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sheisjoeschateau · 2 months

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

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Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning. Definitely before everyone else went to bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms. Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest. Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest. He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear.

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall. It kept him sane. It kept his eyes open. It kept him from letting the nightmare return. You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life. Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you. Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing.

“I can’t stand you either.”

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in. Something danced inside of his stomach. It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost. He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy. And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him. The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler. The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good. Robbed of love. True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler.

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive.

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies. The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray. He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves. Otherwise, he’d go berserk. Completely berserk. Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him. She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone. To everyone’s surprise, they operated well. Like chef and sous-chef. What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms. He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise. With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you. You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door. But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring.

Turns out, it was Murray. He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good.

Your uncle cleared his throat. “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls. Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed.

“She’s still out,” Steve told him.

Murray nodded. “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.” An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued. “Listen, why not come down? Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup. Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you.

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve. “Trust me. I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you. He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass. It took Steve by surprise. No wonder you two were related. With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce. She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing. Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway. Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor. She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort. She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile. She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen. “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat. Don’t even think about not eating, Steve. I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef. Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in. Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar. They all sat next to him happily. YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon. Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks. Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this. “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused. “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not. “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that. He knew King Steve, too. But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it. Jealousy. It’s subtle. Not toxic, or even remotely a threat.

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids. She looks enchanted, melancholy. Is she sad? Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows. Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking. Because he sees it too. Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick. I know. Told him so myself.” Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning. “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head. Shit, I did. I used to run away from alllllll my problems. Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big. Not in a bad way, though. Never mean. Just…immature. Y’know? Point is, I’ve been there too. Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…” He snorted. “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction. What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood. “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks. You know? Big ones. Small ones. Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan. Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself. “The point, the point. We uhh…we live and we learn. Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her. And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody.

It began to click for Jonathan. The longing stares. The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back. He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California. But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him. One look at her made it all go away. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too? For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms. Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again. No Byers in sight.

…was this karma? Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that. Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school? Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.” Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him. Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly. “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad. He never got mad at either of them. He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay. And he never said anything to Byers about it. Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence. Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing. But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then. Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger. Red hot and flaming. He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief. For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain. Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT. NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW? THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE? FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it. He completely deserved it. All of it. It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it. All of it. Even what was still left unsaid. Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen. He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate. Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat. Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been. But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again.

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler. He pined for you.

Not for long, though. Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual. The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his.

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table. Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things. But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile. Eddie watched them, knowing. Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike. They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind. He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him. He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table. Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze.

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee. “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee. Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm. Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said. “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat. “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll. “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes. “I really should have seen it coming, though. I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive.

Eddie smirked, uneasy. “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious. “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us. Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together. Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed. But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air. “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer. You know, found a way to get along. Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed. “Robin. He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared. “What?”

“When?” Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking. “Whenever we…brought her back. He — he kissed her. He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.”

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all. Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing. Even Eddie looked over at him.

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured. “Steve’s never sad. Not like that. I’ve never even seen him cry. Not once. Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought. She shook her head, realizing… “No. No, he didn’t. Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says. “Because he’s awesome. He’s brave, and cool, and awesome. Steve doesn’t cry. Today? He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy. “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today. I did. Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm. It made everyone go quiet again. “Not like that,” he repeated. “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died. Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back. How Hopper and Joyce would. How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff. But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug. “S’true,” he mumbled. “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty. Of course, it was the same for her. But she couldn’t focus on that right now. Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed. Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain. “It’s a matter of when. When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that. Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t. She knew her best friend all too well. How had she not seen this coming? How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you? Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day. Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy. To get her back, win her over. But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course. He knew better than to cross that line. Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her. He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin. They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other. Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth. She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.”

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl. He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly. Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused.

Jonathan, however, was not. This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked.

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl. “The sexual tension. The incessant arguing. Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself. “But…why though? She didn’t do anything wrong. Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her. It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck. “Honey…really?”

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s. Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess. But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends. Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down. But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you. Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial. On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well. She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —” (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued. Because my niece isn’t stupid. She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna. She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie. She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve. So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' "

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do? He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What?

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all. Every lick of it. So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl? The person who told him to do it. Myyyyyy niece. Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life. And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension? But Steve had to hate someone. To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself. So he chose her. He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her. Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids. Which is to be expected. So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.”

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued.

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding. Trauma bonding. Forced alliance. The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive. And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears. Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back. And then…suddenly…” Murray snaps his fingers. “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world. At least, Hawkins. We all somehow manage to survive it. We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here. In a house, all underneath the same roof. Forced to coexist. Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters. Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker. Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in. Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following. “Magic.” He walks closer, slowly. “Some small talk becomes bigger talk. Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation. My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one. They both discover they’re the only child in both their families. His parents are absent. Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care. But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why? Because she’s listening. Relating. Understanding. Meanwhile, Steve feels heard. Seen. Relevant. Important. Like maybe whatever he has to say matters. Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape.

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together. Not that you knew that. You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet. Which is good. And they love that. Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her. And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same. Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you. Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more. Or at least, that’s what I observed. Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures. Just like you two were. She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her. She insists they are mortal enemies. That he hates her. Will forever hate her. And then…that rambling turns into truth. Admittance. Denial, still. But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue. She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve. But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler. Not forever, anyway. Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas. But it was her. You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve. And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop. The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing. They were stunned into shocked silence. With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…” He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup. Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again.

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah? Not yet. Not to them. Wanna do it with each other, go ahead. But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes. They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding. Robin did, too. Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now. Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them. Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin. Jonathan swigged his coffee. Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression. Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan. Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too. He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air. Steve squinted at his best friend. Finally, she found her voice. “Sorry. Got the jitters. Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip. Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin. She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself.

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head. He watched her go, curious.

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly. The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers. He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes. That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow. But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy. Really queasy. And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan. She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own. He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink. She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall. But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly. “Real early. Probably 6AM. Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad. Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked. “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back. “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind. Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection.

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce. After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain.

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there. Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place. They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both. The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep. Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground. He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time. Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew. He just knew. You two were crazy for one another. Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too. Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens. Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s. He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it. He felt it best not to push anything. Not yet. When Max woke up, he would. But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to. Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you. And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous. Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas. She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual. And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his. At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore. Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned. Steve grinned back.

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands. “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously. His wounds, I mean. I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip. God, she wanted to ask him so many questions. Hug him. Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans. Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her. To scream. To laugh. Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted. “Like – love you to death. Best friends forever. Just — just…” She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks. Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous. Robin sighed. “Just know that…I’m here. And I’m always gonna be here. Supporting you, with…whatever you need. Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions. Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs. His best friend of a soulmate. Platonic with a capital P. Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets. She sagged with relief. Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours. Spread out. Starfish. Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter. “Okay. Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death. He really did have the best friend in the world. They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace. Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide. Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin. She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms. Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit. He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell. There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully. Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair. He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position. Almost like you hadn’t moved at all. He looked at the clock. It’s…been hours. Several hours. At least 4. He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark.

His heart stopped. Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell. But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily. Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning. He melted.

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily.

“Hours,” he told you. “Which is good. You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly. “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear. “I can fix that. Want me to bring it up here?”

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully. Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return.

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication. You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard. You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl. Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close. His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter. “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two. Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring. Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town.

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple. You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window.

“Blue. Sky blue.”

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers. “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.” Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine. He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night. He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s. Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl. He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits. Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say. But regardless, your answers fascinated him. He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men. Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time. You were smart, but somehow underestimated. It was strange. You were strange. Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too. Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously. But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff. “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own. Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. “God…no wonder you love those kids so much. You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows. He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk. Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another. Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone. Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god. How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting. Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla. He loved diners, and you did too. He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner. It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not. It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years. Maybe ever. Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration. Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding. “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk. “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah. Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly. “Yeah. It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness. But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly? Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else? Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him? He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever. You nodded eagerly. Yes. Those, or a border collie. A dog that felt like a true family member. Even a stray mutt who needed a home. You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids. Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku. When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household. Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard.

God, you were beautiful. You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud. “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased. “Yes, you are. You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious. How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now? You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek.

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. “Not to you. I’ve been ugly. Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours. Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly. “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life. Well, your love life. But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you. Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.” He visibly winces at his own words. “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks. “Don’t. I’ve forgiven it. Really. You didn’t know. You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight. “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway. Worse. Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again. “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears. Still, he let the joke land. You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss. Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered. “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck. He sighed. “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly. “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it. Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him. It did, for the most part. Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same.

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you. “Hawkins. The country. The world.” He paused, breathing you in. “Just know I want you there. All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering. “Good. You’re stuck with me, Harrington. Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot. He felt happy. Absurdly happy. Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his. He waited, pulling back nervously. Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way. That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens. So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan? Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment. His childhood. His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed. He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him. It hadn’t been many. At least not many that meant anything to him. He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years. But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours. “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed. He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks. He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly. Little kisses peppering your face. “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul. Steve could bawl about it later. Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

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fuctacles · 11 months

Text

Platonic with a capital "P" [soulmate AU pilot/teaser]

Part 2 | Read on Ao3

A: Platonic

”Hiding one’s soul mark is a practice exhibited in about 10% of the US population. Among the research group, over 70% prefer to share their mark after forming a relationship naturally. About 15% had lost their soulmate and covered their mark in an expression of grief, and about 10% claim not to believe in soulmates at all.” - A modern look at soulmates, J. Dirk

Robin Buckley hid her birthmark for another reason. She would only show it to someone in the quiet of a bedroom, with no one else to see, to judge. Because while a lot of people believed the universe was never wrong, just as many believed it could. That sometimes, it corrupts you from birth, leaving you with a “broken” bond, a mistake.

And the latter kind liked to congregate in places like Hawkins.

Robin Buckley hid it because she didn’t want something like her own birthmark to out her before she was ready. For someone to see the same pattern on two girls and put two and two together.

Her mark was located on her hip, usually covered by the waistband of her jeans or a shirt, but just to be safe, every morning she would put a band-aid over it for an extra layer of protection.

Recently, she felt like putting on another one. Maybe even wrapping some gauze around it for an extra measure. Sometimes, after a shift at Scoops, when the nights were incredibly dark and the mirror brutally honest, when the guilt and betrayal and wrongness of it all became too much, she would think about putting a razor to her skin, cutting out the offending piece of flesh.

She was betrayed by the universe twice in her short teenage life. Once when she was born a lesbian in a homophobic little town. Again, when it shoved Steve Harrington into her life.

Robin usually avoided looking at other people’s marks. It was rude when she was hiding her own, could rub people the wrong way. She also didn’t like to play matchmaker for straight people, and didn’t like the pang of jealousy she felt when her peers found their soulmate. It was rare to happen at their age, but not unheard of.

And if she sneaked a peek, it was never a dude. She would take glances if she saw a cute girl, sue her. She would if she suspected the other was queer. As if it was a sealed deal then, because if there was another queer girl in Hawkins she must be Robin’s soulmate, right?

So when Steve Harrington arrived for their first shift together in his everyday clothes, she didn’t look. Then he emerged in his sailor uniform, the sleeves longer than in his polos, and she thought that was it.

“Do you think they’ll let me cut it?” he asked a couple of weeks into his employment. Their training was finally done, and they could be left without a supervisor for a lazy morning shift.

Robin flipped a page in her magazine and gave him an unimpressed look.

“You’re supposed to be working here, not fishing for your soulmate,” she clicked her tongue in disapproval.

Steve scoffed, taking on his mom stance like he was disappointed in Robin.

“Looking for your soulmate is a full-time job, Buckley.”

“It’s not a job,” she lowered the magazine to properly gawk at his stupidity. “This,” she motioned around them, at the nautical-themed ice cream parlour, ”pays the bills.’’

“And this,” Steve points at his shoulder, which Robin thought looked incredibly stupid, “gets me the love of my life.”

Robin rolled her eyes.

“I hope she takes you away from here.”

Steve huffed, turning at the sound of opening doors to see new customers come in.

“Please. You love working with me,” he said before turning towards the counter to do his job, for a change.

Robin scrunched her nose because he was right, she unfortunately did. But Steve’s ego was big enough already, so she would never admit it out loud.

Steve Harrington was nothing like what she expected based on high school tales. He had a bunch of kids following him around, bothering him at work and demanding car rides. His previously famous flirting game was so off it quickly became a joke between them, with a whiteboard score and all. Steve scoffs at it and rolls his eyes and flips her off, but there's a playful glimmer in his eyes that gives him away. How pleased he is to be there with her and bicker. They start scheduling their shifts together, and Robin never thought before that a summer job could be this fun.

She watched Steve do the little dorky handshake with Dustin, and for the first time since she came to terms with her sexuality wondered what was under Steve’s sleeve. She never felt this fond of a boy before. Was she wrong all along?

“Where’s yours?” Steve asked her one day, leaning on the counter with this glazed-over look in his eyes he got whenever he was thinking about his “ten kids and a wife” fantasy. A big family of five just left their store.

“My hip,” she answered easily. She could give him this much.

He looked down at her waist, his eyes swept fleetingly over her body, and it left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

There was a moment of silence, Robin letting Steve think about his next words, hoping he’d choose them wisely.

“Have you shown anyone?” A relatively safe question.

Robin was shaking her head before he was finished.

“No.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes at his confused frown.

“I’m not a fan of crop tops. Not everyone has such a convenient arm mark, Harrington.”

“Fair,” he shrugged, looking away. If he was trying to coax Robin into showing him his mark, he could murder her right now. Sometimes the marks were shown in obituaries.

Instead of prying, he let out a low chuckle and looked back at her.

“Do you know why I applied here?”

“Because you wanted a job, and we were conveniently hiring?” she quirked an eyebrow. Steve elbowed her, but she moved fast enough to avoid most of the impact.

“Well, yes, but also… It might sound dumb,” and oh, Robin never heard him shy before. Even when the girls were ignoring him, he oozed confidence and just moved from one flirting attempt to another. She didn’t like where this was going. “My mark looks kind of like an anchor. It felt like a sign.”

Robin froze all over. She was so bad at controlling her face, at hiding her emotions. That's why she was such a shut-in. One wrong gesture or word, and she would be outed, a pariah, and shit, Steve’s eyes were widening, she was so fucked. He rose his hand to his left arm.

“Do you wanna see?”

Instead of answering, she took a look around the empty parlour and grabbed his wrist to pull him to the backroom.

“Steve-” she started, turning towards him. He was pulling up his sleeve, and she made a distressed sound, covering her eyes. “Steve!” She was panicking now. Because she knew what she was gonna see. A wonky crossbow that could be interpreted as an anchor. Her eyes prickled, and her heart thudded hard in her chest.

Steve was the opposite, his voice soft and dreamy, infuriatingly calm as he was spouting love-drunk nonsense about Robin, of all people. And there she had her answer, because it sounded wrong, gross even. She wasn’t into men. Never could be.

She was pressing down on her eyes so hard, the pressure was starting to hurt.

“Rob,” Steve said softly, and she wanted to cry. “Look at it. That’s all I ask.”

She took a shuddering breath, and she told him, instead. She told him about Tammy Thompson, and he was so shocked he forgot about the mark. Robin lowered her hand and saw it, and she hated it, hated the universe. Hated herself, even if it was not her fault.

“But she sounds like a muppet,” Steve winced jokingly, and Robin let out a wet chuckle. She loves him, but not the way he needs. He forgot all about the mark, but she can’t, and she probably never will. Not with the guilt of stealing Steve’s picket fence dream away from him.

She goes to the library and finds articles about unconventional soulmate bonds she had no idea existed. How the revelation of soulmate siblings decades back turned the whole soulmate belief upside down. How a follow-up study provided huge statistics for soulmate twins. For multiple soulmates, or multiple marks. That settled Robin’s nerves a little. She felt less wrong for existing and for loving Steve.

What kept truly bothering her was lying to him, but she was too scared of the truth, and what it could do to him. Never before had she felt this bad for not reciprocating someone’s feelings, for not being straight.

She looked at the mark in the mirror and wanted nothing more but to get rid of it. Give Steve back what he deserves. A girl who’d love him, give him a bunch of kids and warm his bed. She felt like the worst kind of friend.

“Did you know you can have more than one soulmate?” she said casually a couple of weeks later.

Steve looked at her quizzically. They’ve been avoiding the soulmate topic ever since she came out, Steve rightfully assuming it was a touchy subject, albeit for the wrong reasons.

“Really?” How does that work?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“You know, some people are in polygamous relationships,” she explained, hands shaking as she cleaned the counter. “Or their first soulmate dies, and they find another one,” she wished that to none of them. “Or, or- You have a different relationship with them.”

“Since when are you a soulmate expert?”

She avoided his gaze as if he could just scan through her clothes and see it.

“Since I saw half a documentary on it this weekend,” she lied easily. The truth of spending evenings at the library would give too much away. “Did you know a lot of twins are soulmates?”

“Huh. That’s actually super cool.” He grinned at her. “So, like, you can have both platonic and romantic soulmates at the same time?”

“Yes!” she beamed back at him, overenthusiastic at how easily Steve was digesting the information. He seemed genuinely interested, too. It made her feel like she could tell him. Betraying her best friend like that made her lose sleep at night.

Steve hummed, leaning on his palm.

“Rob, you gotta shut up or else I’m gonna get greedy for more than one soulmate,” he joked.

Robin wished him all the soulmates of all kinds that he could handle.

“Do you know how many people there are in the world? Statistically speaking, there must be more than one for you, or else you’d never find each other in the same country,” she added, letting her tongue repeat what’s been on her constantly.

So what if that made her feel a little bit better, too?

Robin was bruised, bleeding and dizzy. She was half a step from passing out, and it felt like the worst moment to come out to Steve, to tell him everything. He was telling her how much he loved her, not afraid of the word any more now that they barely escaped death at the hands of Russian soldiers.

The mall bathroom seemed like the worst place to tell him, the tiles cold under their asses and the smell of pee poorly covered with citrusy detergent.

“You’re so smart and funny and yes, at some point I hoped we’d be soulmates but this is good, great even, and I wouldn’t exchange our friendship for anything else.”

“Steve-” she choked out, unshed tears straining against her eyelids.

A beat of silence passed and Steve audibly gulped, the sound loud in the empty stall.

“We are friends, right?”

He sounded so frail, so vulnerable and unlike Steve, Robin shot up to look at him in alarm. The motion made her dizzy again, and she leaned on the nearest wall. Have they never established it? Had she, a band and language nerd, never told former jock and king of high school, that they were friends? That was on her.

“Of course we are,” she scoffed. “We’re soulmates.”

Steve stared at her, wide-eyed. Has she said something wrong? That’s what he wanted to hear, right? That they were-

Oh.

“We are?” his voice was barely a breath, and his face was too fucked up to say exactly what he felt. Was he angry? Disappointed? Or was he happy to be a platonic soulmate with someone like Robin? She did what she was best at and kept talking.

“Yes, and I am so sorry Steve, I didn’t know how to tell you. I was so afraid you’d hate me because I know you dream of a perfect wife and kids and I kinda ruined it, didn’t I? Being bonded to a lesbian, that’s just… cruel, and I wish the universe had someone better for you, a pretty straight girl, and I want you to be happy, Steve because you are my friend and-”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Steve’s strong arms around her pushed out a choked-out sob from her chest.

“Robin,” he stopped her, and he didn’t sound angry, so she took another anxious breath. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m so happy to be bonded to you.” And oh shit, he was crying too. “Because now, you can’t escape me, you can’t leave me like, like…” he wheezed, and it wasn’t happy crying anymore. She squeezed him tighter. “Like Nancy or like my parents,” he choked out, burying his face in her shoulder. “I’ll be the most annoying soul twin you could have, you’re fucking stuck with me.”

She laughed faintly, wet and strained.

“No, you’re stuck with me, Harrington!”

They burst out laughing before clinging harder to each other and crying some more.

And that was how Dustin and Erica found them. Crying like two drugged babies overwhelmed with happiness, relief and adrenaline.

Steve has always been curious about soulmate marks. Even when it turned out he wasn’t going to get his own, not a romantic one at least, it was still something he often wondered about. If anything, the discovery of platonic soulmates made him and Robin dive deep into the world of unconventional soulmate bonds and the surrounding science.

So he was curious, sue him.

It’s been months since Eddie almost died, and Steve kept waiting for the right moment to ask. There was never going to be one though, and he knew that, so at some point, it wasn’t about the right moment and more about being high or drunk enough to ask.

Steve hoped the time was now.

“You know, after the first Upside Down shindig, I signed the permission to list my mark in an obituary. You never know which of the demo freaks is gonna get you.”

Eddie hummed at his words, sucking on his joint. He was splayed on the floor between discarded articles of clothing and some magazines.

“What about you?” Steve prompted, frowning at the ceiling. He wanted to look at his friend, but he didn’t want to seem too eager to get an answer.

“Did I consent to get my soul mark printed in the local newspaper when I keel over? Hell no,” Eddie scoffed. This made Steve flip on his stomach and peer down at him from the bed.

“Why not?”

“People point fingers at me already, they don’t have to point at some poor bastard that they were bonded with a town freak. Besides, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “finding out that your soulmate is dead is kinda shitty. I think it’s better if they don’t know and keep looking.”

“Huh,” Steve slumped a bit, gazing at his friend. He made a good point. “So you wouldn’t want to know if your soulmate was gone?”

Eddie leaned his head to the side, considering his answer.

“Dunno. I’ve read a bit about it, and it doesn’t seem that important to me, you know? Like, if I find my soulmate, then lucky me! It cuts down the courting time,” they both snorted. “But I don’t like, count on it. I’m not gonna wait for ‘the one’,” he made quotation marks in the air.

Steve hummed in thought.

“Yeah, I think I know what you’re saying.”

Suddenly, Eddie was sitting up and getting all up in his face.

“You’re into the soulmate stuff, though, aren’t you?”

“Well…” Steve looked away, feeling his face heat up. “Yeah, it sounds nice to have someone out there suited just for you.” Even if that ball’s out of the park already.

“Wanna see mine?”

“Huh?” Steve looked back at him and Eddie was smirking, wide and teasing.

“You didn’t just ask for no reason, right? You want to see my mark.”

Steve’s cheeks were now positively red.

“I mean if you… If you don’t mind,” he murmured. It wasn’t his initial reason behind asking, but he was naturally curious about marks and liked to see their variety on other people, on his friends and family.

Eddie only patted his cheek, Steve reeling back in surprise, and turned around. He gathered his hair to flip it over his shoulder and expose his nape.

“See these?” he tapped the left side of his neck. “If you connect these bad boys, they make a perfect pentagram.”

Steve frowned at the exposed skin. All he could see there were a few moles, each perfectly round and evenly distributed.

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Eddie said, leaning away. He rummaged through the mess on his desk. “I thought I didn’t have one for a while, but my uncle pointed it out to me one day. Some marks are really fucking subtle. None of your fancy anchor shit,” he grinned back at him, and Steve rolled his eyes. Eddie scooted back to the bed and handed him a pen. “Some scientists claim the more elaborate the mark, the stronger the bond.”

“And you believe that?”

“I believe the bond is only as strong as the work put into it. People should stop making the universe do everything for them. C’mon, connect them,” Eddie nudged his arm and turned around, revealing his nape once again.

Steve was too stunned for a second, surprised by the wise words he just heard from someone who didn’t put as much weight into soulmates as him. Maybe he had been putting too much pressure on some grand mystical plan he had no control over. Was that why his relationships didn’t work out? Was he not putting the effort in just because his date wasn’t the “chosen one”?

Steve looked at the tiny birthmark spots and the pen in his hand. He huffed.

“Ugh, wait.” He sat up, legs sliding on each side of Eddie’s form. His left hand landed on the side of his neck, and with his right hand, he connected the moles into a simple star.

“Huh,” he smiled, surprised when the shape was done. “It’s very fitting.”

“Right?” Eddie laughed. “My soulmate is probably also a metalhead or a fantasy nerd. Or maybe a Wiccan.”

“Wiccan?” Steve asked, handing him the pen back.

“A modern-day witch. Since the pentagram is a magic symbol of protection.”

“What if they’re not? What if they’re boring?” Steve frowned. He was a prime example of not getting what he expected.

“Nah, man,” Eddie threw the pen back on the desk and joined him on the bed, leaning on the pillows lazily. “No way my soulmate is boring.”

It was later that day, Steve had just gotten out of the shower and stood stark naked in front of his mirror, wondering if any of his moles could be a soul mark. Well. Five of them, precisely.

A particular cluster on his inner thigh was hidden from anyone other than a lover. He knew of it, but he never thought of it, never studied it. A hunch made him grab a pen from his drawer. He connected the dots.

A wobbly five-point star mocked him from his mirror.

#platonic stobin #steddie #ff #st #mine #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #soulmates #soulmarks

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goldustwomun · 2 years

Text

no one knows (e.m.)

pairing: modern! eddie munson x secret gf! reader

summary: it had been your idea to keep your relationship with eddie a secret, but when a party gets out of hand and the jealousy (and alcohol) kicks in, you begin to regret your decision.

warnings: everyone is JEALOUS; possessive eddie; swearing; alcohol; a modern eddie that looks basically like joe but with tattoos and darker hair!; smut smut smut!; fingering (female receiving); dirty talk; a very soft dom eddie; oral (male receiving); bestie chrissy and robin -- i love them; sleepy reader; pet names galore (sweetheart, sweets, petal, a singular pet); not completely edited but i’ll do that in a few hrs!

wc: 4.8k+

note: i have wanted to write this for over a week after listening to THIS AUDIO (18+ -- THIS IS ALSO 18+ LOL SO MINORS DNI!). Hope you all enjoy this horrible but turned dreamy night with our favourite eddie munson <3 oh oh! here’s a little moodboard type thing i also made for modern! eddie :))

The walls were buzzing. From the people, the music, the booze – you weren’t sure. It was just past midnight and you were only now starting to feel the effects of the worryingly cheap wine you’d scored at the minimart. It seemed appropriate, though, needing something more sophisticated than the usual tequila and breezers – all to celebrate the end of another year.

Everyone and their dogs had shown up. People you’d barely even spoken to in tutorials, their friends, significant others, neighbours. Your one bedroom apartment could barely tolerate a night-in with your small group of friends – with Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Robin, Chrissy, and Eddie – so you were all but certain that, come morning, the place would be trashed.

But fuck it, as you’d told a worried Steve, as friends of friends began pouring through the open door. No more dragging yourself to nine am lectures, barely enduring midterms every few weeks (why were they even called midterms?), being nudged awake by the library after you’d passed out during a late night study session.

You’d all survived another year in hell, so surely, you’d survive this night, as well.

That is, if the handsy girl currently pushing herself into Eddie’s lap didn’t move it before you stormed over there and did it yourself.

You were silently fuming into your half-empty glass, picturing all the ways in which you could saunter over there and (not so) accidentally dump the contents of your glass down the front of her annoyingly low dress.

What was worse was that Eddie was fucking loving it. He wasn’t encouraging the girl’s nefarious intentions, but he was too polite to blatantly push her away.

Plus, he craved the attention, the sly touches and subtle smirks. Would grin in that cheeky way of his that had your toes curling and clinging to his side like he was your anchor and you were lost, helpless and drowning, at sea.

And you knew he did because he loved being showered with praises and endless compliments when he was balls deep inside of you, fucking so hard you saw stars, galaxies, the whole universe. Loved it when you moaned extra loud, talked extra dirty. You could read that man like the back of your hand and, unfortunately for you, no one knew you were seeing each other.

It had been your idea, to keep it all hush until the year was out. You didn’t want it to complicate the dynamics of your friend group, or to distract from assignments and exams, so while the two of you cuddled up with one another on the weekends, slept in each other’s arms when it rained too hard and you wanted him off the roads, you still made him keep up the pretences when others were around.

To anyone else, the two of you were just friends. Close friends, best friends, platonic soulmates – whatever they wanted to think. But never anything more (despite the fact that it was the furthest thing from the truth).

So that meant as much as you wanted to walk up to him, yank that bumbling bimbo off his lap and kiss him, hard and fast, right there, in front of everyone – you couldn’t.

You blew out a slow, calming breath, knocking back the rest of your glass before heaving yourself off of the bar stool, wandering into the kitchen to find a familiar face.

“There you are!” Robin hollered, perched on the kitchen counter, resting her head against the side of the fridge. Chrissy was sitting next to her, a bowl of stale popcorn between them. You slumped into a chair in front of them, leaning forward to grab a handful from the bowl before stuffing it into your mouth. They snickered at the crumbs that rolled down your front, and you only pouted in response.

“What’s up, sweets? Why so down?” Robin cooed, fingers dramatically pinching your cheeks. You scowled, threatening her hands with a snap! of your teeth and she immediately retracted them. “That’s not very nice of you.”

“Yeah, this is your party. Get shitfaced, get up on a table and dance, hell, even kiss a guy, or two, or three…” Chrissy trailed off into a fit of giggles.

You shook your head, slumping back into your chair. “No, no, and no.”

“Well, with that attitude–”

“Robin!” you whined, slapping her thigh in admonishment. “I’m having fun– I am! I’m just– tired, I don't know. It was a long week of finals and I probably shouldn’t have invited sooo many people.”

“Hm. You think?” Chrissy questioned thoughtfully. She hopped off the counter, tugging you up to your feet, and grabbed your face in the palms of her hands. “Look at me. You are an intelligent, independent women, who, by the way, looks so fucking hot right now, and you deserve to celebrate. We can’t have our girl hiding in the kitchen with that pouty look of hers, now can we?”

Robin whooped in agreement, yanking your fridge open and pulling out the bottle of somehow-cheaper-than-the-wine tequila you’d hidden for when you needed a pick-me up. She poured three shots, handing them out as you all grinned at each other, like you knew something the others didn’t.

“Okay– on the count of three. One. Two–” Robin knocked hers back, face scrunching up in distaste as the alcohol burned her throat. You wasted no time, emptying your cup in one go as Chrissy followed your lead.

“F-fuck! That’s– Well, that’s really bad,” you noted, grabbing the bottle from Robin’s hand to inspect the label. “Does tequila expire?” you questioned suddenly, scanning the bottle for any indication of whether you’d live through the night.

“Don’t be silly! We’ll be finneee!” Chrissy insisted. “Now, let’s have some fun.”

Eddie was losing it, watching you from the corner of the room, barely hearing a word anyone else was saying because you looked unnecessarily good, but he had to keep his hands to himself. He’d promised you that, but he couldn’t, at that very moment, remember why he’d agreed.

And wasn’t it the end of the year? That had been the deadline, the goal, make it through finals and then he could shout your name from the rooftops for all you cared. But the two of you had been so busy with de-stressing post-exam and clearing out notes and flashcards that you hadn’t had a chance to talk, to discuss the status of your secret relationship.

He was seeing you for the first time in just over a week, and he couldn’t walk up and kiss you, hard and fast, right there, for everyone to see, and it was killing him.

“Eddie, babes, are you even listening to me right now?” His head snapped in the direction of the girl – Mila? Mary? Mona? – who had been glued to his side like a second skin. It’d be too suspicious for him to pass off the attention of, what he supposed, was an objectively attractive girl, so he entertained her flirtations enough to ward off suspicion.

He’d caught a quick glance of you as you walked into the kitchen. You weren’t facing him so he couldn’t see the look on your face, but from the tension in your shoulders and the way you all but stomped your feet on the ground – you were pissed.

He needed to get out of there.

“I am! I am!” he assured, peeling her hand, which was clutching a little too high up on his thigh for his liking, off of him. “I actually need to use the bathroom, I'll be right back.” He stood up, already scanning the room to find you. You must still be in the kitchen, he decided.

“Do you want me to join you?” she offered, coupled with a suggestive smirk.

“I think I’m alright, but thank you.” Eddie tried to ignore the way she moped into her fist and instead made a beeline for the kitchen. He’d barely gotten a foot past the threshold before you were stumbling into him, and he only just caught you before you face planted into the sticky tile of the floor.

“Eddie! Baby!” You swayed in his arms, steadying yourself by snaking your arms around his neck and staring, glazed over, into his eyes.

You were pissed.

“How much have you had to drink?” he questioned, voice tight and holding your hips so you stopped moving so much.

“I don’t know. Two? Three?” you guessed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck but moaning when his stubble-turned-beard scratched roughly against your face. “God, you need to shave.”

“Two, three, what? Shots? Glasses?” he asked again, trying to keep you focused on the matter at hand.

“Bottles!”

“Are you–!”

“I’m joking, Eds! I had two glasses of wine, and we just had a few shots right now. But I’m fine, sweetheart, I’m so, sooo gooood!”

It was hard to take you seriously when you were stumbling over your words like a baby deer trying to walk, so he turned you around, hands still firmly gripping your waist, as he led you to your bedroom.

“Let’s go lie down for a bit, yeah, sweetheart?” Eddie knew by then that trying to get you to follow basic orders when you were drunk was somehow harder than when you were sober. Being as stubborn as you were, he had learnt that the best course of action would always be a gentle nudging in the right direction.

“Bed? Nooo!” Eddie was trying his best to not laugh at the stubborn pout gracing your features. “I don’t want to go to bed!” You stopped abruptly, twisting in his arms and planting a sloppy kiss on his face, though missing his lips by a few millimetres.

“Come on, petal–” you loved it when he called you that, could disarm you completely until you liquified in his embrace, and this time was no different. “--everyone’s watching, and you’ll be fuming tomorrow morning. Let’s just go to bed,” he pleaded, pecking your cheek.

But his lips were so dangerously soft and you were really beginning to fill the odd mix of alcohol you’d inhaled and there was still that lingering, green-eyed jealousy nagging at the back of your mind and–

Robin rammed into your side before you could say anything else. “I’ve been looking for you! Come on! Come on!” She didn’t stop to hear your protests, yanking you out of Eddie’s reach and dragging you to the centre of the living room.

The speakers were blaring unintelligible indie rock – the kind that you loved to play when you wanted to annoy Eddie (“This isn’t music!”). Chrissy was already bouncing up and down, her usually neat waves of hair whipping wildly around her face. The infectious joy in her movements, in those of the crowd around you, had you jumping around yourself, arms swinging and belting the few lyrics you could decipher.

It was midway into the song when you noticed someone’s hands were on your waist. The pulse of bodies made it impossible to turn and see, but your hazy mind assumed it was Eddie. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to get a little more handsy when tipsy (or way past); physical touch was how you communicated your love for each other and your friends.

But when the crowd parted in front of you and Eddie pushed his way through the crowd, your heart dropped. Craning your neck back, an unfamiliar face stared back at you and before you could say anything, you were being yanked out of his arms. He was too out of it to care or notice, but you could see Eddie’s face growing more and more red by the second, and you had an inkling of a feeling that it wasn’t because of how hot it was.

He pushed you behind him easily, Robin and Chrissy holding onto you as they watched, unsure, as Eddie roughly grabbed the offender by his collar.

“Don’t you fucking dare put your hands on her, ever,” he threatended, words low but somehow loud enough to be heard over the music. The dancing had stopped and someone must have turned the music down because you could hear the murmurs around you.

Eddie stepped back, looking around in time to see how everyone was gaping at him. “I think the party’s over,” he stated decidedly, and with that smouldering look in his eyes, no one even attempted to argue.

It was impressive, really, how quickly your apartment emptied. Chrissy and Robin sat with you in the kitchen, forcing you to chug down glasses and glasses of water, but what they didn’t know was that after that incident, you didn’t need help sobering up.

“Will you be okay?” Chrissy asked, concern laced in her words as she plucked a straying hair from across your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Everything's fine, I just think we need to talk a few things through…”

They both nodded, collecting their bags to leave, but Robin hesitated at the front door. Turning to face you, she asked, tentatively, “So you and Eddie…?”

“Me and Eddie,” you confirmed. Their faces lit up and you were hit with an instant bout of regret, wishing you hadn’t over complicated everything and just told your friends about you and Eddie. But it was what you needed at the time, feeling so out of control with every aspect of your life that you wanted to safeguard the peace and comfort you felt with Eddie.

“We’re happy for you, sweets,” she cooed, giving you a tight hug and shutting the door behind them.

You sighed, forehead resting against the cool wood. You’re not sure how long you stood there, simply breathing, before someone cleared their throat behind you. You turned and Eddie was standing just a little too far away for your liking. There was this distant look in his eyes you’d never seen before. The two of you were open books when it came to communication, and you read him with the same familiarity of your favourite novel.

“Eddie,” you began, worried by where this conversation was headed. The thoughts had already begun – maybe you’d pushed him a little too much, not listened enough. You wouldn’t blame him if he ended it right there, you could see the exhaustion in the way his shoulders hunched forward.

You’d never seen him so deadly, so inconceivably angry. He hadn’t frightened you, he could never frighten you, but you hated knowing you’d done that to him. Caged him into a corner where he’d stewed quietly, only for the rage to build and explode in your face, in everyone’s face.

But he never let you finish because he’d closed that distance between you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you so desperately, you were certain he’d swallow you whole (and you’d happily let him). He held you like he never wanted to let you go, would rather mould you to his body so you’d be stuck with him forever. “Can we not do that again? I think I almost punched the guy,” he mumbled into your mouth, voice still hoarse.

“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” you agreed eagerly, leaning up on your tiptoes to wind your arms around his neck. Then Eddie pushed forward, your back connecting, or slamming more like, into the door as he slipped his fingers into yours, yanking them off his body and holding them above your head.

You realised, then, that he was still seething, only quietly, under that calm exterior of his. You just needed to bring it out, provoke him a little, let him expel that anger in the best way you knew how.

Turning your head away from his prying lips, you admitted,“I told Robin and Chrissy.”

“What?” was all he managed, panting and entirely focused on capturing your mouth again.

“I told them. We don’t have to keep us a secret, Eddie, not if you don’t want to.” He was frozen, rooted to the spot like a predator stalking its prey, and fortunately for you, you were spread out, exposed, for him to take you as he pleased.

He rushed forward, mouthing his way down your neck, leaving bruises across your collarbone with your hands still pinned to the door. “Everyone’s going to know you’re mine,” he growled into your skin, making his way back to your mouth where he nipped and sucked your already swollen lips.

“Fuck– yeah, yeah, I’m yours, Eddie.” You were already whimpering under his ministrations, though he hadn’t even touched you, not properly. But the way he spoke to you, the way he kissed and held you like he owned you – it was impossible to resist; you had no choice but to comply and let him take care of you in the way he knew best.

With his hands, his lips, his hard cock that you could feel pressed against your quivering thighs.

“Bed, Eddie, bed–” you choked out, shoving your body against his so he stumbled back, eyes wide as they traced over your heated, heaving frame. He nodded, grasping your hand in his as he tugged you towards your bedroom door. He turned the handle, cursing in frustration when it resisted.

“What’s fucking wrong– It won’t–” You pushed him out of the way, reaching into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the key (you always locked the door when you hosted anything). But the way your hands were shaking, feeling Eddie’s warm breath against the shell of your ear with how close he was stood behind you, large hands grasping onto your hips.

Fuck– you couldn’t get the key into the hole, and when one of Eddie’s slid down the front of your jeans, teasingly lowering the zipper of your jeans. He was cruel, so fucking cruel. And he was so good about it as well, could have you begging for it meaner, harder, faster.

His hand dipped into your pants, cupping you – a crude image to behold let alone be on the receiving end of – and you groaned defeatedly, free hand slamming against the door. “What’s wrong, petal, can’t get it in?” He was mocking you and you could do nothing but take it, legs now trembling beneath you because his hand was where you wanted, but there was no pressure, no friction, nothing to make it feel–

You all but shouted when the key slipped in, the door giving way and you would have face planted into the carpet if it hadn’t been for Eddie, holding you up. “That’s a good girl, got there eventually, didn’t ya’.” He walked behind you, urging you forward, and using the toe of his boot to shut the door behind him.

“Eddie– Please–” you whined, head leaning back into his chest as he refused to give you what you wanted.

“I know, pet, I know. It hurts, doesn’t it?” You could only nod, words escaping you as you threw the key at the wall, your hands scrambling to reach behind you and tug on his short curls.

You didn’t expect it, couldn’t have, but he let out the most delicious groan you’d ever heard, your brain must have short circuited because the next thing you knew, he was spinning you around and claiming your mouth once again.

“That was– That–” He must have felt it too, barely managing to form a sentence between his frantic kisses and wondering, squeezing, hands. “Do it again, sweets, tug it for me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He’d never asked for it before, and it wasn’t that you didn’t like it, Jesus, you were worried you liked it a little too much, but you were both high on jealousy and relief and–

“It’s fine, I swear– It hurts, but it’s good, just– do it again, please.” He was begging and really, how could you say no to him? He was tugging your pants down and you slipped out of them easily, all the while you took the opportunity to tug on his short strands of hair and bite into the hard line of his jaw.

“Such a quick learner– that’s it,” he encouraged, walking you back until your legs hit the edge of your bed.

You stopped him, grasping his face in your hands so he had no choice but to halt his movements and look at you. He looked worried, worried that he’d misstepped or taken it too far, but the haze in your eyes and the dopey smile on your face had his thoughts venturing elsewhere.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was deathly sweet. “Want something, don’t you?”

There it was, the familiarity, the telling look or feeling the both of you shared. He knew you– knew you so well that you didn’t even need to speak for him to figure out what exactly it was you wanted. But he’d make you say it anyway, relished in the way you stuttered over your requests.

For someone so incredibly dirty in bed, you could get shy real fast under those dark doe eyes of his.

“Can I taste you Eddie, please?”

Eddie grinned, slipping his hand around your wrist and guiding it to the front of his pants, where he was hard and aching and the outline of his cock was so blatant, just begging for attention. “What– my lips not enough for you?” he asked breezily.

“No! They’re good, so good, but I just– want you to feel good, too,” you insisted, already undoing the button of his jeans and tugging the zipper down.

“Well, when you ask so pretty,” he admitted, breathing heavy with the way in which he watched your nimble fingers reach into his pants. “Of course, sweetheart, you can have a taste.”

“Get on your knees, petal.” You obliged immediately, tugging down his jeans along the way. “That’s it, now pull me out,” he instructed gently, tucking your hair behind your ear. You couldn’t help but tilt your head to the side, sweetly pecking the palm of his hand before reaching to pull his boxers down as well.

With how hard he was, you were surprised he wasn’t even more of a desperate mess. “Jesus Christ, Eddie,” you moaned at the sight of him, unable to hold back, so you shifted closer, carpet burning your knees but you ignored it— attention entirely transfixed on Eddie and his pleasure.

You held him in one hand, the other gripping his thigh for balance. His hips flinched the second your cool skin connected with his, and he moaned brokenly. “Go on, sweetheart, you know what to do,” he crowed, unbuttoning the sheer material of shirt and tossing it blindly behind him. He was afraid to look away, even for a second, not wanting to miss a moment of you.

The both of you were eager to pleasure the other, but Eddie would always manage to coax you onto your back so he could drop between your thighs and pull one, two, sometimes three (if he had the time) orgasms from you. It wasn’t often he let you return to the favour so you were eager to please.

Kissing the leaking tip of him, you whined at the salty taste, nails digging into the skin of his thigh, surely enough to leave marks you’d kiss at in the morning. “F– Fuck– Teasing me, are you?” he growled, entire body tensing as he held back the urge to fuck into your mouth himself. “Don’t be so cruel, sweets, thought you wanted me to feel good?”

You stared up at him, the picture of innocence if it weren’t for his pulsing cock in your mouth. So you took the opportunity, the heated eye contact, to take as much as you could of him into the wetness of your mouth, almost gagging before you pulled back, warm, panting breaths caressing him.

You traced your tongue against the bulging vein that covered the entire length of him, stopping to suck on his blooming tip and lap messily at the sensitive slit. He jerked then, unable to stop himself, as his hands gripped your head still.

“S-Stop. Don’t wanna come, not like this,” he insisted, and you whined in disapproval. Eddie tugged your head back by your hair, bending at the waist to kiss you hard on the mouth, groaning at the taste of himself on your lips. “Think that’s enough. Your turn, pet.”

On trembling legs, you pulled yourself up, pulling your top off and reaching back to unhook your bra – all in one go. Eddie could only watch, suddenly helpless, as more and more of your skin became exposed, all for him to touch and hold and kiss.

You really were going to kill him one day.

“Lie back on the bed,” he ordered, moving forward with you. You waited for him to do something, anything.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, sweetheart, not sure I like it,” he noted, tracing the tip of his nose along the cut of your jaw. Eddie stopped at your ear, whispering, “Do you think you're wet enough?”

He shifted back to hear your answer, and you took his hand, placing it right where you wanted him, ached for him, before responding, “I dunno, Eds, what do you think?” His mouth dropped open as he felt the slick coating you, grazing your clit as he tore his gaze from you and stared at where you gaped for him.

“Fucking hell,” he swore under his breath.

If this was Hell, he didn’t want to leave, would let the fire consume him if it meant he had you spread out like this. And if this was Heaven, he surely hadn’t done enough to deserve it, to deserve you.

“For me?” he asked, completely in awe of you. Eddie wasted no time in slipping two fingers into you, moaning with you as he fucked in and out at a tantalising pace. You fell back into the mattress, hips lifting in search of something more, more, more.

“We have all night, sweets, no need to rush,” Eddie insisted, watching intently where his fingers slide into you.

“Please– Please–” You weren’t making sense, words mumbled incoherently under the loud, wet noise of his fingers. But you just needed him to move the slightest bit faster, the slightest bit deeper. You were right there, on the verge of falling apart but unable to free fall into oblivion.

“I can’t hear you, petal, gonna need to speak up,” he cooed, forehead resting against your own so he could watch your pink, nipped-at lips form the words he was just waiting to hear.

“Please, Eddie,” you whined louder, fingers gripping the sheets so tight you were sure they’d give in and rip soon enough. “I want to cum, please, let me cum.”

“You wanna cum?” he asked again, the hand not currently pulling you apart, bit by bit, skimming the bed to hold yours in a tight grip. He squeezed your hand once, twice, before giving in. “Okay, sweetheart, I can do that for you,” he promised with a kiss to your cheek as if he wasn’t taunting you only moments ago.

His fingers sped up immediately, insistently pushing against that spongy bit inside of you that had you quivering in his arms and your eyes fluttering shut. That, coupled with his thumb pressing into your clit was what finally pushed you over the edge.

You must have blacked out for a moment or two because once you opened your eyes, there was Eddie Munson, slipping his drenched, shining fingers into his mouth as his gaze trailed across your spent frame.

You couldn’t help but gape up at him, and he only smirked, leaning down to burry his face into your neck. “I think I’m dead,” you mumbled, tracing the tattoos inked onto his bicep.

“Had a feeling, sweetheart. We can stop if you want.” He was smoothing your hair back, covering your face with kisses – on your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, either eye – anywhere he could reach, and you scrunched your face at his attack.

“What about your–” you stared pointedly at where he was still hard, and he giggled into her mouth.

“I’ll deal with it myself, don’t worry. You look exhausted.”

“Well that’s real sweet of you.” He got up, blatantly ignoring your glare and instead, mockingly pinching your nose. You leaned up on your elbows, watching as he pulled his boxers back on, rummaging through the pile of clothes before throwing your underwear and t-shirt at you.

“Thank you!” you called as he disappeared into the bathroom, probably to ‘deal’ with himself, as he’d put it.

You woke up what must have been a few hours later, the lights in your room turned off and a sleeping Eddie tucked in, close, against your back. You don’t remember falling asleep but Eddie wasn’t wrong, you were absolutely exhausted.

Swivelling under his arm, you burrowed into his front, your head tucking neatly under his. He sighed in his sleep, face devoid of those usual lines of joy, worry, whatever it was. He was completely, blissfully, at ease.

Neither of you were that good at hiding your feelings, and you were just glad you wouldn’t have to anymore.

The world had to know – you were in love with Eddie Munson, and you think he might even love you back.

Love you allll! Reblogs and comments are much appreciated <3

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