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bettyfrommars · 11 months

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I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader//90's au//Part 9

🚨18+Only, mature themes, violence, mentions of violent past, angst, blackmail, stabbing (not reader), brass knuckles, biker!Eddie, biker!Steve, bleeding, mention of blood, longing, mutual pining, knife wielding, biker gang, threats, sexual tension, bandages, relationship drama, reader thinks she's been cheated on, fear of loss, eventual smut (not in this chapter) Word count: 9.4k

Summary: Most of part 9 takes place within the span of one evening, with the exception of a flashback to the previous day. While you're trying to get a hold of Eddie, hoping for an explanation, he decides to take matters into his own hands, and ends up taking on several members of a rival gang. In the aftermath, you rush to Eddie's aid, and at the end of the day, a familiar foe brings you comfort. Another ST character is brought into the fold, as well as mention of others soon to appear.

Series Masterlist

A/N: OOF, I had planned to bring some other ST characters into this chapter but this one got too busy, so I decided to save them for the next one. The new character Astrid was created by I'm on Fire fan and friend @texasblues and I hope I did her justice. You can read more on her and biker!Steve here I know a lot of you have been hoping for some soft Eddie and reader moments, and they are coming, I promise, along with our regularly scheduled smut. Also, I meant to get this out an hour ago but decided to re-write a scene at the last minute 🙃Love you all.

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I'm on Fire Part 9: Fade into You

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10:25 on Friday night, after the photos arrived

There came a soft knocking at your door, and then there was Katie’s voice, asking if you needed anything. You were about to answer, “yeah, a new life,” but you settled for a bland no thank you.

You were on the floor with your back against the bed, cheeks wet with tears, looking down at the phone in your lap. To the left of you was the stack of incriminating photos, but they were face down now on the beige carpet—you couldn’t look at them anymore. You’d already gone to the bathroom to dry heave a few times, but then you realized you wanted to give Eddie a chance to explain himself, but per usual, you couldn’t get a hold of him. You considered that he was at Wayne’s house, and you thought about getting that number from Robin, but even in your distressed state, you’d didn’t want any drama to possibly interrupt time with his uncle.

And so, you waited. You waited for Eddie to get the message you’d left on his machine and call you back and tell you that the photos weren’t real, that none of this was, that it had all been a bad dream that you’d wake up from any second now. “Good morning baby. You were screaming in your sleep like you were having a horrible nightmare.”

Wanting to torture yourself a bit more, you grabbed a photo off the top of the pile and turned it over: it was one of the ones with him and Erica, and it made you shiver. He barely had any clothes on. Had they just fucked and she was saying goodbye to him? She held his face as they kissed, and he had his hand on her stomach. There was another one of her inside his apartment, coming out of the hallway, smiling, while Eddie stood near his dresser. As damning as these were, you wondered why whoever took them hadn’t just snapped photos of them in the act? Eddie was a cautious guy and would most likely think to close the curtains for the fornication portion of the evening, but still—something felt off to you.

You told yourself it was just your foolhardy naivete and lack of self-respect that had you trying to make excuses for him, even now.

You tossed that photo to the side and picked up another, your eyes narrowing on the woman who had her arms around Eddie that same night he made you cum under the cherry blossoms. Her hair was a bright, candy red; she had it up in a high ponytail, and she had a tattoo on her upper arm. He was on the edge of his bed facing the window and she was on her knees behind him, arms crossed around his neck, hugging him from behind. She was really pretty, and she was smiling---so was Eddie, for that matter, like he wanted her to be hugging him; like he was happy she was there.

A sob hitched in your chest, wanting to die all over again, but then you continued to examine the photo as if you could think your way around the fact that he clearly had a woman he liked in his bed at an ungodly hour. The photos of him kissing Erica in the hallway made you sad too, but the ones with the red head made you sick, because he not only invited her in, but he wanted her there. He looked very relaxed and comfortable, like maybe they’d had a thing going for a while---like they were close---and that tore you up more than any quick kiss in a hallway with a groupie like Erica would.

There was also something off about the photos with the red head, but you couldn’t quite place it. He still had his leather on over that white t-shirt and he was turning to her as if in surprise? Maybe he hadn’t expected her to lunge across the bed and hug him like that? Your mind was racing on fumes at this point, and your internal tires had no more tread.

What would his excuse be? That the woman was just a friend? But then, why was she on his bed hugging him at 2 in the morning? Wearing a skimpy tank top and tiny shorts? Did she spend the night with him? In his bed??

You shifted your eyes to the phone, willing it to ring, and then, as another tear slid down your cheek, you clawed at the receiver and yanked it up to call his place again.

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12:43am much earlier that morning

Eddie noticed a big rig parked in the lot when he got back from dropping you off, but it was over near the heavy equipment garages, and he figured one of the guys dropped it off, or it was waiting overnight to be repaired. Maybe it was one of the truckers he knew just pulling into the lot for a quick snooze? The semi truck was an expensive, privately owned red beauty with polished chrome, and it wasn’t carrying any freight. He looked around with caution, just in case, before entering through the garage space below his apartment and locking the door.

He appreciated having the top floor apartment all to himself, and living at work was on brand for him, but he hated having to come through the garage to get to his place; he yearned to smell something else besides motor oil and brake fluid right before bed. Thankfully, most of the car repairs and servicing happened across at the parking lot at the main garages, and the space below his apartment was used mostly for specialty work on custom build bikes. At the other side of the garage, across from the stairs, was a door that led to the clubhouse used by the Coffin Kings for meetings and socializing, and Eddie hadn’t been doing much of either. Not a single part of him missed his ex, but he did miss the house they’d shared together for less than a year before everything fell apart. There was a farm house out in the country that he had his eye on, and if it ever went up for sale, he’d be the first one in line, but until then—this half-assed studio above a garage would have to do.

He wondered if you ever thought about where you’d want to live. Did you prefer houses or apartments? Did you tend to move around a lot, or would you make Hawkins your home for a while? He wanted to ask you these things, but didn’t want you to feel like he was trying to interrogate or pressure you. His ex always accused him of trying to smother her and “dim her light” and the experience had made him extremely cautious about the words that came out of his mouth when he was around you. He didn’t want to get shouted at or told he was doing it wrong. In his heart, he knew that you were nothing like his ex, but the aftershocks of some traumas had a way of digging their heels in.

He flipped the round lock at the middle of the metal doorknob and hooked the security chain before heading for the stairs. That was when he cocked his head, noticing with a prickle on the back of his neck that the hallway light was on upstairs.

He never turned on that hallway light. Ever.

And then he heard footsteps up above in his apartment.

Goddamn, Eddie thought to himself, he was way too fucking exhausted for this, whatever it was. He just wanted to tug one out to the smell of you that still lingered on his shirt and then pass out, but no. His life was basically a circus, but with no really cute acrobatic animals to love on.

Was it Erica again? She didn’t have a key to his place though, and he couldn’t see her trying to break in, she might ruin her manicure.

With a heavy sigh, he put his palm on the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip and made his way up the steps, ears trained for any more movement from up above.

“Anyone here?” Eddie called out, hoping against hope that no one answered.

He got to the top of the stairs and waited, ears perked, listening to his own breathing, when all of a sudden:

“SURPRISE!”

Eddie’s knife came up with his hand reflexively, his back going flush against the wall at the top of the stairs, as a redheaded woman popped out of his apartment and into the hallway wearing a Michael Myers mask, brandishing a large kitchen knife.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie said on an exhale, lowering his weapon, his heart in his throat. “You crazy? I almost stabbed you.”

Max was laughing, wheezing, tongue pressing out between her teeth as she pulled the mask up and let it rest on the top of her head. “I wish you could’ve seen your face!” She crossed her arms at her stomach and bent over, winded in a laughing spasm. “Damn, that was so good. Did you shit yourself, Munson?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Eddie pushed off the wall and crossed the distance on the wood floor in his heavy boots, wallet chain slapping against his jeans, and then gently took the kitchen knife from her before they exchanged a tight hug. He told her it was good to see her, and then, “how the hell did you get in here, Red?”

She pulled the mask off the top of her head as she followed him into the apartment. “You gave me a key, remember? 4 or 5 years ago, when Lucas and I broke up for a week and I needed a place to crash. That was before I had my rig.”

Oh sure, now he remembered. That was back when the apartment operated as a bit of a flop house for bikers who were too black out drunk to drive home, back when Eddie lived in Chicago for a stint. Lucas, who Max affectionately called “her old man”, was also a patched Coffin King member, but for the Indianapolis chapter. They weren’t married yet, even though Lucas had asked many times. Max had a bad taste in her mouth when it came to marriage, she felt like it was a curse, and so they compromised to be committed. They lived together, they had two dogs and a calico tabby cat that were their babies, and they were close enough that Eddie and Steve and Robin got to see them a couple times a year. Max had been an independent long-haul trucker for the past couple years; she loved the freedom and the power she had behind the wheel.

“Is that your new rig out there?” Eddie asked, unhooking his chain to put his wallet on the dresser.

Max put her fists on her hips, the mask still in one hand, and batted her eyes proudly. “Yep, that’s my new baby Big Red. She’s beautiful, right? Look---” she paused to pull her arm across her body to show Eddie her bicep. “---even had Steve put her in a tattoo for me.” Inked on her skin was her red rig surrounded by daisies. On the inside wrist of that same arm was the outline of a heart with the lettering: L.S + M.M. She was in a tank top and a pair of jean shorts, exposing the bursts of color from other tattoos on her ankle, thigh, and inner forearm. And of course, she had a lower back tattoo.

“You changed your hair,” Eddie said with a tip of his chin as he went around to sit on the bed facing the window to take his boots off. “I like it.”

“See, now,” she threw the mask on the sofa in front of the TV. “It only took you a few minutes to notice I changed the color. It took Lucas days.” It was a much more punk, bolder red than what she’d had her whole life, and so she was a little self-conscious about it, and it felt good to hear his compliment.

Eddie finished untying the first boot as he felt her crawl across the bed toward him, and before he knew it, she had her arms around him in a playful hug. “Eddiiiiiieeee I’ve missed youuuuuuu,” and then she swayed back and forth, taking his body with her.

He patted her arm, grinning; the kids always made him smile. Even though they weren’t kids anymore. Max was...what? 26 or 27 now? “I missed you, too, weirdo. You need to come around more often. Robin said she invited you two to the barbecue a few weeks back?”

She released him to jump off the bed and take a few steps over to plop down on the sofa with a bounce. “Ugh, I was taking a haul to Denver that weekend. I told Lucas to go, but he said he didn’t want to go without me, which is kinda sweet, I guess, but still.”

Eddie shrugged out of his leather with a cringe, his shoulder muscles aching, and then he got up to walk to the kitchen portion of the studio. “Beer? Soda?” He asked, rolling his neck.

She was flat on the sofa, so he couldn’t see her face. “You got any whiskey?”

As a matter of fact, he did, so he poured her a finger, and got himself a beer, and then went to sit in the old green armchair across from her that he had picked up at the Goodwill.

“So,” she sat up to take a sip of her drink with a clench of her teeth and a hiss, eyeballing him. “You gonna tell me who the girl is?”

Eddie looked dumbfounded. “Wait. What do you mean? How did you know?”

Max gestured to the collar of his shirt. “That’s not exactly your shade of red.”

He was still confused, but then he tucked his chin and pulled the front of his shirt out to see that there were two places where your lipstick had smudged, and a smile immediately jerked across his mouth.

“Oh, I know that look,” Max gave an open mouth grin, lifting her eyebrows a few times. “Hearts are gonna be breaking wide open all over the state tonight: Eddie Munson is in love.”

He tried to give her a stern look, but ended up falling miserably as he took a swig of his beer, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. “She’s...we’re just...it’s still new, but…”

Max cackled. “Eds! I need to know everything,” she coaxed, leaning forward. “Do not leave out a single detail.”

He cleared his throat and gave her the cliff notes version of his time with you, proudly showing off the painting you had done for him when he got to that point in the story. He left out the bits about Charlene, because Max was very protective, and he didn't want her to worry.

“Aw, dammit,” Max slapped her forehead. “You mean I would have met her if I’d gone to the barbecue? Now I really am bummed,” she took another sip of her whiskey. “Hey, did you hear about Suzie?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Dustin’s Suzie?”

“Yeah,” Max scratched her arm. “Dustin finally knocked her up. She’s due in a month I think? And they’re wanting to move home, back to Hawkins. Dustin’s mom hasn’t been doing good.”

Come to think of it, Steve had mentioned this to Eddie, but it must’ve slipped to the back of his brain somehow. Steve liked to talk on the phone a lot more than Eddie did, and the past year might as well have bee a few days long for how fast it had gone by.

“Steve’s pretty excited to be a Grandpa, I know that,” Eddie added, the long-standing joke being that Dustin was Steve’s other son: they even had matching nail bat tattoos on their shoulders.

They exchanged stories a bit longer, and then Max yawned.

“You want to take my bed?” Eddie asked. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Hell no,” Max scoffed. “The bed in my rig is way more comfortable than that brick mattress.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie stood up to walk her out. “You want to get coffee in the morning, or?”

Max scooped up her Michael mask. “I don’t think I’ll have time, I gotta hit the road in a couple hours, actually. But we’ll make a plan to come visit in a few weeks? Maybe we can all get together when Dustin comes home? That would be nice.”

“That would be really nice,” Eddie said, sincerely, putting his boots back on to escort her down to the main door.

She was out of the building and on her way across the parking lot when she spun around. “Hey, tell that new girl of yours that if she breaks your heart, I’ll break her face.”

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“I warned you.” Charlene said, a hiccup of laughter in her voice.

And then, the message continued. “If you don’t know already, that poor girl of yours just got her heart broken, what a shame. And now she has the proof that you’re nothing but a dimestore gigolo who isn’t capable of being faithful to anyone. Sleep well, lover.”

Eddie called your place first, but the line was busy. Every fiber of his being wanted to run over to see you and hold you and tell you that he was being set up. Would you even believe him? He couldn’t though; he couldn’t fathom letting her go on with this bullshit for a moment longer. The fear and anger he felt squeezed his heart like a vise as he scrambled to throw some clothes on, figuring he’d go to your place right after he was done with Charlene. He’d tell you everything: about her threats, how she was to blame for you losing your job. God, what if you ended up hating him anyway for being the reason you got fired? He’d have to risk it, he was done letting this bitch run his life.

The whole getting you fired thing was bad enough, but to actually hurt you? Make you cry?? Eddie saw red in the way he does when he’s about to rip someones throat out and send them to the morgue.

He hated this side of himself. He wasn’t proud of the thoughts he was having as he got dressed, slipping his knife into the leather sheath at his side and putting the brass knuckles in his pocket. Those weapons weren’t for Charlene; they were for the security she hired to be with her 24/7, and he was almost positive they’d have to be dealt with in order to get to her. There was a monster inside of him, deeply breed into his DNA---a cold blooded killer---and it was the tendencies of that monster that he had done his best to keep in shackles most of his life.

His father, Ray Munson, one of the Coffin Kings original founders, would’ve done horrible, unspeakable things to any man or woman who dared to threaten him or do half the things Charlene had done to Eddie. Ray Munson was a bad man. A scary man who made everyone he loved, including his young son, fear for their lives at times.

Looking back, Eddie was glad that Ray went to prison when he did and Wayne was able to raise him, because god only knew where he would be without the aid of a gentle, loving hand. In prison too, for drugs or murder? Dead? Wayne taught him patience, and how to channel his rage through boxing and long rides on his motorcycle; through work and duty and routine. He taught him never to lay hands on a woman.

Jaw muscles clenching, his entire body vibrating, a voice in Eddie’s head told him to call Steve; call someone. Bones? Thumper? Let someone know where he was going, and have them ride with him or wait for him. Let them know the address.

A voice in his gut screamed at him not to go over to her place alone, but he didn’t listen.

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After Eddie took off to go to Charlene’s the message numbers on the answering machine jumped from 1 to 6 in the dark of his apartment as you continued to call, fully justified in deserving some kind of explanation from him. The more he didn’t answer, the more it somehow confirmed his guilt, to the point that it was starting to really piss you off. To the point that you finally just screamed FUCK THIS aloud, slammed the phone down, and went to grab your jean jacket and keys, deciding to go find him. “I’m coming for you, Eddie Munson,” you said under your breath with a curse.

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As Eddie revved his bike and pulled up to the side gate at Charlene’s, flanked by thick trees, he was not shocked to find three of Lucifer’s Own, a rival biker gang, guarding the gate, almost as if they were waiting there for him, expecting him. 3 to 1 odds didn’t faze Eddie one bit, especially with the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body at the moment. He parked his chopper on the other side of the quiet street and walked across, heavy boots clapping the pavement, wallet chain slapping his thigh.

One of the guys, the shorter one with the thick head of black hair, black leather chaps, and an orange bandanna around his neck, made his way over to meet Eddie after a lone car passed between them.

His hand was up with his palm out. “Listen bro, I know we’ve got beef, but I like your uncle, so I’m gonna give you a chance to walk away.”

“I need to talk to Charlene,” Eddie said, continuing his trajectory forward.

“Bro, are you deaf? She doesn’t want to see y----”

But he couldn’t finish because Eddie cracked him in the jaw with a brass knuckle. He had exchanged his rings for the duster because it gave him more support and there was less of a chance of breaking his fingers or hand.

Knocked out, the guy sank to the ground like a wet rag, and Eddie stepped over his body, flexing his hands, ready for the next two. Both wearing their biker cuts, one was tall, young, and pale with a nose pushed flat against his face like it had been broken 8 times, and the other one was stocky with a gray beard.

The taller one started screaming and charged at Eddie, yanking a knife from inside his vest, arms flailing. Eddie dodged the first swing of the knife as it came, blocked the second attempt with his arm, chopped the kid in the throat, and then rocked him with an upper cut. The tall one stumbled back, bleeding, dazed, and he dropped his knife, so Eddie picked it up and threw it over his shoulder.

“I can take you, Munson,” the guy with the gray beard and the meaty hands said with a snort. The older members of the clubs were always tough, grisly old bastards who had seen and done a lot. He had one fist up to guard his face and the other held his knife, ready to swipe. Eddie slipped his knife out of its holster, twirled it around in his fingers a few times, and gave the guy a tilt of his chin. They engaged in a bit of a knife dance for a bit, both swiping and missing, while Eddie patiently waited until he was able to swing his long arm in a left hook to the side of the dudes head. While the guy was still stunned, Eddie jammed the tip of his knife in to his shoulder and the guy howled in pain, and then Eddie stomped his foot against the side of his knee to make him go down.

The only problem was, Eddie had lost sight of the first guy he’d knocked out, and that one was on his feet now, and hooking his arm around Eddie from behind to try and get him in a chokehold. Taken by surprise, Eddie reeled back, and the skinny kid got in a few swings at Eddie’s gut and face while the other guy held him; the guy punching had rings on and Eddie started to bleed, a cut opening on his cheek.

Eddie planted his feet and bent forward, sending the guy flying in the air over his head, crashing into the old guy who was trying to stand up.

That was when it happened: the tall kid, who was relentless as hell, pulled out a knife from his boot, and came in fast from the side to stab it into Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie grunted as it sank in, and then the kid yanked it out and Eddie’s hand flew to the spot at his side where blood was already wetting the webs of his fingers. The kid looked worried, not because he’d just stabbed someone, but because Eddie looked like he was about to murder him.

With a growl, Eddie tackled the kid to the pavement, and secured a bloody hand around his throat as he pounded his face into the ground over and over again until he turned the kid’s lights out. Eddie found his footing to stand up with a cringe and a hiss, feeling the warm wetness soak his shirt, knowing it was bad, but not wanting to look at it.

Eddie had to punch the older guy in the gut one more time before all three stopped their advances; two of them were unconscious and the older dude was on his ass trying not to puke.

The security camera above the gate was pointed right at him, and he knew that Charlene had watched the whole thing from the safety of her mansion. Eddie shook his head slowly back and forth, making eye contact with her through the lens, his chest heaving, his eyes going black. He pressed as hard as he could onto the wound, and limped over to the intercom.

He pushed the white button on the small black box and put his mouth to the speaker. “Charlene!”

He stepped back to look up, and the mechanical arm rotated the camera to meet his gaze. He screamed her name into the electronic eye so that she could see how deathly serious he was about his anger: she had never witnessed this side of him before.

He went back to the intercom and pushed the button again. “I’ll come here every night and beat all of your security guards bloody if I have to. I won’t let you hurt her anymore.”

Warm, viscous blood oozed between his fingers and he new he had to get somewhere else before he got lightheaded on his bike and crashed. It was a good thing Charlene decided to hide because he would’ve put his hands around her throat and never stopped squeezing until she was dust.

One more push on the button, leaving a bloody fingerprint this time. “If you want a war, Charlene, you fucking got it.”

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Eddie wasn’t at his apartment. His bike was gone and the windows in his place were dark, and you wandered in circles for a bit in the parking lot, letting out a few good, frustrated screams, before getting back in your car. You had the music on listening to Something I can never have by Nine Inch Nails, and a strange force compelled you to start aimlessly driving around to places you thought Eddie might be. You checked down around the Velvet Hammer again, over at The Hideout, and then up over the hill where he took the scenic route on his bike, and then wound back around to the road that let to Munson’s Garage again. You’d camp out in his doorway if you had too; you weren’t going to let him ignore you.

But then, with a catch in your breath, you saw him: one car ahead of you, he pulled out from a stop sign. You’d know that long hair and big chrome bike anywhere. The car at the stop in front of you took too long to go and you honked, frustrated that you would lose him. After another stop, you came up behind him, noticing that he swayed a little on the bike, almost losing control for a second, which was not like Eddie; him and that bike were like one entity. He took a country back road, and you kept at a safe distance, wondering why he was going so slow. You noticed after a while that he wasn’t heading for the garage—you weren’t sure where he was going until you recognized the familiar street signs from the neighborhood Steve and Robin lived in.

You turned your head lights off a few cars away, as he parked the bike crooked, and then he fell.

He just went right down flat, one half of his body on their lawn, and the other half still on the sidewalk.

“Eddie!” You yelled, slamming your car door. You were running now, panic lighting a fire in your veins. Something was very, very wrong.

You skidded to your knees once you got close to him, clutching at his big shoulders to try and roll him over.

“Eddie, Eddie? Baby? Are you okay? Eddie!” You turned him over so that his head flopped into your lap, and then you gasped at how pale his skin was. Pieces of his hair clung to a bleeding gash on his cheek, and as your hand went lower, you felt his blood-soaked shirt that not immediately visible at night in his dark clothing, and you caught the scent of a coppery tang.

There were no lights on in their house, but you didn’t think you could carry Eddie all by yourself, and you didn’t want to leave him alone to go and find a phone. “STEVE! ROBIN! HELP!” You checked his face just as his eyes fluttered open to look at you, his lips sticky as he said your name.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” you assured him, stoking hair back from his wet, clammy forehead, rocking him ever so softly. You sniffed back tears, “you’re gonna be okay, baby, I’m here. I’m here, baby, you’re doing good. Look at me.”

One of the lights snapped on in the house. “CALL AN AMBULANCE!” You screamed to whoever had just woken up. Across the street, someone else turned their lights on as well.

Eddie’s bloody hand grabbed your arm weakly as he struggled to talk, his voice a scratchy whisper. “No...no hospital,” he begged.

You stroked his hair and kept talking to him and by then, Robin and Steve were racing toward you from the house.

“Fuckfuckfuck fuck...Eddie! Man, what happened?” Steve bleated as he scanned Eddie’s body, his eyes blowing wide when he noticed the wound. “Was is the Reapers? The Villains? I’ll go fucking ape shit on their asses!” He exchanged a dire look with Robin that made you choke on your saliva and tears all at once. Steve took his shirt off and ordered for you to press it against the wound as hard as you could to help stop the bleeding.

The last thing Eddie saw before he blacked out completely was your face, and he was so out of it, that if he had been able to speak, he would’ve told you that he loved you before it was too late.

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A woman they called Astrid showed up at the house not 20 minutes later; she was the only person Eddie and Steve trusted for such an occasion. Robin had to calm you down from mild hysterics though, while you washed Eddie’s blood off your hands in the sink, because you were worried that if they didn’t get him to the hospital that he would die. Eddie was on the sofa atop several blankets, drifting in and out of consciousness, white as a sheet. You had helped Steve bandage up his side as much as possible, but he had already lost so much blood.

Robin grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently. “Listen, Astrid will take care of him, okay? We trust her. The boys have known her for a long time, she’s a healer. She patches up boys at the fights all the time.”

“Robin!” You whispered curtly, your bloodshot eyes filling with tears. “He needs medical attention, not lavender oil and a vinegar douche!”

You immediately apologized for raising your voice at her, but she understood.

When Astrid stepped in the front door on a sandalwood breeze, you instantly felt calmed by the confidence she exuded. She had long, black hair and honey-cinnamon skin, with dark almond eyes that seemed to hold knowledge that was somehow ancient. She had a freshly scrubbed, dewy look about her with minimal makeup, and she seemed to be a few years older than the boys; either in years or wisdom or both. She wore a long, flowing black dress with red stitching, a cream shawl, and a necklace with a sigil around her throat. She had a medical bag with her that looked like it was from the 1940’s, and Oliver ran out to hug her when she arrived, pushing his tiny face into her skirt. Steve hugged her too, and they exchanged a kiss on the mouth before everyone got out of her way so she could get to work figuring out what she was dealing with.

The whole group exhaled a ragged breath after she cleaned the wound announced that the knife only pierced his side and it hadn’t grazed any organs. He’d need stitches though, and apparently Astrid had the tools and the skill for all that. She had a whole chest full of tinctures and natural salves, as well as a stash of modern medicines like pain killers and antibiotics.

Robin used her eyes to plead with you to distract Oliver with some art projects as she did her best to corral him back to his room, and you were happy to oblige, but you kept coming out every so often to pace the living room to check on Eddie, who was as comfortable as he could be in a morphine haze. You let Katie know what was going on and she asked if she could help, so Astrid requested some extra gauze and bandages. Robin fell into Katie’s arms the second she stepped in the sliding glass door holding grocery bags, wearing cut-off jean shorts and one of Robin’s Sleater-Kinney t-shirts. Robin let go of a few sobs into her shoulder that she’d been holding in for Oliver’s sake.

At one point you came out to get a glass of water because Ollie was finally tucked in bed with droopy eyes and asking for Robin to read him a story, and you caught sight of Steve kissing the back of Astrid’s head and stroking her hair while she tended to Eddie’s cheek wound. He hovered near her every chance he got, and you wondered what was going on there.

“They’ve been close since Steve was a kid,” Robin whispered an answer to your thoughts from behind you in the kitchen, referring to Astrid and Steve. “Her mom and Wayne used to have a thing back in the day.”

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Steve was in the kitchen making coffee by the time Astrid packed her things up to leave. His worn Levi’s were cuffed at his heavy, black boots, and he had on a white t-shirt that was so thin, you could see the landscape of his tattooed skin underneath. The adrenaline of the evening was wearing off and everyone’s eyes were drooping, feet dragging.

“I’m going to close my eyes for an hour or two before I have to go to work,” Robin announced, standing up from the kitchen table. She turned to Katie and held her hand out, “come be my big spoon?”

You’d been waiting for hours to be able to touch Eddie and be close to him again, and you finally had your chance now that he was out of the woods, but just then, Astrid came around to greet you, her dark eyes bright and curious as they met yours.

“You must be the one,” she offered, her full lips pressing together in a dimpled smile. “The one who will heal his heart.”

You were about to greet her in a normal way, so her words took you off guard and made you stutter a bit. “Do I...have we met before?”

The two of you exchanged a handshake, and introduced yourselves. Astrid’s hands were soft but surprisingly strong.

“In dreams, perhaps,” she answered, as if it were a common place to meet people. There was a unique, ornate red ruby ring on her right ring finger. “But, also, Steve told me about you.”

“Oh,” you lowered your head shyly, honored that you’d be mentioned to such a trusted family friend. “Well, I’m pretty fond of all of them. They’re growing on me.”

Astrid came in close, searching your eyes with a soft lift of her mouth, holding her medical bag in front of her with both hands. “Be gentle with this one...he’s been waiting a long time for you. He’s thick-headed, but his heart has nothing but the best intentions.”

You didn’t have to ask to know she was talking about Eddie. You wondered what Astrid saw in her crystal ball about why he had lied to you and disrespected you in regards to the photo evidence of him being player of the year. You were struggling to find good intentions there. Alas, this was not the time or the place for your ego or hurt feelings; you would be grateful to Astrid for the rest of your life after how tirelessly she had worked to take care of Eddie, and you told her that.

Steve was waiting a few yards away at the mouth of the kitchen to walk Astrid out to her truck. You watched as he intertwined his fingers with hers and kissed her, holding her close as they walked, whispering words of affection in her ear.

Fade into You by Mazzy Star played low from the radio mounted under one of the cabinets in the kitchen as you were finally able to make your way across the living room to Eddie. Even though you were feeling a lot better about his prognosis than you had when you first found him, it was still hard to see the bandages and gauze wrapped around his belly. Astrid left some antibiotics and pain meds with instructions, and advised that he’d be in and out of sleep and a bit groggy for a while. He needed supervision to make sure he wasn’t getting a fever, and to keep the wound clean, but if he didn’t improve, a hospital would be necessary.

He had fresh linens beneath him, and the blood had been diligently sponged away from his skin. There was also a big sheet of painters plastic at the very bottom of the blankets to protect the couch and carpet. You stood above him for a few seconds to take it all in: his dark, wavy hair was fanned out over the Star Wars pillow case, and his mouth hung open a bit, lips slightly dry, eyelids closed, but you could see his eyeballs dancing on the inside as if he were in the middle of a lucid dream.

The area under his eye above where his cheek had been cut was all bruised, there were a couple stitches in his cheek, and your gaze trailed down the dark tattoos along his strong chest, arms, and stomach, landing on the bandaged area where the knife wound was on the left side, above his hip, cut into a large dragon tattoo with a spade tail that whipped out over his bellybutton. You knelt down and hovered your hand over the bandages, feeling the heat emanating from it as his body worked over time to repair the damage.

You watched his chest move up and down with each breath, and that was comforting to you, helping you to remember with each inhale that he was still with you. Some of his fingers were taped up; his knuckles red with bits of skin torn off. You leaned your stomach against the couch and took hold of his hand that was closest to you, pulling it to your mouth. You planted tender kisses onto each knuckle, and then to the tip of each fingertip. You had your eyes closed, holding the back of his hand to your cheek, when you felt his fingers reflexively clamp down onto yours, and you looked up to see that his eyes were open, just barely, long dark eyelashes fluttering.

“Baby?” He muttered, voice scratchy, lips barely moving. “You…okay?”

You swallowed hard smiled at him, and it was a smile removed of any pain or doubt or sadness; it was just pure happiness to hear his voice.

“I’m okay, Eddie,” you reassured him, even though you were unwilling to return the use of a pet name. “Don’t you worry about me, I just need you back on your feet.”

He looked like he was using every ounce of his strength to speak, his voice nothing but a rasp. “Baby...I’m sorry. I didn’t---”

You softly shushed him and stroked his jawline with your thumb as you held his hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay...shushhhh...just get better for me, that’s all I want. We’ll talk about it all later.”

Truly, things were not okay. But, there would be a time and a place to deal with all of that, and you were a patient woman. The saddest thing, the thing that twisted in your gut like stage fright, was the fact that—no matter how much you cared about this man, no matter how right it felt with him, there was no way you could be with someone you didn’t trust. Even if he confessed to whatever he did with those women and came clean, there would always be the lie—the lie would always exist, and you could forgive, but you would never forget.

His eyes drifted closed again, and in less than a minute, you felt his hand go limp in your grasp as his breathing returned to that of someone entering a deep sleep cycle. You stretched his arm carefully across his body, and sat there on your knees looking at him for a bit longer before you got to your feet.

When Steve got back from saying his goodbyes to Astrid, you asked him if he needed you to stay for a couple hours and look after Eddie so that he could take a nap. Steve was wide awake, though, and was about to have his fourth cup of coffee, and he asked when your shift at the Hammer was.

“Four,” you told him, checking the clock in the kitchen. “I should go check on my cat and eat something.”

Steve gave your outfit a look over his coffee cup. “And shower and change your clothes, maybe.”

You looked down, startled for some reason to see dried blood on your shirt and thigh of your jeans. You had washed your hands several times, but there was still remnants of Eddie’s blood in the moons around your cuticles and the crook of your elbow.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I think some of the bar patrons would kind of dig this look, actually.”

Steve snort-laughed at that, lip pulling up to expose his pearly whites with the exception of one gold incisor.

“But really,” you continued. “I can come by before work? Just call me if you need anything?”

Steve licked coffee from his lips. “Robin only works a few hours at the hotel, and Astrid will be checking in on him later. You go do your thing. You’ve done a lot already,” Steve tilted his head up on the inhale appraising you down the end of his nose. “Alls I can say is, Eddie’s a lucky man to have you in his corner.”

You bit your cheek and squeezed the defined muscles of his forearm in silent thanks as you walked by him.

“Oh, shit, wait,” Steve called to you, patting the pockets of his jeans as he turned to you with a look of concentration on his face. “That reminds me, some dude was asking about you at the bar yesterday. He left his card for you.”

“Oh?” Your mind raced trying to imagine who that could’ve been while Steve plucked the business card out of his back pocket.

“Yeah, he said you waited on him the other day. Older guy, sick blue eyes, like a comic book character.” Steve continued as he looked at the card and then passed it to you. “He said he bought a painting from you once and he wanted to commission another one.”

You stared at the card without breathing for a bit as your brain connected the man who had tipped you a hundred dollar bill with the name...John Gregson…

Was this really happening? Was he Charlene’s husband? Surely, that was too much of a coincidence. Maybe he was a brother-in-law or an entirely different family altogether. You didn’t know of any other wealthy Gregson’s in town, though, come to think of it.

“I figured you could use the cash, dude looked like he was loaded,” Steve continued, but you were having an out of body experience as you connected the dots.

Steve lowered his head to try and meet your gaze. “Is he cool? Or should I crack his head in next time I see him?”

You snapped out of it and shook your head. “No, this is great, Steve, you’re the best,” you held the card up. “I really appreciate this, you did good. Thank you.”

You didn’t want the chance of losing the card, so you stuck it in your bra as you took one final look at Eddie before exiting out the sliding door.

-----------

After his afternoon tennis match, John Gregson sat poolside under a yellow and white striped umbrella in his swim trunks while he read the paper. He’d hoped to enjoy some time alone, but it wasn’t long before he heard the clip-clop of Charlene’s heels on the cement as she approached him from the pool house. She had on a one-piece gold swimsuit that was low in the chest and high on the hips under a blue silk Kimono, and a wide brim straw hat. He did not acknowledge her when she sat down and continued to read his paper as he held it out in front of him.

A member of their staff followed Charlene to the table and she told them she wanted Perrier with lime as she brought out a nail file and started to work on her claws.

“Have you decided what you’re going to put in that big empty space on the wall in the den? It looks dreadful as it is.”

John licked his thumb and turned the page. “I do have something in mind, as a matter of fact. I’m having a piece of art commissioned for that space.”

Charlene stopped filing, her eyes darting up from her fingers. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

He finally turned so that her face was reflected in the mirror surface of his aviator sunglasses. “I’m telling you about it right now, Charlene.”

She put her nail file down on the table and sat back in her chair. “Which gallery are you commissioning it from? Because I promised Judith that I’d---”

“I’m not purchasing it from a gallery,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

After 25 years together, what they had at that point was strictly a marriage of convenience. Convenient because Charlene would never make it on her own, and convenient for John because he had been nothing but a goofy, pussy-drunk kid when he married her, and hadn’t even considered a prenuptial agreement.

“Well,” Charlene intoned as a member of their staff brought her Perrier with ice in a glass and a straw. They poured it for her and it crackled in the glass. “I’d like to know what is going in there since I’ll be forced to look at it every day.”

“You rarely go into the den, Char,” he returned with a sigh, eyes scanning the pages.

John knew about Charlene’s other lovers and boyfriends; of course he knew, he wasn’t stupid. But it never bothered him because that meant he could do whatever he wanted, too, and he hadn’t had sex with Charlene in almost 5 years.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole about this, John,” Charlene hissed across the table at him while she slipped her over-sized sunglasses on. “It’s just that I’m a big deal in the art community, and I think I should know who my husband is buying artwork from. I don’t want you to embarrass me.”

Calmly, John took another sip of his coffee. “I’ll tell you about it once she agrees to do it.”

“Cancel the commission, don’t go through with it. I’ll buy us a piece from---”

John slammed his fist down on the table, causing everything on the surface to jump, and two empty glasses fell and shattered. “Charlene! I don’t want to hear another word,” he pulled his sunglasses down his nose so that she could see his cold blue eyes, and he pointed a finger at her with each syllable to emphasize his point. “Do you understand me? Not one more goddamn word.”

Charlene’s eyes bulged behind her sunglasses.

“Telephone call for you, Mrs. Gregson,” a member of the staff interrupted, handing her a Motorolla flip phone with a big antennae.

“Yes?” Charlene frowned at John as she took the phone. Her face lit up when she realized who it was on the other end. She got to her feet, knocking her chair over, and didn’t stop to pick it up as she walked away.

She kept her voice low as she headed toward the rose garden, one hand on her hip. “I guess you got my message,” she paused while the man on the other end said a few things. “I have another job for you.”

-------------

You weren’t able to fit a tiny snooze in that day before work because your mind wouldn’t stop racing. You got in the car only to realize you had put eye shadow and mascara on one eye, but not the other, so, you had to go back in and fix that. When Katie got home, she let you know that Eddie had been up to use the restroom and he didn’t have a fever, which was all fantastic news.

Also, she said that he had been asking about you.

“He was still tired and drugged up, but every time he opened his eyes, he’d ask where you were and if you were okay,” Katie told you. Of course, you and Katie were still both under the impression that Eddie was a lying, cheating scoundrel, and so you were taking his yearning for you with a bittersweet grain of salt.

“Did you ask Robin about it? The other women, I mean?”

“Sorry, babes, I didn’t have time. She was running late and had to leave in a hurry. I’ll ask her if she knows anything tonight, though.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, but also—it was a very big deal. “As soon as we know that Eddie is completely on the mend, I’ll have a talk with him. I mean, the evidence is pretty damning, but he still deserves a chance to explain himself.”

Katie leaned over and put her elbows on the kitchen island, resting her chin on her fists. “Does any man deserve it?”

You threw your bag over your shoulder as you headed for the door. “Eddie does. I hope so, anyway.”

--------

Shana was behind the bar that night, and Steve would be bouncing later, and you felt comforted by the promise of friendly faces a midst feeling emotionally put through the ringer and perpetually on the verge of tears. You were mad at Eddie and still hurt, but also worried sick about him. The thought of losing him put you in a very dark head space. The song Tonight Tonight by The Smashing Pumpkins came on the jukebox and you thought you were going to drop a tray of drinks and start sobbing right there in the middle of the happy hour rush. The secondhand smoke was especially thick that night as you coughed into your arm and cleaned out the ashtrays at the bar.

You were chugging a Pepsi in the back room, telling one of the dancers how tired you were, and she very kindly offered you a line of blow, but you declined. On your way back out from your break, you spotted none other than Erika coming in the front door, and you cursed, taking a sharp inhale of breath, continuing on with your work, planning to ignore her for however long she was staying.

To your horror, she made eye contact with you, and she didn’t look like she was happy to see you, either, but still, she started walking over to the hallway where you were. She had on a pink glitter dress, a faux diamond studded choker, and clear, stiletto heels. She was with two other girls who were dressed similar, and you watched her wave them away to get a table.

God, you rolled your eyes internally, you did not want to be dealing with this right now. What was Erika coming over to do? Gloat? To remind you that she would always get a piece of Eddie, no matter how many promises he made you?

In a huff, you grabbed your tray and bolted to move around her, but she stepped in your way.

“I heard that Eddie got hurt. Is he gonna be alright?” She asked.

Dead ass? Really? You didn’t owe her any Eddie news. “I’m working, Erika, please get out of my way.”

“Listen, girlie,” Erika touched your arm, and you looked down at her hand as if it were covered in feces, and recoiled. “I know we don’t like each other, but there’s something I need to tell you. It’s really been fucking with me, because I do care about Eddie, no matter what you think.” She liked to jut her chin out from side to side for emphasis as she talked.

What was this bitch on about? Telling you how much she cared about Eddie? Was she for real?

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure in front of the other customers. “Erika, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my face right now, I’m serious.”

She clucked her tongue and lifted her hands in surrender, letting you move passed her, but then she said: “Eddie was set up, okay?”

You froze; your entire body prickling with goose flesh.

Cautiously, you met her eyes again, a tremble on your parted lips, an ocean crashing in your ears.

“Did you get some photos of me at Eddie’s place?” she crossed her arms at her chest. “Yeah, well, he didn’t want me there, okay? Some guy paid me to go up to his apartment and force myself on him. Some scary lady named Charlene set it all up.”

You were listening, but you were also fading away.

“You gotta understand, I was mad at Eddie when I agreed to do it, but he’s always been good to me, and I wish I could take it back,” she continued.

Swaying on your feet, your vision became a pinwheel of color as you listened to her words, and then blackness closed in around your peripheral vision until it exploded in an electric burst. The next thing you knew, you were falling, and you hoped that the ground caught you before you tumbled in a free fall into outer space.

Part 10

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Thank you so much for those of you who have made it this far in the series, y'all make this world a joy to create, and I can't wait to see what it next for us ❤️

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my tagged lovelies:@mmunson86 @tenthmoon @notsobubblybaby @truffleshuffle12 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer @manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare @hellv1ra @ms1oftheboys @bexreadstoomuch @emxcast @lma1986 @kurdtbean @miarosso @falling-solar-system @seventhlevelofhell @whatwedontdointheshadows @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @nope-thanks @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut @tlclick73 @lilpostatobean2 @hideoutside @munsons-mayhem28 @eddiemunson95 @micheledawn1975 @dandelionnfluff @sidthedollface2 @leilalaufeyson02 @kelsiegrin @layla-loves-ed @unfocused81

#eddie munson series #older eddie munson #bikereddiemunson #eddiemunsonfic #90s au #steve harrington #bikersteve #eddie munson smut #i'm on fire #eddie munson x fem reader #fem reader

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heli0s-writes · 2 years

Note

re: pushing yellow

would it be too much to humbly ask for a drabble or something elaborating on this? don’t feel obligated to or anything i just really love your writing and would love to read more!🤍

a/n: 1.5k of FILTH. JUST FILTH. RUN. Rough sex but you’re in love, etc. etc. From this headcanon. Please god don't read if you're not 18+.

brooklyn after dark masterlist

"push"

What the world knows is this:

Steve Rogers is a hero. Heroes are shiny, and perfect, and pure.

What they don’t know could fill oceans. Universes.

Steve Rogers is also one hell of a contradiction. Maybe he used to be 5-nothing and 90 pounds dripping wet, but he was always a fighter—always pushing buttons until they’d break. There were a lot of things he could do all day: run his mouth, argue until the goddamn cows come home, and take punches like he was made for fists to land on.

And he still does all that. It’s his job, actually.

But he doesn’t buy much into being shiny and perfect—and definitely not pure.

Sometimes the fight builds too high, traps him inside the kind of storm that rages and rages the only way he can escape is to rage back.

He’s got complexities behind the red, white, and blue. Today, it’s got a little more red on it, besmirched with blood across the five pointed star on his chest, the splatter reaching up to his forehead.

Post-mission and dragging his feet, he tosses his helmet onto the couch with a thump like it’s personally insulted him. You glance over your shoulder, a few steps ahead on your way to the shower.

“You alright?”

His cutting look shoots back, do I look any kind of right?

His hair sticks up in a hundred directions, gritty and stiff, as he ambles toward the kitchen sink where he runs scalding water and lathers up his hands with soap.

You try again, pretty worn out yourself. “You need a nap?”

With words this time, he declares, “I need to fuck.”

You know he gets this way occasionally, but he hasn’t in a while— then again, he hasn’t been walloped this good in a while either.

Fingers scrub at each other. Over his dirtied cuticles, under the nails, and he’s staring at you unblinkingly, at your own hair awry from the bike ride home, the partially unzipped catsuit you’re peeling out of, your pursed lips in a mixture of surprise creeping up your neck.

And what Steve wants is all over his severe expression. The sudden, decisive turn of his spiked adrenaline as his brain takes his battle system down a new road.

He nods at the empty space a few inches from the sink and it’s all you can do to keep from shivering.

“Jesus, Steve,” you attempt to tease, “on the counter?”

“On the counter.” After a beat, “Then the couch. And I’ll decide about the floor when we get there.”

“Give me the whole tour why don’t you?” Your smirk is a quivery, excited line.

“Planning on it.”

He touches two fingers to the marble and turns you around when you reach him. He slides the zipper down its teeth, shoves neoprene haphazardly to your thighs. He’s economical, doesn’t waste his time with anything but prep work. Gravity can do the rest.

Damp thumbs press up the line of your back, the rest of his fingers curling around your upper arms then shoulder as he kneads your muscles. His lips touch the nape of your neck, inhaling scents of gun oil and sweat.

You can see him clear as day even with your eyes closed. You know what he looks like, like this— intense, singular minded, driven. You’ve seen it when he fights, rarely when he fucks, but it’s not something you’d ever forget—wish you’d see more of once in a while, even.

His handsome, handsome boy face, brutal with determination.

Last time this type of thing happened, you couldn’t sit down without feeling it for fucking days. And he ducked your scowls with shy, petulant smiles like a kid caught stealing candy and not even a lick sorry about it.

He slots his hips behind yours, body heat undulating in waves. “Safe words?” Doesn’t even care for complete sentences.

You murmur, “Green, yellow, red.”

“Gonna push yellow.”

“Steve.”

“Color?” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee, feeling up your waist now, resting his grip at your ribs.

“Green,” you answer, “for go.”

He begins by cupping your breasts, then kneading, placing the hard ache of his cock against the meat of your ass. He’s silent, other than his breathing, steady and measured.

He takes himself in hand, pressing his way in slowly, accounting for how you shift to accommodate him. You’re wet, but it was quick. You hadn’t expected him to move so fast, but a mere few thrusts in and the tenderness of fitting him melts into a slow curling pleasure inside of your belly.

“You’re too tight,” he declares, breath in your ear making you tremble. “Gotta fix that.”

He licks his fingers, snakes then around your waist, between your legs, and smears a quick stripe over your clit. He starts to rub in circles, hard and fast, and presses his teeth to your shoulder.

Hips snap faster, and deeper, and your knees begin knocking into the cabinet doors.

Steve grabs the back of your neck. “Up,” and gives you precisely two seconds before he’s lifting you anyway, flipping until you’re on the surface and when the hell did he get your ankles around his waist?

He’s fucking you again before you can say or do much of anything, only throwing your head back to gasp and moan because it hurts good, like the burn of whiskey. Makes your body electric and wild. He digs his fingers into your hips and waist, deep, satisfied groans falling out of him.

You want to commit his face to memory. Your shining, monumental lover who’s so often reduced to one eagle-branded side of a coin is more complex than anyone would ever think. His beautiful brow is sweat-slick, his orator’s lips wet with spit, his mighty shoulders clenched tight as he thrusts into you hard enough to rattle the walls.

“You like it rough, don’t you, baby? You like it when I loosen you up with my cock, huh. Stretch you out?”

Your voice breaks as he pulls you as hard against him as he can and you can feel the tip of his head buried so goddamn deep inside your body it makes you scream a little. He only grinds more, rotates his hips in small circles to really make you feel it. And then he takes a hand, presses it down on your belly like he might touch himself beneath your skin.

You could cry. Your hero—perfect and delicious and filthy, laying claim.

He takes the back of your neck, squeezes until you let your head go slack. His lips hover over yours, hot air fanning out over your panting face. He licks into your mouth, lets his spit slide over your tongue and down your throat.

“Mine,” he says, and your toes curl. “All mine.” He fucks his tongue inside, cuts off your words and breath and you feel entirely possessed by him—loved and used all at once.

He slaps your tits, bites at your neck and collar and leaves marks all down your chest. His cock is sloppy wet and bright, bright red, fat and thick and as he reaches closer to coming, it swells up inside of you even more.

“Fuck,” you whine. “Steve, fuckfuckfuck.”

“Uh-huh,” he agrees, like your babbling is making any fucking sense, and smiles, eyes lighting up in approval at the way you twist in his hold, squirming and gasping. “Tell me what you’re gonna do, sweetheart. Tell me, baby. Be good and I’ll think about going easy on you after this.”

You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his back. “I’m gonna take it, Steve. I’ll take it, all of it. Promise. Promise I’ll be good.”

“Then don’t move. Stay right there and don’t fucking back away from me.”

You can hardly hear past the blood rushing up into your head and your own stifled cries, but you know how loud it gets when he fucks you like this. His thighs are slapping into the backs of yours—heavy and hard and when his fingers curl around your neck to keep you still and filling you up with his cum, you muffle a shout into the palm of your hand.

You’re dripping sweat, trembling and whimpering against him while he continues to roll his hips, making a mess on the countertop that’ll get on the both of you, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just pushes back in like he’s trying to plug you up—trying to make you keep it forever.

“Was I good?” You ask when you catch your breath again.

“I think you can do better.” He kisses your swollen lips, his own puffed up and devilish with the rest of the night’s plans. Steve traces the sweat trickling down your chin with his tongue, takes a second to study your face.

“Color?” he asks.

You contemplate. Your legs haven’t stopped shaking. Your thighs are sticky with semen and sweat. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat immediately out of your chest and into your mouth. And you’d let Steve fucking eat it if he wanted. Let him take it into his universe and do with it what he wished.

You smile. You kiss him. You say, “Green.”

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel #mcu #reader insert

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thefreakandthehair · 2 years

Text

lex. 💫 she/her. bisexual disaster. new englander. fanfic writer. please ask me about sports au's.

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all completed fics below cut:

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Eddie Munson couldn’t help but realize the irony that he was currently hiding in a literal closet with Steve in Steve’s house. His boyfriend’s chest was pressed against his back in the too-tight quarters and under any other circumstances, Eddie’s mind would go elsewhere– much further south, really– but the only thought at present was how long they could realistically hide from five bewildered teenagers.

The Cosmos Are Within Us. 1.7k. (oneshot)

"Stevie, you saved the world and all of our friends, like, four different times. You don’t have to be doing something all the fucking time. You can just sit. It’s safe to relax. It’s okay to just exist, y’know that, right?" Eddie said, holding Steve’s face in both hands as if to force his words into the other man’s mind by osmosis. Maybe it worked, because something in Steve’s brain re-wired itself in that moment, replacing his father’s criticisms with his boyfriend’s anti-establishment sentiments.

A Special Frequency. 1.7k (oneshot)

Eddie Munson lives, and graduates. Steve Harrington, of course, has to help him celebrate.

I Made This Mess With Love. 3.9k (oneshot)

“If you so much as fucking look at him again, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth like the dog you are and I will put you down.” He grits out through his teeth, watching as the other man’s eyes grow large. Steve drinks in the terror behind them and imagines how unhinged he must look to the others. He briefly considers not dropping his arm when the other man starts to sputter and choke.

Eddie’s voice rings out somewhere near him. “Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck is going on?!”

You're My Sunshine (And I Want You To Know). 2.1k. (oneshot)

Eddie informs Steve that he didn't get to keep his comic book collection when he was moved to Wayne's custody. Steve tries to right that wrong and gets something unexpected in return.

I Got You. 1.1k. (oneshot)

“Stevie, can you hear me in there?” Eddie asks, his head resting back against the door. He opts to pull both knees back up, splaying out a bit to either side as he wraps his arms around them.

Silence and more whooshing of the water is the only response Eddie gets. He sighs and drops his head to stare down at the carpet beneath him. It breaks his heart, seeing Steve hurt like this.

Isn't It Obvious? 2.2k. (2/2 chapters)

Eddie falls asleep on Steve and Robin has some questions.

Requiem for a Nightmare. 2.2k. (oneshot)

For a Halloween Fic Challenge!

Steve dreams of the Upside Down long after it's been closed-- particularly as it relates to Eddie. (Perhaps it's not so closed after all.)

Simple Twist of Fate. 3.3k. (oneshot)

“Please remind me, who thought this was a good fucking idea again?” Eddie’s voice rings out into the kitchen where he, Steve, Robin, and Nancy are barricaded, barely audible over the chaos in Steve’s living room. Steve runs a hand down his face before returning it to match his other hand on his hips. The Mom Pose, as it’s been coined.

“To be fair, I never said it was a good idea. I was manipulated and tricked, okay? Have you met Dustin?”

And If I Get Burned, At Least We Were Electrified. 9.2k. (oneshot)

“Aha! This’ll sell it a little better. A staple in your wardrobe, right?” Eddie blinks and Steve is holding Eddie’s black bandana.

Yep, gonna die tonight. This is how I’m gonna die. Way better than the bats, I’ll give you that, God, he thinks. Aloud, he just swallows thickly and laughs. “You pay attention, Harrington!”

or, Eddie Munson convinces Steve Harrington to dress as each other for his Halloween party.

Counting Stars (When I Look In Your Eyes). 6.3k. (oneshot)

Steve’s shivering. Or maybe he’s trembling, he truthfully isn’t entirely sure himself, but the bag in his hands as they sit on the hood of Eddie’s van for a better view is rustling from the movement. He tries not to consider Eddie reacting poorly, thinking that he’s trying to take this memory he’d shared with him weeks ago and make it their own because he’s not. He wants Eddie to have something tangible of a memory he otherwise can’t hold, that’s all.

He’s also in love with Eddie, but that’s a separate thought.

It’s A Battlecry, It’s A Symphony: 2.2k. (oneshot)

A modern college!AU in which— oh my God, they're roommates!

Over The Hills And Far Away. 84.2k (17/17chapters)

Shortly after defeating Vecna, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have come together only to fall apart. Eddie, chasing freedom and fleeing a broken heart, follows the winds to a tattoo apprenticeship in Chicago and later opens his own shop in Indianapolis. Steve, on the other hand, stays put in Hawkins where he can feel his bones creaking under the weight of his regrets and the life he isn’t living. At the turn of the ‘90s, Robin and Steve take a trip down to Indianapolis where a spontaneous decision turns things upside down for both men, forcing them to confront some old demons. Steve and Eddie are then faced with the idea that maybe, just maybe, there’s a place for them in each other’s lives after all.

-> outtake: why are you tattooing an orange? (2.2k, oneshot) And I'd Drive All Night Just To Get Back Home, 4.1k (oneshot)

It’s surprising, Eddie thinks as he silently drops his hands into Steve’s, just how easy this is— how simple it could be if he wasn’t so terrified of his decidedly Not Platonic feelings for the man kneeling in front of him, holding his hands and gently rubbing his thumbs across Eddie’s knuckles. Steve’s hands are warm if just a little calloused where scar tissue has developed, and they stabilize Eddie enough to open his eyes. Christ, he’s so pretty.

Meeting You Was Coming Home. 7.8k (oneshot)

The one in which Steve finds, loses, and somehow finds again the love of his life.

Stars And Satellites (Will Always Bring Me Home). 1.5k. (oneshot)

Eddie hates his birthday and Steve gives him a reason not to.

what you feel is what you are (and what you are is beautiful). 5.3k. (oneshot)

Steve Harrington finally enjoys a birthday and hopes for a little more than a fun night of drinking games with his friends.

Gilded Tombs Do Enfold. 1.3k. (oneshot)

Eddie realizes life is precious, all the way down to the lives of worms.

One Ring To Rule Them All. 2.5k. (oneshot)

Steve wears Eddie's rings while he recovers and has some realizations.

Scar-Crossed Lovers. 3.5k (oneshot)

Eddie's van is left to rot in the woods and Eddie finds himself bound to it. As years pass, Steve never stops visiting.

Make No Plans And None Can Be Broken. 6.8k. (oneshot)

5 Times Steve Harrington Makes No Plans + One Time He Does.

the answers are all inside of this. (15.2k. 3/3 chapters)

Eddie Munson shirks convention to become a wildlife rehabilitation expert. When Steve Harrington takes his kindergarten class on a field trip to the Indiana Wildlife Conservatory, he gets a little more than just a lesson on bats and fingerpainting.

why are you tattooing an orange? (2.2k, oneshot)

The origin story of Steve's notes in Over The Hills and Far Away and Eddie's first tattoo machine.

ice is made to melt (so is my heart). (1.5k. oneshot)

Eddie Munson loves hockey, and Steve Harrington loves Eddie Munson.

you filling my cup, the sun coming up. (1.8k. oneshot)

Eddie sets off the fire alarm in his new apartment building and earns more than just a lesson on opening a window to smoke.

and icarus' life, it has only just begun. (3.3k. 1/2 chapters)

Eddie gets stood up and he's going to be grateful for it for the rest of his life. Eventually.

no better version I could pretend to be tonight. (3.4k. oneshot)

Eddie can't sleep after the events in the Upside Down. Steve happens to have a solution.

never been afraid of any deviation. (1.4k. oneshot)

In 1985, Eddie finds Steve in a high school bathroom.

what's mine is yours (to leave or take). (8.2k. oneshot)

Eddie's an amateur baker who desperately needs a healthy dose of hope. He finds it in the bottom of a pie dish and the hands of Steve Harrington.

been on fire, dreaming of you. 8.6k. (oneshot)

Eddie's been writing love letters he never intends to send. When he's interrupted by Steve for an impromptu fake date, he receives much more than the promised promotional free dessert.

cassette tapes and ticket stubs. 5.2k. (oneshot)

Eddie and Steve are set up on blind dates by Robin and Chrissy. They both get stood up. Or, do they?

butter, sugar, and northern mockingbirds. 17.1k. (3/3 chapters)

Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Eddie Munson open Steve's secret dream bakery after surviving the Vecnapocalypse. Eddie can't seem to stop getting flour in his hair, Steve can't stop touching him, and Robin might lose her mind.

blue hour. 3.3k. (oneshot)

Eddie Munson smokes and thinks beneath the light of the chilly moon, the heat of Steve's thigh pressed comfortably against his own.

sugar, we’re goin’ down. 22.2k. (5/5 chapters)

Eddie Munson lets Steve Harrington take care of him in ways he'd never dared to imagine.

#steddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steve harrington #eddie munson #masterlist #myfic

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