#older steve and eddie

[afewproblems]

Give me older Steve and Eddie, in their mid-thirties, an established couple at this point, seeing Lord of the Rings the Fellowship of the Ring in theaters in 2001.

Steve never did get around to reading the books but he loves Eddie and its a movie, so what could go wrong? He liked Star Wars well enough didn't he?

And the intro narrations plays, a woman's voice explaining history and legend in soothing lilting tones as the story begins to play out on the screen. Steve barely touches his popcorn the entire time as he meets Frodo and Gandalf, as Bilbo disappears from his own birthday party and he gives the ring to his oldest friend, as Frodo and Sam make their way to Bree, as the Ring Wraiths chase Frodo and Arwen through the forrests.

Steve grips Eddie's hand tightly as Arwen tells Frodo not to give in, he misses the loving grin that Eddie shoots him before turning back to the screen.

Gandalf falls, Borromir sacrifices himself, Sam tells Frodo he doesn't mean to leave him. That he won't, he can't.

Steve struggles to wipe his face surreptitiously, he still has Eddie's hand gripped in his left while his right is clamped tightly over his mouth, he ends up letting the tears flow freely, it's fine, he's fine.

The last few hours have flown by and the lights come on slowly as Steve sniffles quietly, he swings his right arm across his face roughly and laughs softly as Eddie asks him how he liked it with a small grin.

"It was alright," Steve says with a watery voice, he smiles at the cackle Eddie throws his way. Eddie helps him up and draws him into a long hug, not caring of the people filing out of the rows of seats around them.

"You okay sweetheart?" Eddie murmurs as he pulls away.

Steve nods and sniffs once more before looking up to catch Eddie's eye, "there are two more after this huh?"

Eddie snorts and brings his arm around Steve's shoulders as they begin to follow the last of the stragglers, "Of this story, yeah why?"

Steve shakes his head with a small laugh, "might finally give those books you love so much a peek".

Eddie hums and leans in to press a soft kiss to Steve's temple, "I think we can arrange that".

[morganbritton132]

Want to make a minor adjustment to my Steve With Much Older Siblings post from yesterday. I think it’d be a much more interesting dynamic if he’s actually their half sibling from an affair.

Their father had an affair with his secretary and then married her when she got pregnant. It broke up their family and they blamed Steve for it for years.

When they stayed over for their weekend with Dad, they were either outright cruel to him or pretended he didn’t exist. When they were old enough to stop coming over, they did. It’s only after growing up and maturing that (most of) his siblings were able to acknowledge that Steve was never at fault for their family breaking up.

They tried to mend their relationship with him, especially after realizing how absent his parents are, but by then Steve was old enough to build up his own resentment. It’s an uphill battle.

It’s a lot of actually coming around for holidays and a lot of teasing when they do. It’s actually picking the phone when the hospital calls, something that’s happening with increasing frequency.

Steve has never asked any of them for anything until one day, he shows up on Richie’s front porch smelling like death and gasoline. He’s got blood drying all over him and is visibly shaking, and Richie thinks that he’s been hurt in the earthquake but Steve barely acknowledges the concern, “I need you to represent my friend.”

“What?”

“You’re the only lawyer I know, and -“ Steve takes a big shuttering breath. “They’ll kill him, Rich. He never hurt anybody but no one will listen. They’ll lock him up and it won’t be fair, and Dustin can’t… I never ask you for anything but. But I need…”

“Eddie Munson?” He asks incredulous. “You’re friends with Eddie Munson?”

[2jihiir0]

“How ‘bout we get a little oil change?..” 🔧

[carolmunson]

let's go, don't wait | part three

the end, y'all. thanks for waiting a year and some change for this. there are scenes in here that've been planned since april of 2023.

inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead  series masterlist chapter summary: after two and a half successful dates, eddie's feeling pretty sure about your connection. but skeletons from his past rear their heads from the deep end, and some of your old wounds need some healing. fluff/angst/comfort. also, beach episode. cw: 18+ pls. smut (p in v, oral both receiving, blah blah blah). not full body mention but some insecurity for reader. reader does wear eddie's clothes but they're sleep clothes. miscommunication. some mild drinking and smoking.

Eddie stands tall on the diving block above the pool, looking down at his legs covered in hair, seeing the end of one of his tattoos peek out from the bottom of his trunks. He wiggles his toes, running a hand through his long hair. No longer eight, but thirty-two, standing on the diving block while the tinny metallic sounds of the YMCA pool echo around him. The chlorine and subtle must of the room wafts through him, over him, the sounds of the water moving while his swim lesson classmates slowly kick their legs back and forth plays in his ears.  But it’s not his classmates from the 90s. It’s his friends now; Gareth, Jeff, Steve, Robin, Alycia, Tati, Nance, Dustin, Lucas – the rest. They’re all watching him get ready to dive. Some look impatient, some look annoyed, some look curious at what he’ll do next.

“You can do it, kid!” Eddie hears Wayne’s gruff voice call from the seating overhead, “You can do it!”  He turns to see Wayne in his old Carhart jacket, at least ten years older than Eddie is and with not one thread out of place. Ed smiles and waves at him, a shot of confidence pumping through his chest at the sight of his uncle’s worn and weathered smile.  But there you are behind him and his confidence wavers. You smile shyly from your seat on the bench, waving small from your chest. Eddie blushes pink when he sees you sitting there, he doesn’t wanna belly flop if you’re watching.  “H-hi,” he calls out, waving back with an awkward toss of his arm. Your mouth says ‘Hi.’ back but he can’t hear you; the echoes of the pool becoming too loud for whatever you’re starting to say to him.

“What?” he calls out again, cupping his ear. His best friend classmates kick their legs faster, a rush of splashes drowning you out.  “You can do it!” he finally hears you encourage alongside Wayne, “Show me you can do it!” 

At the sound of the whistle he turns his attention back to the water, seeing Miss Tiffany’s bright red swimsuit straps on her shoulders. But Miss Tiffany’s head has been replaced; Chrissy stares back at him treading water with the whistle between her teeth.  “Ready, Freddie?” she asks, hand on the whistle again. Ice runs through him now, nerves, watching while Chrissy watches him. Suddenly he isn’t sure what the position to dive is, where to put his hands, how deep he should bend his knees. It’s been so long since he’s done this, since he’s had to prove himself like this in front of so many people – and now you’re watching too. 

“Uh-um…” he stutters, shuffling awkwardly, “Y-yeah one second.”  “C’mon Ed,” Chrissy says from the water, “You’re gonna get cold up there. Aren’t your feet cold?”  “What?” he asks from the block, another chill running through him. “Are you really not gonna dive, dude?” Steve asks from the edge of the pool, “I’ll dive again if you’re not gonna dive.”  “C’mon dude, just do it!” Gareth smiles, “She’s watching!”  “Uh…” he swallows hard, eyes darting from the water to the stands back to his feet on the white plastic of the block. 

“Ed,” Chrissy sighs, “Seriously? Don’t be boring. People are watching.”  “I’m not boring,” he bites back, “We weren’t boring.”  “Do you think you can really do it? You couldn’t do it for me,” Chrissy blows the whistle again, “Ed just dive. God, just grow up.”  Grow up… Eddie wakes up with a thumping heart; his throat tight with anxiety while he slowly turns onto his stomach. His room is still dark, the apartment a wash with silence with no light coming through the shades on his windows. Still night, still more time to dream.  And you were there, you were watching. Watching him waste time on the block instead of showing you what he can do. Watching him fumble over himself in front of Chrissy who can only feel more annoyed. How much longer were you open to waiting for him to jump? Was it already getting boring? Is the fun part over? He swallows hard in real life, letting a breath out through his nose while he tries to calm himself back to sleep. Eddie reaches for his phone with a flailing search under the covers and pillows; finding it wrapped in his sheets by his hips. His brown eyes squint into the light when he clicks the screen awake; four in the morning. Your name shines back at him in his text notifications, you messaged him two hours ago – he hates that you have so much trouble getting to sleep some nights. 

hey, i know you’re sleeping but i just wanted to let you know ahead of time that there’s a wrench in our sexy plans this weekend. i just got my period so i don’t think i can be very sexy. :( i’m sorry.

He doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a disappointed sigh that he’s glad you’re not around to hear. Getting older doesn’t mean the teenage boy in him that just wants to fuck isn’t disappointed to hear that there wasn’t going to be any fucking. 

This weekend was supposed to be different – you finally had a weekend where you weren’t on call for your boss. Eddie planned to spend every single moment of it in between your sheets so he could show you what he’d been thinking about since that first steamy phone call you had when you went to Arizona. And he knew you were thinking about it, too -- if your texts from last night had anything to say about it. Sending him Saweetie’s Back Seat on Spotify and Aaliyah’s Rock the Boat to give him an idea of where your head’s been since his own was between your legs. 

But he could only imagine it for now, both of your schedules not lining up again – either being too tired or not having time to settle in at each other’s places. Hiding away for a quick drink or two at the bar, kissing softly in the back where no one could see. Acting like two oversized kids who were trying to hide from their parents. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t spending his nights since Steve’s birthday playing the sound of your moans in his head over and over. Trying to remember the way your thighs quaked around his head, the way you gripped his hair, the way you tasted on his tongue. He can wait, he can totally wait.

Eddie wakes in the morning to the cool glow of a rainy day shining through his windows; feeling a giddy excitement reserved for 8th grade crushes on Valentine’s Day. Despite knowing that the weekend won’t be tossed in the throws of passion, he still spends at least forty five minutes in the bathroom, scooping body scrub out of Tati’s old tub of it when she got bored with the scent. In this life where Eddie always got someone's leftovers and hand-me-downs, these are by far his favorite ones.  His body is a new level of soft and smooth when he comes out, the closest shave of his face he’s ever gotten. As he spritzes his cologne, Tom Ford Ombre Leather, a gift from Steve, he looks himself over in the mirror before getting dressed. Two silver chains, small rings, a chain bracelet, skin nearly shimmering – tight black boxer briefs hugging his hips and upper thighs. He looks good. Hair waving perfectly, lips full and hydrated, lashes long and dark – he’d have a crush on him, too. 

Eddie stretches a bit, tugging on a pair of black chinos, still jingling with a layered wallet chain he forgot to remove before he washed them. He tucks the remainder into his back pocket when he hears his phone let off a ‘ding!’ on top of his dresser. He ignores it for a second, rifling through his closet for his favorite cut off tee that fits him just right. In his search he comes by a half empty box of condoms, boyishly sneaking two into his wallet with a snicker -- just in case. Eddie grunts when the phone dings again, walking over to see your name up on the screen. 

hey… His heart sinks, dream coming to reality – you’re gonna change your mind and say you don’t wanna see him anymore. You’re gonna tell him this was a mistake. You’re gonna tell him you don’t actually like him like that. You’re gonna tell him you have a crush on Steve. You’re gonna break his heart ten times over.

He lets out a breath or two to steady himself, fingers shaking while he texts you back.

what’s going on? you gotta work or something?

He watches while the bubble pops up of you typing back – disappearing and reappearing like you don’t know what to say. no, it’s not that. He sighs again, sweat forming on the back of his neck, heart thumping in his stomach. He never should’ve fucking dove, he never should’ve fucking kissed you outside the bar. He never should’ve bought you that fucking throw for your livingroom. what’s wrong? 

He watches the bubble start up again, dot-dot-dot, disappearing and reappearing. you didn’t respond to what i sent last night. i get it if you don’t wanna come over anymore.  He laughs, nervous release, running a hand over his face – he’s so fucking stupid. The release settles into guilt in his chest, you must be feeling as nervous as he is. He thinks about you waking up and seeing that he hadn't replied. Eddie chews on his lower lip while he types back.

oh no, no! i’m sorry. i saw your texts when i woke up in the middle of the night and forgot to respond. i’m not mad, you don’t have to be sorry. i still wanna come over.

is it okay if we don’t have sex? i just sort of feel like ass and like, tmi but it’s really heavy the first couple days why am i telling you this? wtf sorry

please stop being sorry, it’s okay if you want to just be by yourself that’s fine but i really would love to still come over, is that alright? i’d love to take care of you 

ew, you don’t need to take care of me

The speed that you send that makes him roll his eyes. He wonders if you know how clear it makes it that you want him so bad, how you're hoping he comes over and babies you the way you want him to.

i want to

🙄 gross, fine see you soon i guess key is behind the mailbox on the wall

He wastes no time getting in the Honda after he finishes getting dressed but a stir in his chest keeps him sitting in the driver’s seat while the car runs. As he holds the key to the ignition, Eddie takes pause. He swallows, a whisper of fear sitting in his heart – should he even like you this much? He knows you both said it, that you really like each other. But is this too much too fast? Is this too many cards on the table? He thinks to the dates before he met you where things fizzled out early. Maybe he should pull back a little, he doesn’t want you to get bored. He doesn’t want to be boring the way things started to feel boring with his ex-wife. He huffs, remembering his dream, Chrissy’s face in the water. Chrissy’s face while he helped her pack before she left. Chrissy’s face when she told him maybe they should start trying and he said maybe it was still too soon. Chrissy’s face when she told him she’d think it’d be better if they got a divorce.

He pulls in his cheeks, heart sinking while he thinks ahead to a fake memory he’s already convincing himself will happen. Imagining the day you pull away when he tries to hold you, the day he sees you in the morning and his heart doesn’t flutter. The day you tell him -- no matter how encouraging you'd been in the car, how interested you seemed in his life, how much you liked that he was so passionate about his friendships -- that he needed to grow up, too. What if he never grows up? What if he never dives again? 

He lets out a breath that still slightly steams in front of him in the cold air of early spring, giving his face a once over in the rearview before the car whirs to life. Megadeth’s We’ll Be Back jolts him back to the present moment, knowing that at least this weekend you really fucking like him and he really fucking likes you. 

“Hey Thumbelina,” he teases from the door frame of your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe with his overnight bag dangling off his shoulder. Your apartment is small and cozy, the radiator in the corner hissing quietly while your light curtains flutter in the breeze of your slightly open window.

“Hm?” you ask, looking up. Your sleepy face sends his heart hurtling, even more so when you make the connection of whose there – a smile breaking across your face. It makes his cheeks blush a boyish pink while he resists the urge to climb on top of you and smother your face in kisses. When you look at him and he looks at you, the fear he felt in the car feels like a false flag. The dream a reminder of hard feelings long past. When you're in front of him like this, nothing has ever felt more right in his whole life. He could get used to this.

“You’re laying down in the middle of a leaf,” he says, forehead tilting toward the monstera leaf print of your duvet while walking forward to sit at the end of our bed. He reaches out to grab your fuzzy sock covered foot and gives it a squeeze, “Like Thumbelina.” 

You roll your eyes and laugh, turning to your other side and looking at him. Your perfume or body spray wafts through the room, mixed with the scent of dryer sheets from your freshly washed bedding. It’s clear from the state of things that you spent most of your night last night making sure the place looked like it was never ever messy. 

“You look handsome,” you say softly, his blush reddens, “I feel ugly.” 

“You don’t look ugly. If you want, I can downgrade the ‘fit,” he offers, looking you over and smirking at your oversized men’s sweatpants and home-made cropped sleep shirt, “Want me to change? We can be twins.” You nod and laugh the way he likes, "Twins? You got a crop top in that bag?"

"Nah, I'm fresh out," he scrunches his nose, "It's at the cleaners."

"Lame," you shrug, "Well, m'sorry you gotta see me like this. I look like a troll."

“Trolls actually have a pretty high natural armour class so -- it's not the worst thing you can be,” he explains while opening his bag to grab his sleep clothes. "Oh, wow," you start, with a pitying voice, "You're like, really a nerd huh?" "They also can regenerate which like, for a monster of their type is pretty cool. Pretty great perception too -- which like, would make sense y'know considering their surroundings? Good for survival sk...I should stop," he turns pink when he sees your smile, lower lip tucking into your teeth to hold off a giggle. "I'm really cool," he says, "I swear." "I know," you nod with an assured look, laughing, "Go change."

He leans forward, running a hand over your back while he surveys your side tables. Eddie didn’t think the movies always had it right about the 'time of the month', but the litter of candy wrappers, snacks, Advil, and three different drinks made him stand corrected. He presses a kiss by your ear, murmuring a quiet reminder that he’ll be right back.

When he does, you’re back on your side, scrolling through videos on your phone, snuggled under the green throw blanket he bought you when you went on your Target date a few weeks ago. He apprehensively sits on the edge of the bed, watching you, teeth gleaming in a smile when you beckon him over with your hand. He molds to you expertly, knees curling in to tuck behind your own, arm snaking around your waist to pull your back to his chest.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. You nod, sinking into him while your body relaxes. He swallows when your body pushes back a little, your hips wiggling in a way that brushes against him just the right way – and he’s not wearing pants that can hide what that might do to him anymore. When you settle, he does too, taking you in. Your body heat, the way you feel against him, how you smell. You smell so fucking good. How do you manage to smell so fucking good all the time? He could eat you and never feel full. “What’re we watching?” he asks, chin resting on top of your head. 

“The scoopability of this week’s slimes,” you laugh. He reaches over to push your hair slightly out of the way of his view. Your neck stretches when his fingertips graze it accidentally, a wave of goosebumps appearing on your arm in front of him. Your neck, huh? He thinks to himself, a subtle smirk flicking onto his lips. He knew from last time you had a spot, but learning the intricacies of you was even more exciting. Where did you really like to be touched? How did you like to be held? There was still so much more to learn, there was no chance he could ever get bored.

“What does that even mean?”

“They make slimes, they scoop them, they rate the scoop,” you shrug, “It doesn’t get any more complicated than that.”

“Uh, okay…cool,” he nods, it’s clear he has no idea what you’re talking about. He watches while the soothing music plays, an ice cream scoop goes through multiple multi-colored and different textured ‘slimes’ with a rating ‘1/10’ flashing on the top of the screen. Some are smooth, some crunchy, some full of weird little add ons that he doesn’t understand. You play one video after another on your phone, thumbing through them on Tiktok like this is a regular pastime for you.

“This is actually kind of nice,” he says after the third clip, “Soothing.”

“Right?” you reply, “I think this account is my favorite, but, I’m never really paying attention to whose videos they are – just that they’re pretty.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, hand slowly caressing the dip of your waist, “But also like, wouldn’t all those little glitters and stuff get stuck in your teeth?”

You pause, putting your phone down and turning your head to him slowly. He lets his hand slide further over your diaphragm while you turn to face him, your face contorted in confusion – you almost look concerned.

“I’m sorry…” you start with a furrowed brow, “Did you think they were edible?” 

“Are -- wait -- are they not?” he asks, genuinely bewildered. “It’s slime…” “Okay, well half of them have food names,” he shrugs, embarrassment building on his cheeks as he tries to explain, “Like, ‘mango peach slushie’, how am I supposed to think it’s not..that?”

“It’s not food,” you laugh, “Oh god, you’re so lucky you’re hot.” He gives you a little shove, laughing with you while you turn your whole body towards him under the blanket. Chest to chest. He breathes you in delicately, eyes coasting over your face in soft and sweet admiration.

“It’s sort of like silly putty.” “Oh, like, to play with,” he nods in understanding, noses nearly brushing when he peers into your eyes, "I'm really 0 for 2 today." “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s an easy mistake," your voice a calming rasp, pushing some hair out of his face,

Your fingers feel so soft against him that he shuts his eyes, trying as much as he can to savor the feeling of being so close to you. Finally a moment where he can hold you as close as he wants, kiss you as deep as he needs to, and there’s no bartender or bystander around to make either of you feel weird about it.

“I like that I’m here with you,” he says contentedly, “This is really nice.” 

“I like that you’re here with me, too,” you grin. His hand comes up from its place on your waist to slide to the back of your neck, thumb running back and forth slowly over the edge of your jaw. Eddie falters a bit when you relax into his touch, moving in closer to him. One of your legs hikes up, your plush thigh resting over his hip – he holds back a groan as you wrap yourself around him.

“Comfy?” he asks. His voice is gruff with the stretch of wrapping himself around you in return, nose tip to tip with yours.

You nod, hiding your face in his neck while he lays a short row of kisses by your ear where he can reach, “Good.”

You lay together like that for a couple of minutes in the cool dark of your room, semi-sheer curtains drawn on this cloudy day so you don’t feel so bad about not going outside.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks into the quiet, “Please?”

“You can kiss me,” you nod with a giggle, “Always." Always.

As he leans in, lips ghosting against yours as a precursor for a deep needy kiss, Eddie’s phone buzzes and he turns to your snack-ridden side table to check it. An unknown number glows back at him up at the top of the screen, “Ah, shit...”

“What’s up?” you ask, pushing up on your arms to stretch out your back and sternum. He smiles at you while he gets up from off your bed.

“I ordered Indian food. You said you’re a saag paneer girl, right?” he asks with a tilt of his head before heading out of your room to the front door. 

You lay there with full bellies, clicking through to soulDecision’s Faded music video on your journey of ‘Weirdo Hits from the 90s/2000s’. Back in your snuggling positions, he can tell you feel safe with him, your eyelids heavy while your head lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I knew every word to this song,” you mumble, “I was like seven.” 

“Liquid Dreams is worse,” he barters, fingers running over the side of your head, just above your ear.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “I forgot about Liquid Dreams. That’s next.” 

You get through LFO and O-Town’s top hits, settling on Samantha Mumba’s ‘Gotta Tell You Tonight’ which bleeds into Mandy Moore’s ‘Candy’.

“Oh wow,” Eddie huffs a laugh, “Chris did this with her best friends for the talent show when we were super little. I think that’s when I started having a crush on her.” 

He feels your head tilt up to look at him and he looks down, “Who’s Chris?” 

“Oh,” he says, his chest deflates, “My um, that’s my ex-wife. Chrissy.” 

“Oh yeah, you said,” you nod, leaning up on your elbows. You flop to your stomach and stare up at him, the pad of his finger coming up to lazily tap you on the nose.

“I know you said things were like, okay – but do you guys still talk at all?” you ask, head dipping with an devilish smirk, “Or do we hate her? What’s the gossip?” 

Eddie lets out a hiss of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair from the temples upward, shaking his head, “Oh no, I don’t think I could ever hate her.”

“It’s not like she did anything wrong,” he explains, brows knitting together while he thinks about how to explain it, “We just wanted really different things. She really wanted to settle down and like, y’know, nest. She wanted to be a mom so bad and I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready for a lot of things she wanted. In a way, we just sort of outgrew each other – but y’know, sometimes that happens.” 

“It’s funny,” he says with a slight smile, licking his lips, “I was so nervous about being on the apps thinking I was gonna see her profile – forgot she’s fully engaged. Like, I’ve met the guy.”

“Engaged?” you ask with your brows raised, “Scandalous. When did you guys divorce?”

“Pfff, hmm,” he thinks, puffing a breath of air from his cheeks, “We broke up and separated in September of 2020, divorce was filed – hmm, I think officially in January 2021? It was such a blur I can barely remember, we count our divorce as September at least.” 

“And when did she get engaged? Or meet this guy? Is he cool? Or is he like – lame?” you ask, rapid fire.

“Is this a soap opera to you?” he laughs. 

“It’s your lore,” you say, flipping onto your back, “And let’s be real, your lore is kind of soap opera-y.”

“What about your tragic lore, hm?” he presses, “When am I gonna get some of that?”

“We’ll get there one day,” you say with a tilt of your head, lips tucking in breifly. You welcome his arms when they circle around you, his weight shifting as he mimics your cuddling from before. His thigh slings over your hips, wrapping around you like a koala while his lips press against your cheek. 

“It’s gonna be hot next weekend,” he says, nose nuzzling at your temple, “Steve wants to get the crew together to go to the beach. Do you wanna come?” 

Your eyes flutter closed but you nod just the same. “Good,” he smirks, voice dropping to something a little husky, “You can wear that little red suit for me.” 

“Ew,” you let out before you can stop it, your giggles shaking you in his arms, “Perv.” “Yeah?” he smirks, leaning in to kiss just under your ear, “Even though you sent me all those pictures?”

Your eyes shut when he kisses you there, a tiny gasp leaving your lips when he does it a second time. His tongue flicks out, tip of it drawing a thin line from the top of your neck to the hinge of your jaw.

“Ed, I don’t wanna have sex,” you pout.

“I know,” he smiles into your cheek, “I just like teasin’ you.” 

“Well don’t,” you pout, gently shoving his face away from your cheek in faux frustration,  “So unfair.”

You ease up onto your side, leaning over back to your laptop to scroll through the recommended music videos until you land on Savage Garden’s Crash and Burn. “Oh, fuck me,” he laughs, “I don’t think I’ve heard this song since 1999.” “The music video used to freak me out when I was little,” you settle back into him when it starts and he welcomes the weight of you against him. “Yeah it’s kind of freaky for a kid,” he nods, arm wrapping around you while darkness begins to find home in your bedroom, “I mean look how fucking blue this guys eyes are – terrifying.” The sound of your laugh bubbles like the girls at Forest Hills used to sound in the summer. The room starts to darken as the sun goes down, leaving you both in a glow of your laptop screen. “You know, we could watch these in the living room on the TV,” you laugh, sitting up. Eddie pouts when you shift out of his hold, pulling you back down into him. “Yeah, but I like this,” he mumbles, “I wanna hold you like this.”  “Okay,” you snort, flipping back to your side to face him, “But you never told me about the guy she ended up with. Is he cool? Is he weird? Does he suck? When did she meet him?”

“You’re so annoying,” he teases with a shake of his head.

“So cute though, unfortunately,” you shrug, “So you have to tell me.” 

“It’s true, you’re so cute,” he nods, leaning in to offer you a soft kiss on your lips and forehead, “I guess I’ll tell you.”  

“She met Derek I think – errr – six months after we separated? One of those, ‘when you know, you know’ type of things – she even called to ask if it was okay if she went on a date with him.” “That’s kind of fucked up, rubbing salt in the wound,” you shrug. 

“No,” he shakes his head again, sitting up with his back against the wall, “You don’t know her, so like – it sounds fucked up, but she just wanted to be courteous about it. Didn’t want me finding out through the grapevine or whatever. Anyway, they got engaged last May.” “Is he a tool?” you ask again, face scrunching like you might already know.

“No, he’s – he’s very much her kind of guy now that I think about it,” he laughs, “They live in Denver now I think, used to be Chicago, super outdoorsy. He cycles professionally, I think – works in tech. She’s running a yoga studio out there while she gets her masters.” “In what?” 

“Art therapy,” he recounts softly, a gentleness in his tone, “She’s a really gifted painter, it helped her through a lot of shit. Got her undergrad in psych so – she’s always wanted to get her license. She’s just really meant to make people feel good about themselves and help them, I’m happy for her.”

“Okay, so she’s Mother Theresa,” you joke, “Can’t relate.” 

“Mother Theresa if you put some strawberry blonde hair on her and made her a cheerleader,” he laughs, pulling out his phone. He pulls up a few photos, one from prom, a few from after shows, one from early Covid, “This is her.” 

“Oh, wow…” you say wistfully, the glow of the screen lighting up your face. Chrissy’s face and body reflecting back in your eyes like a mirror, “She’s gorgeous.” 

“Yeah, can’t believe she was obsessed with a dork like me,” he teases himself, putting his phone back in his pocket, “I couldn’t believe I pulled someone like that – still can’t.” 

“Hm,” you nod. The room creeps darker with the laptop screen blanking out to sleep. If Eddie was really listening, he would’ve heard the tinge of something aching in your response.

“Do you um,” you start meekly, hesitating for a moment, “...do you still love her?” 

Eddie’s quiet, leaning to his side to turn one of your side table lamps on. 

“I’ll always love her,” he nods with a shrug, running his hands through his hair to make a makeshift ponytail before letting it go again, “She’ll always love me. But like, not in the way that we did when we were younger. We’ll just always have love for each other, I think.” 

“Yeah, cool,” you mumble, taking out your phone, “That’s a cool way to look at it.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie grins, reaching out to put a hand on your head. You move out of his touch, leaning forward to wake your laptop back up to let the next music video auto-play. Fat Joe’s What’s Luv ft. Ashanti  popping onto the screen. You both watch for a bit, still half on your phone and half keeping your eye on the screen. Eddie sees you open and close your texts, your thumbs typing rapidly before quickly closing the app again. 

“It’s so weird how many people were so vocal about how much they don’t go down on women,” you huff at the screen, “Like, that’s not something to brag about guys.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles, “What is it you said before? Oh yeah – can’t relate.” 

You still don’t turn back to face him, but he sees you nod and let out a breath, “That’s true.”  

He slides himself back down on the bed, getting close to you in the way he was before, molding  to your body with an arm around your waist. The soft lingering scent of your perfume still on your skin when he presses his face into the crook of your neck – but it’s not there for long. The bed shifts as you get up, stretching again, enough for your shirt to right up to see the underside of your breasts. A blush kicks up in his cheeks. 

“Dinner and a show?” he quirks, “Don’t spoil me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you squeak out at the end of a yawn, covering your chest, “I’ll be right back.” 

Eddie’s lips tug into a small frown when you make your way out of the room, surprised that you didn’t have a joke to throw back at him. He likes how easy it is to back and forth with you, he doesn’t think he knows anyone who’s as quick as him – not the way you are. He likes that you keep him on his toes like that. 

He checks his phone again in your absence, shooting his group chat with Tatianna and Gare with a regular check in. They left early this morning for a two week long trip to Aruba and he’s kept his phone on the loudest setting possible so he can be ready when he gets ‘the call’. They’ll come back as fiancés, but the only person who doesn’t know that is Tatianna. 

When you come back there’s a grimace on your face, “Um…look, I’m sorry but –” 

“Are you okay?” Eddie’s heart sinks. 

“No, eh, yeah but, I um – I just really don’t feel good,” you confess. 

“Can I get you something? You want some tea? Or I can run out and get ginger ale or –”

“No Ed, no I um…” you let out another long breath, “I think you should go.” 

“G-go?” he asks, sitting up straight on the bed, “Like, go home?” 

He watches you look him over, your shoulders sulking, “Yeah Eddie, you should go home.” 

“Oh…” he thinks for a minute before standing up, “Is it…did I do something?” 

“No, I just really don’t feel well,” you repeat, “I just want to go to bed.” 

“Okay, well, I can…I can go to bed, too,” he tries to bargain, “I can sleep on the couch if you – if you want the bed to yourself. I get it.” 

“Just go home,” you say with finality, not mean, not a yell – you just mean it, “Please.” 

“Um, alright,” his voice is drenched in confusion, brows furrowing while he packs up his overnight bag in the corner, “Y’know if I – If I fucked up you can just say something.” 

“You didn’t fuck up I just,” you deflate, crossing your arms protectively against your chest, “I wanna be alone.” 

“I understand,” he murmurs, heart thumping in his chest, sending disappointment coursing through him. He slings the bag over his shoulder, not even bothering to put on his jacket or change. Cautiously, he approaches you, looking into your eyes trying to find the answer as to why you're telling him to leave.

"Uh, I'll uh, I'll see you soon?" he asks hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe," you nod, avoiding his stare. He can hear the beginning of a cry starting in your throat.

"Can I kiss you goodbye?"

"Uh, yeah, fine."

Eddie leans in, cupping your cheek to kiss you but you barely kiss him back. Lips like rubber even as he pulls away.

It feels like he belly flopped. His eyes start to sting when you walk past him, crawling into your bed and pulling your computer onto your lap.

"Get home safe," you mumble out. "Thanks," he whispers, giving you a half hearted wave before heading out the door.

I don’t want to Miss Tiffany...Swimming sucks.

Eddie gets in the Honda and sits there for a moment in the dark, feeling his jaw tighten and his nose tingle. He rolls his shoulders, sniffling, trying to calm down but the feelings over take him, both hands coming down hard on his steering wheel.

"FUCK!" he shouts, smacking it again with a pained growl, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He feels sick knowing that you slipped through his fingers just as quickly as you fell into them. He should've seen this coming, he should've taken the dream from last night as prophecy. What's the point of making it to level 3 if you'll never make it to level 4? What's the point of diving if you're not watching? If he's gonna belly flop anyway? Eddie's breath comes in shudders, tears spilling over his dark lashes onto his cheeks. You're only about 30 feet away still, he can always just go back to your door. He can fix it like he did on your first date, he can just get out, he can do something.

Grow up...

The unease from his dream blooms black in his chest, Eddie looks at your bedroom window and watches the light snuff out through the curtains. His chest deflates, shoulders rounding while he turns the key in the ingition, car revving on, seatbelt light blinking while the 'ding, ding, ding,' to put in on rings in his ear.

With a final thick swallow, he sucks in his cheeks and bites down to stop himself from crying. Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair, wipes his eyes, looks himself over in the rearview. He wouldn't have a crush on this version of himself, he can't imagine you would either.

With a sigh, he tugs on the seatbelt, puts the car in drive, and pulls down the street. Feeling further away from you than when you were across the country -- different planets, a totally different universe.

In the late afternoon the next day Eddie checks his phone for the twelfth time in an hour. You still haven't texted or called, not even responding when he told you he got home okay. All you did was send a 'thumbs up'. With a quiet sigh through his nose he shoves his phone into his back pocket, pushing open the squeaking wooden doors to Calamity's -- a dive bar that Robin's been working at every Saturday for the last five years. Her sandy hair is tucked behind her ears while she pumps the shaker next to her head, chatting with Nancy who sits across from her on the bar.

At the squeak of the door they both turn to look at him, Robin's brows quirk, "What're you doing here, loverboy?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbles.

"You wanna drink about it first?" she offers.

He nods, climbing onto the stool next to Nancy and leaning on his elbows on the sticky counter top, "Hey Nance."

"Hey Ed," she says, hand reaching out to rub his forearm, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he nods, "I'll be fine, I just -- yeah, I'm fine."

His phone buzzes, immediately reaching for his back pocket only to see an Apple News notification and no sign of you. He checks your socials for any sign of life, but you haven't even posted anything.

Another sigh and he can't help himself, resolve weakening as stubborn as he'd like to be.

hey, haven't heard from you. you okay?

He puts his phone on airplane mode, going a step further to shove it into the inside zipper pocket of his beat up leather jacket and keeping it locked up. The less accessible the better, he couldn't become the guy that waits by the phone all night aching for you. Not the way he did last night, tossing and turning in bed wishing so badly that you were next to him.

'Should I feel this bad so soon?' Eddie thinks, 'We're not even dating and we're fighting? Is this even a fight? Would this be considered a fight?' He listens to the drone of their conversation, the bar is open but normally no one really shows up until the sun goes down -- at least on the weekend. Robin slides a Jack and Coke in front him, tossing a tiny straw in with flourish.

"Here, sad sack," she teases. "Thanks," he murmurs, toying with the straw, making his silver chain bracelet tinkle against the hardware of his jacket. "Rob, c'mon," Nancy urges, "Don't mess around." "What, I didn't call him a loser," she defends, shrugging, "He's being a sad sack. Right Ed? You're a sad sack?"

"I'm a sad sack," he nods, "Nailed it, babe." "Well, what happened?" she asks again, voice softer this time. She leans herself over the counter, resting her hand on her palm. Eddie matches her posture, lifting the drink with his other hand. "I'll tell you when I finish this," he offers, "Talk to me about literally anything else." "Well I thiiiiink I'm about to land this new creative lead gig," Robin tosses her hair, her violet amber perfume feathering off of it, "Do I love the idea of working for a start up? No. Is it remote and 68 thou a year? Yes."

"Sick," he nods through a mouthful of liquor, "That's awesome."

"Gives me time to still work on my art shit with Tati," she shrugs, sipping from her water bottle, "And we'll probably be able to afford studio space if I get it."

"She'll be thrilled, damn. First an engagement ring and then an art studio that's not her classroom? Everything's coming up Edwards," he smiles for the first time all day. "Wait, did he propose already? Did we miss it?" Nance blanches, clutching her chest. "So far no," he laughs, "I think he's gonna wait until next weekend so they have one full week away as engaged. They're gonna come back and tell me to pack my shit."

"Well, you can always sleep in the loft -- or y'know," Nancy shrugs, "Maybe things're looking really good with your new girl?" Eddie hums, about to open his mouth but the door bursts open hard on its loose hinges and with it, the grittiness of the old subwoofers blasting Lil' Wayne's Lollipop.

“Oh, shit that’s my sooooong,” Steve exclaims while he gets in the door. He walks in like he owns the place, Ray Bans covering his eyes while a strand of his coiffed chestnut hair falls onto his forehead. “Just like a refund, I make her bring that ass back, and she bring that ass back – because I like that,” he drawls along, opening his phone with a smirk while the song gets louder throughout the bar. 

“Shawty wanna thuuuuug, bottles in cluuuuub,” he goes on, walking forward toward Eddie whos chin his still in his palm. Eddie's face scrunches, not in the mood to play along, covering his ears when the bass speakers right above him start to vibrate.

"Turn it down, Steve!" Robin yells, but it's muffled against the beat. "Huh?" he cups his ear like he can't hear her, brows furrowing while he flicks his glasses up to push back his hair. "STEVE!" she shouts back. "What? I can't hear you?" he lies again, turning it up a touch more while he makes his way behind the bar. He snatches Robin's phone by the register before she can get to it to change the volume herself, laughing while he slips it into the pocket of his vest. 'Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya,' he mouths along, body rolling his way closer to her with every word, 'Call-Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya.'

The music cuts abruptly, Nancy now found by the stero with manicured nails lingering on the volume knob.

"I'm changing the fucking Spotify password, dingus," Robin snaps, "You can't do that every time you come here. I'm gonna get fired."

"Don't be such a bitch, Rob," he sours, tucking his sunglasses into the crew neck collar of his shirt, "Nobody's here."

"You're a bitch, Harrington," Robin snaps back. "The biggest bitch I know," Nancy adds, taking her seat back next to Eddie. Steve sits at the end of the bar on the other side of him. "What's the matter, sad sack?" Steve asks, cocking his head toward Eddie, "Mad that it wasn't the Framing Hanley version?"

"Aw, fuck off, dude," Eddie rolls his eyes before running his hand over his face, palm catching on his five o'clock shadow. "He hasn't told us yet," Robin explains, "We're waiting until he finishes his first drink."

Two Jack and Coke’s in, the conversation bumps to the potential art studio, to Nancy’s potential promotion, to Steve’s latest project at work. A few regulars have trickled in, using the TouchTunes to their advantage since Spotify ‘isn’t working tonight’ as per Robin’s punishment for Steve. 

It gives Eddie a good reprieve, he’s glad he went out – beats being home alone and sitting there wondering what happened in the dark. Beats typing it up to send to Tatianna and Gareth and asking what happened and then deleting it because he doesn’t want to bother them on vacation. Beats wondering what you’re doing and why you won’t respond to him. Beats the feeling of laying in bed and wishing he knew what you'd feel like next to him for another night. Beats wondering what he did to deserve potentially losing out on something that felt more right than ever. Beats wondering if maybe you're it and how now he might never know.

“Okay, well, I let you get through two Jack and Coke’s – you gotta spill now, brother,” Robin sighs, leaning back down in front of him on her forearms. 

“Oh yeah, weren’t you supposed to have your wet hot American weekend at her place? What’re you doing here?” Steve inquires, smirk pulling on his lips, “Performance issues?” 

“Steve, come on,” Nancy sighs, “Are you serious?” 

“Nah, nah it’s fine,” Eddie shakes his head, “He’s just coming from experience, right?"

“No um, I really don’t know,” Eddie shrugs, “I went to her house and y’know it’s her time of the month or whatever – so maybe th–” 

“I’m gonna stop that thought before you finish it,” Robin puts a finger up, pink lips pulling into a smile, “Once sec while I pour this guy a beer.” 

Eddie sheepishly takes another sip of his drink, feeling the dull weight of it in the front of his skull – not drunk, but if he’s not careful he won’t be able to drive home. 

“Okay, continue,” Robin says when she gets back. 

 He takes his time walking through the night, retracing his vocal steps, the emotional ones. He talks about the slime videos, getting Indian food, how you didn’t want to have sex. The music videos, the kisses, the way you wrapped yourself around him – how everything seemed fine, perfect even. He was so excited to sleep next to you, to make breakfast in the morning, maybe shower together – maybe fuck in the shower if you were into it. But not…not this, not whatever happened. 

“What did you guys talk about? Like, did she talk about her past or anything? Did she seem off? Did a subject come up that she seemed weird about?” Nancy presses. 

“Yeah, you’re not giving us anything, just like – the highlights. We need the play by play, Munson,” Robin gestures with her hands, now nursing her own beer. 

“I mean, we were watching music videos,” he shrugs, “And Chris came up but like, she knew I was married. She asked about the divorce and whatever, we talked about how she’s with her new guy in Colorado.” 

“And?” 

“And I don’t know?” he shrugs, heart starting to pound a little in his chest, “I mean I showed her a picture of her and like, sort of ragged on myself like – like how I couldn’t believe I pulled someone like Chrissy.”

“Oh dude,” Steve sighs, “Dude, you fuckin’ dumbass.” 

“What? How am I a dumbass?” he asks defensively, hands out, pleading. 

“Cause she’s not Chrissy,” Steve explains, “Like – god, come on. Imagine she showed you a picture of fuckin’ – I don’t know – Jon Bernthal? And was like ‘Yeah, can’t believe I pulled this hot, sexy, manly strong man. I guess you’ll do as a follow up after him.’” 

Eddie blanches, guilt forming a ball in his throat, “But that’s not…That’s not how I meant it. Like, she’s – you’ve seen her. She’s gorgeous. She doesn’t have to look like Chris.” 

“Yeah but, after you talked about her, did she seem all quiet after?” Robin asks, eyes flicking to him and then Steve. 

“Well…well yeah–” 

“See, told you,” Steve shrugs, “I might not have a girlfriend but I still know how ladies work–” 

“Okay, okay, enough from you,” Nancy waves him off, “Did anything else come up?” 

“She asked if I still loved her and I said yeah but like, not romantically. We just will always have love for each other – y’know? I mean, we were like – we were married,” he tries to explain, “Do you think – do you think she thinks I just wanna be with Chrissy?” 

Robin grimaces, sipping her beer. Steve gives him a half hearted cock of the head. 

“I think…” Nancy starts, voice of reason as present as ever, “I think she doesn’t know your history very well and you don’t know hers. It could be that things went left with her ex or she’s been hurt by stuff like this before. She might not have known how to talk about it to you – but I definitely think talking about Chrissy like she was some prize you had and now you’re settling had something to do with it.” 

“But that’s not what I’m doing!” Eddie urges, hand coming down on the bar counter, “I’m not settling! I wanna like – I wanna be with her. I only talked about Chris so much because she asked I – I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. And I asked! I asked if I did something or said something and she said it was fine.” 

“Girls always say it’s fine Eddie, come on, you’ve been divorced. You should know,” Steve says with gravitas, “That’s like, what all women who are actually upset say.” 

“I have an idea,” Robin says with a breath, “First, don’t listen to Steve. That’s obvious. Second, give it another day, send her a message saying something along the lines of ‘Hey, I think I might have said some things that didn’t come out right. I’d love to talk it out with you. When’re you free?’ and see where it goes.” 

“Maybe you guys can hash it out at the beach next weekend? You think she’ll still wanna come?” Nancy asks. 

“Maybe,” Eddie shrugs, moping now, “If she ever wants to see me again.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ed,” Robin rolls her eyes, sandy bangs tickling her lashes, “You just gotta give it a day or two.” 

He only has to give it until later that night, tucked into the couch with a slasher on to ease the ache of his broken heart. On the coffee table, his phone buzzes face down and with a shaky hand he reaches for it, not wanting to be too hopeful. But when your name lights up with a new message he feels his heart leap in his chest. 

i’m okay. thanks for checking in. 

He lets out a slow breath through an O in his lips. Eddie takes a beat, rings tapping against his phone case before he starts typing his response: 

look, idk what’s going through your mind but i really like you. i think i might’ve messed things up here. i’m happy to give you some space if you need but would you wanna talk about this soon? 

He stares at the message for a minute or two, heart pounding. There are so many ways you could respond. You could say no, or cuss him out, or tell him to fuck off. You could say you knew he was shit. You could, at the absolute worst, not even respond. He runs his hand over his face, covering his eyes while he presses send and tossing his phone onto the recliner across the room. Out of sight out of mind. 

If only for a few minutes when he hears the buzz against the leather. 

yeah, we can talk about it. work is kinda busy this week though.

He’d wait for you for months. 

would you still wanna come to the beach? steve said he’s still down to pick you up. 

yeah, i can still come to the beach

A grin sprawls across his lips, cheeks tight. He can still see you, he can still see you in that red suit. He can still talk to you. You still want to see him. It’s not totally ruined yet. 

He hesitates at first, but ultimately sends out the offer. 

tatianna and gare will still be away. if you want, you can stay the weekend at mine? maybe we can have a re-do.  He watches the three dots bubble in and out of the text conversation, watching as you type something and then delete. Type and delete. Type and delete. It’s only when he hears the tinkling of the standing lamp in the corner of the room that he realizes how hard he’s been bouncing his leg while he waits. 

i’ll think about it Well it’s not a no. It’s something. It’s a maybe. It’s a could be.

But if it ends up being a yes, he’ll make it better than what last weekend at yours could’ve been.

The week passed in a slow blur, Monday and Tuesday were a thousand years long – all of his students on his nerves when they caught on that he wasn’t on his phone as much. "Just take the L, Mr. E. You keep looking at your phone. She's obv not gonna text you." "Yeah Munson, you can't have a phone rule for us and then keep looking at yours." "You're giving negative aura points, Mr. E. Just admit you don't actually have any rizz."

He didn't know what any of them meant, but it didn't help the sting. Since Gareth was away there was no band practice on Wednesday, so instead he went to the studio by himself and plugged into the loudest amps he could. Shredding his frustration out through the strings until tears spilled as much as the melodies that leaked from the speakers. Being carried by the frustration that kept building from the way you haven't messaged him or called, from the fear of having to hurt the way he hurt three years ago all over again. From the way this couldn't be it.

By time he finished, his fingertips stung -- raw and red from hours of playing. It still didn't hurt has bad as the lump in his throat. As the dry phone in his pocket.

It’s Thursday afternoon when his phone finally pings and you ask what you should bring for the beach. Time speeds up again. He blinks and it’s Saturday morning, he blinks and he’s sitting behind Steve in his Escalade. He blinks and realizes he wishes he had more time to prepare himself for this, the prepare how to ask you to talk, to prepare for seeing you again after all this. All the rehearsals in his head had fallen away as they drive through your part of town.

“I LIKE A LONG HAIRED THICK REDBONE, OPEN UP HER LEGS, THEN FILET MIGNON THAT PUSSY.” “Oh my god, Steve please don’t say pussy like that.” The car rolls down your street, Robin in the front as always, and Nancy behind Robin. And sure, they could have picked up some of the younger crew but, in Steve’s words – ‘I’ve driven them around enough.’ EveryGirl in the World rumbles achingly loud through the speakers that he just got upgraded, making the leather vibrate under all of them. Lucky for Steve, none of the sound leaks through in your sleepy streets, lazy with the steamy haze of 7:30 in the morning. “I’mma get in an on that pussy, If she let me in, I’mma own that pussy.” “Steve,” Robin groans, “You’re so obnoxious. This is why nobody likes you!” “Everyone likes me – now come ‘ere let me dope you, You should be a dope fiend, your friend’s should call you Dopey. Tell ‘em keep my name out they mouth ‘cause they don’t know me.” “Do you think you sound cool when you rap?” she asks, pulling her sandy hair into a ponytail, “Look in the rearview, do you think you look cool?” Steve’s Ray Bans find the mirror, looking back at Eddie who grins at him while they ease into a stop in front of your place. “My sex game is stupid,” they both start, making Nancy laugh – Robin’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “You’re both so insufferable,” she groans, but a smile pulls at her soft pink lips.

“My head is the dumbest, I promise – I should be Hooked on Phonics, Hah, well anyway, I think you’re bionic.” “Stop!” Robin shouts, laughing now while Steve tips his sunglasses down his nose and Eddie leans over the seat. Both faces eager with faux sincerity while Nancy giggles in solidarity behind her. “And I don’t think you’re beautiful, I think you’re beyond it.” Steve grins, Eddie unbuckling to get out of the car to get you. “And I just wanna get behind it –” “STEVE!” “And watch you back it up and dump it back, back it up and dump it back…” Eddie looks at your house, a nervous thrum in his chest while he gets out. The last time he was here he watched as you turned your bedroom light out after making him leave. You didn’t even respond to his ‘excited to see you, tomorrow’ text last night. You just ‘hearted’ it. He gets to your door ringing the bell and waiting for you, feeling as sheepish and awkward as a kid on a first date. When you open the door he can hear his heart beat in his ears. "Hey," he says quietly, "G'morning." "Morning," you say back. You both smile tightly at each other and then both of your gazes reach the ground. Eddie thinks to lean in and reach for you but retracts, you still feel so far away from him. The familiarity from before -- from Barcade, from showing up at your house last week -- long gone. A stranger he's meeting for the first time. He wonders if the group can even sense it from the car.

“Can I get those for you?” he asks, seeing you hoist your beach bag over your shoulder, a mini cooler in your other hand. “No, it’s fine,” you wave him off as you walk through the door, shutting it behind you. He rolls his eyes, easing the bag off of your shoulder and the cooler out of your hand.

With how things feel, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up and ask if you packed to stay with him for the weekend. But the weight of your bags gives him a soft flutter of ease in his chest that he might get a chance to fix this afterall. "Go ahead and get in the car," he says softly, "Everyone's excited to see you."

He watches you get in while he settles your bags amongst the others in the trunk, everyone says their hellos and he begs for it to not be weird considering they all know what's going on. Nancy takes a cue to move to the bench seat further back so you can sit next to each other, Eddie offering her a grateful nod when he gets back in behind Steve. 

“Alright, so now that we’re all accounted for we’re playing a game,” Steve says, turning the music down, “One by one we’re gonna pick our songs of the summer from when we were kids. We're going summer mode.” 

“That’s cute,” Nancy smiles, “That’s a cute idea you have there, Steve.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, dropping his Raybans down his nose to look at her, “Only cute ideas from the cutest guy here.” 

“Alright, relax,” Eddie grumbles when Steve steps on the gas, arms crossing over his chest. You’re looking at your phone, probably checking to see what song you want to pick, but he wishes you were looking at him. Half of him wants to reach over and rest his hand on your thigh like you’re his, but right now he knows you’re not. He slides his phone out from his pocket, shooting you a text at an attempt to try and salvage the car ride.

hey. you look really pretty.

He watches you while you look at the notification banner pop up on the screen, a soft smile flickers across your face when you open it. Eddie’s phone buzzes in response.

thanks, you too.

And he does look pretty – black shorts and a cut off Hawkins, IN t-shirt from some time in the early 90s. Well worn but still starchy. His tattoos bounce off his skin, a thin little heart outline peeking out from the top of his jeans, wallet chain still shining and silver. He had his hair pulled back messy, bangs and tendrils still flowing in his face – but for the first time you get to really see the curves and slopes of his jaw line, the tension in his neck. He blushes, putting his arm on the back of your seat, close enough where he doesn’t think he’s pushing it. Sunny Came Home flows through the speakers of the car. 

“Pristine choice, Rob,” Eddie nods, “Damn.” 

“Right in the chest, right?” Robin scrunches her nose, “Like sitting in your mom’s back seat on the way home from the grocery store in July or something.” 

Steve’s pick is unsurprising, Nelly’s Ride Wit Me shaking the car while he pulls onto the highway. You skip over yourself, unsure at what to pick, passing the phone to Nancy behind you who settles on Sheryl Crowe’s Everyday Is A Winding Road. Eddie loves how easy it is for you to fit in, like you’ve always been a part of the group – screaming the lyrics with Nancy and Robin so loud that Steve opens his window to let the sound leak out. 

When Eddie get’s the phone he smirks, typing in his choice before passing it back to Steve who chuckles when he presses play. 

“Oh yes,” Robin laughs when the opening riff of Santana’s Smooth booms against the leather interior, “You would.”  “Of course I would,” Eddie grins, tossing you a look for your approval. You nod back at him, mouthing along with the lyrics, rolling and shimmying your shoulders to match Robin’s dancing in the front. He gulps silently, knowing that there’s still a conversation to be had. Do you always hide your disappointment like this? Are you over it? Are you okay? And if you are -- why does it feel like this? Like you don't want his attention? Like you don't want him to touch you? 'Cause it's all he can think about with you next to him, looking pretty the way that you do. Looking perfect. Feeling like an old sweatshirt he wants to be covered in. “It’s the same as the emotion that I get from you, You got the kind of lovin' that can be so smooth, yeah Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it.”  He doesn’t notice at first that his fingers twitch along with the chords when the solar starts. "Wait, tell her the story about Wayne banning this song from your life," Robin says, turning back towards the two of you behind her. "Banned from his life?" you ask in surprise, but your attention is on Robin, "Does he just really not like Rob Thomas?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, biting his lower lip before recounting why it's banned from ever playing at Forest Hills, “I was obsessed when I was little. Sat in my bedroom for weeks listening to it over and over so I could teach myself by ear. Wayne – my uncle – he told me I could never listen to it again. He threw my stereo out the window that summer, he was so pissed – so sick of it, and then got even more mad that he had to buy me a new one. But I had to promise to never play it again at his house for as long as he was alive. And no one else is allowed to play it at the park either.”

“Can you still do the solo?” you ask, eyes finally landing on him. His breath hitches when your eyes meet, mouth going dry.

“Oh yeah,” his voice cracks awkwardly, fingers still playing an air guitar on his lap, “Learned to play a lot of his stuff when I was a teenager. John Mayer too, if you can believe it.”  “Very toxic soft boy of you,” you tease.  “Listen sugar, it was a hit with the ladies,” his voice is soft, but still teasing -- desperate to recreate the banter you've had over the past few weeks. You get nervous, he can tell by the way your knee bounces and a flick of another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Sugar, he thinks, s’that all it takes? When you get the phone you make your pick, certain of it now. Steve nods in agreement when he presses play on Aaliyah’s Are You That Somebody?  “I knew I liked her,” Steve says, catching him in the rearview again, “She better be sticking around.”

Eddie is silently thankful for the encouragement.

The rest of the surrounding towns must’ve had a similar idea because the first half of the beach was full by the time you got there despite the early wake up. Steve’s SUV strolls down the expansive parking lot while It’s Gonna Be Me plays, the boys and Robin screlting along with the music – singing into the straws of their iced coffees.  The bridge hits near the end and he doesn’t want to be obnoxious but he does want to impress you so he hits the runs where he can.  ‘Don’t wanna lose it, but I’m not li-ii-ke that, When finally, finally, You get to lo-oo-ve, Guess what, guess what…’ Steve finally finds parking and you all hop out onto the asphalt, the sun already hot on your skin. The woosh of hot air hits his face, catching against the nervous sweat on his forehead and neck. Macho is as macho does, Eddie and Steve make their way to the trunk, taking all of the coolers and bags of beach games while leaving the chairs to the ladies. 

“We brought you an extra,” Eddie smiles, “In case you didn’t have one.”  “I brought you an extra,” Steve corrects, eyes falling on you from behind his Ray Bans, “You can thank me later, angel.” 

“You do not have to thank him,” Eddie scrunches his nose while you all walk to the wood planked entrance covered in sand. This area was at least less crowded but far from the bathrooms and food stalls by the front of the parking lot. He can feel your eyes on him, following the way his cut off shirt rides up revealing the end of a snake and sword tattoo off his side and oblique. Lingering on the top of his jeans, on the ways his biceps and forearms flex at every move of the load he’s holding. He swallows hard, suddenly so aware of himself and what he looks like – do you like it? Do you think he looks good? 

The blankets get placed and so do the chairs, Steve and Nancy expertly get the umbrella in – she reads the directions out loud and Steve does what she says as she says it. When everything is settled you kick off your sandals and put it by your canvas tote, taking out your sunglasses. Eddie sits on the blanket below you, watching you get yourself together. You reach for the bottom of your shirt, a tee from some time in your life when he didn’t know you. Eddie’s mouth falls open when you pull it up over your head; his tongue curls up in his mouth when he sees the soft arch in your back, the way your breasts press up against the edge of your suit. That red suit. 

He licks his lips absentmindedly, unable to look at you when you start taking your shorts off because if he watches the jiggle your ass and thighs he won’t be able to deal. He’s lucky he’s wearing aviators big enough to cover his saucer like eyes – embarrassed by the way his body react like some teenager reading a Playboy. He's a grown man for god's sakes.

“H-hey Rob,” his voice cracks awkwardly, “You uh, um, you wanna check out the water?” “Yeah, gimme one sec,” she calls out, tossing her hair up in a claw clip from her back pack. “That’s mine,” Nancy argues, “How long have you had that?!”  Robin shrugs, “Long enough that you didn’t miss it.”  “You do this every time you come over. You always steal something,” she huffs, Robin popping her gum between her teeth in response.

"It's a little something to remember you by, Nance," she shrugs with a smirk. “You wanna come?” he asks you, shrugging off his shorts and throwing his trunks over his boxer briefs.  “Not yet, want it to get a little hot before I check it out,” you explain, taking your sunscreen out.  He huffs a laugh, trying a hand at being flirty despite the distance he feels between you, “Well, to be honest sugar, you’re already lookin’ pretty h–”  “Don’t embarrass yourself,” Robin breathes, patting him on the back, “Let’s go.” 

He takes a look back at you smiling at you over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” “I’ll be here,” you wave him off while you start to spray your sunscreen on your arms. He turns back towards the water, crashing in waves and sliding up the shore. The sun kissed his skin over his crop, still not ready to take it off yet. 

“You gonna make it, Ed?” Robin asks, bumping her shoulder against his, "You're fumbling bad. She looks good."

“I just – fuck Rob,” he shakes his head, looking down at their feet while they step over shells and seaweed on the bank above the shore, “It feels ruined. Like she came to like, to check to see if she still likes me."  

“I don’t know what it is. It just doesn't feel easy like it was before,” he shrugs, “How I’m supposed to bring up last weekend or like, how to talk to her anymore.” “She seems totally fine,” Robin says with a look, “Maybe you’re just over thinking it.” “She seems totally fine with you guys but I don’t know – it feels like for me there’s a wall there. Like the insane connection we had before just doesn’t matter because I’m a dumbass. Maybe this should’ve just been a fling and after today we’ll just end it,” he rambles on, “Am I making sense?”  

“You are making sense,” she agrees, “But I don't think you ruined it. I think you're being kind of down on yourself about it and you're doing it on purpose." "What does that even mean?" he snaps. "It means, she wouldn't have come if she didn't want to work it out with you. Like, why would she come hang out for the day with your friends if she wasn't trying to make an effort to fix things?" "Well I mean--" "Not done," she says, putting her hand up, "And further, I think one little hint of something not going totally perfect makes you so afraid that you're gonna get hurt bad like with Chrissy. And it's clear that you really like this girl -- like, really like her. And that freaks you out, so you don't want to go through the motions of fixing it just in case things go left a second time."

“It doesn’t freak me out,” he shuts it down quickly but he knows she’s right, sighing when he considers it, “Maybe it does. Maybe it's scaring me that I'm already thinking about her like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“I dunno, like I wanna be with her. Like really with her,” he shrugs while they step into the foaming leftovers of a wave receding. The water is freezing, not yet warmed up from the heat of summer since the ninety degree weather is such a mid-spring surprise. 

“Fuck!” they both hiss in unison, stepping ankle deep into the water. 

“Be with her like…marry her?” she asks, crystal blue eyes squinting into the horizon, "You sure you're not simultaneously thinking too far ahead?"

“Maybe,” he says, pulling his hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out at the root. The curls at the base of his neck already starting to get tight and coiled with sweat. 

“I should probably start by being her boyfriend first,” he laughs. "You should probably start by working through this little snag first," she corrects, "You can be her boyfriend some other time." "Not all of us want a perpetual 'will they, won't they' relationship like two idiots in bikinis that I know," Eddie teases her, pulling his hair back up in the scrunchy he also stole from Nancy when they went to her house for a movie night. 

“Don’t let Wheeler see you with that,” she warns, reaching out for his hand while they turn back towards the sand. Eddie takes it, savoring the reassuring squeeze she offers in understanding. 

“What’s she gonna do, Buckley?” Eddie raises a brow, “Eat me out about it?” 

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” Robin snorts, letting go to give him a shove in the shoulder while sand kicks of from their heels. 

Back where the towels and beach blankets are set up, you’re on your stomach, leaning your head to one side in a conversation with Nancy that has you giggling with each other. He nudges Robin with his shoulder who nudges him back. He wonders if Robin feels the same way about Nancy as he feels about you. He wonders if Robin will ever tell her. 

“How’s the water?” Nance asks, propping her chin up on the heel of her hand. 

“Freezing,” Eddie grimaces, “Like, bone chilling.” “I’m not surprised,” you shrug, “It’s not real hot yet.” “Just fake hot?” he asks back. “Yeah, just fake hot,” you agree with a scrunch of your nose. Still quick. 

Nervously, he makes the commitment of pulling off the cut off tee he came in, never normally thinking much about his body until you were right there in front of him but lightyears away. Eddie didn’t think he looked bad, but compared to Steve’s tanned, defined chest and abs he thought maybe he left more to be desired. It had kind of always felt like that, he thought, even when he was married. He wanted to feel like someone worth bragging about, and by the end of his relationship with Chrissy – she wasn’t really doing much bragging. With the way he could feel your eyes on him earlier, he was more self conscious now than he had been in years. He folds it up the shity nice, tossing it down on the beach blanket by you before sitting down and fishing into his bag for some sun screen. He’s meticulous with it over his tattoos, standing back up to get the snake and sword on his oblique fully covered.  

“This is kind of cliche but would you be down to get my back?” he asks hopefully, turning toward you, “I can do yours.” 

“Steve did mine,” you reply, face quirking from behind your sunglasses. “Oh um, wow,” he tries to shake it off, but the comment stings.Thinking about Steve having his hands on you in this suit before he ever even got the chance. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure, “Nancy got my back, but I can do yours.”  He frowns, “Don’t joke like that, please.” 

You get quiet and nod, taking the sunscreen from him. “Sorry,” you say in a whisper. Miles away. He wants to apologize for your apology. 

You’re gentle when you rub the sunscreen onto his back, taking extra care of the ink on his shoulder blade flowing down and wrapping into the tattoos on his ribcage. You can tell by the depth of the ink that he takes good care of them, feeling him relax under your touch. Eddie leans his head to the side while you continue, seeing two girls making their way down the sandy banks just by where their crew was set up. They lay out their towels while awkwardly trying to get their umbrella in place – laughing while they keep getting it wrong. When you’re done with his back, he thanks you softly – happy to see that you settle back down next to him. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna take them to finally get it in?” you ask. If he was a stupid boy he’d say ‘That’s what she said’, but he’s not so–

“That’s what she said,” Steve jokes. Eddie turns to see that Steve’s lifted up his Raybans, enjoying the show as the girls dig and shove their umbrella into the sand – losing sight of one of their towels now blowing over in the wind. 

“Come the fuck on,” one of them groans, but they are laughing too hard to be mad, too hard to grip the umbrella tight enough. It’s not lost on Eddie that Steve is watching because the girl with the umbrella in her hands, with her black suit and cat eye sunglasses, is nearly bursting out of her bathing suit top with a cleavage that even makes his own eyes widen. 

“Be right back,” Steve says, getting up out of his beach chair.  “Don’t be embarrassing,” Robin begs, “Please.” Steve flips her off while he walks by her, taking a few more steps past the beach blankets and running a hand through his chestnut hair. 

“Ahoy ladies!” he calls out, “Need a hand?” 

“Ew,” Robin mumbles, “He’s so weird.” 

“He’s gonna come back with both of their numbers, just watch,” Nancy says, “Every time.” 

“Is he really that much of a ladies man?” you ask, “He’s kind of – I don’t know. He’s kind of goofy.” 

Eddie laughs hard, Nancy and Robin joining in. Hard belly laughs. Not because of just the question, but the way you asked it. The genuine curiosity, the admission of how you felt. It was the exact thing Steve needed to hear, a shame he wasn’t around to hear it. It’s here that he knows he needs to just bite the bullet and work things out because you’re so sweet. You’re so – you’re just so you. 

“Don’t worry, we don’t get it either,” Nancy laughs, wiping her eyes. 

“Ooh, I needed that, that was good,” Robin breathes, “But you’re right, he’s super goofy.” 

Steve had come back an hour later, putting together their entire set up and taking some time to sit and talk to him. Without fail, he sat back down in his beach chair with two new numbers in his phone; breaking into one of the Yeti coolers and pulling out the canned mixed drinks he packed en-masse. 

“Whose partaking?” he asks, holding one up. It’s only 11 AM but hot weekends are a means for day drinking, and if anyone needs to take the edge off it’s Eddie Munson. Between the awkward half smiles and some back and forth and the way his heart dips and leaps at any given moment while next to you, he’d take any relaxer he can get. 

You all grab a drink, and he watches fondly as you talk about beach reads with Nancy and Robin. Sitting in the sand while the three of you make semi sand castles with each of your cans in dug out cup holders. He admires the way the sun bounces off your shoulders and tries to not admire the way your suit rides up on your hips. He doesn’t want to fix things just on account of being horny. 

Eddie checks his phone for signs of life from Gareth and Tati – they sent a few photos from Flamingo Island. Tatianna feeding the birds while looking like a supermodel and Gareth keeping a distance from the birds while looking awkward and pale. Another, a live photo of a selfie of Tatianna glowing with the beach in the background. Eddie holds his thumb on the picture, letting it play to Gare reaching over from behind to kiss her on the cheek. He smiles, watching them be in love through the photos, eyes flicking from you to them. Wondering when you’ll both be next. 

Robin sparks a pre-roll and you all sneakily split it like kids hiding from the cops. When you pass it to him, your fingers brush, and he can’t help but flash a bright smile at you while he takes it. 

“Thanks, sugar,” he drops his voice purposely, watching as your posture changes – a fluster running through you. 

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, going back to your sand and conversation. 

Eddie pulls his notebook out, a hybrid for a DnD and lesson plan scrap paper for when he thinks of something fun to do that the board will say no to. He takes their no and does it anyway, it’s not like they check. 

He gets up from the beach blanket, opting to set up his chair under the umbrella to get a break from the sun and so he can see the paper in the bright light. Some time passes and he’s knee deep in planning a new campaign when from above the notepad you’d made your way back from the sand, settling back down. 

“I want fries so bad,” you complain. 

“There’s a stand at the end of the beach,” he offers. 

“I don’t want to go get fries,” you sigh, “I would like the fries to be here already.” He licks his lips nervously before closing the notebook over his thumb, “I’ll go with you.” 

You look up at him from your spot on the blanket and he looks down at you, both knowing that being alone together will only bring upon the inevitable. Maybe you both need to grow up. 

“Um,” you hesitate before nodding, “Yeah, yeah okay. Let me just get my shorts on.” 

Eddie puts his notebook away, grabbing his wallet and putting it into the pocket of his trunks before slipping his shoes back on. You throw on your shorts, sliding into your sandals reaching for your bag. 

“You don’t need your bag,” he says gently, “I got it for you.” 

You smile, it’s small, “Oh, well – thanks.” “C’mon,” he says, ticking his head back toward the planked walkway for an easy walk back up to the asphalt. As you walk ahead of him, Robin, Steve, and Nance all exchange glances knowingly. Robin offers him a thumbs up before he turns around, following you up the beach. 

Without the buffer of everyone else, the tension feels worse. He’s not sure whether to reach for you, but when you tuck your hands in your shorts pockets it becomes obvious that you don’t want him to hold your hand. 

“Weather’s pretty wild, huh?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Your shoulders bump while you keep walking, not continuing the conversation but muttering a soft apology when you collide. 

Eddie sighs, a little too audibly because your shoulders sulk a bit when he lets out the last of the breath. He can’t really take this anymore, biting his cheeks for resolve and guiding you over to the concrete barrier that separates the boardwalk from the beach. 

“Look,” he begins, voice shaking, “Before we get fries we – we really need to talk about the other night.” 

“I said it was fine,” you respond, but you don’t meet his eye. Your tone lacks energy, like you’re just trying to push it away; but he doesn’t want that. His rings clink against the concrete when he pats the top, “Sit.” 

When you oblige, he stands between your knees, “It’s not fine. You were really upset. I wanna talk about it.” 

“It’s stupid, it doesn’t matter,” you reply, your eyes landing on his shoulder, looking at the people walking past him, “I’ll get over it.” He tentatively puts a hand on your leg, letting his thumb run over your soft skin. A rush runs through him when you don’t pull away, soothingly running his hand back and forth.

“It matters to me,” he says, moving his head so he can catch your gaze. It’s clear now that whatever is part of your own tragic lore has a lot to do with how you approach stuff like this; how you don’t really want to tell him that he hurt your feelings. 

“Is it because of me talking about my ex?” he asks. 

You’re quiet for a few minutes and he’s patient, watching you mull over the night in your head and finding the courage to let the words out. His hand travels from your thigh to where your hand rests on the barrier, interlocking your fingers with his.  

“She’s just so pretty,” you say, voice strained with emotion – weak like you’re swallowing a cry, “And I don’t look like that.” 

“I don’t want you to look like that,” he says gently. 

“It’s not just that…it’s just – I –” you roll your eyes at your own ridiculousness, “I just…I’ve been the rebound a lot, before my ex. Always for people whose partner before looked like your ex-wife, and was perfect, and pretty, and graceful, and all of the nice things you said she was. And I’m sure she’s great, I really believe you.” He squeezes your hand with gentleness while you continue. 

“I just don’t want to like you this much just to be your rebound,” you confess, “And I know you said you like me and that what we’ve been doing so far has been so good, but that’s like – that’s how it always starts out. These guys will act like I’m so great for them just to y’know – toss me when they get what they need. And you just sort of went from talking about how amazing and caring she is to like – talking about my body.” 

His brows crinkle, a frown pulling on his lips, “Why didn’t you tell me I was making you feel like that when I asked?” 

“I didn’t want you to be mad,” you mumble, a crackle in your tone, “Or tell me I was being stupid or get defensive because I just…I didn’t want to ruin it. But I – I ruined it anyway.” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head, taking his sunglasses off, round eyes pleading to you, “Sweetheart you didn’t ruin it. I’m – I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me. I wouldn’t have been mad.” 

“I just really don’t wanna get hurt,” you plead, “I don’t want to waste my time.” “You’re not I – babe, I don’t wanna get hurt either,” he sighs, “But you’re not a rebound. It’s…it’s been three years since I even considered seeing someone seriously. That’s not what I’m looking for. I already told you that night after Barcade how much I like you.” 

“Yeah but people say a lot of things just to get laid,” you shrug. 

His chest deflates, “Is that really what you think of me?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Maybe we just don’t really know each other yet.” 

It dawns on him slowly, you don’t really know each other yet. He knows how he feels about you, and how it feels like he’s known you his whole life. But he doesn’t know your ins and outs and you don’t know his – there’s a patience and excitement about the idea of learning it all.

“I don’t just wanna sleep with you,” he says earnestly, “Hell I was – I was so nervous to kiss you at Little Spoon, and even after Steve’s birthday…I – I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. And when things went left y’know I just – I was waitin’ by the phone for you to say something. I didn’t wanna push because I figured maybe you needed a minute.” “But sugar, I really felt awful,” he continues, letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I really was scared that you just decided you were done with me.” 

“I don’t wanna be done with you,” you say through squished cheeks. 

“I don’t wanna be done with you, either,” he says, “Cause getting started has been really great so far.” 

“I still really like you,” you profess. 

“I’m kind of obsessed with you,” he laughs breathily. 

“Yeah, I know,” you laugh, almost a little teary, “I tell you all the time.” 

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” he asks, running his tongue over his lips. 

“Okay.” With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you into him, letting his nose brush your first before pressing his lips against yours – no longer rubbery and despondent in their response. He feels weightless, not even caring about the people walking by who might be staring when he slips his tongue into your mouth. Kissing you feels more right than ever. Kissing you feels like coming home. 

When he breaks away, breathless, his eyes coast over your features, “Shit…” 

“What?” 

“I just…I really fucking like you.” 

You lean forward to bless him with a kiss again, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be afraid to steal one from you whenever he wants now. 

You continued your talk on the remainder of the walk to get fries, explaining your insecurities that he quelled with each thought that passed your lips. He confessed to the tears in his Honda and how he didn’t mean to come off so in love when talking about Chrissy – just that she was important to him, and that part of him will love her in a fond way, always. You confess you have a few people like that in your life too, but you’ll talk about that in ‘another episode’. He lets you know you only have to talk about things when you’re ready. 

On the way back, you hold hands, Eddie holding the bag with your fries in the other. He presses kisses to your temple and cheek every few intervals – laughing at you when you stop at the sound of Return of the Mack to hit a groove. 

“Truthfully, this is one of my favorite songs of all time,” you tell him, “And I played it all week to try to make myself feel better.” 

“Did you dance like this in your house each time?” 

“I did.” 

“I’m sad I missed it, I could’ve used a laugh,” he teases. 

“You’re very cruel,” you concede, hip bumping him while you continue on, “You’d die to have me give you a lap dance.” 

His ears turn pink at the thought, “Heh, well um…well if you’re offering…”

“It’s on the table,” you shrug, giving his hand a squeeze. 

“It can be anywhere, sweetheart – table, chair, in space – you name it I —” 

He stops when he notices the way a guy looks at you as he walks by, eyes scanning from the top of your head down to your thighs. Eddie’s head tilts, following the guys vision even as you pass – the man getting a good look as your ass with abandon. 

“Hey,” Eddie snaps, a touch of pride swelling in his chest. The guy looks up and meets his eye. 

“Yeah, you,” he continues, holding eye contact with a furrowed brow, “See somethin’ you like, chief?” 

“Listen man, I’m not startin’ trouble here I was – I was just –” 

“You were just walkin’ the other way,” Eddie finishes for him, “Get fuckin’ lost.” 

You tuck your lips into your teeth, while Eddie guides you away, hand wrapping around you to slide from your waist to your ass with a firm squeeze before settling in your shorts back pocket. You turn to look at him while you walk and he shakes his head. 

“Don’ look at me like that,” he huffs a laugh, grinning slightly, “Look, this is my ass.” 

“Well, technically it’s my ass but um, y’know, whatever you say,” you respond, a little breathy. He remembers the way you mentioned tipsily at the bar that you liked that streak in him. And if anything this true now, after these conversations, he wants everyone to know you’re his. He’s not playing around. 

When you get back to the group there’s another set of blankets next to yours, and a collection of more friends that you remember from Steve’s party. 

“Oh, hey freaks,” Eddie chimes when they all say their cheery hellos to the both of you. He nods at Erica in respect, “Miss Applejack.” 

“Nerd,” she hums out, fishing out a Nerf howler from Steve’s bag to play with Max and Lucas. Steve, of course, is back over making a fool of himself by the girls from earlier while Nancy, Robin, Dustin play cards. Mike, who you haven’t met, is stuck in a book under the umbrella. 

“What’re you reading Wheeler?” Eddie asks, taking you hand in hand back to the blanket to sit down. 

“It’s called The Ethical Slut,” he murmurs, “Me and El are practicing Ethical Non Monogamy while she’s in LA with Will.” 

“Practicing what?” he asks through a mouthful of fry. 

“Ethical non-monogamy,” he sighs, peering over the pages, “My guys at Oberlin were telling me about it. It’s like, it’s like being open.” 

Eddie pulls a face and take the book out of his hand, hitting him in side of the head with it, “Don’t be fuckin’ weird, dude.” 

“It’s not – ugh it’s not weird, you’re just old and don’t get it,” he sighs. 

“You’re old and don’t get it, tool,” Eddie clicks his tongue, “This is why you’re both always fighting.” 

“Oh my god, we’re not always fighting we just–” “Alright twerps, meet my friends,” Steve says with a game show host smile, hands showing off the two girls from before. They introduce themselves, everyone going around to offer their names, too. 

“And over there is Lucas, Max, and Erica,” Steve says, pointing at the three closer to the edge of the shore. He motions for them to sit, offering them drinks from the coolers while they make themselves comfortable. 

“I think we should play never have I ever so we can all get to know each other,” Steve offers, sitting between the two women who giggle whenever he looks at them. Clear from the look on their faces that he definitely snuck one of Robin’s pre-rolls over to spark up before bringing them to the group. 

“No, Steve, we’re not playing that,” Eddie waves the suggestion off like a bad smell. 

“How come?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Cause we’re in our fuckin’ 30s, what is this, a high school beach party?” 

“You just don’t like it ‘cause you always lose,” Steve teases, catching your eye, “He’s a sore loser, angel.” 

“I believe this,” you nod. 

“Okay, well, I still said what I said,” Eddie huffs. 

“There’s no way, look, I’ll start with an easy one,” you offer, “Never have I ever um…spent a weekend in jail.” 

Eddie scowls with a gravelly sigh, bringing a beer to his lips. Steve barks a laugh, “See, I told you – sore loser.” 

Max, Lucas, and Erica come back to the blankets when they see the newcomers sitting with the group. Max tosses Robin and look and Eddie knows that means they’ll be double teaming to make sure Steve looks like a tool at every given moment. Lucas asks if it’s a round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ and everyone excitedly agrees except for Eddie whose stewing, and Mike whose chest deep in his book. 

“Okay, we don’t have to play,” you soothe, running your hand over his bicep, “But damn, you spent a weekend in jail?” 

“I have spent,” he sighs, taking another sip of beer, “A lot of weekends in jail, sweetheart.” 

“Like – for bad stuff?” 

“Like, for stupid shit,” he explains, “I was a dumb kid, it was all dumb shit. But yeah, I got a little record. Nothing crazy enough to keep me from teaching.” 

“Sooo mysterious,” you tease, laying down on your back while you snag a fry from the back, “Very bad boy of Dawson’s Creek.” 

“Mean,” he glares playfully, laying next to you, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know about you, then.” 

“Hmm,” you think, turning to look him over, “I am lifeguard and WSI certified.” 

“WSI?” 

“Water safety instructor,” you answer, “I teach swim lessons. Well used to.” 

“You know like, first aid and stuff?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod excitedly, “Like CPR and stuff.” 

“Hm,” he hums, leaning on his side, propping his head up, “Like you could give me mouth to mouth?” 

“Don’t be horny and gross,” you laugh, “I could save your life.” “It would save my life to have your mouth on my mouth, I promise,” he says with a hint of seriousness. 

“Tell me somethin’ else I don’t know about you, jailbird,” you prompt, matching his posture. 

“Ummm, ah!” he snaps, “I um, I speak Spanish.” Your brows furrow, “Like, fluently?” 

“Sí, con fluidez,” he smirks. 

“Show off,” you grin.

“Ooh, you think it’s hot, don’t you?” he laughs, “You think I’m so sexy.” 

“You’re somethin’,” you sigh, “How’d you get fluent in Spanish?” 

“I took it in high school and college,” he shrugs, “But I worked at a pretty authentic Colombian restaurant for like, five years while teaching before getting to the private school. I was in the kitchen and all the guys spoke Spanish so I sorta committed. And y’know, a lot of my kids’ parents speak Spanish so it’s helpful to be able to communicate with them too. I don’t wanna lose it, so I practice a lot.” 

“Look at you,” you encourage, “What else would surprise me?” 

“Oh I don’t know,” he shrugs, feeding you a fry, “Maybe – hmm – I love Sza.”  “The singer?” you ask through a mouthful. 

“Yes,” he nods, “She’s my celebrity pass I’m, wow, I love her. She’s so fine. But also, I dig her sound – Ctrl is one of my favorite albums of all time. We even do a cover of The Weekend at our sets sometimes.” 

“How does that work? Like, is it just a screamo version?” 

“Screamo? Don’t disrespect me like that,” he holds a hand to his chest over his silver chains, “We’re a metal band, baby.” “Sorry, please excuse me. Like, is it just a metal version?” you repeat back with a little bite. He rests the tip of his tongue by the sharp point of his canine when he smiles at you, flicking over your face before looking back into your eyes. 

“It’s kind of a Deftones-y version,” he shrugs. 

“Oh,” you nod, “Okay.” 

“What?” 

“Nothin’ just, would really like to hear that someday,” but there’s something in the way you say it, “Did you ever record it?” 

“Might’ve? Maybe just rehearsals,” he shrugs, “If we did, it’s somewhere on my hard drive.” “Well, maybe we can find it later.” “Later?” he asks, eyes glittering with excitement, “You’re – you’re gonna come over?” 

“Yeah, I – I packed a little extra just in case,” you giggle. He knew he was right, that feeling in his gut when he took your bag. He was gonna give you the re-do of a the century. 

“We’ll look for it when we get home and you can listen,” he promises. “It’d be cool to hear it live one day,” you suggest. He makes a note to put it back in rotation for the summer set list; even though they put the cover to bed some time last year. 

“You wanna see me play?” 

“Of course,” you nod, “You’re gonna be a famous rockstar, remember? We went over this.” 

“You’re right,” he nods back, leaning forward, tucking a fingertip under your chin, “I remember.” 

You both ignore the coos and aws from the group as he leans in to kiss you. 

‘After sun sleepy’ is what you called it in the car as the group of you piled in, the weight of the day heavy on your eyelids. Salt and sand coated both of you, a soft tinge of pink glowed off of Eddie’s shoulders where the sunscreen couldn’t hold out any longer. The ride home was less eventful than the ride there, everyone tuckered out and sun soaked from the day’s activities. Steve gave you both some parting teasing once you let him know he didn’t have to drop you off at your house once he pulled up in front of Eddie’s. 

“Use protection,” he calls out from the window. 

“Bye,” Eddie calls back out, “Don’t ever come back.” 

He’s much cooler about opening the door this time around, not speedily trying to get things done before the party made it back to his. No count down for when you had to leave. He has the rest of the night and all of tomorrow to have you to himself. This time he could take it slow, take his time, you could both relax. “I need to shower,” you mumble, slipping your sandals off in the entryway. “We can shower,” he nods, placing the beach bags down next to his Vans – he’ll deal with that later. You turn around on the balls of your feet, smirking while your arms fold across your chest. He tries to ignore the way your boobs push in and up, the top curve of tour cleavage  making him feel dumb. 

“We?” you ask. 

“Uhh,” he coughs to buy time, smirking to himself behind his hand, “I just – um – I don’t know. I don’t know why I said that. Why I said it like that.” 

You laugh, watching him sputter, “I think I know why you said it like that.” 

“Look,” he puts his hands up, “It may or may not have been something I’ve been thinking about at night when I’m trying to avoid grading papers. That’s all.” 

He guides you to the bathroom, stopping at the small closet down the hall to grab you both towels and washcloths; fresh from the dryer this morning. It’s when you’re both standing on the tile floor, water running, that he realizes what’s next and he’s…well, he’s nervous. 

He holds his breath while you take down your shorts, thumbs looping into the straps of your bathing suit to start pulling it down. He braces himself, watching some sand come down with the red fabric while you tug it further over your chest, down your stomach until it’s on the floor. Every inch of you available for him to see, and it doesn’t feel like the horny sexual guttural reveal he has imagined it to be. It feels different, eyes scanning over you, your decolletage, your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dimples in your skin just above your stomach. Your belly, your thighs, the smattering of cellulite where they meet, following all the way down to your toes. Eddie regards you like a painting, like something too sacred to touch. A tug pulls in his ribcage, butterflies in his stomach, throat getting tight where he almost wants to cry. You’re so beautiful, he thinks. So beautiful that it’s unfair. 

“Wow…” he whispers, delicate and subdued. A smile spreads across your face, so bright and genuine that he melts. 

“I’m guessing that’s a good wow,” you infer, pulling back the shower curtain to step in. He catches a glimpse at the back of you, sucking in a breath at the curve of your thighs and hips, meeting to prop up a butt cheek while one foot stays on the lip of the tub. 

“Yeah, yeah it’s um, it’s a really good wow,” he answers, albeit dumbly. 

“You coming in, too?” you ask, stepping fully behind the curtain. 

“Yep, yeah,” Eddie nods, hurrying back to himself only to feel the aching tension in his pants. He groans internally, humiliation bubbling in his belly like he got called on in class to come to the board. This was going to happen eventually, right? You were going to see it eventually? So why is it so weird thinking about being in the shower with you. You know he has one, it’s not weird, it’s not…a surprise. 

Just take your pants of, Munson, c’mon, he urges to himself. He awkwardly shimmies his trunks down, folding down the boxer briefs beneath them where sand had collected uncomfortably in side. 

Sand in my fucking ball sack and now I have to go stand in the shower with her? Are you kidding? he grumbles internally. His shirt gets pulled over his head and he’s face to face with himself in the mirror over the sink. A dusting of freckles forming on his shoulders in the soft pink of the mild sunburn, a little burn on the bridge of his nose. Tattoos vibrant against skin that just never seems to get enough sun. 

Eddie leaves his rings in Tatianna’s jewelry bowl that they started to share when Tatianna taught him that his jewelry will last longer if he stops showering with it on. As his silver chains drizzle in next to his rings, he takes a breath, turning toward the shower curtain where he can already smell his body wash wafting through the steam. 

“Did you start without me?” he asks, fingers taking in the fabric. 

“You’re taking forever, and I hate feeling sandy,” you respond. He steps in, the warm water hitting his toes, seeing yours where the suds hit to go down the train. When he looks up to see you, he gulps – not only naked, but naked and soapy. 

Jesus Christ, he sighs in his head. Any sense of calming down his cock had long since passed now. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, hand covering himself while he steps in.

“It’s okay,” you assure, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. Eddie’s cheeks redden when he watches you scan over him, a satisfied smile pulling your cheeks toward your eyes, “Hey, you.” 

“Hey,” he chokes out, the ease of talking to you and getting you flustered is suddenly harder than it’s ever been before. With a nervous step forward, he reaches for your hips, bruised and rough fingertips sliding over your skin from his assault on his guitar earlier this week. Eddie gulps when he steps fully behind you, his length pressing flat against him between the two of you with a friction that makes both get a hitch in your breath. 

He leans in to print a kiss on your shoulder, a waft of cedar, bergamot, and vetiver on your skin. Another kiss and he leans his forehead against it while you both stand in the stream of the water. 

“You are…” he trails off, taking a shuddering inhale, “You are so, so beautiful.” 

One hand stays on your hip while to other travels up to your waist, to just under your breasts. Slipping and sliding on the soap and water mixing on your skin with left over sunscreen to be washed down the drain. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, headiness deepening your voice. Neither of you move too quickly, letting him press kisses over you before finally kissing your lips to switch sides in the shower. He lathers up and you see it. Your brows raising in surprise while he lets the water soak his curls. 

“What?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

“You know what,” you laugh. 

“No, I don’t know what,” it’s a tease and he knows that, but it’s still fun to watch you get like this. 

“You weren’t lying when you said – when you y’know…” 

“When I said…?” 

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes, embarrassment evident on your face, “When you said it was big.” 

“Oh yeah,” he nods coolly, scrubbing shampoo into his hair, “Why would I lie about that?” 

And despite his half chill demeanor at the comment, he is fucking cheering so loud in his head that you think this about him and are saying it outloud. 

“Well don’t get a big head,” you joke, taking the remaining wash cloth from the edge of the tub and loading it with water and soap, “It’s more important that you know how to use it.” 

He tilts his head at you after rinsing out the shampoo, “Be honest, do I look like a guy that doesn’t know how to use it?” 

“Like I said before,” you reach forward with the washcloth, massaging it onto his shoulder, “We don’t know each other.” 

It’s the way you touch him and the mild scolding that makes his knees weak. You’re soft but deliberate, sudsing him up on his chest and back while he smooth conditioner in his hair. A muffled moan comes from his diaphragm when you ease the cloth over his lower belly, soap catching on the hair of his happy trail. Your eyes flick up at him mischievously, stepping closer to him to give him a kiss. Eddie sighs into it, letting the water pour down his back and rinse the conditioner out while he leans in rest a hand on your cheek, the other takes the wash cloth from you. 

“Do you not want me to do it?” you ask sheepishly. 

“I want you to do it way too much,” he smirks against your lips, quickly leaning down to get his legs and nether regions, “But thank you, you’re very sweet.” 

There’s plenty of hot water left, and it doesn’t go to waste. Both of you standing in the shower, soapy and fresh where you both feel safe enough to explore. His hands roam the expanse of you, trailing from the top of your neck down to your ass, cupping your breasts and with a gentle squeeze while you both gasp between kisses. His rigid length stays pressed between you, leaking pitifully while snuggly hugging your hip bone. 

You leave his kiss bitten mouth to nip at his jaw, down further to run your tongue from the base of his neck to the shell of his ear. Unable to hold back anymore, he whines. Needy and desperate, he does it again when your tongue flicks at his earlobe. 

“Mmm’god,” he breathes, slurring. He feels your smile against his skin when you go back to his neck, embarrassed at the reveal of his sensitive ears and jugular. Your tongue traces the tattoo on his right peck, some scratchy shitty demon head he got when he was sixteen from some older kid in his living room. Wayne would’ve made him sleep outside if it hadn’t gotten infected and needed attention. Eddie keeps meaning to get it covered, but by the way you’re kissing over it he thinks maybe he’ll keep it around. 

He twitches when you get to his ribs, a sharp inhale making him stand rigid while you move further down his body. Your hands rest on his stomach and glide to his thighs while you take your place on your knees in the cramped tub. His cock standing at attention straight out, reddening at the tip, in some way knowing there’s a girl staring right at it without his brain needing to send the signal. 

“This okay?” you ask, looking up at him with dew drops in your lashes. He nods, afraid that if he speaks he’ll just spill all over, one false move and he’ll end the night before it even began. 

You move slow, hands just under the swell of his butt. You bypass his erection and kiss his hip bone, then his pelvis. He shivers, hand gripping the shower curtain rod, white knuckling the ceramic coated metal while your breath coasts over his shaft. 

Your wet tongue runs flat from base to tip, making his eyes shut tight. 

“Shit,” he whimpers and you chuckle. He could just die, feeling the vibration of it on his head where your tongue stays. Your hand grips him gently, pumping him while you keep the top half in your mouth and against your lips. He cracks his eyes open to look down at you, mouth hanging open at the immediate eye contact he gets from you looking up at him. Mouth full and eager, wet and hot. 

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, free hand delicately resting on the back of your head. You continue your double duty for a few more stroke before dropping your hand. Your eye contact stops, determination in your brow when he feels your mouth and throat open up around him. Your head moving further down his shaft with skill – snug and tight. He thrusts forward slightly, moaning as you work with his hips. Eddie feels himself tighten, the heat in his belly growing to a steady and churning thrum. 

You like the challenge of getting him off and he can tell by how you keep going, down far enough that you gag and as much as he hates himself for it the sound sends him hurtling towards release. With a cruel bite to his inner cheek he holds back, but the sight of you with spit trailing from your mouth to his shaft does little to aid in settling him down. Almost pornographic. 

You wipe your mouth, reaching your hand out to stroke him again, but as your mouth leans in to start up he pulls his hips back.

“Baby, baby, wait stop–” he whines, moving away. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, putting your hands on your thighs. 

“I just..wow I –” he collects himself, offering his hand to help you stand up on the slippery tub floor, “I haven’t um – wow, I haven’t had my dick sucked in a – in a long time and I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna cum yet.” 

Your worry turns into a cocky and confident smirk, “Oh, was that where that was heading?” 

He takes another ragged breath to steady himself, “Don’t get slick, we got all night.” 

You kiss until the water turns cold. 

Two boxes of pizza sit open on the coffee table in front of the couch you’re both snuggled up in. Both of your bellies are full and eyes drowsy in the glow of the TV. The sun had made its way down and the weather cooled off considerably, the breeze from the windows keeping you both under blankets with your bodies wrapped around each other in a cozy post carb bliss. 

“This is honestly all I’ve wanted for weeks,” Eddie murmurs. 

“What is?” you ask, tilting your head up so the tip of your nose hits his cheek. 

“This,” he says softly, “Being all snuggled up on my couch with you.” “You’re so cheesy,” you tease. 

“Yeah, that’s something you should get to know about me,” he says into a kiss, “M’super cheesy.” 

“Huge tool,” you nod, another kiss. 

“It’s really bad,” he agrees, “I’m so annoying.” “So annoying,” you mumble, tongue striping his lower lip. He grants you access with ease, tongue dancing with yours while you maneuver your way onto his lap like you had after Steve’s party. 

“Snuggled up on my couch with no one to interrupt us,” he says, looking up at you with desperate eyes, “Right?” 

You bite your lip nervously, the confidence from the shower ebbing away even in the heat of the moment, “Right.” “Come with me,” he says, voice sweet and slow like molasses. Eddie eases you off his lap, taking your hand to bring you into his bedroom – which he scrubbed to sparkling the night before. At the foot of his bed he kisses your cheek, fingers running over the hem of your sleep shirt, no longer a sputtering idiot but smooth in his movements while he eases it off you. 

He leans down to kiss your neck, earning him a breathy sigh while your back arches into him. His thumbs tuck under the band of your sweats and panties, letting them fall to the floor by your feet – easing you on to your back on his comforter. 

He takes down his own sweats, half hard as he climbs onto the bed on his knees, kneeling between yours. Your arms come up to snake under his, wrapping around his back, hands landing on his traps. He relents leaning down on his forearms so you’re skin to skin, chest to chest. Your noses brush, Eddie using his to angle your face to him, pressing your foreheads together, the tops of your lips touching. 

“This is okay, right?” he asks, the warm white glow of the rope light on his far wall illuminating the frizz in his curls like a halo. It cradles your face, bouncing off your eyes that look so sweet at him. 

“I think if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be naked under you right now,” you say back, barely audible. 

“Right, right,” he chuckles, lips attaching to yours with needy hunger. He stiffens below the belt, groaning when your hips roll up to meet his, when your legs wrap around him. But he can’t just start like that, pushing up again onto his hands. 

“I gotta go down on your first,” he huffs. 

“I mean I’m not gonna say no,” you laugh, he laughs too. A pepper of pecks following from your lips and down your chest, he takes fond care of your nipples on the way down. Tongue and teeth gently nipping and licking while his fingers explore between your legs. 

“Eddie…” your breathy call of his name sends a shiver through him, feeling how wet you are already just from having him pressed up against you like this. 

“That feels good?” he asks tentatively, meeting his fingers between your thighs. 

“Mhm,” you sigh, back arching slightly while his face disappears and all that can be seen are the tops of his curls. He dips and swirls his tongue in all the ways you liked before, burying himself deeper the more you react. Each desperate cry spurring him on to continue, each pump of his fingers inside you making you clench around the digits. 

“You taste,” he starts, replacing his fingers with his tongue at your entrance for a bit before breaking to your inner thigh, “so, so good.” 

“Please do that again,” you whine, weak and pitiful. He obliges without hesitation, keening into your touch when you grip his hair at the crown. It stings but he likes it, it stings and he wonders how hard you can pull. When you start to get loud he lifts his head up, brows raised under his fluffy bangs. 

“Wow,” he smiles into a snicker, “Y’know, I got neighbors sweetheart.” 

“Oh my god,” you laugh shakily, covering your face, “M’sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says with a shake of his head, crawling back up your body. He moves your hands away, looking down at you, “You’re not fuckin’ with me, right?” 

You shake your head no, “I’m not fucking with you it’s — yeah, even better the second time.” 

He shrugs with a cheesey grin, “Well y’know I’m kinda—”

“Don’t be a dweeb,” you put two fingers to his lips, “Shut up and fuck me.” 

Eddie chokes on his words, “Oh, yes uh — yes ma’am, absolutely.” 

He nervously climbs over you to get to his side table drawer, the box of condoms he found last week sitting undisturbed. He rips the foil open with his teeth, taking his time to roll it on while you turn to your side to watch him. 

“It’s bad for your teeth to do that,” you note. 

“Is that your concern right now?” he asks, looking up from under his brow while he finishes the task. 

“I’m just saying,” you shrug. He motions you further up the bed, settling between your legs again, taking a chance to admire you below him. Soft curves and skin, legs pressed against your chest and splayed open for him, a peace offering after years of not getting it right. You were right. 

“You’re just saying?” he replies with the tilt of his head, smoothing back down to press himself against you, a bruising kiss in his wake, “S’that it? You were just saying?” 

“Mmmhmm,” your response is muffled against his lips, a low whine bubbling through your kiss as his tip catches between your legs. Neither of you take pause, his hips buck forward, still wrapped up in you and again until he feels it. The firm pressure of your core wrapped around him, sucking him in to the hilt. 

“Jeeesus Christ,” he groans in your ear, pressing his face into your neck. He can tell he’s stretching you out, feeling your nails dig into his back in a sting that feels just as delicious as you pulling his hair. 

“Oh my god,” a strangled moan leaks from your throat in a head voice. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed, letting himself rock into you steadily, supporting himself on one arm and the other making it’s way behind your knee to keep you spread open. He pushes up a little, hair falling forward on one side, curtaining one side of your face. 

It’s more than he could’ve imagined, kicking himself for not getting it right in all the day dreams he had of this moment, you look serene. Brows slightly pinched, mouth open to let out all your little huffs and sounds. Your arms let go of him as he raises over you, laying back with your palms up toward the ceiling by your head. He watches as your breasts bounce on your chest, the gentle jiggle in your arms, the arch in your back. 

“Kiss me,” you breathe,aching, “Please.”

And how can he deny you when you ask like that? Maintaining his position he cranes his neck down to latch himself onto you, feeling your hands cup his face. Eddie grunts into the kiss, speed picking up while he chases the pleasure beating like a drum in his body, each lewd smack of skin against skin making him hungry for more. 

You moan wantonly into his mouth, making him moan in return, trying to find any angle and speed to make you keep making those sounds. Neighbors be damned. He pulls out to pull you by the thighs flush to him, pushing back in without a breath and you wail. He can feel your walls squeeze down on him, warm and tight, even tighter when he pushes your legs back up against your chest. From here, he can tell this position works for you – which is perfect because it’s working even better for him. 

“Sh-i-hi-hit, baby,” he grunts, sweat starting to sheen across your skin, “This good?” 

“Yeah.” He has to shut his eyes again, think of something bad so that he doesn’t bust at the sound of you whining like that. Like an amateur porn star who never fakes it. 

“Yeah?” he teases, snaking back down to kiss your neck. 

“Oh god…” you nearly blubber. 

He coasts his lips over you until landing at that spot that he found on his couch a couple weeks ago. The tip of his tongue teasing at first before letting his teeth graze it with his lips. 

“Oh! Oh fuck,” you yelp. He holds in a laugh, nipping and sucking on your neck while your hips meet his thrusts. 

“Oh god, fuck - fuck more,” you groan, voice ragged while he keeps the pace in his hips. Another bright sting accosts him when one of your hands drags down the expanse of his back from under his shoulder blade. 

With a growl he feels you cum, clamping down on him – but you’re so slick that it doesn’t deter his thrusts. You pulse, moans and cries peeling off into a high pitched whisper while he slows down inside of you before coming to a stop. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Y-yeah just…need a sec,” you sigh, “Need a breather.” 

“That’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands comfortingly over your thighs. 

“Are you having fun?” you ask between deep inhales. 

“Oh, I’m having a blast,” he confirms with a laugh, settling back on his calves while you collect yourself, “Are you?” 

“God,” you reply, exasperated, “I knew you were trouble.” “Doesn’t answer my question,” he says with a quirk of his lips. 

“I’m having a lot of fun,” you nod, a sleepiness pulling at your eyes, “Can I say something?” 

“Always.” 

“I thought you’d be a sex playlist kind of guy.” 

“Excuse me?” he asks. 

“You just gave me a ‘has a sex playlist’ vibe,” you shrug. 

“Why do you think that? What vibe?” Eddie’s tone falls under bewilderment, “Do you think I need music on so I can fuck?” 

“I don’t know, you’re a music teacher maybe that’s just your thing,” you laugh at his surprise and mild offense. 

“I don’t need a beat to know what I’m doing, babe, that’s just disrespectful,” he jokes. 

“I was a little surprised when you didn’t go to your stereo to be like ‘Let me just set the mood,’” you’re teasing him on purpose now, it makes his heart skip a beat. That quick mouth of yours coming back full force – he likes you like this. He could love you like this. 

“Set the mood? I’m not setting the mood enough for you, hm?” “You just have a very ‘let me play grunge while I get it on’ sort of energy going on–” “Listen, listen, enough,” he waves you off to shut you up, “Your break is up if you’re gonna use it to make fun-a-me, flip over.” 

“Flip over? Yeah?” you challenge. “Yeah,” he challenges back, gripping you at the hips, “Flip over.” 

Seeing you in an arch like this turns his brain to mush, ass in the air with hips that follow down into your waist and back out again. He smirks, readying himself behind you while his hand smooths over the swell of your hip. 

“I could get very used to this,” he murmurs to himself. 

“Nice view up there, Munson” you ask, cheek pressed up against his pillows. You wiggle your hips against him, tantalizing and slow. 

“Very, very nice,” he assures. He guides his still aching length to your entrance, and he can tell even half way in that this is a position that works for you. Already gripping the sheets next to you before his hips make it align with yours. He doesn’t let it deter him, backing up to give you a not so delicate thrust all the way into you. 

You let out a surprised huff. 

“See what happens when you make fun?” he coos. 

“I will make fun of you all the time if this is what I’m getting out of it,” you smirk. This playfulness is something he missed, feeling familiar, even in this position. He looks you over again, your body a stunning expanse infront of him – not afraid to do what he needs, not afraid to break you. 

Things with Chrissy had been fine, sure. But there felt like there was so much more possibility here, snug tight inside you. 

“Hmm, I’ll make a note of that,” he grits out, steadying himself before starting up a rhythm. He leans his head back with a desperate groan, fingertips sinking into the fat of your hips harder with every ‘plap! plap! plap!’ of his pelvis against your backside. The downside is not getting nearly as good of a view of your face, but if it saves the neighbors from ringing the bell he’s all for it. You’re loud enough with your face in the pillow. 

He sputters, hands moving from hips to waist when you bounce back against him. 

“Shit, doll,” he growls, watching your ass bounce in double time. Every meeting of his thrusts tugs on him quicker, his resolve faltering when you start to come undone under him again. He has no qualms with how easy it is to get you there, in fact, he makes a mental note to try to beat the high score every time. 

Your thighs and hips give way, pressing back down into the mattress where he follows. Eddie readjusts while you catch your breath, letting you lay flat on your belly with your legs together. 

“Stay like this, hm?” he says in a whisper in your ear, kissing your temple. 

“Hmm,” you respond, eyes fluttering closed. 

He settles over your thighs, reaching down to part your lips that are soaked and puffy with latent need. He’s close, and knowing he’s essentially fucked you to sleep is doing nothing but getting him closer. Pushing in slow, with your legs together, makes him shudder. You squeeze your thighs and while he can’t see you he knows you’re smirking to yourself. 

“Hmm, keep doin’ that for me,” he mumbles headily. 

“S’it feel good?” you ask. 

“S’real good, baby,” he murmurs back tightly, still quiet. The ends of his hair tickle your back while he leans forward over you, drilling you hard into the mattress. 

“Oh god, fuck,” he growls when you squeeze your thighs and walls again, “Fuck, baby, just like that.” 

He lets his breath run through his nose like a bull, groaning and grunting before an aching moans pools of out him – spilling into the condom while inside you. 

Pulling out, he takes a heaving breath, taking care of the condom and collapsing beside you. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs, looking at you with glassy eyes. 

“You gonna make it?” you ask with a raise of your brow. Body like dead weight, he wills himself closer to you, wrapping you up in his arms over the covers. 

“If not, that’s totally fine,” he says into your temple, “Dying right now would be totally fine.” 

“Well don’t,” you say back, “I’d prefer you didn’t.” 

“Okay, I won’t," his eyes close with the scent of you in his nose, lulling him to sleep. “Thanks," your sleeply reply vibrates against his chest where your face stay planted in comfort. “You’re welcome.” 

Eddie wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room, eyes peering open blearily to the sun pouring in from his window. He flicks his eyes over to you, seeing your bare back and steady breaths. Fast asleep. 

He eases out of bed, grabbing his boxers off the floor before making it to the living room on the balls of his feet so he doesn’t step too loudly. At the flip of his phone he’s assaulted with the reflection of himself on an incoming FaceTime call. He answers it, rubbing his eyes when a happy scream echoes through the speaker of his phone. 

“I’m a FIANCEEEEEE!” Tatianna screams from behind her hand, the rock on her finger front and center in the camera.

“Congratulations,” he sing songs, speaking low, “Hold on, hold it a little further away from the camera so I can see.” 

Tatianna flips the camera to show off her ring in the sunlight, Eddie’s heart flutters when it glitters and catches in the rays. She flips the camera back to her, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Did you know?” she asks. 

“Of course I knew,” he says matter of factly, “I’ve known for months. I helped make it happen.” 

“He did so good, Ed,” Tatianna smiles, “Sunrise? He really like – he knows me. That’s my husband! AHHHH!” 

Eddie laughs again but shushes himself, remembering you’re still asleep in the other room. 

“Why’re you being quiet? Oh shit – she’s there huh?” she grins. Gareth makes his way into frame, passing her a glass of champagne. 

“Yeah, guys, she’s here,” he nods, “And she’s sleeping. Otherwise I’d be screaming too.” 

“Sure there was plenty of screaming last night if she’s sleeping,” Gare nudges Tati who nudges him back. Eddie let’s them laugh at him because it would be even worse if they were actually there.

“Everything’s good though? Rob texted me saying things kind of went left but I didn’t want to bring it up if you didn’t bring it up to us,” she asks, sun gleaming off her skin and bright blue bikini top. 

“Everything’s good, we’ll talk about it when you come back,” he assures. 

“Well we don’t wanna interrupt, then,” Gare says, leaning in to kiss Tati on the cheek and then her lips, glossy with champagne. 

“It’s more like I don’t want to interrupt you,” Eddie says back, “I’ll call you later. Love you both.” “Love youuuu,” Tatianna calls back, “I’mma fianceeeee!” 

They cut the call with their mouths on each other and he’s sure he won’t hear back from them for at least a day. He’s glad it at least all went off without a hitch. 

Leaving his phone on the coffee table, he makes his way back to the bedroom where you’re wrapped up in his covers. Running a hand over your shoulder, he gently shakes you awake. 

“Hey pretty,” he coos when your eyes open, “Was gonna make some breakfast, if you want.” 

“Wassonthemenu?” you yawn out, stretching. 

“French toast,” he offers, “I’m kind of a connoisseur.” 

“Ooh that sounds good, I don’t think I’ve had french toast in years,” you say with your eyes closed. 

“Take your time,” he kisses your forehead, “Just meet me in the kitchen.” 

When you do, he’s cracking eggs. Your slow shuffle gets his attention, turning to look at you he sees you picked up his sweats and shirt by mistake. 

“Hello, good morning,” you say stiffly, “It appears I am dressed to impress.” 

“You certainly are,” he jokes back. 

“I’m happy to get some coffee together while you make breakfast,” you offer, “Just let me know where everything is.” 

He points out where you can get started but grabs the mugs for you, giving you a sweet kiss good morning while he does. You don’t talk much, just the sounds of him cooking and the coffee machine whirring while the town wakes up around you both outside. He tells you about the engagement and that they can call again later so you can congratulate them too. You of course, gave him a reproachful look for not waking her up to start with. You pour the coffee while he plates the toast, thick and crusted over with brown sugar and cinnamon. He sets the butter and maple syrup on the center of the kitchen table while you grab plates and silverware. The domesticity makes his heart ache, because with you, it feels like this could be your house together. With you, it feels like it’s a future where he doesn’t live with Tati and Gare, and he wakes up to you every day.  He swears he smells chlorine in the air. 

“You don’t like cream or sugar, right?” you ask, putting the mug in front of him while he sits at the table. 

“I don’t, but we have some. There’s milk and cream in the fridge door and I thiiiink some stevia packets in the cabinet with all the baking stuff. That one.” 

He points to the cabinet next to the stove and you snatch a couple like gold. He sips his cup while you prepare your coffee, giggling to yourself. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“It’s just, this outfit is not what I had in mind to be wearing in front of you after a night like that,” you laugh, “I thought maybe I’d have a sexy robe on or something and instead I just –” You take a sip from your mug, shaking your head, “I look like a teenage boy from ‘07 whose about to do a kick flip for the ladies.” 

Eddie barks a laugh into his coffee cup, “You do, you look just like that.” 

“I know,” you laugh back, “But then again, I’m in your clothes. So I guess it’s you who looks like a teenager from ‘07.” 

“I can do a kick flip,” he admits. “Yeah, I’m not surprised,” you say into your next sip. 

Eddie swears he can hear the rush of water while his classmates kick on the side of the pool, his own toes on the edge of the block. 

“You know who you look like, almost exactly?” he asks, putting his mug down and meeting you at the counter. “Who?” you ask with a smile. 

“You look just like Eddie Munson’s girlfriend,” he says, hand falling on your hip. 

“Yeah?” you reply, a little taken aback, “Just like her?” 

“Spitting image,” he nods. 

“You know, before I said that thing about looking like teenage boy, I was gonna say ‘Hey, you know something? I think I look just like Eddie Munson’s girlfriend,” you beam. Your response makes his heart race, such a goofball, so like him, so easy, so right. 

He cocks his head, peering at you, “Wait, I think – wait – are you…the lead guitar player’s girl? Eddie Mnson’s girlfriend?”

You smirk, falling into the bit with him, “Oh my god yeah, that’s me – can’t get you in the show though, sold out. He’s like, a totally famous rockstar now.”

“Ah, that’s okay,” Eddie shakes his head with a winning smile, hand splaying over your waist to pull you in, “I know someone in the band.” 

A coffee flavored kiss seals the deal. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears the shrill call of Miss Tiffany’s whistle. 

He nails the dive every time.

[wheatnoodle]

we talk about steve having a father-crush on wayne, like he wants to be adopted by him or whatever

what about steve just actually having a crush on wayne LMAO. somethin about gruff older men really does it for him so he gets all nervous and blushy around wayne and/or hopper

it drives eddie absolutely insane that wayne can make steve giggle like a schoolgirl and that wayne purposefully goes along with it. wayne just likes making the harrington boy smile, he’s too young to look so tired.

(eddie hasn’t pieced together that steve’s eye rolls and fond smiles he gives him are little confessions of how much he loves him)

[sp0o0kylights]

Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better. 

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood. 

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman. 

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters. 

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children. 

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting. 

This was about their relationship with Harrington. 

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache. 

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted. 

That makes him easy to take advantage of. 

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip. 

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.  

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him! 

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry. 

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there. 

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well. 

Eddie was here to break it. 

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit. 

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks. 

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees. 

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing.  “What are you--hey!” 

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house. 

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue. 

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--” 

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and  right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day. 

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall. 

It doesn’t take long to find the kid. 

 Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame. 

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has  ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font. 

(Baking puns. Disgusting.) 

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen. 

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding. 

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?” 

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen. 

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles. 

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes. 

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here. 

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple. 

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”  

He cuts himself off with a hiss,  eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt. 

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.” 

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie. 

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!) 

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.” 

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers. 

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,” 

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.” 

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.” 

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!” 

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.” 

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb. 

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.) 

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment. 

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona. 

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.” 

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes. 

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?” 

“Guys.” 

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!” 

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter. 

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction. 

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over. 

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.) 

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.” 

“Steve--” 

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.” 

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him. 

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury. 

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style. 

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink. 

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine. 

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit… 

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that. 

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.” 

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach. 

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.” 

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!” 

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.) 

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely. 

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things. 

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here. 

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.) 

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,” 

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?” 

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice,  already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it. 

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help. 

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once. 

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.) 

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?” 

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even. 

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…” 

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating. 

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely. 

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does. 

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house. 

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest. 

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly. 

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!” 

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked. 

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth. 

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen. 

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine. 

Typical. 

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?” 

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.” 

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere. 

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer. 

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches. 

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right… 

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly. 

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way. 

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming. 

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door. 

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them. 

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.) 

He could leave now. 

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give. 

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?” 

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud. 

“What?” 

Thank God for Harrington’s headache. 

“You look terrible, man.”  Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.” 

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party. 

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.” 

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie. 

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.” 

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened. 

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.) 

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.  

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.” 

Harrington grimaces. 

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter. 

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole. 

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers. 

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.) 

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety. 

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.” 

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.” 

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face. 

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me,  I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch. 

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead. 

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment. 

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?” 

“....are you offering me drugs?” 

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket. 

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?” 

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it. 

“How is that going to help?” 

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.” 

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount. 

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him. 

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning. 

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him. 

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja. 

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’ 

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.” 

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.  

 “I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him. 

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”  

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.  

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people. 

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game. 

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains. 

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart. 

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.” 

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.” 

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” 

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that. 

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit. 

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.” 

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on. 

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out. 

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.) 

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom. 

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room. 

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.” 

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it. 

Fucking rich people. 

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.” 

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed. 

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers. 

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute. 

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.” 

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie. 

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.” 

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having  fun destroying one's own ego. 

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had. 

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed. 

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom. 

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. 

It freezes him in place. 

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own. 

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment. 

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.  

“Anytime, big boy.” 

Anytime. 

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it. 

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday. 

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days. 

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington. 

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life. 

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices. 

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer. 

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking. 

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well. 

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.) 

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe. 

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy. 

“Would you just let us in?” 

“No.” 

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.” 

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.” 

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily. 

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness  just isn’t cutting it anymore.) 

“And why would I do that?” 

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control. 

Checking up on the guy was overkill.  

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground. 

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”  

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.” 

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head. 

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on. 

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it. 

 Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces. 

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning. 

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly. 

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.) 

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not. 

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh. 

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread. 

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday. 

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one. 

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.  

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.” 

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe. 

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead. 

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!” 

Which gets Eddie’s back right up. 

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents. 

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.” 

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you. 

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most. 

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one. 

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.” 

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark. 

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark. 

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer. 

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face. 

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

[oneforthemunny]

older!eddie calls you ‘bunny’. 18+.

what seems to be an affectionate, sweet, cutesy little nickname actually came from a rather filthy night the two of you had.

you’d been bouncing on his cock for what felt like hours, climbed on top and riding him, hips swirling, slamming against his hairy thighs. your fingers raked over his soft tummy, coated with a smattering of hair that went to his base, coarse hair providing friction for you to grind your clit into.

“god, I love it when you bounce on my cock like this, sweetheart.” eddie grunted, calloused hands gripping your hips, lazily thrusting up into you. “you just bounce and bounce and bounce.” he grinned, hearing your little whines and mewls, face pinched in pleasure.

“you’re just like a little rabbit, aren’t ya? hoppin’ all over my dick?” eddie purred. you clamped around him, hips lifting and dropping deeper, harder. “fuck- you’re just my little bunny, aren’t ya?”

you nodded, whimpers tumbling out of your mouth as he thrusted into you, meeting your hips. “say it for me, baby.” eddie rasped, cigarette stained lungs from years of smoking making his voice huskier, sexier. “say you’re my little, bunny.”

“I-I’m- oh, fuck- I’m your little bunny.” you whimpered, nails digging in harder, grinding your hips in slow circles.

eddie chuckled, fingers reaching around to rub your clit, sending shockwaves up your spine, deep, pornographic moans ripping out of your throat.  he liked you like this. so fucked out and desperate you’d do anything he said, say anything he wanted.

“again.” eddie said, fingers pressing into your clit, tight circles rubbing against your sensitive button.

the coil in your stomach was threatening to snap, so close you were practically seeing stars already. eddie knew it. he thrusted up into you, fingers rubbing you as you gasped, head leaning back tipping towards the ceiling.

“i’m your bunny, i’m your little bunny, eddie. oh my fuck-“ chest heaving, you fell forward, head spinning and resting in the crook of his inked neck.

later, eddie’s limbs were tangled with yours, sheets sprawled over the two of you. he had a cigarette lit between his lips, blowing the smoke away from you while you cling to his chest. you were always clingy after sex, pliant and needy; he loved it.

“you fallin’ asleep on me, bunny?” eddie grumbled, grinning down at you as your eyelids fluttered.

you snorted. “that nicknames sticking?” you asked, cheeky smile hidden in his chest.

eddie grinned, bumming the cigarette and turning, kissing you deep. soft pillowy lips catching yours, the faint taste of nicotine on his tongue. his beard ticked your top lip, nose rubbing against yours. you scrunched yours up, giggling as he grinned at you.

“g’night, my little bunny.”

[artiststarme]

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a proper night’s rest. It had to have been before Vecna started haunting people’s dreams that made the entire Party afraid to close their eyes. Before Max fell into a painful coma and Eddie succumbed to bat bites in the Upside Down. Maybe prior to Spring Break completely, before the Russians under Starcourt and the demodogs and demogorgons. Maybe before his parents became too disappointed in him, before they started punctuating their disgust in him with well-aimed fists. Perhaps he’d never had a restful sleep at all, he couldn’t remember anymore.

But ever since his eyes had landed on the bloody form of his new friend surrounded by carcasses in the desolate trailer park, he couldn’t sleep a wink. Whenever he tried to rest, he imagined the pain Eddie must have gone through (he knew how those teeth felt as they gnawed through thick layers of flesh). He thought of how they had been forced to leave his body down there to rot, how alone Eddie must have been in his final moments. He could vividly picture Eddie’s last breath and gurgling pain every night in his nightmares. Steve would snap awake every night, gasping for air and jumping at shadows.

For weeks, he isolated himself. He only went to work and back and even that was taken away from him once he dozed off at the counter on one of his shifts with Keith. Without Robin there to gently wake him up and cover for him, he lost his job then and there. Without anything to drag him out of the house, he began spending every minute cowering from his own thoughts. He couldn’t sleep at night and he would hallucinate during the day. He’d see shadow figures in the corner of his eye, hear distorted screeches and screams of pain. On the bad days, he’d even hear Eddie’s voice amidst the chaos.

Steve thought he’d lost his mind.

After so many years of dealing with the impossible, the craziness had caught up with him and poisoned his mind. Or maybe Vecna had finally caught by up to him. Had he finally decided to stop targeting teens in high school to move onto more traumatized targets (i.e., Steve)? Unfortunately, he couldn’t find it in himself to care either way.

He never expected his new turned dead friend to shake his shoulder gently to wake him up from a nightmare. Steve jerked awake to find soft brown eyes staring at him in concern.

His reaction was completely valid. He screamed his head off.

Steve screamed and cried as the Hallucination Eddie’s eyes widened in fear before frantic shushing and spastic hand waving began.

“Shh! Harrington, Jesus H. Christ, calm down. Holy shit, I thought you’d be the calm one. Calm down, please god.”

When his throat finally lost its ability to scream, he took a good look at Eddie. His eyes were dull, shadows bruised his face, and his skin was far paler than Steve had ever seen. New scars marred his cheek and lower jaw right where the bats had gnawed.

Was… was he really here?

“Eddie?”

The man in question beamed in response, “I see we’re on a first name basis now, Stevie. If I knew this was all I had to do, I would’ve almost died a long time ago!”

Steve threw himself forward into Eddie’s arms and ignored both his own aches and pains and Eddie’s oomph of surprise.

“You’re not going to be here in the morning, are you?” Steve whispered into the crook of his neck.

Eddie’s shaky hand latched onto Steve’s shoulder to deepen the hug. “Hell Steve, I’ll never leave you again if you’ll have me.”

Steve fell asleep in Eddie’s arms and when he woke up, he was curled against the warmth of his chest with a cold towel on his forehead. It hadn’t been a dream after all. Eddie had saved himself and had come to Steve’s. From that day forward, Steve had Eddie. He made the days meaningful and the nights restful, just as they always should have been.

[bleedingoptimism]

It’s a little after eleven when Eddie finally manages to get Tarja to bed. It’s hard for her without her plushie. And really, Eddie is very thankful having a hyper-fixation with her toy seems to be the only ‘consequence’ of having divorced parents Tarja seems to have right now. He always worries if having two homes and constantly moving between them is good for her or not. Especially with Tommy being Tarja’s other dad, but against all odds, he’s good to her. So their kid is doing just fine. She’s happy. And if she’s happy, Eddie is happy.

He’s getting ready to open a beer and relax when there’s a knock on the door. He smiles, assuming is Steve bringing Toothless over and almost knocks his beer to the floor when he opens the door.

Steve looks… well he looks amazing, dressed to the nines. Must’ve been date night. But his eyes are red and puffy, his face covered in dark blotches, and his lips are swollen like he’s been biting them too much.

He’s hugging Toothless to his chest and he smiles at Eddie when he sees him, but he looks so sad it breaks his heart.

Eddie throws the beer behind him, sure it will land on the couch and cradles Steve’s face between his hands, “What did that asshole do?

Steve leans into his touch and shuts his eyes for a moment before sighing and stepping away from him, walking inside and sitting on the couch still holding Toothless like a lifeline. 

“Nothing, he was just-” Steve shakes his head and chuckles darkly, “He’s just so mean,” 

Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and dips his head to look Steve in the eye just like he did that day in the park.

“Break up with him,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Tommy doesn't deserve you, Steve. You are worth so much more than what that asshole makes you feel. You deserve better. More. Everything,” Eddie pleads, placing his hands on Steve’s knees and squeezing, “If it’s because of Tarja, we’ll figure something out, ok? Lots of people keep in contact with their parent’s significant other after they break up” He rushes, the speech he didn't have quite prepared last week coming out of him in a single breath, “We are friends, right? So you can still visit and see her. Visit me. You don’t have to stop being a part of our lives.” 

Steve is staring at him right now like Eddie just gifted him the moon and he’s so beautiful it’s kind of hard for Eddie to keep eye contact, but he squeezes Steve’s knees again to ground himself and does. Steve needs to know he’s very serious about this. About him.

Eyes shining, Steve takes a deep breath and nods slowly, a tear falling down his cheek that Eddie follows with his eyes and watches until it hides under Steve’s v-neck shirt.

“Hey, even I didn’t put up with Tommy's shit for Tarja’s sake and I birthed her,” he jokes awkwardly, trying to make him laugh and feels like doing a little victory dance when Steve snorts cutely,

“Okay,” he hiccups.

“Yeah?” Eddie smiles back at him, relieved.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “Fuck Tommy.” And drops back on the couch, looking exhausted, “Can I stay here tonight?” he asks in a whisper, like he’s afraid Eddie will say no. As if.

“Yeah, of course,” Is what he answers, and has half a mind to invite him into his bed but knows it’s a terrible idea. So he lends Steve his favorite flannel pajamas and sets blankets and a pillow on the couch and they say their goodnights.

And if he does a little dance when he closes the door to his room, no one is there to see.

In the morning, Steve stays for breakfast. And attempts to kill Eddie by making his heart explode, cooking it himself from scratch with Tarja’s help, who is so happy she won’t stop running around the kitchen making Toothless fly and sing about ‘happy family breakfast time’.

It’s actually hard to tell if she’s happier to have her plushie back or that Steve is there. Eddie, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s happiest about. Death by tenderness. Is that a thing? He amuses himself thinking about a couple csi’s with sunglasses saying it, 

“He died because he witnessed something too cute,”

“Ah yes, death by fondness. I’ve seen it before.”

After, Eddie walks him to the door and Steve smiles sweetly at him, and holds his hand, squeezing it once before letting go, “Well, see you. I guess,” he says bashfully and there’s a moment there, a second where time stops and Eddie thinks he should kiss him. Wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Because Steve is still dating Tommy, and just because he said he was going to break up with him doesn’t mean he wants to start something new with Eddie.

Eddie himself called him his friend for the first time last night for christ sake. ‘Fucking chill’ he thinks to himself.

🧸

And then a week goes by without hearing a word from Steve. But Eddie doesn't hold it against him.

At first, he figures he needs time to think but then he starts to wonder if he really is going to break up with Tommy. Four days in, he gets paranoid about it. Maybe Steve got brainwashed into thinking Eddie is bad for him. Maybe Tommy told him Eddie was putting ideas in his head, that he shouldn’t talk to him anymore… With him telling Steve to break up with his boyfriend and all... 

He’s well aware of how manipulative Tommy can be and has seen the way he belittles Steve to keep him around, so he knows it’ll be hard for Steve to actually go through with it.

And he can’t exactly show up at Tommy’s and steal Steve away, no matter how appealing the idea might be. The only thing he can do is just think of Steve, wish him well, and send him strength to do what he needs to do. At the end of the day, it needs to be his decision. His choice.

As Tommy’s week with Tarja approaches he starts getting more and more anxious, wondering if it’ll be Steve or Tommy who picks her up.

When the day finally arrives, and the doorbell rings, Tarja runs to open the door and Eddie peeks his head through the hallway.

“Daddy!” Tarja screams.

“Hey, Tata! You ready?” Tommy says and Eddie steps into the hall to greet him too.

“Not yet!” Tarja chuckles and Tommy smiles at her,

“Okay, go get ready. I’ll wait here,”

Eddie walks to the door and leans on the doorframe, “Hey,”

“Hi. Long time no see,” Tommy says and then adds, “You look great,”

“You don’t,” Eddie answers, because it’s true. He looks like shit. Greasy hair, bags under his eyes, chapped lips, wrinkles on his clothes, “What happened?”

“Steve broke up with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he smiles, he doesn’t even try to hide it, “He did?”

“Don’t smile, fucker,” Tommy says but there’s no heat behind it. He knows he deserves it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, not sorry at all.

“Stop,” Tommy whines because Eddie’s smile is actually getting bigger,

“Sorry,” he repeats and then clears his throat, “Did he tell you why?”

“Because I’m a horrible person,” Tommy groans.

“Hey, the first step is to ad-”

“To admit it, yeah, yeah. I know” Tommy interrupts him, groaning again.

Eddie sighs, and punches Tommy’s shoulder lightly, “Look, Tommy, I’m just going to say this because, well… you are pathetic. You need to do better.” And then he points to his back, to where Tarja’s disappeared to get her stuff, “She’s going to grow up and realize you are an awful person and she’s not going to want you in her life. And I’m not going to dissuade her from it, because I already don’t want you to be in mine, you know that, right?”

Tommy looks at him seriously and then nods once, fast and hard. Like he gets it. Like he agrees and is determined to change. And Eddie hopes for Tarja’s sake he is. But knows, deep in his heart, that either way, she’s going to be fine.

“Also, just a heads up. I’m in love with Steve and I’m going to ask him out,” he adds in a rush when he hears Tarja running up behind him.

“You are shitting me,” Tommy whispers, shocked and clenching his teeth.

Eddie laughs, “Nope,” he says, closing his lips loudly around the P.

“Eddie,” Tommy warns him like he’s waiting for Eddie to say he's joking.

“What? I hear he’s single,” Eddie smirks.

“You motherfuc- Hey Tata!” Gathering Tarja in his arms, Tommy drops the subject but he glares at Eddie as he kisses Tarja’s cheek goodbye and murmurs ‘unbelievable’ as he’s leaving. Eddie closes the door and starts laughing at the look on Tommy’s face.

He needs to call Steve.

He tries a couple of times but he doesn’t pick up and he starts worrying Steve might not actually want to talk to him, and then there’s a knock on the door but Eddie, too preoccupied with his anxiety, opens without looking, thinking Tarja forgot something.

When he doesn't hear her, Eddie looks up from his ‘ignored calls’ screen to see nonother than Steve standing there, looking nervous and like a fucking dream with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. A fucking bouquet of flowers. For him. For Eddie. All different shades of red, because he knows is his favorite color.

Eddie just blinks at him a couple of times and Steve flushes even more and drops the hand holding up the flowers, scratches the back of his neck nervously, “This was stupid, the flowers were fucking stupid. They are stupid. I’m stupid, right?”

A laugh bubbles out of Eddie and he grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him inside. He closes the door once they are both in and slams Steve against it, crushing their lips together. Steve circles his arms around Eddie and holds him close, instantly returning the kiss with fervor. 

They kiss as if it were fate. They kiss until it's hard to breathe and Eddie pulls away only to kiss him again, and again, and again.

“Not stupid,” he murmurs between kisses and feels Steve’s smile against his lips.

Eventually, Eddie takes a step back and lets Steve into his home properly, “Hi,” he says cheesily.

“Hi,” Steve says back grinning, then he lifts up the bouquet again, which is now completely ruined by him still holding it strongly while they made out like crazy, and his smile drops,

“Shit,” he pouts cutely, god Eddie wants to eat him. He laughs and takes the flowers anyway, putting them in an empty glass bottle, because he doesn’t own a flower vase, because he’s a normal human being. ‘Who the fuck owns a flower vase?’

“Come here,” he says, holding out both hands for Steve to take and follow him.

Steve takes his hands but doesn't move, instead swings them from side to side, “Wait, let's talk,”

Fuck, yeah. They should. That’s a good idea. Fuck. Damn, Steven Whatever-The-Fuck-Is-His-Middle-Name Harrington and his sensible and very logical choice…

Eddie huffs exaggeratedly making Steve chuckle and redirects them to the couch, where they sit still holding hands, “Alas,” he says dramatically, “You are right, we should talk. I actually wanted to ask you out properly, not debauch you the second you walked through the door. Sorry about that” he lies, not sorry at all, again.

Steve blushes and smiles, drawing little circles with his thumbs on Eddie’s hands, “Yeah me too. I wanna do this right. Ask you out. Go on dates. I think we should take this slow,”

Eddie makes a face and groans at that. He doesn't want to take it slow. He wants Steve to move in right now or something. Steve rolls his eyes amused at his interruption and keeps going,

“I came here to ask you out the right way because I want you to know I’m committed. But we should think about how this will affect Tarja… and Tommy too. We should go out a few times, spend some time alone, and I want you to meet my friends and my parents and I want to meet your friends and your uncle too and just do this properly and-”

Eddie interrupts him with a kiss, he can’t take it anymore, he’s been dying to kiss Steve for months now and he’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes Eddie insane, makes him feel like he needs to ruin him, but in a nice way, like with devotion and love.

Steve lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist and hoists him until he’s straddling Steve. Eddie leans his elbows on Steve’s shoulders, and buries his hands in his hair, pulling and messing with it.

“Okay but have you considered having hard, hot, wet sex, and then maybe we do what you said?” He asks panting against Steve’s lips and actually feeling how that punches the air out of him.

He hugs Eddie closer to his chest and whines, “Yeah okay, we can do it your way,” and gets up, lifting Eddie with him as if he were weightless. Eddie squawks and laughs all the way to his room.

🧸

They spend the week together, talking, eating, drinking, laughing and fucking. Except it’s more than that because when Eddie is inside Steve, with his tongue, his fingers, or his strap, it feels like more. It feels like love. Like fate.

Steve, still determined to take things slow, doesn’t stay there all the time, going back to Robin’s where he moved back to after breaking up with Tommy. He actually brings her over one day and the three of them spend the afternoon together. Eddie decides they are going to be best friends immediately because Robin is hilarious and merciless. When Steve gets back the next day he kisses Eddie so good and hard his knees almost give out on him and tells him he has Robin’s seal of approval. Something he knows Tommy never got.

When the week passes Eddie says goodbye theatrically as if they were cross-star lovers in a bad soap opera and Steve chuckles and calls him ridiculous but kisses him so passionately that Eddie drags him right back inside and they say goodbye again a few hours later.

They had decided to wait until Eddie talked to Tarja about her feelings over Tommy’s and Steve’s breakup and whether she still wanted Steve around or not before having him over again.

But when Tarja gets back home she’s gloomy and silent. She hugs Eddie in greeting when she arrives and then spends the rest of the day lying face down on the floor and occasionally sighing loudly, obviously trying to make Eddie ask her what’s wrong.

And really, Eddie shouldn't find it as funny as he does, but he thinks about calling Wayne and telling him he gets it now when Wayne used to tell him he had too much personality.

Eventually, he lies on the floor next to her and asks. Tarja looks at him with big sad eyes and says, “I haven't seen Steve in a million years! And Daddy said he is not his boyfriend anymore! So I’ll never see him again and I miss him”

Eddie coos at her, “I’m sorry you miss him little dragon, but you can totally see him again! Would you like me to call him? Since he’s my friend too?” Already trying to strategize on how to tell her they are more than friends.

Tarja lights up and jumps off the floor and onto Eddie, punching the breath out of him, “Yes! Yes! Call Steve! Steve smiles more when he’s with you than he did with daddy anyway. Why don’t you boyfriend him instead?”

Well… that was easy.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “That’s a great idea sweety, go grab my phone,”

Tarja runs and grabs Eddie’s phone off the table and hands it to him, he doesn’t bother getting off the floor so she kneels beside him listening attentively as he dials Steve’s number. 

“Hi, handsome, you talked with Tarja already?” Steve greets him after it rings twice.

“Yeah about that, turns out Tarja talked to me, actually,” he chuckles, “Hi, by the way”

“Hi,” Steve repeats lovingly and laughs, “What do you mean?”

“She had this awesome idea!” he says winking at her and she covers her mouth with her tiny hands to hide her giggles, “That, since you are not with Tommy anymore, you should be my boyfriend instead,” he continues, voice going soft and chuckles when he hears Steve's breathless ‘oh’ on the other side of the line, “Come over?”

“Of course, gimme an hour? I'm with a client” Steve hums and Eddie whispers he’ll give him anything he asks for and hangs up.

An hour later Tarja is still lying on the floor, only now it’s with papers and crayons spread all around her when the doorbell rings. She looks up at Eddie excitedly and he nods at her, “Go on then”

Tarja runs to the door and opens it wide to reveal Steve standing there as beautiful as ever, giving Eddie a deja vu of the first time he saw him.

“Papa Steve!” Tarja yells and jumps up to hug him.

Steve gasps and falls to his knees with her in his arms and looks up at Eddie with shocked wet eyes.

‘So much for taking it slow,’ Eddie thinks with a smirk.

Fin.

☝️first part

☕🥐💕?

[livwritesstuff]

Hazel posts a tiktok that starts with her and Steve sitting together in front of the camera.

Hazel: Okay

Hazel: Dad’s away on a book tour and he doesn’t have TikTok so Pop and I are gonna share things we hope he doesn’t find out about when he gets back.

Hazel: I’ll go first.

Hazel: I hope he doesn’t find out I accidentally deleted our Minecraft world and then I had to figure out how to recover it.

Hazel: Also – I hope he doesn’t find out how much I played without him.

Steve: *snorts*

Steve: Uhh…I hope he doesn’t find out I never filled the bird feeders.

Hazel: Yeah, that’s no good.

Steve: We really should just call them squirrel feeders. The bird probably didn’t even notice.

Hazel: True.

Hazel: I hope Dad doesn’t find out about all the times I got Girl Scout cookies and didn’t share any with him.

Steve: I hope he doesn’t find out we met Robbie’s boyfriend two weeks ago.

Hazel: It’s fine. She already dumped him.

Steve: Yeah, but you know that he and Moe like to be all intimidating together.

Hazel: That’s true. Moe did a pretty good job on her own though.

[doodleddaisies]

I can always tell when a stranger things fic is written by someone who didn’t grow up in a small town bc they act like these characters have never crossed paths before

Like hate to break it to you bud but they’ve all been going to school together since kindergarten and they have a class of less than 80 people. They not only know everyone, but they know who’s related to who, where everyone lives, and everyone’s parents and siblings

[morganbritton132]

How else has Steve used crying on demand for evil?

Eddie, shouting: Stevie, C’mere! The people want to know what evil you use your crying powers for

Steve: Uh…when I was a kid, my parents-

Eddie, immediately regretting asking if its going to bring up his parents: Oh god

Steve: So like my parents always wanted us to be perfect when we were out in public. Especially at benefits for the mayor and

Steve, tearing up: If your eyes get a little watery

Steve, lip wobbling: And you do that I’m-about-to-cry thing with your bottom lip

Steve, voice cracking: And your voice breaks just a little when you talk

Steve, going back to not looking like he’s about to cry: You get the big slice of chocolate cake with chocolate icing that you wanted and no one complains about it being messy until after you get home.

Eddie: That’s not using your powers for evil. That’s getting one over on people that suck. That’s a good thing.

Steve: One time I was mad at Tommy so I went to his house when he wasn’t there and bawled my eyes out to his mom and said he was being mean to me even though he wasn’t, and then he couldn’t go on the end of year field trip in sixth grade.

Steve: I had my first kiss on that trip

Eddie: With who?

Steve:

Steve: His wife

[2jihiir0]

“Make it quick… baby’s sleeping..”

🚬🥃🖤⛓️

Older scruffier trailer trash Eddie that takes care of younger Steve while running some illegal businesses. I saw the new Hoard trailer and this sort of happened ?? My brain has been melting ever since.

Anyways enjoy loves~

[ikarakie]

hopper sees steve as a surrogate son. really, he shouldn't make such a habit of picking up stray children, but he looked at harrington and saw a kid who just... needed someone. saw the vacancy in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. saw the police file, the noise complaints and the few reports from hawkins middle school about suspicious bruises that had been swept away. saw a boy who'd seen too much. who just needed someone to lean on.

so he tries to be that. offers the kid a hand every now and then. keeps an eye on him, all alone in that big house, after everything. after '83 and then '84 and then summer of '85, when he'd signed his medical papers because there was no other adult for him around. it always left him a bit hollow, but he told himself that it was okay as long as he was around. as long as steve knew, deep down, that he could come to hopper for help, even if he'd wait until he was on the brink of overload before doing so.

it's all this that makes the sight of steve's car, that brown beemer that had dropped his daughter back home so many times, pulled into a ditch with the lights off cause his stomach to sink. a million awful things come to mind as he pulls in behind it and quickly hops out of his cruiser.

had he seen something and spiralled into a panic? had he gotten a bad migraine? had he run off into the woods alone?

thankfully, he finds the best case scenario: a slightly flushed and dishevelled steve rolling down a foggy window. grinning like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar when he realises it's just hopper. he's fine, he's in one piece.

what's not fine, however, is the person with him in the backseat. eddie fucking munson, a kid hopper's put in handcuffs more than once. not because he's another boy, who gives a shit about that, but because it's eddie munson. drug dealer, general troublemaker, and definitely a bad influence on his boy.

he does his best to save the judgement this time, sensing the fear emanating off the couple. tells them to be more careful, to go home and kiss or do whatever there instead in case anyone else drives by tonight. munson looks at him like he's grown a second head, (which, fair. usually their interactions go a lot less amicably than this) and steve just tears up and nods. he reaches in to ruffle the boy's hair, ignoring the protests, before reluctantly trudging back to his car and driving away.

he calls steve the next afternoon and gets him to confess that, yes, he is dating edward 'eddie' munson. no, it's not a fling. yes, they're boyfriends, god help him. he gripes about it a decent amount, because really, steve? that one? you picked that one? but he keeps the tone light enough that steve feels comfortable enough to defend eddie's honour amidst laughter. within a week he's got steve sat across from him, eddie by his side looking two seconds away from shitting himself.

"well, boys." he grins, cracking his knuckles. eddie watches. gulps. "let's have a little chat, shall we?"

[fuctacles]

What about milf 6?

Well, apparently I only had to proofread it so...

<<😺😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺😺😺>>

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end is not the one Eddie wants to hear, but he should have expected it. He did call a total stranger, after all. 

"Robin, right?"

"Yeah, who is it?"

He feels like he's already fucked up, somehow, but he pushes on.

"Eddie, I'm taking care of Stephanie's cats. I, uh, I think they want to talk to her."

He breathes out in relief when the woman on the other side laughs. 

"Yeah, I can hear that. Gimme a second. Steph!" She pulls the phone away from her, but the volume is still a bit too much. "Your boy is calling!"

"He's not my boy!" he thinks is what he hears from even further away before there's a clatter in the receiver, and a way softer "Eddie?"

"Hi." He brings the phone closer to his ear again. "How's your weekend going?"

"Really good, thank you. Robin nearly broke her finger trying to beat me in bowling and I ate way too many steamed dumplings. But I swear they are the best in the state."

"You a big fan of dumplings?" he asks with a chuckle.

"You have no idea, I'll eat any kind. Pierogies, dim sum, samosa... How are you doing with my little idiots, though? I can hear they're being evil again."

"Uh, yeah." Eddie turns to look at the three furry menaces sitting in a perfect line and meowing more off-tune than even Gareth ever could. "Seems like they really want to get into the bedroom."

Steph huffs into his ear.

"They think I'm hiding from them. Let them in and keep an eye out because I'm not getting new drapes again. Lure them out with catnip if they won't leave on their own."

"Okay."

"And, uh, if you see something weird, like, on the bed or something, just throw a blanket over it and pretend it's not there, okay?"

Eddie blinks at the closed door, Robin's distant laughter and the cat's very close cacophony melting his brain.

"Weird how?"

"Shut up, Rob!" Steph hisses to her friend before coming closer to the phone. "Underwear, uh, toys, the likes," she explains, voice slightly pained. 

"Gotcha," Eddie gulps at the prospect of running into Stephanie's sex toys. 

"I think I put everything away, but I'm not used to having men in my bedroom."

"Uh-huh, yeah, me neither."

Eddie is really tempted to bash the receiver into his skull. 

Stephanie clears her throat. 

"Hey, could you feed them this evening too? I was—"

"Absolutely," Eddie interrupts her, cringing at his own eagerness. "You just have fun with your friend."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it."

"Thank you so much. I'll pay you when I get back."

"What? No, absolutely not."

No no no no no, don't you dare turn it into a transaction, Stephanie.

"Well, help yourself to the beer, then."

That's better, that's how friends pay for favors. He deflates with relief. 

"Or food, the TV, anything you want."

"Thanks," he says, but doubts she's heard him over the commotion on the other end. The sounds are not dissimilar to Jeff's two toddler siblings fighting. 

"Well, I'll be back tonight or early morning, so just leave the key under the doormat."

"You don't have a spare?" he frowns. 

"Robin has it, in case of emergencies." 

That sounds like a weird arrangement but Eddie's not going to question it. 

"I could wait for you," he offers, but as soon as it leaves his mouth he realizes how weird it sounds. "I stay up late anyway, you can just drop by my uncle's and I'll hand you the key," he quickly amends.

"The doormat is really enough," she assures him but he doesn't like the idea of leaving anyone's key in an obvious place.

"What? Sorry, I can't hear you over the meowing. I'll see you later."

She huffs, and he hopes it's an amused, fond huff, like his uncle gives him. Then hopes it's not. He doesn't want Steph to respond to him like his uncle does. 

"Sure. Later, Eddie."

He finally opens the door to her bedroom, and it's like a switch has been flipped. The noise immediately ceases, and the cats rush inside. 

"You guys are insane," he mutters, following them. He turns the light on and looks curiously around, tamping down any sense of guilt. 

He spots a white bra thrown over the end of the bed and pulls the blanket over it so he can pretend it's not there. Everything smells like Steph and he has this millisecond urge to plop face-first into her bedding and just inhale her.

When they don't find their owner where she should be, the cats retreat without the need for a bribe. Eddie closes the door behind them and his body deflates with a soft sigh.

When he's back in the evening though, he makes a grave mistake. 

He lets himself indulge a little, grabs a beer from the fridge, and peruses Stephanie's movie collections. It's mostly romantic comedies, and, surprisingly, the Star Wars movies. He picks the first one and plucks it into the VHS.

The couch sinks under his butt and he sighs in contentment as the opening credits appear on the screen. He could stay here, binge the trilogy, and welcome Steph home.

Open her a beer and massage her feet and kiss her hello. Like a loving husband.

Eddie sighs at his own thoughts, falling deeper into the cushions. He met Steph two days ago and meanwhile, there's a girl back in Indy he's been idly flirting with. And that cute guy from Battle of the Bands.

But they fall apart in the face of Stephanie's beauty, of her luscious hair and disarming smile. Eddie slides down a little bit further. Arwen decides it's an invitation to sit on his lap and he welcomes the distraction, petting her mindlessly. 

Sometime later, he considers getting another beer, but he's trapped under the black cat. He nudges her gently, but all he gets is a warning side eyes so he raises his hands in defeat.

"Okay, I'm not moving." He admits his loss and focuses back on the movie. 

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as cousins warm up, part two! 

First part is HERE. 

Next part is HERE. 

Reminder: Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine.

Warnings: Steve and Robin Get (canon-S3) Drugged. 

"I'm just saying the other theater is cheaper." Eddie said around the straw jammed in his mouth. 

He carried the largest bucket of popcorn Starcourt’s movie theater offered, alongside the two boxes of candy he'd also demanded Gareth buy him. 

"Easier to sneak into, you mean." Gareth corrected, with his significantly smaller bag of popcorn. His, he planned to share with Jeff, Grant having snuck in his own food. 

Gareth himself would have snuck in the cheaper (and far larger) snacks, but Eddie had thrown a fit about going to the mall to see a new movie instead of Hawkin’s far older theater. 

Of course, the older theater also had several disadvantages, key of which was terrible seating, and so, Gareth had bribed him with whatever treats he wanted. 

His wallet took a hit but fuck it, at least they got to actually see the screen. 

Not that they even made it into the fucking theater, because someone chose that moment to crash into Eddie. 

Popcorn kernels and soda flew everywhere, with Eddie only avoiding it landing on him and Gareth both by years of dealing with this exact bullshit in school. Of course, the mall wasn’t school, and neither of them had their guard up. 

"What the hell man--" Eddie spat, immediately on the defense, as they both turned to see what jackass wanted to cause problems this time. 

Except Gareth had recognized the person who bumped him. 

"Steve?" Gareth asked, causing  his cousin to totter around and face him. He was in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, which remained to be absolutely ridiculous, but that hadn't been what had drawn Gareth's attention. 

No, that would be the absolute wrecked face staring at him with a doped up grin. 

All thoughts of the movie immediately faded away. 

"What happened to your face!?" Gareth demanded, immediately stepping up into his cousin's space, eyes darting over the damage. 

Recent black eye, split lip, blood splatter all down one side of his neck, nevermind his clothes… 

"Robs!" Steve called over his shoulder instead of answering, body moving as if he was walking on a wildly rocking boat and not solid ground. "Come 'ere!" 

He beamed, which had the horrific effect of resplitting his lips. "Meet Gareth, my baby cousin!" 

"I am two years younger than you." Gareth argued on automatic. He didn’t look to see how Eddie took this little piece of info--he’d figure out what he’d say later, when Steve wasn’t covered in blood. 

It did not stop Robin from reaching out to pinch his cheeks. 

She too, Gareth realized, was clearly high on something, both of them giggling and weaving on their feet. 

At least Robin didn’t appear to be hurt--or at least, not hurt as badly as Steve. 

"What the hell did you two take?" Gareth demanded, looking between them as he quickly put his popcorn back off to the side. 

"We didn't take anything, dad." Steve said bossily, rolling his eyes. He spoke in a voice so unlike himself that Gareth knew his own face was doing something crazy. 

Not that he could stop it because what the hell. 

"What my patriotic friend here means is that we don't know." Robin added, smacking a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. 

(The entire sentence was slurred and sounded like she'd shoved candy in her mouth before she started talking.) 

"You don't know?!” Gareth asked, taking in the way Steve flinched when Robin touched him. Added a mental note to check his cousin's shoulder too. “How do you not know?" 

Gareth wasn't panicking, he wasn't, except he absolutely fucking was. Steve's dad was going to kill him, disown him, and throw the body out of his house--in that exact order. 

Gareth’s parents wouldn’t take him in, not unless his mom felt she could use it to one up her sister in some way which meant that Gareth was going to have to sneak Steve in and out of the house like he was some--some puppy Gareth was trying to keep and--

"Did someone give you two something?" Eddie asked, interrupting Gareth’s spiraling. 

"Give is a very strong word." Steve said with a snicker. 

Robin nodded so much she looked like a bobble head. She leaned in, nearly falling into Gareth in the process. “In fact it’s not the word I’d use at all! I’d use…” She trailed off, screwing her eyes up in thought. 

“Made us?” Steve suggested as Gareth finally gave in to his instincts and reached out to steady his cousin. “Forced us?” 

“Socked it to us!” Robin added with a weird amount of glee, and the two of them once again collapsed into giggles.

Literally, forcing Gareth to try and steady them both. 

Which meant Eddie was right--they’d been drugged. It made perfect sense-- Steve wasn’t the kind to experiment with drugs beyond weed. Had in fact, given a very long lecture about how he’d make Gareth go on runs with him if he ever found out Eddie had given him anything stronger than weed. 

There was no way he’d change now, and especially not around a jobsite. Particularly one as busy as the mall. 

"You can't tell anybody." Robin continued, eyes so wide they were more white than pupils. "But we got truth serumed!" 

As if that made any fucking sense. 

Gareth turned a half frantic, half disbelieving look to Eddie--whose own face scared him almost as badly as Steve's did. 

He was hiding it, and doing a good job of doing so, but Eddie was the one person Gareth knew better than Steve. 

Right now? Eddie Munson was furious. 

Not mad, or upset, or even as pissed as he had been the time Tommy Hagan had thrown his drug box in the river. 

He was enraged. 

"Hey." He said, and the only thing more shocking than realizing Eddie was this mad was hearing him talk in a calming, almost playful voice. "Sounds like you two sailors had a pretty rough time. Why don't we go to the bathroom and get you both cleaned up? I bet you'll feel a little better." 

It was clearly the right move, because both of them looked downright delighted. 

"He thinks we're sailors!" Steve said, cupping a hand around his mouth and leaning to talk in Robin’s ear as if he was whispering. (He wasn’t.) 

Robin’s grin grew impossibly wider, before Eddie stepped forward to help Gareth half guide half herd the two into the nearest bathroom. 

"I know you." Robin said, squinting dramatically as Eddie opened the door with his regular flair, bellowing for anyone in the place to get out. 

It was Steve's turn to nod enthusiastically. "That's Eddie, Robbie." He said.

"I'm honored King Steve knows such a humble peasant's name." Eddie bowed as Gareth finally got both Steve and Robin into the bathroom, trying to get them to sit on the floor before they fell on their asses. 

Which just made a hurt expression appear on Steve's face. "’Course I do. You have really pretty hair." 

It had the effect of making Eddie look like he’d been punched and Gareth had to quickly turn his bark of laughter into a cough. 

"I bet it's soft.” Steve continued, as he pressed his back against the tiled wall and slowly slid down to the floor. “Gare, is it soft?" 

"It's very soft." Gareth agreed, trying to wet a paper towel with shaking hands. Finally he gave up entirely, ripping the plaid sweater he had tied around his waist and shoving one of the sleeves into the sink. 

“Oh my god.” Robin said abruptly, sitting up from her own slouched spot on the floor as if she’d suddenly been stricken sober. “It’s him! He’s your type!” 

“What’s my type?” Steve turned to her, as Eddie leaned his back against the door to the bathroom, blocking anyone else from entering. 

“It’s like--like Nancy! But boy Nancy.” Robin seemed to think this made a ton of sense, and given Steve’s immediate groan maybe it did to him, but Gareth was too freaked out to even begin to process what the hell they were on about.

Probably nothing, given they’d been drugged. 

Eddie seemed to pick up on his general anxiety and poor attempts at shoving down his own freakout, because he gently called out Gareth’s name. 

“I think it’s wet enough.” He added with a raised eyebrow. His eyes drifted purposefully to the sink and with a curse, Gareth snapped shut the water off. 

His hands were still shaking. 

“Give it to me.” Eddie said gently, moving to take the shirt from Gareth’s hands. “Here, swap me Gare, and guard the door.” 

Gareth did, as Eddie knelt down to take Steve’s chin in one hand, and carefully began dapping his wounded face with the wet sleeve. 

“May I ask what battles you two sailors have been involved in?” He said, continuing to sound like playful, fun Eddie and not like he was about to murder half the town (which, Gareth could tell by body language alone, is what Eddie actually felt like) “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the villains who did this?"

“Robin melted into Steve, rubbing her face in his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe us.” 

Eddie smiled his most charming smile, a full blown rouge grin he played up as he continued to wipe and dab at Steve’s wounds. “You’d be surprised at what I believe in, my fair lady.” 

Steve tried to talk, but ended up hissing as he ran into Eddie’s fingers. 

“Russians.” He managed to get out, when Eddie quickly took the sleeve away so he could talk. “We got kidnapped by fucking Russians. Also we kinda saw some shit and they’re after us. Possibly you now if they saw you with us.” 

There was the briefest of pause as Steve and Robin stared at Eddie, as Eddie stared back. 

Then Steve and Robin as one started howling with laughter, so hard that Robin’s head ended up in Steve’s lap with Steve’s own head resting on hers. 

Eddie turned to give Gareth a pinched look. “Russians.” He said, still calm despite it all. “Right.” 

Which had to be the fucking drugs speaking. 

Gareth just took a deep breath as Eddie managed to gently prod Steve back into putting his chin in his hand, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

He didn’t know who he was going to actually have to murder, but at least Eddie looked to be on board with acting as his backup.