop thinking…” He pushed some of your hair aside to kiss your jaw. “...At the party.”

“What were you thinking about?” You asked sweetly, hand traveling down to palm him through his jeans. “About—oh—about you r-riding me,” His hips began moving to meet your hand, fingers squeezing your hips. “Cumming in you.” God, help me, you thought. 

“I can make that happen.” You bit your lip, resisting the urge to absolutely ravish him right now. It’s always better when you wait. “Need some of these clothes off, though.”

Steve nodded, already completely lost in you, and pushed himself upright, allowing you to grab the edge of his t-shirt. You pulled it over his head, and quickly did the same to yourself, his hands immediately finding your chest as he laid back again. His eyes were open wider than they had been the past three hours, and it made you chuckle. 

“I love this one,” His fingertips traced over the red lace on your bra. “S’my favorite one.”

“I know it is.” You preened, consistently amazed at how you’d bagged the sexiest dork in history. 

His fingers traveled around your back, and it took a bit more effort than usual to undo the clasp. Once he did, though, he was kneading at your breasts, his hips beginning to cant up again. “Fuck, baby, so gorgeous,” His eyes squeezed shut, and the combination of his hands, hard-on, and praise made your breath hitch. “Need you so bad, so, so bad.”

Your head fell back, enjoying the sensation for a few more seconds, until you started toying with the button on his jeans. You were trying with all of your might to go slowly, to fight against the way your brain was going fuzzy, but Jesus Christ, you just wanted him mewling beneath you—and you knew he would be soon enough. The role reversal was intoxicating.

Both of you were nearly nude within a few moments, Steve straining even harder against his briefs as he felt the warmth pooling in your underwear. You leaned down to kiss him, lifting your hips to keep him from grinding against you, though everything in you screamed to let it continue. 

“Want you in my mouth, Stevie,” You breathed against his neck, kissing the moles there. “You want that?”

He whimpered then, at both the loss of contact and the proposition. “I do, but, don’t think I’d last,” His hands ran down you wildly, your neck, stomach, thighs, as if they wanted to be everywhere at once. “Close just from this.”

Embarrassingly, a small noise left your lips just from hearing that; it almost sounded like a beg. You quickly decided that you couldn’t deny him anything else. “That’s okay, baby.” You cooed, brushing some stray hairs away from his forehead. “Want you so bad, gonna take care of you, okay?”

He was all uh huhs and pleases now, and you moved down to slowly remove what was left between the two of you, chests heaving in anticipation. Steve was achingly hard, which made him look even larger than usual—you wanted to take a photo of him like this, a sheen of sweat on his skin, hair mussed, lips kiss-bitten and pink. A piece of heaven. 

“D’you need me to,” He panted, far too gone to form a full sentence. “Don’t want it to hurt.”

On a normal day, he was insistent about getting you ready for him, opening you up with his fingers; he refused to let you experience any kind of discomfort, unless, of course, you asked for it. You found it highly endearing that he considered it now, as desperate as he was.

“No, baby.” You laced your fingers with his, a small smile on your face. “I’m ready for you, promise. Sit up for me, yeah?”

He nodded quickly, removing his hand from yours to push up from his palms, his back now against the headboard. You moved forward to straddle him, and his hands found your waist, squeezing the skin there. “Love you so much,” You cooed, drunkenly, pressing more kisses to his jaw. “My boy.”

“My girl.” Was all Steve could manage, though you knew that meant I love you, too.

You reached between the two of you, rubbing the head of his cock between your soaked folds, and it made him keen beautifully, jaw slack, eyes closed. Finally, you began to sink down on him, elliciting a long, low moan from both of you.

“Baby, baby,” He whined, his face finding the crook of your neck, and your hand slid up the back of his neck. “I know, Stevie, feels so—” A groan broke through your lips, feeling yourself filled to the hilt. “—so good, you feel so good.”

You moved your hips, beginning to slowly grind against him. His fingers immediately dug into your back, pulling you as close as possible. His skin against yours was warm, safe, perfect. The small, choked noises he made caused you to clench around him, making his cock twitch in return. You were both completely adrift in each other, sure that the house could be burning down around you without notice. 

His hands began to wander again, searching for purchase, and you could feel his breathing grow more labored against your neck. “What do you need, baby?” You whispered softly, hips still moving at an agonizing pace. When his head tilted back, you had to choke back a sound at the way he looked. A complete and utter mess.

“Need—just,” Words failing him, his fingers gripped at your hips, pushing you down on him even harder with each grind. It hit you right where you needed him, and a filfthy sound fell from his lips, the combination making you wonder how longer you’d last. 

“Shit, baby,” You breathed, your fingers coming up to card through his hair. “Need it harder, yeah?” Steve nodded furiously, nosing against your cheek. There was no way you could deny him this way, pupils blown, jaw slack.

Your fingers wrapped themselves in his locks, like an anchor, before picking up the pace with your hips. He cried out immediately, pressing himself even deeper in you, making that familiar warm feeling spread through your abdomen. “Sh-shit, fuck, thank you, thankyouthankyou,” He babbled, fingertips certainly leaving bruises on your hips, and you relished in the feeling, your mind an endless stream of Steve Steve Steve.

“M’gonna, fuck,” He sounded almost pitiful, and it made staving off your release difficult.

“Let go, Stevie, c’mon,” You coaxed, giving his hair another tug, and that was all he needed to turn white-hot.

The noise he made was obscene, hips stuttering up into you, face pressed to your chest. It sent you straight over the edge with him, your walls squeezing him desperately, amplifying the near-pornographic sounds between the two of you. You clung to each other through it, coming down slowly, entirely blissed out. Your grip on each other subsided, but you stayed where you were, chests heaving, tangled together sweatily.

“Thank you.” Steve kissed your collarbone, coming to rest his forehead against your own. He was smiling sweetly, eyes hooded from drunkenness and exhaustion. 

“Thank you.” You emphasized, probably looking much the same. “You’re… God, you’re something else.”

He chuckled at that, and you slowly rose from his lap, careful not to overstimulate either of you. You grabbed one of his t-shirts from the dresser, sliding it on, and padded your way to the bathroom for your responsible, post-sex pee. Once you’d returned, Steve was tucked beneath the comforter, already asleep.

You took a moment to admire him from the doorway, shaking your head softly, before climbing in beside him, drifting off just as fast. 

“Last night was amazing.” You smirked, seated at Steve’s kitchen table the next morning, tucking into some breakfast. “Love it when you get like that.”

“Like what?” He asked from the kitchen, feigning innocence. He rounded the corner, holding his own plate, and took a seat next to you. You gave him a look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The smug look in his eyes said he definitely did know what you were talking about, and he had enjoyed every second. You decided two could play at this game.

You shrugged, taking another bite. “Maybe you should ask Eddie, Robin and Nance.” He choked a little on his food, making you grin. “You started pretty early.”

He groaned, bringing his hands to his face. “No I did not.”

“Oh yes,” You stifled laughter, “But, it’s alright, I’m sure they’ll have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His fingers parted over his face, one eye peeking through. Your smile was enough to break him, both of you dissolving into a fit of giggles, his face slightly redder than it was before.

[adverbally]

A Shot Right Through Into a Bolt of Blue

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Temporary Character Death” | wc: 605 | rated: T | cw: temporary character death, vomiting | tags: AU, canon-divergent, what if Steve took Eddie’s place, pre-relationship, canon-typical violence and gore, hopeful ending | title from “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order

Keeping this one short and sweet so I can post it while it’s still the 11th in my time zone 😬

———

It’s not a surprise to anyone when Steve insists on staying with Dustin for their mission back to the Upside Down. The kid is like a little brother to him, and Steve’s mile-wide protective streak isn’t about to let him out of his sight. They’ll balance each other out, he argues. The brains and the brawn. It just makes sense.

So Eddie goes with the girls and tries to throw Molotov cocktails like he’s done this before. He stands there and watches Vecna burn and feels something like pride, like a promise fulfilled. This is for Chrissy.

But then Dustin comes on the radio, hysterical and incomprehensible, and any thoughts of victory are erased.

By the time they get there and find Dustin kneeling in the dirt with Steve propped up in his lap, Eddie’s stomach is in his throat and he’s shaking from running all the way here and he just knows they’re too late. It’s like reliving the horror of Chrissy being broken apart right before his eyes.

Unlike before, Eddie doesn’t run. He does something even worse.

He freezes.

He stands there uselessly as Robin tries to comfort Dustin while he wails on the ground. Her eyes are dry but there’s no light behind them, her spirit snuffed out with her platonic soulmate’s death.

He watches Nancy take stock of Steve’s injuries with her typical no-nonsense attitude, finding the spots where he’s bleeding the most, using her belt as a tourniquet, trying to figure out some way to fix this.

Eddie should offer to do CPR or apply pressure to Steve’s wounds or even just pull Dustin into a hug and make sure the kid can’t see any more of the horrors surrounding him. He just can’t make himself move.

His eyes are glued to Steve— the demobat bites covering him with blood, the way his body is limp under Nancy’s efficient hands, the lack of tension in his perpetually furrowed brow, the beloved nail bat that has rolled just out of his reach.

At least his eyes are closed. He must’ve known at the end that it was coming, shut his eyes to save Dustin the memory of his vacant stare—

Suddenly, Eddie is spinning around and lurching to his knees as he retches into the gravel.

He knew Steve, is the thing.

As horrible as everything was with Chrissy, they had only spoken for the first time that day. But Steve… He had time to get to know Steve, saw how kind and brave and real he could be, talked with him about the kids and how utterly fucked up this whole situation was. He wasn’t just Harrington anymore, complete with a derogatory snarl. He was Steve.

Maybe it was stupid to start falling for the first cute straight boy who was nice to him for a couple of days. It wouldn’t be the stupidest crush Eddie ever had. Sure, the chances of it going anywhere were practically zero, but Eddie Munson is nothing if not stubborn. He thinks he would’ve seen it through, at least became a friend to Steve and soaked up his sunshine from a distance.

But as Eddie empties his guts onto the ground, he is suddenly aware that now Steve will just be Steve forever. Not “sweetheart” or “Dad” or “Coach Harrington” or any of the things Steve might have dreamed of. Not Eddie’s friend. Definitely not something more.

Eddie’s not sure if the tears that sting his eyes are from throwing up or from grieving those possibilities.

Then suddenly Nancy is yelling, “I think I feel a pulse!” and they become tears of relief.