Steve is intimately familiar with jealousy in a way he doesn't think most people are. He's been left before, replaced. He knows the burning, bile-inducing sensation of seeing your person with somebody else.
He is still absolutely blindsided by it when Eddie tells him that he's going to Indy the following weekend to meet his previous hookup from a few weeks ago.
Eddie is not his. Eddie can do with his time, with his body, with his feelings, whatever he wants. There's not a single reason in the whole of the universe for Steve to feel jealous.
And, still, knowing the feeling so well, having endured it for so long, he knows there's no other explanation for it.
It's jealousy that makes him snap at Robin when she makes a remark on how the humidity has made his hair explode into untameable curls.
It's jealousy that has him stewing in front of the TV that night with a bottle of lukewarm beer crushed between his knees. Jealousy that has him take a too-hot turned too-cold shower, and scrub his skin until it's an angry red. Jealousy that has him staring at the ceiling at night, kicking at his blanket.
Jealousy, the green-eyed monster that lurks in the dark corner of his bedroom. Jealousy that twists his stomach into a tight knot.
It's worse the next day, when Eddie's around the WSQK, going through their vinyl collection, planning a special late-night rock show together with Robin for all the freaks in Hawkins.
Steve's not done much to expose how he really feels yet, beyond flicking through a magazine about cars or some shit, occasionally frowning in their direction.
But it comes to a head when Robin leaves first to get ready for her date with Vickie and asks Steve to close up the station after Eddie. Eddie's being his usual chaotic self, pulling out Vinyl after Vinyl and taking them out of their sleeves without putting them back properly, forcing Steve to grumblingly clean up after him while Eddie rattles down the entire history of rock ' n ' roll.
When Eddie leans against one of the shelves with his shoulders, gesturing wildly with his arms while rambling about how Elvis was a truck driver before he became a star, Steve ruffs his hair in frustration, combs it back, then pins Eddie down with a glare.
"Do you ever shut up, dude?" he scathingly asks. Eddie's grin falters, his hands falling to his side.
"Seriously," Steve mutters, turns away because he can't stand seeing that hurt in Eddie's large eyes, "You should come with an off-button."
"What- What's crawled up your butt?" Eddie asks, but he sounds more shocked than angry.
"Nothing," Steve throws back, taking the Vinyls he's just put back in order and sliding them into the shelf next to where Eddie's still standing, frozen. "You're just a lot, man. Not really in the mood to babysit your loud ass every night."
He glances at Eddie from the corner of his eye, sees him clench his jaw, nodding along to Steve's words. They've been bickering before, made fun of each other, but never like this, never with any serious intent to hurt the other.
Steve feels like a prick. He wishes Eddie would just punch him, hurl something back at Steve that would hurt just as much.
"Yeah," Eddie says, laughs an almost inaudible, "Christ," to himself before pushing off the shelves. "I just get out of your hair then, Harrington." Another humorless laugh. "Ha, hair, get it?"
Steve doesn't. Steve doesn't get anything anymore. Especially not himself, and how he can act so carelessly with somebody else's feelings. Again.
He's the worst friend. Hasn't learned any of his lessons.
"Eddie," he calls at his retreating back. "You're not getting out of here before you clean up your mess."
Not what he wants to say, but god, he's still so angry.
Eddie throws him the bird over his shoulder and keeps walking.
"Munson!" Steve bellows, storming after him. He shoves Eddie's shoulder when he catches up with him at the entrance doors. Eddie stumbles around and shoves him back with a palm against his chest, hard. And, yes, fuck that's what he wants, Eddie angry, furious, pushing into his space, breathing hard.
"Don't be a fucking brat," Steve seethes.
"How about you stop being such a dick, then?"
Steve wrinkles his nose, steps in closer. Eddie backs away, colliding with the door behind him. His eyes widen, but Steve doesn't back off, gets right into his space, curling his fingers into the collar of his shirt.
"Jesus, Harrington. You're really itching for a fight tonight, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Steve agrees, sees no point in denying it. "Will you give me one?"
Eddie frowns at that, eyes flickering down to Steve's parted lips where he's panting. Then his hands come around Steve's wrists, and he's pushed backwards, sideways, shoved right into the wall next to the doors, Eddie's rings biting into his skin. Steve grunts at the impact, pulls harder on Eddie's shirt, lifts his chin in defiance.
"You're gonna explain the bruises to Henderson, then?" Eddie growls, and Steve can't help but remember the time he had him pushed against the boathouse, broken bottle at his neck, Steve's heart racing, running away from him, just like now, and still different.
"You're gonna mess me up, Munson?"
"Only if you keep running your mouth," Eddie says, even lower, eyes flicking down again, fingers tightening around Steve's wrists, callouses pressed right into his throbbing pulse in a way that almost hurts.
"Do your worst, asshole," Steve hurls back, tugging so hard on Eddie's shirt collar that a seam pops.
Eddie seems at a loss for words, his frown deepening. Then, he pushes a thigh between Steve's, tilting his head.
"This is what you want?" He pushes his thigh higher, high enough that it comes in contact with where Steve is rapidly hardening, chokes all the air out of his lungs.
He shakes his head, and Eddie's about to move away, eyes troubled with regret, but Steve puts his jock reflexes to good use and grabs him with hands on both sides of Eddie's face. He pulls him back in, muffles the gasping moan that flies from Eddie's mouth with his lips, and kisses him hard.
Eddie gives back as good as he gets, hands still locked around Steve's wrists like a vice, bruising him with a kiss that feels more like an extension of their fight than any confession.
When Eddie's teeth dig a little too hard into Steve's bottom lip, he pushes him away again with a hand against his shoulder.
Eddie looks completely dazed, pupils blown to shit, brows still knitted together.
"What the fuck is even happening right now?" he asks, sounds less angry and more anxious now.
"Don't go to Indy," Steve blurts, then pulls himself away, so he doesn't have to look at Eddie for the fallout of that declaration. He turns away from him and thumps the side of his head against the wall. "Fuck, I'm the worst."
He can't believe how impulsive he still is, that nothing ever brings out the worst in him more than fearing that the person he wants could want somebody else.
Did he just let Nancy go, so he could make the same mistake with the next person he's... he's- well, no point denying it anymore- falling in love with?
"Steve."
Steve cringes, keeps his eyes shut tight. He doesn't want to look at Eddie after making an absolute fool out of himself.
"Jesus Christ, Harrington, you're unbelievable."
Steve shrugs, can't bring himself to answer. Where's Robin to slap him over the head with some sense when he needs her?
He waits for Eddie to leave his stupid ass like he deserves, waits for the telltale sound of the glass door sliding open, then shut, but it never comes. When he finally opens his eyes, Eddie's right in front of him again, leaning sideways against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, mouth open wide in a shit-eating grin.
"So, this is your jealous side?" he asks, grin growing even wider.
"My worst side," Steve huffs, scrubs his hands over his face in embarrassment. Eddie catches his wrists again and pulls his hands away.
"Cute."
"You're unhinged if you think that was cute."
"Yeah, what a couple we make, huh?" Eddie laughs, then his mouth is back on Steve's, softening their fight into something warmer, gentler, until finally it feels like the confession it was meant to be from the start.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.2k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: smut, just pure filth really, posessive steve, desperate eddie, a lot of swearing, I couldn't help it, maybe some repetitive words but smut vocabulary just has it's limits
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when Steve catches Eddie staring a little too long at his girlfriend, he doesn’t throw a punch—he extends an invitation. And as Eddie quickly learns, Steve doesn’t just share; he teaches, with slow, filthy demonstrations.
𝐚/𝐧: I got insanely stoned and wrote this so if it came out too horny i'm sorry, also im ovulating oops. I've prolly been very inconsistent with grammar tenses but I can't be bothered to check it. I usually correct my grammar after i've already posted so the masterlist link has significantly less errors than earlier versions
The living room was bathed in the flickering glow of the TV, some forgotten horror movie playing on low volume—The Thing, maybe, or was it Halloween?—its eerie soundtrack warping under the weight of the thick, sweet-smelling haze curling through the air. Eddie had outdone himself with this new strain, something sticky and potent that left his limbs heavy and his usual sharp edges dulled into something languid and warm, his thoughts perhaps a bit too syrupy.
“—I know I talk a big game, man, but fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing when it actually comes down to it.” His voice is a low mumble, words slipping out like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. He tips his head back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.
Steve blinks at him, slow and rhythmically, before snorting. “What, like… at all?”
“Yeah, man. Like—” Eddie waves a hand vaguely, the silver of his rings glinting as he moves. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what sounds are real and which ones are fake? It’s fucking Russian roulette.” The next reaction from Steve is immediate, no hesitation. Just a lazy, knowing smirk as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Huh... Well, once you know the difference, it becomes pretty obvious.” He pauses, just long enough to take a quick glance over Eddie’s face. “If you really need some pointers, I can ask my girlfriend if she wants to help you out.”
Eddie nearly comes crashing to the fucking floor.
Because fuck. He’s had a crush on you for, like, forever. Not that he’s ever admitted it out loud—not when Steve Harrington has a reputation for rearranging the faces of guys who so much as look at you wrong. Eddie has seen it happen: some poor asshole at a party, fingers skimming your ass as you passed, and bam—Steve’s fist in his jaw before anyone could blink. There’s even a rumour some idiot once stared a little too long at the way your lips wrapped around the neck of your beer bottle and then slurred, “Wanna spin my bottle?”
Word is, Steve dropped him in one hit. No warning. No theatrics. Just pure, primal instinct.
So yeah, Eddie’s kept his mouth shut.
But now? Now Steve is watching him with this lazy, half-lidded expression, like he hasn’t just detonated a goddamn bomb in Eddie’s head.
“You’re fucking with me.” Eddie pleads, his voice rough.
Steve just grins—slow, deliberate—his eyes dark with something Eddie can't name. “Nah, man. She’s actually really into that kinda stuff.” His voice drops, gravel scraping over each word, and Eddie’s stomach flips “And I’d do anything for her.” The air feels thick as Eddie’s pulse roars in his ears, his throat suddenly bone-dry. Is this a test? A trap? Christ. Harrington was going to be the death of him, and worse—Eddie knew he’d fucking thank him for it.
His fingers twitch at his sides. “...Yeah?”
Steve’s smile only widens, but his eyes soften. “Yeah.”
When Eddie shows up at your place the next night, he’s strung tight enough to power Hawkins twice over, his pulse hammering in his throat. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours convincing himself he’d imagined the whole conversation, that there was no way Steve Harrington just offered—
And then you open the door.
Dressed in nothing but one of Steve’s old band tees, the fabric riding high on your thighs, you greet him with a smile that damn near stops his heart. “Hey, Eddie.”
His mouth goes dry. And before he can choke out a response, Steve is behind you, hands sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. And then—Jesus Christ.
The kiss Steve gives you isn’t just heated—it’s filthy. All tongue and teeth, your fingers twisting in his hair as he backs you against the doorframe, his hands already under your shirt like it’s a regular Tuesday afternoon.
Eddie’s knees nearly give out.
“Watch,” Steve murmurs against your lips when he finally breaks away, his gaze flicking to Eddie over your shoulder. His voice dark and commanding. “And pay attention.”
Then, right there in the doorway, Steve pulls the shirt over your head—meticulously slow, like he wants Eddie to memorise every second. And, well—Eddie does.
He memorises the way your breath hitches when Steve’s fingers brush over your ribs, the way you arch into his touch, the soft, real sounds spilling from your lips as Steve’s mouth finds the top of your breasts.
Eddie’s throat protests as he swallows, fingers twitching at his sides like he can’t decide whether to bolt or drop to his knees.
Steve notices—of course he does—and his lips curl into something dangerously close to a challenge. “You just going to stand there, Munson?” His hands slide down your hips, squeezing just hard enough to make you softly gasp. “Thought you wanted to learn.” Eddie manages to get control over his brain just long enough to answer, “I—Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I do.”
Steve hums, pleased, and spins you around to face Eddie fully, his palm splayed possessively over your stomach. “Then get over here.”
It’s not a request.
Eddie moves like a man in a trance, close enough now to feel the heat of your skin, to catch the intoxicating scent of your perfume. His gaze darts between your face and Steve’s fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your collarbone.
“First lesson,” Steve murmurs, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. “Don’t just touch. Listen.” His free hand reaches out, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and dragging it toward you. “Feel how she reacts.”
Eddie’s fingertips brush your waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when you shiver under his touch. His breath hitches as you lean into him, lashes fluttering when his thumb grazes the delicate curve of your ribs.
“Good.” Steve’s voice is low, eyes locked on Eddie’s every twitch. “Now kiss her.”
Eddie’s head jerks up. “What?”
Steve’s grin is all teeth. “Unless you don’t—”
“No, I—fuck.” He surges forward, crashing his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy and desperate, and he barely gets a taste before Steve yanks you back by the waist, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.
“Jesus Christ. Not like that.”
Eddie stumbles after you as Steve kicks the door shut behind them. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”
Eddie opens his mouth to protest—then snaps it shut. Because Steve’s right. He’s a wreck.
“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?” Steve’s voice is rough with impatience. “Kiss her again.”
Eddie hesitates—just for a second—before lust wins the war. This time, when his lips find yours, it’s still hungry, but it’s also aware, his movements more controlled. For a heartbeat, he’s terrified Steve will deem him unworthy of you altogether and kick him back to the curb—until you moan into it, until your fists twist in his shirt and drag him closer.
Steve groans in approval against your shoulder. “That’s it,” he rasps, pressing you forward just enough that Eddie can feel your heartbeat against his chest. “Now slow down. Make her want it.”
Eddie whimpers, but obeys, pulling back just enough to tease your lower lip between his teeth before licking into your mouth like you’re water and he’s been dying of thirst.
The sound you make—the soft, wanting whine—it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Steve pulls you back again, but this time, there’s satisfaction in his grin. “See?” His thumb swipes over your kiss-swollen lips, smug. “She likes it when you take your time.”
Steve doesn’t let go of you—not really. Even as he nudges you toward the couch, his palm stays glued to the small of your back, steering you like he owns every inch of space you move through. Eddie doesn’t need to be told to follow; his pulse hammers in his throat, fingers flexing like he’s already imagining the weight of you beneath them.
“Sit.” Steve’s order cracks through the air, and Eddie drops onto an armchair like his strings have been cut.
You don’t get the chance to join him. Steve catches your wrist, yanking you back against his chest instead. His mouth brushes your ear, voice a low, possessive hum: “Nah, sweetheart. You’re staying right here.” His fingers trail down your arm before guiding your hand to Eddie’s jaw. “Let him earn it.”
Eddie’s breath stutters. Christ. Up close, you’re devastating. The way your eyes shimmer with pure lust, the way your lips part—just slightly—when Steve’s fingers skim over the lace of your bra. The syrupy moan you let out when he pinches your nipple over it, just enough to make your back arch—
“See that?” Steve’s voice is rough against your ear. “She gets loud when she’s turned on. You just have to know how to listen.” Eddie nods, swallowing hard. His hands hover over your hips like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve under his touch. Steve rolls his eyes.
“Jesus, Munson. You’re not going to break her.” He grabs Eddie’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Feel how warm she is? How fucking desperate?”
Eddie’s fingers twitch. He can feel it—the rapid rise and fall of your breath, the way your skin burns under his touch.
“Now”, Steve murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder, “show me what you’ve learned.”
Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.
This time, when he kisses you, it’s relaxed—calculated. He licks into your mouth like he’s savouring it, one hand sliding up your ribs while the other tangles in your hair. And when you moan, when your hips jerk forward like you just can’t help it, Eddie groans against your lips like he’s just discovered fucking religion.
Steve watches, eyes dark with approval. “Better,” he rasps. Then, with a smirk: “Get on your knees.”
Eddie freezes, and Steve arches a brow,“got a problem?”
“No—fuck, no.” Eddie’s already sliding to the floor, knees hitting the carpet with a thud. His hands find your thighs, gripping just tight enough to feel the muscle tense under his fingers.
Steve’s smirk widens. “Good.”
The praise goes straight to Eddie’s dick.
You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp—and God, Eddie’s never been so hard in his life.
Steve’s voice is a murmur as he trails a path down your throat, bruises already blooming under his mouth. “Now, make her beg.”
Eddie’s breathing is ragged as he looks up at you—fuck, the way your pupils are blown wide, the way your chest rises with every shaky inhale. Steve’s fingers are still tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a tenderness that feels domestic. Your eyes meet Eddie’s just before they flutter shut, and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth finds the inside of your knee first, lips dragging slowly and hot up your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Steve hums, tracing your ribs and sliding your bra strap down your shoulder. His palm cups your breast as it spills free, kneading with a lazy possessiveness that has your hips jerking forward—but Eddie holds you steady, determined.
His tongue traces past the waistband of your panties like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you, and when his eyes flick up to Steve, all he finds is lust, raw and unfiltered. So Eddie hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls, dragging it down your legs as he kisses a trail after it, reverent even in his hunger. His fingers work you with surprising precision, his gaze desperate for approval—and when he curls them just right, you gasp, arching into his touch with a moan loud enough to make Steve’s smirk falter. He wasn’t expecting that.
The slip in Steve’s control sends a thrill through Eddie, and he murmurs against your thigh, voice rough: “You sound so fucking sweet—bet you taste even better.” Steve’s grip tightens on your hip, hard enough to bruise, but you don’t seem to mind.
He’d meant to teach. Now, he’s learning.
And the way you’re unravelling under Eddie’s touch stirs something awake inside of him. Eddie’s got a musician’s dexterity, his fingers able to coax sinful melodies from you with every twist. When you whimper Eddie’s name, Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop him. Just watches with a gaze darker than the midnight sky itself as Eddie’s breath ghosts over you, your thighs trembling. “Please—”
The word barely leaves your lips before Eddie adds another finger, crooking them until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. He groans against your skin, resting his forehead against your leg as the vibration tears another broken sound from your throat. He fucks you with his fingers—slow and deep, then fast and relentless, like he can’t decide whether to savour you or ruin you.
Eddie, drunk on your praise, dares to glance up at Steve with a smirk. Steve’s nostrils flare, but instead of shutting him down, he drags a thumb over your cheek and growls, “You gonna cum for him?” You can’t even answer. Your back arches, toes curling, and Eddie drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. The moment you shatter, he loses it. He’s not sure what destroys him more—the way you choke out his name, begging him not to stop, or the filthy, approving rumble of Steve’s voice as he speaks, “Good girl.”
Eddie finds himself at an impasse, torn between begging for more and staying silent as the two of you decide his fate. His fingers twitch where they grip your thighs, his breath ragged, his entire body coiled tight with anticipation—and fear. Steve detaches himself from nipping at your collarbone when Eddie wavers, his movements faltering. A reprimand flashes in Steve’s darkened gaze, sharp enough to make Eddie shudder again. “Didn’t you hear her, Munson?” Steve’s voice is a low, warning growl. “She told you not to stop.”
But Eddie freezes. The reality of where he is—what he’s doing—hits him like a freight train. He has no idea how to continue.
But Steve doesn’t tolerate hesitation. His hand fists in Eddie’s hair, yanking him forward with a rough, “Stop thinking.”
Eddie obeys like a man possessed, and the moment his tongue drags over you, his whole body jerks—holy shit. You taste even better than he could’ve dared to dream. Sweet, addictive, and the way you gasp when he flicks his tongue over your clit? He’s ruined. Forever.
Drunk on you—on the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way you’re so wet it’s coating your thighs—he laps at you like his life depends on it. Steve watches with drowsy satisfaction, his palm sliding possessively up your stomach to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple just to hear you whimper for him again.
“Listen to how she sounds when you do it right,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with contentment. “Isn’t it the most beautiful sound in the world?” He doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer. Instead, he tilts your jaw toward him, locking you in a searing kiss. You moan into Steve’s mouth as Eddie continues, his tongue relentless, his own desperate noises vibrating against you. Steve chuckles darkly when Eddie whimpers, his cock straining against his jeans just from tasting you. He hasn’t even touched himself, but he’s so close he’s shaking.
“Are you going to cum just from this, Munson?” Steve drags him off you by his hair, grinning at the dazed, wrecked look on Eddie’s face. “Fuck, look at him, darling. He’s a mess.” Eddie’s lips are slick, his chest heaving, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. Steve doesn’t give him a chance to recover. He pushes Eddie back into the armchair, his grip firm, dominant. Then he guides you onto the couch with a smirk.
“You did good,” he tells Eddie, voice dripping with condescension. “Now let me show you great.”
Steve doesn’t waste time. In one smooth motion, he hooks his hands under your knees, spreading you wide—putting you on display—before dragging you to the edge of the couch. His gaze locks onto Eddie’s, making sure he’s watching as he leans down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, a shudder running through you at the sensation. “See how she shivers?” Steve murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, laced with something Eddie can only describe as devotion. “It’s because she knows what’s coming—” Then he devours you.
Unlike Eddie’s frantic, eager strokes, Steve’s tongue moves with precision—deliberate, decisive licks that have you arching off the couch within seconds. He teases you, circling your clit until you’re gasping, then he pulls back with a cruel smirk.
“Steve—” you whine, fingers scrambling at his hair. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muses—before sucking your clit between his lips, hard. Your cry echoes through the room, and Eddie’s hands clench into fists, his hips jerking helplessly as you overwhelm his senses without even touching him. Steve doesn’t let up; he works you with his mouth until your thighs tremble, until your moans grow longer and heavy, until you’re right there—, and he pulls away.
“No, no, baby, please—” you beg, but Steve just clicks his tongue, amused, sliding two fingers into you without warning. “Look at her, Munson,” he orders, curling his fingers just right, making you sob beneath him. “This is how you give her what she deserves.” His thrusts are ruthless, his palm grinding against your clit with every movement. You’re a writhing, whimpering mess, your nails digging into Steve’s shoulders as he fucks you on his fingers, his eyes locked onto Eddie’s the entire time.
“She’s close,” Steve taunts—he doesn’t even need to look at you to know, too busy watching the way Eddie’s jaw clenches. “You want to see what happens when she comes on my hand?” Eddie can’t even speak. He just nods, frantic. Steve smiles wickedly and makes do with the response.
He crooks his fingers again, pressing deeper, and you don’t just shatter—you explode. Your back bows like you’re possessed, broken screams tearing from your throat as you squirt, and Eddie swears he’s seeing stars. Your hand finds Steve’s bicep, clinging desperately, like you’re afraid he’ll stop. Eddie can’t look away; he doesn’t dare blink—if he misses a single second of this, he’ll never forgive himself.
Steve works you through it, drawing out every last spasm until tears streak your face, until you’re oversensitive, trying to squirm away. Only then does he finally relent, licking his fingers with a satisfied hum before brushing featherlight kisses up to your neck. The moment you feel his proximity, you meet him in a kiss—not heated like before, but purposeful, delicate, like Steve is guiding you back to reality with it. He doesn’t rush you; he just lets your fingers weave through his hair until your breathing steadies. Then, he speaks again. “That”, he says, “is how it’s done.” He meets Eddie’s stunned gaze. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about getting your dick wet until she’s clenching around nothing.”
Eddie’s so hard it hurts. His cock throbs against his jeans, neglected and aching, precum soaking the fabric. He’s never been this turned on in his life—and the worst part? Steve knows it. The bastard smirks, dragging a thumb over your lower lip. You suck it in eagerly, tongue swirling, before he pulls away and stands. It’s a fucking performance. Steve undoes his belt like he’s savouring the way Eddie’s eyes cling to his hands, the leather slipping free with a final, damning shush. You whimper, still boneless from your orgasm, but your eyes flutter open when Steve’s palm slides up your thigh, squeezing. “Please, Steve?” you breathe, and his grin turns feral. “Not yet, love.” He glances at Eddie, whose throat bobs under the weight of his stare. “Munson hasn’t earned it yet.”
Eddie’s stomach drops. Fuck. He’s dripping in his pants, his hips twitching like a fucking teenager, and Steve’s going to make him wait? But then—
Steve grips Eddie’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “You want her?” he asks, voice rough. Eddie nods, greedy. “Then prove you can take care of her.” And just like that, Steve shoves him onto the couch with you. “Do it like I showed you.”
For a heartbeat, Eddie can only stare—at the way your breath hitches when he touches you, at the way your eyes lock on Steve, who’s sprawled in the armchair like it’s a fucking throne, lazily stroking his cock. Your lips part, and Eddie swears he sees your mouth water—fuck, it’s obscene. His hands tremble as he touches you—really touches you—this time. His mouth finds your thigh, kissing up the sensitive skin, trying to mimic the way Steve had worshipped you earlier. But when his tongue drags over you, your breath catches—wrong—and Steve’s low chuckle cuts through the room like a knife.
“Christ, Munson,” Steve sighs, his grip tightening around his cock. “You’re thinking too hard.”
Eddie grits his teeth. He is. He’s thinking about the way Steve had made you scream, the way your back arched off the couch like you were trying to fuse into him. He’s thinking about the fact that Steve’s watching, lazily stroking himself while Eddie fumbles like a virgin.
And the nail in the coffin? You’re watching Steve too. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes heavy with desire—but not for Eddie.
“Fuck,” Eddie rasps, pulling back. His voice is wrecked.“I can’t—I don’t—” Steve leans forward, fingertips ghosting over your throat as you keen toward him. “You can,” he growls. “Stop trying to perform. Just feel her.”
Eddie’s breath comes in sharp bursts. This time, when his mouth finds your cunt, he doesn’t think. He listens. To the way your breath catches when he licks a slow, experimental stripe. To the way your hips jerk when he sucks just there. And when your fingers fist in his hair—finally—it’s not to guide him, but to hold on.
“There,” Steve murmurs, voice thick with approval. “Now you’re getting it.” Eddie moans against you, the vibration pulling a whimper from your throat. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it—the taste of you, the sounds you’re making, the way Steve’s gaze burns into him like a brand.
But then Steve stands. Eddie barely has time to register the loss before Steve’s dragging him up by the collar, spinning him around to face you—really face you. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your thighs slick with Steve’s work.
"Look at her," Steve growls, his voice a dark scrape against Eddie’s ear. "Don’t just glance—really look."
And Eddie looks. He sees the damp flush between your breasts, the way your hips lift like you’re already chasing it, the way your pupils blow wide when Steve’s thumb swipes over your bottom lip. "She’s not yours," Steve breathes, dragging his teeth over Eddie’s earlobe. "But fuck, look how bad she wants you to try."
Eddie’s pulse races. Then Steve steps back, gesturing like a king permitting a subject to kneel. "Go on. Make her forget my fucking name."
So he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the noise in his head, to sync himself with the thrum of your heartbeat beneath him, to dissolve into every breath you take. He wants to belong here, in this moment, where Steve’s approval hangs heavy in the air and your pleasure is the only thing that matters—success. A satisfied hum from Steve when Eddie finally finds the right rhythm, a broken moan from your lips. But your eyes—your eyes stay locked on Steve, even as Eddie’s mouth works you over. It’s still him you want. Hunger battles with pride in Eddie’s chest. He hates how badly he craves this—how much he needs Steve’s approval—but god, he longs to pull those sounds from you himself, to unravel you with nothing but his touch. And so he moves like a man possessed, single-minded in his mission to play you like an instrument, to pluck every string until you snap.
Your taste is intoxicating, something he’s already addicted to, something he’s not sure he can live without anymore. Your eyes scrunch shut as pleasure blooms, so lost in it that you don’t even notice Steve speeding up his strokes, his grip tight on his cock. Eddie gets close—so close he can practically taste your climax—but you linger on the edge, just out of reach. He’s aware he’s missing something, some final piece to send you over, but he can’t find it. Then your eyes flicker open again, searching for Steve’s gaze like it’s the only thing that can save you. And Eddie knows—he’s pushed his luck too far. Steve’s patience snaps—not with his pleasure, but with Eddie’s failure to give you yours. Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged back, the warmth of you ripped away too soon. Steve looms over him, a predator in human skin, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “If you want to get a chance to fuck her,” Steve growls, voice dripping with challenge, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Eddie’s brain becomes the mental equivalent of a dropped Wi-Fi signal—because did Steve just imply—?
Every touch, every taste Steve has allowed him, Eddie has devoured with insatiable hunger. But now it hits him—this is more than just a demonstration. Steve might actually let him fuck you. Or he would have. Now, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll ever get the opportunity again. A sharp, breathy cry from you yanks him from his thoughts. Steve has already turned you over, guiding you onto your hands and knees, one foot perched on the armrest behind you like a damn king claiming his treasure. Eddie is so close to your face now, your slick still glistening on his chin as you blink up at him, dazed. Steve teases your entrance with his cock, just enough to have you pushing back, begging for it. And for one glorious, heart-stopping moment—you look at Eddie.
Not at back at Steve.
At him.
Your gaze is pure, primal desperation—like he’s the one you need. Steve drives into you in one brutal thrust, and your eyes screw shut in ecstasy. You sob Steve’s name, but your eyes flicker back open as you you look at him.
“Baby, please—” And it dawns on him—you are begging Steve, but not for Steve. No, you’re begging for permission, your gaze locked onto Eddie like he’s the only thing anchoring you to earth. He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, but Christ, he already knows he wants it just as much.
Steve, of course, does understand. He drags his cock into you agonisingly slow, pressing tender kisses along your spine even as his voice comes out harsh. “You think he deserves it, honey?” You whine, desperate, but Steve doesn’t need more than that. He leans over you, his thrusts deliberate, sinful. “How could I ever say no to you?”
And fuck, Eddie gets it now—gets why Steve turns possessive, gets why you love it. He’s watching the two of you move like a single entity, Steve’s hips rolling into you with a precision that rewrites Eddie’s entire understanding of sex. And the real tragedy? He’s pretty sure you’re only getting started. Your fingers fist in Eddie’s collar, yanking him down hard. His breath stutters as your lips take him in, hot and needy, and he doesn’t think—just reacts, his hands tangling in your hair as Steve’s thrusts rock you forward, forcing Eddie deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, the vibrations nearly undoing him right there, but then your hand tugs at his belt loop like it’s personally offended you, and Eddie’s thoughts fry into static. What do you want? He glances at Steve for answers, but the bastard just laughs, driving into you harder like he’s savouring Eddie’s confusion.
And God help him, Eddie looks. It’s downright pornographic. Steve’s cock glistens as he pulls out, your body clinging to him like it never wants to let go, and every time he sinks back in, you clench, a broken noise tearing from your throat.
As Eddie freezes, you take matters into your own hands, undoing Eddie’s belt with ruthless efficiency. The zipper’s barely down before his jeans pool at his knees. He looks at Steve again—helpless—but Steve just shakes his head, smirking. “Jesus, Munson. Keep up.”
Your fingers brush the straining outline of his cock through his boxers, and his hips jerk. Your mouth finds the spot beneath his ear, teeth scraping, and—fuck—it nearly sends him over the edge right then. You’re not gentle. You know exactly what you want. In seconds, his dick is in your hand, your grip perfect, and the first stroke has him grinding his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. He wants to keep his eyes open—to watch, to devour every detail of every second—but his body betrays him. A shudder wracks through him, his lashes fluttering helplessly before his head falls back, lost to the crushing wave of ecstasy."
“Fuck—!”
Steve’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with amusement. “That’s it, sweetheart. Show him how good you can be.” His hand tangles in your hair—not guiding, just holding—like he wants Eddie to see he’s the one in control. That every gasp you make, every shudder Eddie can’t suppress, is because Steve orchestrated it.
“Bet he’s never felt anything like you.” Eddie’s thighs tremble, his cock twitching against your tongue. He’s close, too close, and Steve knows it—fuck, he’s enjoying it. “Look at him,” Steve murmurs, dragging his cock out of you just to slam back in, punching a moan from your lips. “Already shaking for you. Bet he wishes it was him inside instead.” His thumb swipes over your clit, and you whimper, your rhythm on Eddie faltering. “But he’s got to earn that, doesn’t he?”
Earn it? Eddie’s vision blurs at the edges. He’d shamelessly beg if it meant—Then your tongue swirls over the head of his cock, and he chokes, almost falling forward into you.
“Steady,” Steve warns, though his voice is anything but calm. “You cum before she does, and I’ll make you watch while I fuck her twice as hard.”
Eddie’s groan is nothing short of pure agony. Steve fucks you more slowly then—cruel, like he’s savouring Eddie’s torment—dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to make your eyes water. But your dedication doesn’t waver; if anything, it burns hotter. “Shit—” Eddie’s hips jerk involuntarily, but you swallow him deeper, humming around the salt-bitter heat of him. His fingers scramble at the cushions, knuckles white. “Jesus, sweetheart, where the hell did you learn—?”
Steve’s laugh is a dark, knowing thing against your neck. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading you wider as he presses inside, slow, letting you feel every fucking inch. “She’s full of surprises,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “But you’re not going to last long enough to find out, are you?”
Eddie’s groan disintegrates, the way you swirl your tongue around him, the slick pressure of your throat—it’s nothing like the groupies who’d thrown themselves at Corroded Coffin. This is ruination. This is worship. Your mouth works him with practiced greed, and Eddie’s vision blurs.
“Fuck, I’m not—I can’t—”
“Yes. You can.” Steve’s voice doesn’t leave room for argument—this isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command. His hand moves from your scalp to your nipple, pinching just shy of pain until you whine around Eddie’s cock. His other hand slips between your legs, circling your clit with filthy precision. “You going to cum for us, sweetheart?” he rasps. You nod frantically, lips stretched lewdly around Eddie. “Good. Let him see.” You break with a cry, muffled around Eddie’s cock, and Steve growls as your body clenches around him. “That’s it,” he grits out, hips snapping harder, “that’s my girl—” Eddie’s spellbound.
Steve fucks you through it, your tears smearing Eddie’s thighs. His breath comes in punched-out gasps, cock twitching against your tongue—
Steve loses control first. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades.
Eddie’s hips stutter when you whimper, oversensitive, as Steve grinds into you one last time—claiming you like he wants to brand the feeling into your skin. And then— “Fuck!” Eddie’s back arches, his cock jerking as you pull off with a slick pop, begging Steve for mercy. He comes untouched, frustration and relief searing through him as he gasps your name like a prayer. Steve laughs, low and satisfied. Eddie’s too wrecked to care, chest heaving—until Steve’s next words send him tumbling straight back into want.
“Let me know if you’ve got any requests for the next lesson.”
Eddie spots him from halfway down the hall: a collapsed heap of denim and soft brown hair slouched against their apartment door. For a terrifying flash, Eddie thinks Steve’s unconscious, hurt, something awful—but then Steve’s head lifts, slow and drowsy, eyes shining faintly in the dim hallway light. Relief rushes through Eddie so fast it makes him dizzy.
“Eds?” he asks, voice low, scratchy.
He looks impossibly gentle, far too soft, too sweet. Eddie’s obsession is getting out of hand. He needs to get his shit together and reel it in. He loves Steve and he can’t ruin this by being reckless and greedy. They have a good thing going. The apartment is nice.
He kneels, and Steve’s eyes follow the motion. His pupils are blown wide, making those big hazel eyes turn syrupy and dark. Eddie has to steady himself against the floor so he doesn’t sway toward him.
Eddie feels the smile like a thumb pressed to a bruise.
He hauls Steve gently to his feet. Steve leans into him completely, head brushing Eddie’s shoulder, breath warm against his collarbone. He smells like pine and smoke, familiar in a way that hits Eddie square in the chest. He clears his throat and manages to bring them both inside.
In the bedroom’s dim light, Steve squints up at him, eyes heavy, lips soft and open in a way that cuts directly through Eddie. He lies back with a sigh, neck elongating, hair spilling across the pillow. It’s longer than it used to be, soft hairs curling at his ears, blonde streaked from the now gone summer sun. Eddie tucks the blanket around him, fingers grazing that warm skin just below Steve’s ear.
Steve tilts into the touch instinctively, like he’s been waiting for it.
Eddie’s hand has barely left him when Steve’s fingers wrap around his wrist—light, but sure. “Stay?”
The word vibrates down to Eddie’s bones.
He sits, and Steve tugs him a fraction closer. Enough that Eddie can see the faint freckles across Steve’s nose, the way his lashes rest like dark shadows on his cheeks, the little furrow between his brows that relaxes only when Eddie smooths a thumb over his temple.
Sorry,” Steve mumbles, his forehead brushing Eddie’s arm. “’M selfish. Want you around all the time.”
His breath spreads warm across Eddie’s skin, and something in Eddie goes dangerously soft.
Steve keeps talking, turns his face, voice dissolving into the pillow. “Don’t like when you go on dates.”
The admission hangs. Eddie swallows. His chest aches. His heart hurts, tender and raw. Steve shifts closer, nose nudging Eddie’s arm, half-asleep and searching for warmth. Eddie’s lets his fingers drift without permission into Steve’s hair, sinking into it. It’s so soft.
Steve lets out a tiny breath.
Want presses up under Eddie’s ribs, sharp and aching. Surely he’s going insane.
“If you asked me not to,” Eddie whispers, thumb tracing the back of Steve’s neck, “I wouldn’t date. I’d stay here. With you.”
Steve hums, a small sound of relief, curling into Eddie like it’s instinct, like it’s where he belongs, and he does belong there, always, forever.
His chest rises and falls rhythmically, and Eddie knows he’s already asleep when he whispers,
“Only with you. Every day. That’s already the best part of my day, sweetheart.”
I got to collab with @arelliann on this piece for a line art exchange for the @steddiebbang while we waited for art claims to roll around. They did the linework and I did the color!
I’m studying for my MA defense, so ofc I decided to procrastinate instead and think about Steddie
I think about how Steve was called stupid all his life - by his parents, friends, girlfriends, you name it. He felt empty inside, rolling his eyes at each “at least you’re pretty” remark and dying a little inside. Each time making him feel more hollow, his eyes sting.
And then came Eddie, someone called stupid not for his lack of knowledge but problems with focus. For not being able to solve his algebra test because a pretty bird sat on the windowsill. Someone who knew the feeling of being too deemed too dumb to amount to anything in his life.
So when they hang out in the Wheeler’s basement, his newest D&D campaign in full swing, he feels murderous when Steve gets called stupid.
It is by no one else but little Wheeler who snorts at Steve’s question about the strength modifiers or some inner workings of the game he finds interesting. Steve’s smile falls at once, he huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes.
But Eddie notices the downturn of his eyes, how his shoulders slump for a second. How the glimmer in his eyes, the fascinated flicker with HIS GAME, gets dimmed. Steve falls silent and Eddie stands up.
“We’re done here” he announces. Everyone turns to stare at him, eyes big like saucers and mouths open, ready to argue. “Come on Stevie, I’ll explain” he says softly, smiling at the boy. Steve looks up, eyebrows meeting his hairline.
“Oh.” He mutters, smiling timidly. “It’s fine Eddie, I’m too dumb to understand either way” he laughs weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are rosy, eyes glassy, lip bit.
“Yeah, come on Eddie!” Shouts Mike and Eddie turns to stare daggers at him.
“We will continue this once you shitheads learn to appreciate your babysitter” he exclaims, collecting his notes and reaching out for Steve. “Come” he beckons softly.
So they leave the basement, Steve embarrassed and happy, in disbelief. Nobody has ever stood up for him.
And if Eddie spends the next lifetime and a half convincing Steve that he’s not stupid,.. well, that’s yours to assume 🤷♀️
hii queen i was just reading all your poly!steddie stuff and omg cuties☹️☹️ i was wondering if you could write something about the couple on a nice day out (or literally whatever) and reader seeing eddie and steve having a cute moment together and getting emotional because reader is super sentimental/in love with them? i literally adore your writing!!
Thanks for your request, I adore you more!!
poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 641 words
“How do you get it like this?”
“It has a mind of its own, Harrington.”
“Well, it just—” You step into Steve’s backyard, pitcher of lemonade in hand, to find Steve trying clumsily to untangle the knots in Eddie’s hair. He seems mostly to be getting his own fingers tangled in it in the process. “It seems like if you’re going to have it this long you should know how to take care of it.”
Eddie tilts his head back in Steve’s lap, raising his eyebrows. “You want me to cut it off?”
Steve makes a low tsking noise. “I didn’t say that.”
They’re splayed out on the warm concrete, Steve’s head bent over his work and Eddie’s bare feet dangling in the pool. They haven’t heard you come outside. The sun warms Steve’s hair to a golden brown as Eddie reaches up to take one of the longer strands between his fingers.
“We can’t all have perfect, boy next door hair,” he teases.
Steve hums. “I guess that’s true.”
“Dick.” Eddie grins, giving Steve’s hair a yank. Steve pulls Eddie’s hair in turn. “Ow. Hey, you know I’m usually into that, but that was kinda rough.”
“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” Steve taunts, bending to console your boyfriend with a kiss.
Eddie palms Steve’s face from upside down and accepts the offer eagerly. His feet stop kicking around in the pool, both boys softening in the span of seconds before their lips part. Your chest aches with soul-splitting affection.
Eddie leans up to claim another kiss before Steve can get away. “Hi,” he says.
Steve’s voice is warm. “Hi, idiot.”
“What’s this?” Eddie strokes his thumb over Steve’s jaw, painfully gentle.
“Huh?”
You grin along with Eddie. Your boyfriend is so hopeless when he gets caught up in you. “You have a cut here, baby.”
“Oh.” Steve feels it, his fingers covering Eddie’s. “Must’ve been from shaving.”
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t even know it was there.”
Eddie frowns, running his thumb over it again. “Fine. Just be a little more careful with my boyfriend next time, okay? I like his face the way it is.”
Steve’s cheeks pink, but his smile is cocky. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re not gonna fucking embarass me, Harrington. I’m not ashamed of it.”
“Wanna say that on camera, then?”
“I plead the fifth.” Eddie turns his face away, catching sight of you. “Hey, beautiful. That for us?”
You remember the lemonade, stepping the rest of the way outside and shutting Steve’s back door behind you. “Yup,” you say.
Eddie sits up, forcing Steve to abandon his task with Eddie’s hair, and he helps you unstack the cups you brought from inside. You can’t stop smiling.
Steve’s eyeing you, one part suspicion and two parts fondness. “What?”
“What?” You play dumb.
He pokes a finger into your cheek. “What’s up with this?”
You laugh, making Steve smile despite himself. “Nothing.”
“Definitely something,” Eddie muses. He takes the cup you offer him, studying you as he drinks. “What, are you feeling left out, pretty girl?”
Though it’s nowhere near the truth, your cheeks flame at the suggestion in his tone. “No.” You roll your eyes. “Just thinking about how pruney your toes must be.”
Eddie takes his feet out of the pool without missing a beat. A stream of water trails after them as he swivels around, setting his cold feet next to your warm ones. “Wanna feel?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Mm, nope.”
“Come on, I know you’re obsessed with my feet. You basically just admitted it.”
“Jesus.” Steve’s nose has wrinkled. “Get those away from her, you freak.”
Eddie doesn’t break your gaze. “You’re disgusting,” you tell him.
“Aw. You love me.”
You grimace, letting Steve pull you to his side, away from the threat of Eddie’s pruney toes. “I guess so.”
