#stranger things dark

[daily-spooky]

[becomingvecna]

The Upside Down Creatures † Art by Martín Santos

[lazylittledragon]

i really drew that much stobin/unus annus and never put them in the suits until now

[batty4steddie]

Joe Keery as Steve Harrington but you can actually see him. Stranger Things 4

[pencilscratchins]

i have reached the part of the steddie hyperfixation where i make them domesticated men in their 50s. having a blast! (twitter) [ID in ALT text]

[jamie-tartts]

steve harrington + babysitting protecting his little nuggets

[cyrankaa]

[taeiris]

in honor of our first byler set leaks and pride month

i present to you: the romantic goth byler i was yapping abt

[bebs-art-gallery]

Jamie Campbell Bower’s 001 (Henry Creel) and Johnny Depp’s Edward Scissorhands by Leon Mateus

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Scared?

Blurb: Eddie is the bane of all your desires but he is also your brother’s best friend… which makes him off-limits. During a visit to your family home Eddie gets a little fed up with you prancing around almost naked and decides that- Enough. Is. Enough.

Pairing: Older brothers best friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: slight angst, 18+, Mean!Eddie, dubcon/noncon, oral (f receiving), choking, unprotected sex (p in v) swearing, rough sex, slight Bully!Eddie, Dom!Eddie.

-

divider by @cafekitsune

It really wasn’t Eddie’s fault, what was he to do? Sit back and watch you act like a little slut? To be quite frank, he was sick of it. He was fed up with you pining for his attention constantly-

He had known for sometime how you felt about him. The way your skirt got hiked up a few inches as soon as he entered through the door, or how you would ‘accidentally’ drop things right in front of him, flashing your ass as you bent down to retrieve them. Your brother, Sam, was oblivious to it all. You were his innocent little sister and nothing could change his perception of you. But Eddie knew… he knew how much you wanted him.

It was Halloween night and Sam and Eddie had planned to go TP a few houses, maybe launch a few eggs as well whilst they were at it and like always Eddie was the designated driver. Not because Sam was drinking alcohol but because he still hadn’t got his license. The lazy piece of shit, Eddie thought to himself as he rapped a few hard knocks on your family home’s front door, not expecting to see you answer it.

You roll your eyes at the sight of Eddie, full of a stinking attitude, “Sam isn’t here.” Your hip has popped to one side and Eddie’s jaw clenches with withered patience.

“Where is he?” His voice is clipped, like he doesn’t even want to talk to you.

“Dunno.” You shrug, blowing a small bubble with the bubblegum you’re chewing in your mouth.

“When will he be back?” Eddie shoves his hands into his jean pockets, rocking back and forward on his heels slightly.

“Like I said- I. don’t. Know.” A tight lipped smile stretches Eddie’s face in an almost sinister way.

“Can I at least come in and wait? Surely you don’t hate me that much?” He was toying with you, knowing fine well how much you lusted for him. He had read your cute little diary a few weeks back, the one decorated with rhinestones and feathers… although, its appearance on the outside paled in comparison to the fucking filth written on the inside. The pages were filled with your dirty fantasies and the common denominator between them all?

They were all about Eddie.

It was always him lapping between your legs with his soaking wet tongue, stroking your pussy and making you scream. It was his lips pinching the skin of your neck, leaving marks all over your soft flesh. It was Eddie’s fingers that would bruise your ass with his hard spankings…

And as much as he hated to admit it, the thought of it all turned him on. His cock rock hard in his jeans as he flicked through the pages, only to have to shove it back beneath your bed seconds later.

“Ugh, fine.” You step to the side, allowing the long haired man to slither inside. Eddie had a plastic bag with him, filled with the supplies for the night ahead and you snatch it from him to look inside.

“Hey!” His voice is a rough bark as it leaves his lips, “Give it back!” You only manage to steal a glimpse inside before he is tearing it from your hands, ripping the bag in the process. Eddie lets out an agitated groan, “Fucking great, look what you did!” He waves the bag in front of your face, “Do you seriously have to be such a fucking brat all the time? Pathetic!” His words are laced with venom as he spits them at you- and you should be upset by his words and the way he is reacting but really… it turns you on.

“Why do you have a ‘Scream’ mask?” You bat your eyelashes at him, chewing on your bottom lip as you try to rile him up a bit more, “If anything is pathetic, it’s that. You call that a costume?” You spin on your heels, giggling as you do and you head to the living room to grab some things that you were about to take upstairs before he interrupted you.

“It’s a ghostface mask, the movie is called Scream..” he follows flush behind you, “And it’s not pathetic.” He rakes his ring clad fingers through his hair, clearly you have already managed to stress him out and he has only been here five minutes.

“What are you dressing up as?” He collapses down onto the sofa, “Let me guess-“ he taps his finger on his lips pensively, his eyes drinking in your figure, “You’re gonna be a slutty… something. Am I right?” He grins and you frown over at him.

“I’m not dressing up, you asshole.” Your fingers hook around the handles of your laundry basket, ready to lift it up to your bedroom, “Maybe you should go as a massive dick- because that’s what you are, Munson. A big fat fucking dick!” As soon as the words leave your mouth your chest clenches with heavy regret. You weren’t scared before, but with the look on Eddie’s face, you’re terrified now.

Eddie’s usually puppy soft brown eyes cloud with what you can only assume is rage. You have pushed him to the edge- no, you have pushed him right fucking off of it. He’s done playing these games with you. He’ll make you regret ever wanting him in the first place.

“Don’t look so afraid now, Dollface.” His steps toward you are calculated and his heavy boots pound on the carpeted floor with intention, “You want some help with that?” He nods toward the basket in your arms and you shake your head silently. This basket is the only thing separating you from him and you’ll grip onto it for the rest of your life if it meant Eddie couldn’t get any closer to you.

“Give me it.” He demands, his voice is grumbly as he pries the laundry from your shaking fingers, “Your bedroom, right? That’s where you were taking these?” You nod, not saying another word. Eddie’s demeanour seems as cool as ice but you can see the war waging behind his eyes. He is fucking pissed-

“Words.” He bites, “They exist for a reason y’know.”

“Yes. My room.” You hate the way your voice sounds as it leaves your throat. You wish you could take it back, all of it- all of the times you pressed his buttons, teased him, insulted him. But it’s too late now. What’s done is done,

Eddie gestures an arm out toward the staircase, “Ladies first.” He insists with a forced smile and you suddenly feel an urge to apologise to him for the tiny little shorts you are wearing that are barely covering your ass- hell, some people would consider them underwear.

“Eddie-“ you try to reason with him but immediately you swallow the words after seeing his face contort in a way you don’t want to test. So, you take to the stairs. Your steps are slow as you lift one foot after another, not daring to look back at Eddie who is right behind you on the way up.

The top of the staircase approaches like one lead to the noose and you can hear a voice in your head screaming at you to run away, to fight against him, to protest this- but you don’t. You stay quiet, because deep down… you want this. And you have wanted this for years.

Both of you walk through your bedroom door and you stand as far from him as you can as Eddie dumps your laundry basket down onto the floor, leaving it in a far off corner, “Thank you.” You squeak with a sweet smile, but Eddie doesn’t leave. In fact, he closes your bedroom door and clicks the lock shut. Leaving the both of you alone.

“Get on the bed.” His voice is almost unrecognisable and you would have listened to him if you weren’t frozen stiff to the spot where you stood. It’s as if your feet have been bolted to the floor. Your arms that were crossed over your chest come to fall limply at your sides with shock, “What, do you need help with that too?” Eddie clicks his tongue in distaste, marching over to you he grabs your arms so tightly that you know there will be bruises there tomorrow and he throws you onto the bed so hard that you nearly go flying over it.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You scream, repositioning yourself on the bed to glare at him, but instead of glaring back, he smiles.

“There she is- I wondered where that little smart mouth of yours went.” His large hands find his hair and he pulls it from his shoulders and up into a messy bun, “I was almost starting to feel bad for you- you were so close to avoiding all of this.” You were confused for the most part- what was he going to do to you? Beat you? Eddie would never hurt you, you know that. But why would he lock you away?

“Avoid what? Eddie, I’m sorry-“ Your pleas are cut short by a yelp as Eddie grabs your bare ankles, pulling you savagely to the edge of the bed and restraining your legs in the air.

“No you’re not. You never are.” You had dreamed of this so many times, Eddie Munson in your bedroom, his hands all over your skin… but this seemed to be going in a different direction. One you weren’t sure of.

“Please,” You can feel your eyes becoming a bit teary and Eddie laughs at you manically. Of course you want nothing more than for him to fuck you, but the way he is acting is so out of character��� it’s frightening.

“Scared?” He pouts out his bottom lip mockingly, “Aww, the baby is gonna cry- are you crying?” He laughs harder and you decide enough is enough. You attempt to swing your legs off of the bed to stand up but Eddie has other plans. He grabs your frame, taking your wrists into his hands he pins you to the mattress. His waist is slotted between your thighs and the blush that grows on your cheeks is feverish.

“I thought you wanted this…” His appearance softens as his lips come to the shell of your ear, nibbling on the soft flesh, “You’re gonna take my cock and you’re gonna fucking like it.” You can feel him grinning against the nape of your neck before he sucks on the skin, his tongue flicking and soothing the bruises that he’s making. It’s almost like he had read your diary…

Despite the ache pulsing beneath your panties you can’t allow this to happen, Sam would be distraught. It would ruin your siblinghood and Eddie and his friendship. It’ll be a shit show!

“No,” You whisper, fighting the urge to moan as Eddie sucks on a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed.. but he doesn’t stop and you head is becoming hazy with lust, “Eddie, no…” you buck your hips up against his in protest, trying to free yourself from beneath him but he presses his hardened bulge against you tighter, his weight dominating you. You’re trapped.

He grinds his hips into you and you accidentally allow a moan to slip through, it’s faint and dripping with sugar and it sends Eddie’s primal instincts fucking wild. He wants to hear it again but he also needs to find a way to take total control of you.

Eddie starts at your neck, kissing down between the valley of your breasts to your torso he lands at your hips. He momentarily lets go of your wrists so his large thumbs can massage your hip bones and he expects you to try to flee from the bed but you don’t. Or so he thought. You lunge up from the bed and scamper for the door, but unfortunately for you Eddie is fast and before you are able to reach the door his arms are hooked around your waist, carrying you back to the bed. You try screaming, but you know that no one is home… no one’s going to hear you and no one is coming to save you.

This time, Eddie’s impatience is at its peak. He pushes you onto your knees, the bones crashing onto the floor and he forces you face down onto the mattress. Grabbing your arms he secures both of your hands behind your back with a pair of pantyhose from your laundry pile, knotting them tight around your wrists and ignoring your sobs of complaint.

“Stop it!!” You try to stand up but Eddie helps you, only to then shove you back onto your bed. Your sheets were perfectly crease-free this morning when you left your room, now your duvet is a total mess and some of your pillows are on the floor.

“Shut the fuck up!!” Eddie grabs your cheeks, his voice is an animalistic growl as he slams your head back into a pile of pillows. Your bottom lip quiver but your body is betraying your mind- your panties are soaked. Drenched in slick from your core, “I won’t hesitate to gag you, do you understand?” He is between your thighs again and all you can muster is a weak nod, tears still streaking down your face.

“See? You can be a good girl.” A smugness pulls his lips up into a smirk and you readjust yourself to get comfortable, trying to not allow your arms to go to sleep.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to undress himself and his mind is reeling at the sight of you quivering and crying on your bed. He has wanted nothing more than to punish you for your behaviour for months- and now he is… and you can’t stop him. He rips your shorts down your legs and to he is pleasantly surprised to see that he accidentally pulled your panties off with them, “Whoops.” He tosses them behind him and they land somewhere in the room, “I’ll save those for later…”

You feel overly exposed to him and you try to clamp your thighs together to shield yourself but Eddie isn’t having any of it, “Fucking behave!” He warns, his hand finding your throat as he squeezes it at each side- your mind becomes hazy and your vision nearly totally blacks out.

When he lets go you are fighting for a breath, but no I’m a bad way. You’re more panting than gasping and soon those pants are replaced by moans as you suddenly feel Eddie’s face between your legs. His tongue is licking slow tedious strips up your dripping wet slit and his lips latch onto your swollen clit, sucking it relentlessly, “Taste so good,” He groans, his eyes hooded with hunger and desire, “Pussy is mine. Only fucking mine” His voice vibrates against your folds and your head tilts back against the pillows, your back arching off of the mattress as you resist the urge to grind your pussy on his tongue. You’re not meant to be enjoying this, but your tears have stopped and your moans are getting louder and louder...

“All those tears and for what?” Eddie laughs, blowing some cool air onto your flooded core, sending tingles racing up your spine, “I knew you wanted this, you little fucking slut. Maybe you’ll think twice before wearing skimpy clothes around me, eh?” His eyes meet yours and you nearly cum at the sight. His mouth is glistening with your arousal and his eyes are swirling with hunger.

He latches himself back onto you, his tongue flicking furiously at your sensitive bundle of nerves and just as you are about to feel your release he pulls his, causing a penetrative whine to fill the air.

“You’re gonna cum on my cock- and I’m gonna fill your cute little pussy with my cum.” He digs his fingertips into the flesh of your thighs and you wince at the pain before nodding obediently.

“Words!” He slaps your inner thigh and you yelp.

“Y.. yes! Yes, Eddie!” You’re breathless, swollen, red and craving release and Eddie is drunk on it all. He has total control over you.. he can do as he fucking pleases with you and you can’t do a single thing about it.

His jeans are on the floor in seconds and his hard cock springs from his underwear, causing your eyes to widen. You called him a massive dick early- you just didn’t know that he had one. You couldn’t help the fear that filled your chest at the thought that this actually might hurt.

Jumping from the bed you watch as he walks over to where your laundry basket is, his fist pumping at his shaft as he does. He reached behind the basket, pulling out the Halloween mask from earlier and he slips it on.

“What is it you said about this earlier?” He taps the white plastic of the mask, his deep voice now muffled by the material, “That it was pathetic?” He hums in disappointment and you can tell that beneath that mask he is grinning like a mad man.

He slaps his cock against your core, laughing as you gasp at the sensitivity of it. Using your knees as leverage he holds your thighs wide open, teasing your entrance with the swollen tip of his shaft and when you hear him moan it sends your mind fleeting into the clouds. You must have died and went to heaven because this is what this felt like.

He sinks down, fully submerging every inch of himself deep inside of you and you whimper at the stretch. You fucking whimper and Eddie’s eyes roll to the back of his head, “Fuck,” he seethes, “You’re so wet, Doll. So wet and tight and warm for me.” He groans and your bottom lip feels like it could be bleeding from how hard you are biting on it. You never thought you would see the day when Eddie Munson fucks you in a horror mask- but anything is possible if you’re bratty enough.

He bottoms out, watching through the dark eyeholes of the mask as he sinks back inside of you. He slow at first, making sure to drink in every pulse, every filthy wet noise- but then he’s speeding up. He doesn’t care that you’re screaming out from the change in rhythm he is starving- he wants to use you like you’re a doll and whatever Eddie wants, Eddie gets.

“Ahh!!” You cry out, your eyes pinching shut as Eddie’s shaft hits your special spot ,”Shit!” Your breathing hitches in your throat and your nails claw at the pantyhose around your wrists, desperate to grip onto something to steady yourself.

Eddie’s moans intensify, the sound of wet skin slapping against one another fills the air as Eddie grabs your throat again, desperately chasing his own release ,”Look at me!” He urges with haste and you do, your eyes reopening to settle on the ghostface cladding his features. You try your best, you really do and Eddie appreciates the way you fight to keep your pretty eyes open and on him as the oxygen is deprived to your brain but as you reach your high and Eddie spills inside of you.. you black out.

Completely unconscious and the only image you remember when you reawaken is that of the ghostface mask from Scream…

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas

[demadogs]

The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you and you don't even see it.

Stranger Things season one (2016)

[strangerxperv]

Y'all seem to really like step bro Eddie (I can see those votes you naughty bitches) so here's a lil thot.

Warning: smut/ minors DNI, step bro Eddie, Eddie is a warning, he's also manipulative, unprotected sex, breeding, edging, Eddie runs his mouth a lot, and your both drunk off sex.

Eddie's been begging you to let him fuck you for months. You've held steady by refusing him at every turn stating that it's taboo. It would be crossing the line if the both of you were to have sex.

Kissing in secret is one thing. Letting him fuck your pussy with his tongue is reasonable. Choking down Eddie's cock, fair. But letting your step brother fuck you? Out of the question.

You aren't one to not compromise and that's how he's landed you on your back. Legs spread wide with Eddie's warm hands under your knees. Pressed firmly on your bare bouncing fat tits. Your small hands are wrapped around you to keep his dick in place.

The leaky cherry red tinted a pretty purple is smashed against your stiff clit. It dribbles precum which pools over your clit to seep into your pulsing heat. He fucks over your cunt like a man possessed.

Fucking you to the edge but never letting you fall over and over again. The man himself has spilled his seed spraying over your cute jiggling tummy. But he never stopped fucking you.

It's been so long that your brain has completely melted and long since dripped from your desperate depths. You want to cum so bad you'll do anything the curly haired man wants. You'll even break your own rules.

"Please! Eddie! -Mmm- please, just fuck me-" your breathless whines gasping out through swollen lips.

"Why should I? You said it yerself. I can't fuck my sweet lil sis, 's too taboo, but this way I'll get to pretend-" Eddie's smirk is so mean you can't help it as tears streak over plump cheeks.

"P-p-pleeEEeease! Please, am sorry and I don't care if i's wrong! I wan' your cock in my pussy! Please! I'll be good an' I'll do anything, I swear!" Your sobs are exactly what your big brother wants to hear.

"Oh yeah? You sure that's a good idea? I don't have any condoms..." His hands slip out from under your knees one dragging your hand from between you. His hands hold yours above your head as his shoulders support your legs. Eddie's throbbing erection is sandwiched by both your bodies. His lips brush your ear, "Baby, you aren't on birth control. Won't that really cross the line? Knocking you up?"

"I wan' it! Wanna have your babies! No one makes me feel so good or loves me so well, please." Your hands clench around his as if imploring him, hoping he'll ravage you.

"Such a good girl. Gon' make a good mama too-" Eddie angles his hips till his tip is kissing your quivering hole, "We're gon' make such pretty babies," Finally he sinks into your cunt with easy. The man has been edging you for so long your slick pussy welcomes him, "Fuck! Fuckfickfu-!"

He's thrusts are relentlessly deep where no one has ever dared to reach. His phallus punches in fast succession against your cervix. It stings in such a pleasant way your breath catches, "and I'm gonna- heh- im gonna teach 'em music."

"Eddie-!" You squeal with your head thrown back, "I's too much!! Too deep!!"

"No, s'not. Not enough. Need more an' 'm gon' give you more!" His words are slurred slack jawed and pussy drunk above you, "Godda be deep, baby, so ya can get knocked up."

For the second time tonight you wonder what you've gotten into.

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Wrong Blind Date AU 💜

what if you meet the wrong love of your life?

He doesn’t know how the fuck he got here. At a very nice bar in a very nice restaurant.

Sitting alone.

Or well: he knows. It’s more that he can’t believe he let it happen.

Again.

Because Steve had finally (finally!) made sufficient enough threats logical arguments to curb Robin’s attempts—well-meaning, dingus, well meaning attempts!—to set him up with so-and-so’s cousin or whoever-the-fuck’s roommate. The blind dates had actually been his first successful method to ultimately shoot down, on the basis that they weren���t just fucking humiliating: they were goddamn degrading.

For reasons such as his current situation.

And of all the things Robin desired for him, they both knew she’d never knowingly cause him pain. So that left him working with awkward introductions at parties, sometimes at completely random places even, like too-weird-to-be-coincidence run-ins at the grocery store and shit, where Robin just so happened to be shopping when both her targets were there. It was borderline frightening, but. It was very Robin. And Steve adored her more than anything and struggled too much to stay mad at her—he’s definitely tried his damnedest, more than once—so. He knows her intentions come from the heart, regardless of how disastrously they pan out in reality.

Which is why Steve is allowing this once—and only once—because he’s not stupid, but. He appreciates the ingenuity.

And getting your girlfriend to make the blind date pitch was…technically honoring his rules.

So. He’s allowing this to slide once. Once. One time.

One. More. Time.

And he’s already got his justification, fucking iron clad too, to call it on sight. Failed attempt, the guy’s already twenty minutes late and that’s…that’s past fashionable, really, especially for a set up like this. He glances at his phone, just to see if he’s got anything from Chrissy as an update—Steve loves her, and Robin adores her, and that’s the only reason he’s not spending the minutes he waits, sipping stupidly-slow at the same tequila sunrise, plotting revenge against her for being so gullible, so willing to not merely enact Robin’s last-gasp efforts but to participate, actively, because apparently tonight’s ’perfect match, he’s so your type!’ was Chrissy’s suggestion—but there’s nothing. Just the last message from an hour ago reassuring him against backing out in the first place:

he’s tall, dark, handsome, 100% your type. maybe a little *theatrical*: you’ll LOVE him 💕

Steve didn’t, and still doesn’t, understand what she means by theatrical, and honestly he’s kinda wary for it—he doesn’t like playing games when it comes to romance: he’s too all-in, and too quickly, for any of that.

Which also means that, as much as he thinks it’s a fucking laughable sham to have agreed to this, and as much as he’d walked in knowing that, knowing he was entertaining the farce against his own will: it still…doesn’t sting, exactly. But it definitely squeezes uncomfortably in his chest for no good reason that he’s been fucking stood up and yeah, yeah, that means it’s time to—

He reaches for his drink and notices it’s empty. Just another sign, really, so he move to gesture the bartender over to pay but—

Someone’s got a better angle, actually gets the guy’s attention before Steve can even try—a someone sitting two empty chairs down who lifts his glass for another, then gestures the exact same way with an empty toward Steve’s sad glass of ice.

“On mine,” he tips his chin Steve’s direction before the bartender grabs Steve’s glass along with the stranger’s and makes for refills, then it’s just the stranger turning the whole of his body around on the stool to face…Steve.

“For the handsome nobleman,” and he says it with a stilted lilt that’s somehow not disingenuous, and it’s odd, to put it mildly, paired with a little bow of his head that definitely matches the affected voice but also definitely gives the stranger a perfect window to run his gaze up and down Steve’s seated frame—it’s a good move, Steve can’t even deny it, no matter how…weird.

But…also, there’s a warmth in it? Maybe in the gaze, something that’s not just heat, or maybe in the tone that’s not just putting on a show.

Something.

“In fact I do say the very handsome nobleman doth sit alone beyond comprehension,” the stranger seems to correct himself, and the way his lips curl, wider and then pull back a little, like he hesitates, like he’s maybe bolder than this in other situations but is reserving himself just a touch for here and now—and goddamn but this is pretty fucking bold already, whatever it actually is:

“And he deserves plentiful libations,” and Steve didn’t even notice the new drink on the counter until the stranger reaches, tips precariously on his stool, and slides the glass closer before nodding toward it, almost like another little bow: “in his tarrying.”

Steve stares wordless for a second because, outside of that weird fucking Renaissance Fair thing the kids dragged him to, he’s never heard anyone talk like that. So the setting’s all fucked up because this is Manhattan, at a not-particularly-inexpensive bistro type venue, definitely devoid of turkey legs.

Plus the guy in question doesn’t quite look the part—gorgeous curls to the shoulders, facial structure to kill a man, legs for days draped down the stool and dressed in shades of black top to bottom, from the button up in charcoal fucking silk, to the weirdly-suited boots that might have a steel toe hiding or might just be playing, the only color on him the pout of his lips and the slight flush visible in the low bar light brushed over his cheeks before he leans a little closer, eyes maybe the darkest thing about him and kinda goddamn mesmerizing for it, especially for how they somehow tiptoe along a fine line between almost disorienting focus on Steve and Steve alone, and something close to hesitant, or maybe more bashful when he clears his throat and asks:

“Perhaps this very handsome nobleman would also enjoy some company,” and his tone’s not even playing coy about being hopeful, before he full-on lays a palm to his chest in old-fashioned apology as his lashes flutter a little and he goes all self-deprecating, and genuine in it, as he adds in that same bashfulness:

“Even if only that of a humble bard, such as myself?”

And Steve’s not above being wholesale dumbstruck for a good second, like his hearing goes tunneled and his pulse echoes for the narrowing: this man is unreal.

Very…theatrical. One-hundred percent his type. Two-hundred percent, even. Jesus.

So Steve’s quiet for a second, but he’s not known for his charm because he can’t bounce back quicker than average, certainly quicker than risking that gorgeous face falling for the dashing for the hope painted open all over it, not a stroke of artifice in sight.

Steve’s not even trying when he fucking feels his own automatic walls start to slip as he leans, meets the man move for move so they can hear each other close as the bar starts to fill a little more:

“Only if I can get the next round,” and if Steve purrs it, it’s a reflex; if it darkens those already depthless eyes, well. He’s close enough to appreciate the swell of the pupil, the deepening of the flush on those cheeks.

If Steve’s heart jumps a little, there’s not a soul who can call him out for it; tree in the woods with no one to hear it fall.

But it does. It so does.

The man does an adorable little shimmy across the seats between them, taking the one closest to Steve and then doing a little scootching of even that to settle all the closer, and it shouldn’t be endearing, but Steve feels like he can bet on his ribs being sore by the end of whatever this is, or ends up being, just for the swelling beneath them already underway.

“If my request is being so highly honored, so as to join you,” the man takes a little bundle of his curls and drags them across the corner of his lips before tucking it back and…Steve has the immediate urge to have done it for him instead, what the hell, too fucking soon, man—

“Does his majesty have a name?”

It takes Steve a couple long seconds to register that the man means him, though it doesn’t escape Steve that the reference, while it took a while to land? Never for an instant felt like it did in high school, or even shortly after. It felt…warm.

“Steve,” he says with a smile, more twisting his palm than extending his hand to shake given their proximity; “and you, my,” Steve licks his lips then presses them tight around a grin before choosing his words: “very odd but very endearing bard, was it?”

“It was, indeed,” the man lights up near fluorescent; “I’m Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, or the way he takes Steve’s hand. But…Jesus.

It’s…a really good name.

“Then tell me, Eddie,” Steve doesn’t let go of the hand in his, their touches just slowly slide apart and it feels…like a loss but not a crushing one, Eddie’s still close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Unless I’m totally off, I think I know from exposure, not playing, that a bard’s a musician, yeah?” Or is it a storyteller, or maybe both, there’s a good fucking reason he never have in to playing the nerd game—

“Tell me what makes you introduce yourself like that right off the bat, then.”

And Eddie glows for the opening, the invitation, and the thing is? He doesn’t stop; he’s like a star unto himself, shining and bathing Steve in the glimmer as he talks about music, about growing up in a house of it, about it being tough sometimes but his mother took him to live with his uncle, the three of them and then it was easier and there was also more music, new music, and he tells Steve about bands he’s played in, joined and left, guitars he’s loved and lost, the whole shipping boxes he has piled with full notebooks of lyrics and ideas from years upon years; and then he pivots, or maybe that’s not even it, because what he really does is test the waters around where Steve thought the bard reference came from in the first place—the nerd game. Steve confesses he was a mostly an unwilling bystander but it was probably more because he didn’t get it, and honestly his reluctance was more for show than anything, he loved what his kids loved at the end of the day, what made them happy—which left Steve explaining the kids, explaining Robin, explaining his family in a way Steve hasn’t done in relationships that lasted months, let alone first conversations on very first dates.

He should be terrified. He isn’t.

He should be terrified of the isn’t. And…and yet.

“My turn for a question,” Eddie fills the first soft lull in conversation, one that stretches taffy-sweet and almost kinda giddy; Steve doesn’t even know what he’s feeling because he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt it before, like, ever—all he knows is that it’s kind of fucking fantastic, like something he already never wants to let go of. So of course he nods, welcomes Eddie’s turns for a question even if it doesn’t seem entirely necessary; the back-and-forths sliding so natural, so balanced.

“Why the choice of drink?”

Eddie nods at the glass almost empty in his hand while Steve squints and laughs a little.

“What?” Steve asks because he doesn’t understand, sure, but also because the unpredictability, alongside the sheer earnestness of this man is…it’s disarming in the best fucking way. Like maybe Steve’s falling but he never wants to stop and—

Too soon, too fucking soon even if that’s not what he meant, exactly; he thought it, and it’s too fucking soon—

“Everyone has a reason for ordering a drink,” Eddie explains with a grin that pops those delicious dimples; “habit, by which there’s a story of the first time you tried it,” he ticks off on his nimble looking fingers, the rings on them catching the lights; “spontaneity, by which there’s a tale of what inspired it,” and fuck, they’re so long, those fingers, Steve kinda wonders how many knuckles he could fit in his mouth; “memories, by which there’s something poking at them.”

Eddie pauses, takes Steve in, no doubt sees Steve hanging onto, damn near salivating over his every word even as he swallows and takes a breath to collect himself as discreetly as he’s capable; it just makes those dimples divot deeper.

“I could go on,” Eddie offers, a little sly in his smile, the knowing kind, but his tone is soft, like maybe Steve’s not the only one feeling…things. And maybe Eddie wants him to know it. Maybe so that he’s not alone. Maybe because they both fucking like it. Maybe—

“Habit,” Steve answers, unable to keep from smiling around the rim of his glass when he takes a sip. “I got sick on shots and swore off straight tequila, but I was always up for the, y’know, frou-frou drinks,” he swirls the maybe-two-swallows left for show: “so long as it tasted good I didn’t give a shit, y’know, and then a,” Steve pauses a second, wonders how best to describe that particular figure from his past before settling on:

“An old friend, told me once,” and then Steve pauses again, this time because he can feel the rush of heat to his cheeks because oh, shit, now he’s backed himself into having to say it—

“Oh, now you have to share,” Eddie coaxes, a singsong in his voice and a wide-eyed wonder to him, something like genuine investment in what comes next, what’s next in something solely about Steve, that almost soothes the embarrassment;

“Unless you’re displaying the answer with this,” and Eddie only just brushes the flat of his fingernail to Steve’s cheekbone, too quick to appreciate the shiver it sends down Steve’s spine, through his fucking veins, that’s not helped one bit by Eddie murmuring, a little sensual, but somehow also a little dazed, a little starry-eyed when he breathes out:

“Blush like the sunrise.”

And if he wasn’t already, fuck knows Steve is now.

He misses Eddie’s touch against it, too. Even so fleeting. Wishes he were bold enough, or foolish enough, to grab Eddie’s hand and let him feel what he’s doing, the heat in him. The way his blood rushes.

He’s not, because that’s fucking insane and way too much too soon, but.

Wanting doesn’t play by those rules.

“Almost,” Steve picks up the glass and swirls it again; “he said I was like sunshine,” Steve recalls with a little grin—it’s a softer memory now than it used to be. He laughs a little and downs the last of what’s left of his drink. “Think it was more because of a yellow sweater I wore way too much at the time, but,” and he places the empty down and so he doesn’t see it coming until it happens: Eddie’s hand. On his hand, on the glass.

“No.”

Steve looks up, barely breathes. Eddie has soft hands.

“No, I think it was more than that, Sunshine,” Eddie tells him, honest and certain and a little breathless and Steve’s of two equal minds: he’s never been so aroused. But he’s also never felt so seen.

And wanted.

“Another?” Eddie asks, but his eyes don’t leave Steve’s to look at their drinks, to be anywhere but in this moment, here with him.

“You’re sure?” Steve makes himself ask it, doesn’t bother forcing himself to sound anything but pulling for one answer and one answer alone. “Don’t have somewhere better to be?”

“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Eddie does look away then, but down at their hands, strokes his thumb a little down where Steve’s wrist starts to curve. “And I’m struggling just now to think of anywhere better than right here.”

And then Eddie’s placing his fingers between Steve’s, just resting them in the middle spaces: they’d fit. So well.

They…will. They will fit fucking gloriously.

“My round, then,” though Steve’s lost count if they’re even, how many drinks they’ve actually had—not too many, he’s pleasantly buzzed at best and maybe more on the company than anything else if he’s honest, but he likewise doesn’t know how long they’re been there, sipping between baring their fucking souls in the most mundane ways that…

That Steve thinks have started to kindle something in him. Started to breathe life into a part of him he didn’t know was dormant, forgot he could feel until it started unfurling like this, deep in his chest.

“Need something to cut through the sugar,” he says idly, but he doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s breath catches when Steve tightens his fingers to catch Eddie’s before letting go, sliding the glass forward so the bartender can see and then he orders: “The Glenlivet 14,” he points; “neat,” then he glances at Eddie’s glass of melting ice—he’s been on Black Russians the whole time;

“Keeping at it, or something new?”

“You make a compelling argument for easing up the sweet,” Eddie cocks his head, taps his chin consideringly; “especially when you’re agreeing to remain as my company,” he shoots over a heated glance and a smile too big to be as wicked as Steve thinks Eddie might have aimed for but it doesn’t matter, it has the same bewitching, pulse-stuttering effect either way.

“Bulleit Rye, on the rocks,” Eddie taps his glass with a certain finality.

“A man after my own heart,” Steve comments with a nod; it’s a good order. He doesn’t think about the words themselves before they come out.

“And if I wanted to be?”

And then Steve thinks about the words with every goddamn cell in his body, like his blood repeats them and the electricity that works his brain as much as his heart is making little lightning storms around the comment, then the question, and then the implication because Steve…

Steve’s never wanted anything more. Steve’s never been offered anything even close and here’s this man? And he can’t be saying what Steve..thinks he has to be saying because what else can those words mean—

“Too quick?” Eddie pulls back the slightest bit and Steve misses him immediately; “I usually am, I’m so—“

Steve misses him, and will not have him doubting because Steve knows that feeling intimately, knows this man deserves none of it, and knows it’s anything but warranted when Steve’s heart, the one Eddie might want to be after, just took up leaping in his fucking chest like a goddamn gazelle.

So Steve doesn’t think, at all, when he grabs the hand Eddie placed on his a few minutes ago and cups it to his chest, the best proof he knows that can’t be overthought, or rationalized away.

Eddie’s eyes are confused, for a second, until he feels it.

And then: but, fuck.

Steve’s never watched a flower blossom all at once before but…that’s all he can think of with the slow crawl of a smile, the bright gleam of something like wonder in eyes that get impossibly wider, a chest that rises and falls heavy abd quick under the silk Steve wants to unbutton a little, see more of that milk-smooth throat save now that he’s looking, he can see enough to take note of Eddie’s pulse there: riotous.

It’s too good. It’s too much.

But Eddie feels it with his own hand. Steve sees it with his own eyes.

Here they are.

“That’s usually my line,” Steve finally exhales, tries to make it a joke between them, an understanding and maybe it works, maybe they’re both too distracted by the hinting promise of maybe never needing to have such a joke again:

“Not too quick.”

And Eddie stays there, riveted, beaming something blinding and Steve just…feels his own heartbeat. Under a hand that doesn’t seem inclined to want to move.

Not too quick.

Eddie blinks at him, almost like he’s waking up from something he wasn’t even aware he’d been sleeping through, or walking through half-dazed. Like he’s seeing something real for the very first time. His breaths are fast, a little shaky, and then he’s standing, pulling Steve’s hand from his chest up to Eddie’s mouth and kissing his knuckles, watching Steve every second as Steve’s own breath hitches, and then pulling away, but not letting go yet. Like he’s reluctant to.

“Let me hit the head real fast, throw some water on my face to make sure I’m not dreaming,” Eddie whispers to him, breathless still and looking almost like he’s trembling; “while he gets those poured,” he tips his head toward the bar where their drinks are still waiting their turn.

Then Eddie’s brining Steve’s hand to his lips again and whispering there, and yeah, the man’s shaking a little as he breathes, almost shy:

“Don’t go anywhere?”

As if it’s even a question.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve promises with all he’s got, because he thinks…it’s insanity, but he thinks maybe he walked so reluctantly into this bar however many hours ago and somehow, by some act of benevolent fate, he’s…found the man who’ll prove to be the love of his life?

Steve could not be moved for anything.

Eddie walks half-backward for how much he turns to look back at Steve, and Steve waves a few times, makes a few stupid faces just to see Eddie struggle not to giggle, and it’s…

He did say his chest was gonna be sore by the end of the night but, Jesus. He doesn’t know if he even has ribs left, or if they’re all broken, crushed to smithereens, for how full his chest feels. Nothing so common and simple as the bones of him could stand up to this and not be changed.

He smiles as he pulls his phone out—when was the last date he had where he didn’t look at his phone? Has he ever been on one before?—and he registers they’ve been sitting here, sharing themselves in a way that feels more like laying a foundation, deliberately, and that’s, that is…

Steve’s spent a very long time wishing for someone who’d want that, with him of all people. He was pretty sure he’d made his peace with never finding it. And then: here he is.

He bites his lower lip, lest his grin crack his face, when he thinks of texting Chrissy real quick and just…thanking her. Because, yeah.

Steve did, in fact, end up loving him.

Like…too-soon-but-for-real-pitter-patter-heart-skipping-beats shit.

So he thumbs open the chat and sees…unread messages.

He doesn’t full-on frown, too high on, just, everything, so he opens the texts before he can assume the worst of someone texting him during a date they, you know. Played a key role in setting up:

he may be running late for traffic, if you haven’t left please STAY I promise he is WORTH IT 🙏🏻💞

Steve’s not even sure Eddie was late, maybe they’d been sitting a few stools away for twenty minutes: it feels like a lifetime ago, now, and—

Then Steve sees the timestamp. Sent…like two hours ago.

He’d been at least two tequila sunrises in, with Eddie versus on his own, by then so, what was Chrissy even talking about—

He scrolls to the most recent message.

Seventeen minutes ago.

omg Steve I’m so sorry and *he* is so sorry, he’s absolutely cut up about this he’s still in traffic but he says he’s determined to try, he’s got flowers for you and everything he’s SUCH A GOOD GUY STEVE I swear I wouldn’t have done this if if I didn’t think he’d treat you like you deserve and this isn’t his fault, I even checked waze and it’s a mess but he understands if it’s too much and—

“Everything okay?”

Eddie’s already taken his seat, and is looking at Steve with polite interest, not leaning to see what’s on his screen like so many people do on instinct, but there’s actual concern underneath, and investment in it. Like whatever’s wrong, Eddie wants to help fix it.

Steve, reeling over the way the puzzle pieces are slotting into place—namely that, by all accounts, the earliest his intended date could have arrived was maybe ten minutes ago—looks up at Eddie, turns his phone screen-down on the bar and clears his throat, bites the bullet.

“This may seem like a,” Steve takes a deep breath, because he has to ask even if he is almost dead certain of the answer; “a kinda out-of-nowhere question but.”

And then Steve meets Eddie’s eyes square on, lets them wash over him and fucking hell: they steady him. Already, they’re an anchor for him in the worst of storms.

“Were you, by any chance, here for a blind date?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face cycle through maybe the five stages of…shock, more than grief given the context, he guesses, but they’re somehow closer to one another than Steve would’ve thought, definitely considering they only just met, though then he’s gotta consider that it feels like Eddie’s burrowed safe in his chest amidst all the blossoming joy, all the warm fullness like he lives there to be kept inside it always and also to maintain it, preserve it, as its sole cause and reason to be: but Eddie—Eddie looks at him with eyes that go wide, that fall with the rest of his face and then shutter a little, and that tears into Steve the hardest, to see something come up like barrier when Eddie’s the reason Steve feels so raw right now, and alive for it; he can’t let Eddie feel less than that, feel the need to pull back from that, from him—

Then he’s placid. Calm. Accepting.

But he deep wells in his eyes: they’re wet. They’re devastated, somehow.

And…no.

But before Steve can move, can speak: there’s a bright, colorful thing that stands out in his periphery—he catches it, flowers near the hostess stand—and his eyes flick to the person holding them, looking dismayed and definitely out of breath; attractive, brunet, weirdly familiar, and then he’s gesturing just so and…

Oh. Oh, that’s…

Steve made the comment two weeks ago, after the show he and Robin had gone to at the Gershwin, that he’d climb the lead like a goddamn tree. She’d groaned, pushed him into a nasty-ass wall that’d earned her the bill for dinner and drinks—but she’d had that look in her eye. And he’d ignored it but now—staring said lead, out of costume, still very handsome even while so fucking distraught, wilting more by the second as Steve tries not to stare too obviously, but then add in that Chrissy knowing half the standbys, that her being the reason they even got tickets, and Robin’s look—well.

“Theatrical” being…fucking literal, like a little clue, suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says it under his breath but there’s…way more disappointment than their objectively-brief encounter should merit as he processes, eyes already having followed Steve’s, and puts the pieces together: no matter how late, Steve’s very-probable blind date’s entered the building.

Which—if Eddie answers the question the way the resignation making its home on his face suggests he will—makes Eddie…

“No, sweetheart,” and Eddie’s gathering Steve’s hands slowly, gently, and his face is mostly lax and his mouth tries for a smile but it’s just this side of a grimace as his eyes, god, they’re so bright, like maybe if you can’t stare you won’t see the hurt but Steve doesn’t have to look long for it to burrow into his own chest and flay at his beating fucking heart.

“No, I wasn’t.”

And Eddie looks down at their hands, like he did before, and the tenor to the staring is wholly different, now, subdued and mournful, and Steve’s mind’s already made up but, if it hadn’t been?

The unthinkable reality of witnessing this beautiful man’s heartbreak would seal the deal entirely.

“You know what?” Steve grabs Eddie’s hands back, and squeezes them tight as he makes to stand:

“Neither am I.”

Eddie’s lips part, and his brow furrows, eyes cutting to the front entrance, to the flowers, to a man who isn’t him as if that man could ever somehow be preferable, be more…more anything—

“But,” Eddie tries to protest, confusion undergirding the heartbreak, holding it still. Like…like breathless waiting, held in a frightful uncertainty, like weighing hearts against feathers: some cosmic importance in the balance.

Steve honestly couldn’t agree more. He just already knows how this scale tilts.

“You wanna get out of here, continue this conversation at any of the hundreds of other bars nearby?” Steve says, buttoning his blazer and reaching out a hand, hoping it stays steady; praying Eddie will read his conviction, his certainty, his heart and want to reach back.

And all the slow-rotting sickness in his stomach trying to climb upward and puncture all the buoyant joyful wonder in him for for every second that ticks by without Eddie’s hand in his, it’s all wiped away, burned by the flame of wanting and then getting, of Eddie’s hand in his properly held and Steve was fucking right.

They fit together gloriously.

“It would be my heart’s-sworn honor, my liege,” Eddie breathes, like maybe he’s afraid to hope and Steve won’t have that; and he thinks he knows what Eddie’s saying, knows what the fanciful words mean but he needs to be sure, so he lifts a brow and waits until Eddie grins again so his dimples start to show and he huffs, relief in it:

“I’d fuckin’ love to.”

They down their drinks in one go, gather their things and leave double their bill, barely paying anything so much as a glance when they could look at each other and marvel instead. They walk out opposite the flowers, paying neither the blossoms nor their holder any mind. The thing blooming between them, in Steve’s chest all the bigger and full and brighter for every step he takes with Eddie’s hand in his: it’s so much more than anything with stems and leaves, that grows in the ground. Like Eddie’s glow is more than a star could even hope for. Like the sunshine that’s maybe not Steve at all, that’s really just this feeling, and the way that it grows—it’s beyond explaining. It’s held between their hands alone.

And maybe Steve will text Chrissy and explain, ask her to send his regrets to the theater guy. Tomorrow.

Then Eddie tugs him closer unexpectedly, his laughter all music as he brings Steve’s hand to his lips again, then to his chest where this time, Steve catches the wild gallop of his pulse as proof.

He doesn’t think either of them have a fucking clue where they’re headed. They have every option in front of them, and want nothing more than the touch of the other, and the promise it holds inside.

So Steve does the tugging, now; curls one hand around Eddie and draws him in, his hand caught between their chests so perfect and tastes the coffee liqueur beneath the rye on his tongue and thinks of nothing else, not texting, not set-ups, not waiting: because he’s here. Right here.

And Eddie’s heartbeat feels like home somehow already; the taste of him is nothing short of divine. They’re fully clothed on a New York street and this is the most intimate thing Steve’s maybe ever felt, after the most meaningful evening he’s maybe ever spent with anyone. At a bar. Drinking tequila and grenadine.

He starts laughing, right against Eddie’s lips, right into Eddie’s mouth, so maybe some of the joy will trickle down into his chest, inside his heart so he’ll know even just a fraction of the joy that’s making Steve feel not lighter than air, or dizzy with the speed of it all—but again, maybe for the very first time: real. Solid. Worth something this momentous.

And maybe—increasingly likely, even, as if that’s not the most incredible, unfathomable, heart-starting thought he’s ever entertained but he thinks maybe he might just actually have a shot here, or can even already say just a little bit that he’s—

Loved.

Fuck. Fuck.

Scratch maybe sending a text by tomorrow—he’ll process getting ahold of Chrissy (and that conniving girlfriend of hers) to invite them to the goddamn wedding.

Because right now? Steve’s kissing the man he’s gonna spend the rest of his life with, the man he’s going to live and die learning to love better with everything he is and ever could be: one hand pressed between both their chests, and it’s not too much because Eddie’s pressing them together tighter, body to body and hanging on like he’s trying to hold Steve’s heart in from the back of his ribs just in case; and it’s not too soon because it feels like every single goddamn thing he’s waited for his whole life, beating and clinging and gasping and melding into place finally, finally because it’s…everything. This is everything.

They are everything.

For @starryeyedjanai, who requested 'Wrong Number/Wrong Blind Date AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and incidentally also for @steddie-week for the Day Three prompt 'Long' (which is employed in a couple of abstract ways here)

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[bebx]

Henry Creel | One | Vecna

The Last Days of Judas Iscariot by Stephen Adly Guirgis † Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

[trensu]

Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants. 

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration. 

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

--

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must��ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

--

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

--

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me. 

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it. 

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond. 

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.” 

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[motomamita]

singledad!eddie × pregnant!female!reader

warnings: smut, +18, mentions of breast milk, breeding kink, no condom, pregnant sex!

Part. 1

Upon hearing the news of your positive test, Eddie was eager and happy to be able to share this new stage with you. However, his happiness faded when you met him at your trailer one afternoon to talk.

Distraught and with Lily playing at your feet, you told him that while you were delighted to take care of Lily, you still didn't feel ready to raise a child of your own. You were too young and Lily already required too much time and energy that you didn't know if you would be able to give to another baby. Eddie lowered his head, watching as Lily played with the laces of your sneakers as she babbled 'mom' at you. Sad but accepting your decision, he lifted his daughter in his arms and began to talk to her, explaining the situation.

"Don't be sad, my little flower. Your little brother or sister won't be able to come this time, but I assure you that soon you will have one to play with..." Eddie spoke sweetly to Lily and, as if she understood his words, pouted and sob.

Obviously that broke your heart. So much so that in the end you surrendered to him and decided to continue with your pregnancy.

You moved into Eddie's trailer, so you could take care of Lily more comfortably and little by little you would accommodate the space to receive the new baby. Gradually you began to adapt to life there, and to be with both of them almost 24/7. Eddie left for work in the morning and returned a little before dinner. Some days he would pick you up and would go to the mall to buy things necessary for your pregnancy.

Eddie was delighted and even seemed to enjoy the purchases more than you. He loved choosing your maternity dresses, your braziers and even the most comfortable underwear for you. While you were inside the dressing room, he stayed with Lily outside the room while he softly sang her a lullaby. Every time you came out to show off how your clothes fit, he would whistle at you flirtatiously and Lily would applaud awkwardly.

Inevitably you managed to fall in love with him. He was too attentive, loving and understanding with you and Lily. He enjoyed accompanying you to the doctor, listening carefully to every word he said and asking a lot of questions about how to cope better with the pregnancy. Sometimes after work he brought with him magazines with advice for the first pregnancy and several classical music albums, because according to him: 'scientists say that the baby can be smarter if he listens to Beethoven or Mozart!'. True or not, the reality is that he did everything possible to keep his family happy.

As the months passed, your belly increased in size and you experienced several signs and symptoms. Your feet began to hurt and so did the desire for strange food combinations. Eddie knew it and for that same reason on the weekends he took full care of Lily so you could rest. He would place your feet in warm water and massage them while he told you the list of names he had been making. He also made sure to leave the cupboard and refrigerator full of candy and other possible foods that you might want such as ice cream, cookies, chips, gummies and even pickles.

As for sex, it had never really stopped. What's more, his desire for you seemed to have increased as the weeks passed, taking advantage of every opportunity he had to make you his. Despite having a little girl in home, Eddie was quite creative when it came to getting between your legs. You could wake up in the middle of the night with his cock inside your pussy, his hands on your sensitive nipples and hot breath in your ear. Or during a quick shower, he would sneak between the curtains, helping you soap your back and taking the opportunity to kiss every sensitive part of your skin. Otherwise, far from the gaze of Lily who was playing in the living room, he would put his face under your dress to taste the juices of your pussy.

That Friday everything was as usual. Lily, who had barely begun to walk, played with holding on to the couch while moving her body from one side to the other to the rhythm of Beethoven. You gave the final details to the table and looked from time to time at the lasagna that was cooking in the oven. The sound of Eddie's truck's engine alerted you both that he was already there. Lily gave a little scream, anticipating her father's arrival.

"Daddy's home!" Eddie announced himself, informing the house. You received it with a small smile, letting Lily be the first to receive it. Seeing him, she began to walk clumsily into the arms of her father, who hugged her tightly. "Good job, Lily!" He smiled, picking her up in his arms and approaching you. "How did my girls behave?" He asked, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips and touching your belly tenderly. "And this little one? Can't wait to get out? Mm?"

"The food is ready." you announced, wiping your hands on your apron.

Eddie took Lily to the bathroom to wash her hands, telling the little girl about his day at work as if she understood something. Once at the table, you began to eat while the music played. You and Eddie helped the little girl eat her food, wiping her mouth every time she spit out a bit of it.

When he finished, Eddie took care of cleaning her and taking her to her crib to sleep. For your part, you picked up the dishes and were about to wash up when you felt Eddie's hands on your belly.

"Leave it, I'll wash them later. The food was delicious, so you deserve to rest, mommy." He speak and then kiss your cheek. You didn't object and left things to go sit with him on the couch. "How do you feel?" He asked, caressing your thighs and letting his rings make your skin crawl.

"Okay, a little tired. As Lily starts walking alone I should have been more careful that she doesn't set the house on fire." you joked, remembering the childrens prank she was slowly starting to get up to. "I missed you." You murmured, somewhat embarrassed by how much you needed him.

"Yeah? How much?" Eddie asked with a mischievous smile on his face, squeezing your thighs slightly.

"So, so much.." Eddie growled, knowing the tone of voice you used when you needed more than a kiss or hug.

Eddie approached and joined his lips with yours in a loud, wet kiss. He brought one of his hands to the back of your neck, grabbing some of your hair while his other hand moved up your thigh to your center.

"Poor mommy, spending so many hours here with my baby..." he murmured, separating himself a little. "Alone and without anyone who can satisfy and fill that sweet, tight pussy.." he massage your pussy over your underwear.

"You're bad, very bad for always leaving me wanting more..." you complain and then moans when he found your clit lightly pinched by him.

"I know, my queen, I know... but now I'm here..." Eddie pulled her hair a little, making you moan. "I'm all yours, use me however you want."

It was a matter of minutes before you found yourself on top of Eddie, naked, riding his big cock. Your swollen breasts bounced with each sit on his hard cock, leaving such an exciting sight for Eddie who watched you with his hands behind his head.

"Come on, mommy. Milk this cock." His words did nothing but encourage you to move your hips faster and making the clash of skin echo through the room. "Fuuck, that's right.. Use me, use me.." Eddie closed his eyes, moaning at the way your pussy rode his cock with ease.

You placed your hands on his chest, digging your nails and trying to stabilize yourself, making his cock go even deeper in you in that new position.

"God.. Look at your tits, they are so big.. And heavy.." Eddie brought his hands to her breasts, making circles on her erect nipples and pressing them lightly in the hope that milk would come out of them. "I promise you that as soon as your sweet milk starts coming out of here, I will be the first to taste it.." you moaned when you heard it. "Uh? You like that? Would you like to breastfeed me?" You bit your lower lip, nodding madly and still moving.

Just thinking about it made Eddie even more horny. He brought his hands to your waist, carefully pulling you towards him to begin penetrating you hard. His hips rose and fell quickly, hitting his pubis against your clit and rubbing your tits against his beefy chest.

"I'm going to fill you with my cum again and again..." he moaned as his balls slapped against part of your ass. "Tell me...Who did this to you? Uh? Who put a baby inside you?" He asked, looking lustfully into your eyes while one of his hands caressed your belly.

"You- It was you.." you managed to say with a broken voice, completely overstimulated. Eddie smiled proudly at your words, changing his thrusts for slower but deeper ones.

"That's right, mommy.. You're so good that your fertile womb took my semen the first time.. Good girl." You moaned at his compliments, feeling your orgasm approaching. "Are you going to cum? Mmh?" He asked sweetly, caressing your face as you nodded your head. "Come on, cum for me..." those words were enough for seconds later his cock was wet with your sweet nectar.

Eddie took care of cleaning you, covering you with a blanket and placing you on his chest. Your head was spinning, dazed and in some sort of subspace. He noticed it, caressed your hair and let him slowly put you back together while you listened to his heartbeat.

"Hey, I have to show you something." He spoke to you after a few minutes. You raised your head to look at him, Eddie reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small box. "Remember what I told you the first time..." he stretched out his words, referring to the time he fucked you on that same couch. "What did I tell you?"

You thought for a few seconds before answering. "That you would make me a baby." You responded confidently and Eddie laughed when he heard you. "And that you would make me your wife" You added, remembering the situation even more.

"Very good.." he smiled at you and brought the small box to your hands. "Well, I think it's time to make it official..." you slowly opened the box and found a beautiful ring inside. "Will you marry me?"