#Cloud Hoppers

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Eddie, Will, and El opening a tattoo shop together.

Eddie's all shit-post tattoos in American Traditional, muted colors

Will's style is large murals, vibrant colors, with fantasy themes

El is exclusively shaded, fine-line minimalism

[wontbyers]

All I want is a Mileven/Byler video to Miss Atomic Bomb by The Killers

Does anyone see the vision or is it just me?

[astra-and-bob]

Watching a bit of TV after having a lovely sleepover!

[takahashi-labs]

" oh, do you want one too sir? i mean, i'd have to get miss silk to help get the size and everything, but we can find something for you if you'd like! "

" oh, and hi miss jazz! would you like to see crow in a corset? "

"Ah literally just woke up from chargin', who the hell is "Miss Silk?" and what would she be measurin' me for??"

She chokes. "WHAT—"

[urhoneycombwitch]

common tongue of you lovin' me

🍯 honey flavour: touchstarved loverboy smut

🐝 the bees: Eddie x reader

wc: 2.5k 

content warnings: nervous Eddie, touchstarved R, smut, dry humping (is it actually dry if they’re both wet…?), cumming in pants, one (1) use of the word “daddy”, light use of the miscommunication trope

foreword: based on THIS anon everyone say THANKS anon. R and Eddie are in their early 20’s, R is on a gap year from college (so me), they’re in a new relationship with each other, I’m writing this while blasted on edibles idk what else to say 0_o

____

By nature, Eddie Munson is not a shy person.

Even though his dark reputation in Hawkins hasn’t been completely erased, he still manages to make friends wherever he goes through sheer force of personality. It’s like a magic trick, one that you never get tired of- he’ll pause in the middle of grocery stores to make faces at a baby in a stroller, getting belly laughs out of a stranger’s kid in less than ten seconds while still holding your hand down the aisle. One second he’s right behind you in the record store, looking over your shoulder as you browsed, and the next he’ll be on one knee charming a elementary school-aged kid into getting the latest Dio album.

You’ve seen him flirt his way out of speeding tickets with Hopper, for christ’s sake. 

Eddie isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination, so after three months of nothing but chaste kisses and quiet hand-holding, you’re left to assume he actually wants to take things slow with you.

He’s been nothing but a gentleman, in these early days of dating- the most action you’ve gotten from him was unintentional. On your third date, a dollop of his ice cream landed on your lap when he used the cone to gesture, which led him to manically grabbing napkins out of his dashboard to wipe at your skirt while you laughed it off. The second he’d brushed against your bare thigh he snapped his hands back like he’d touched a live wire, hastily heaping on apologies, leaving you to allay his nerves while wiping at the stain yourself.  

Which, whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like you’re complaining about him being respectful, per se, it’s just that it’s getting harder and harder (hah) to pretend like you don’t wanna fuck him. The feeling between your thighs only seems to increase in intensity when he gives you one of those precious little hand kisses at the end of a date, or a closed-mouth peck before he drives off into the night. 

Unfortunately for you and your wet dreams, Eddie Munson has the most edible body you’ve ever seen. Biceps bulging through those form-fitting tees he likes to wear, rounded nose and strong jaw outlined by that cloud of soft black hair, those lithe hips…

Hips that you’re openly staring at from across the room as you sit quietly on Eddie’s couch. He’s reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet, his Metallica tee pulling up out of his dark denim at the motion, flashing a stripe of his pale lower back.  

You feel like a Victorian maid seeing ankle for the first time. You subtly press your thighs together under your short tartan skirt as Eddie moves around the kitchen, talking animatedly about the start of his upcoming campaign.

“I haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna go easy on the little shits or not,” he says, metal spoon clinking against ceramic as he mixes hot chocolate powder. “It’s Max’s first session as an official player, and I don’t wanna scare her off but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah,” you agree, giving him a knowing smile as he crosses the room to pass you your mug- “You’re a DM most fearsome. Can’t let them off the hook too easily.”

Eddie blooms under your praise, wiggling his eyebrows with familiar cockiness as he settles on the cushion beside you. “Gotta keep Hawkins' finest in line. It’s a tough gig but I did swear an oath, after all.”

You smile around a sip of hot cocoa, then reach over to set your mug on the coffee table. Eddie has been sat in his usual manner (knees far enough apart to be taking up his whole seat, arm draped casually on the back of the couch) but the second your knee knocks against his, he adjusts himself stiffly, drawing his arm back with a nervous throat-clearing and a murmured “sorry”.

Normally you’d let it go, not wanting to push the issue past the point of his comfortability. But it’s been Three. Months. Of this. And you wanna test the waters, just a little.

“Sorry for what?” You ask, rotating to face him, your shoulders almost-but-not-quite touching.

He’d doing an uncanny impression of a deer caught in headlights, blinking at you with those doey brown eyes, stuttering his way through a weak explanation- “Uh… uh. Sorry for being- f-for touching you?”

There’s a lift at the end of his sentence, one that you mirror with a tilt of your own brow, a playful challenge. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me, Eddie. I’m your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, a nervous edge bleeding around the sound. The curls around his face dance with the head shake he gives. “No, of course, yeah, I know that.”

“Do you?” You scoot closer, a kick of assertiveness giving you the courage to press your leg against his. 

“Uh huh.��� He’s gazing openly now at the bare skin of your thigh, like he’s waiting to see if it'll burn a hole into his denim. 

When you gently lift his hand and place it on the skin that he’s looking at, you hear him gulp, audibly. 

So he does want to touch you. Interesting.  

You know for a fact Eddie’s not a virgin. Back in high school, you’d both dated around your respective circles, gossip surrounding escapades in the Munson Van circulating back to you through mutual friends. When he’d asked you out a few months previous, you’d happily accepted, wanting to take full advantage of your interim gap year from college. For the first few weeks, you’d chalked his near-celibate behavior up to nerves.

But now, you’ve got him squirming with just a thigh touch. So maybe… he’s waiting for you to make the first move?

Fuck testing the waters- you’re gonna dive in head-first. 

You swing your leg over his lap, kneeling on the outside of his hips. His hands automatically go to your waist, and he lets out a little “Oh” as you rest your arms around his shoulders.

“You gonna kiss your girlfriend?” you whisper, forehead crushing into his bangs as you wrap a hand around the back of his neck.

Eddie looks up at you like he’s seeing a full moon for the first time, eyes sparkling with want. “Yeah,” he rasps, angling his face up to kiss you.

It’s soft, at first, like it always has been. His plush lips softly move against yours, breaking for air once, twice; when he kisses you with that same softness for a third time you press your tongue to the seam between his lips.

He lets you in with a little noise, low in the back of his throat as you lick into his mouth. His hands twitch on your hips as your tongues twine, slight movements in his own hips creating a ripple effect.

When the hard seam of his jeans bumps against the warmth of your cunt, you both gasp, your hand at the back of his neck tightening. 

“We should probably, um-” he’s panting against your mouth, grip flexing between hard and soft- “I mean, if you wanna stop…”

“I don’t wanna stop. Do you wanna stop?” you ask, equally out of breath.

“Fuck no,” he rasps again, in that smoke-salt voice, and this time when he kisses you it’s with one hand at the back of your head and the other pulling your hips to meet his.

The noises from the wet slide of your mouths are turning you on more than you care to admit, and you’re sure he can feel the damp patch that’s soaking through your panties as the crotch of his jeans make contact again. Which normally would make you feel really self-conscious, if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie’s hard as a rock underneath you, the bulge in his pants thickening with each roll of your hips.

You drop your kisses down, exploring where you haven’t been able to before: against his cheek, his jaw, stopping just behind his ear. Unable to help yourself, you graze your teeth against the velvet skin there, and he jolts beneath you with a small yelp.

“Sorry,” you whisper, still a touch mirthful but soothing your tongue over the mark.

Eddie brushes his thumb across the back of your neck as you continue your path down the column of his throat. “Now who’s sayin’ sorry for no reason. Baby, I’m begging you to do that again.”

So you do, this time at the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, grinning against his skin when he groans and bucks his hips up. 

Around your hickey-making, he’s choking out words that you just manage to string together. “I wanna… make you feel- christ, sweetheart- good too, wanna make it good for you-”

When you sit up to see his face, he looks absolutely wrecked- rosy flush in his cheeks, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, pupils blown so big his eyes are nearly black with lust.

“You are making me feel good,” you assure him, pulling the hand he’s got on your neck down to where the end of your skirt sits, pausing before your next move. “You want me to prove it?”

He nods, and you guide him into the warmth of your thighs, letting his fingers graze the stickiness that’s been steadily soaking through the fabric.

Eddie inhales sharply, moans out, “Fuck, honey”, and when his thumb finds your clit you sink down into his touch, stomach tightening with the shock of arousal coursing through you.

He’s watching your face intently as he slowly circles your clit, gauging your reactions, pressing in a bit harder and faster when the pace change makes you cry out.

Feeling doubly exposed with his eye contact and hand against your core, you try making a joke to diffuse some of the tension as the pad of his finger moves against you in steady rhythm. “Still thinkin’ about stopping?”

“A train could crash through that wall and it wouldn’t stop me for a second,” Eddie says, resolute and getting a little braver, kissing his own path across your throat, nibbling at a spot that makes your clit pulse beneath his fingertip and your cunt clench around nothing. 

Goddamn, he’s a quick learner. In less than two minutes he’s got you so close to the edge, squirming around his touch, that you have to grab his wrist and still his fingers between your thighs.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. You can feel his breath punching up down up, your breasts pushed up against his chest from the way your body was trying to coil in on itself.

“Nothing,” you assure him, and now it’s your turn to falter around your words. “I just- maybe can I… I wanna get o-off at the same time. If you want. And I’m really, really close.”

Eddie’s head falls back against the couch with a thunk, eyes scrunching shut as if in concentration, a strung-out whine leaving his throat. “Hang on. Give me a second.”

He’s still got his hand on your clothed pussy, and you can’t help but giggle once he blinks back to the present, dazed- “Christ. You can’t say shit like that, baby, I almost came in my jeans.”

You give him a condescending little pout, accented with another twist of your hips. “Well maybe that’s what I want.”

“Give you anything,” Eddie replies, unabashedly babbling now as you adjust yourself in his lap. “Anything you want, sweetheart. It’s yours. All yours.”

He helps you maneuver into a new angle: now, your drenched core can rub freely against his thigh, while your knee in the socket of his hip means he can rut his cock along the flat of your leg.

When you move experimentally in shallow circles on his thigh, the newly-gained friction lights up your throbbing clit. Soon, all pretenses melt away as you both find your rhythm again, little grunts and pants filling the air.

“Feel good, angel? That’s it,” Eddie encourages, slipping his hand under your skirt to grope at the meat of your ass, helping your movements along as he chases his own pleasure with a rocking grind against your leg. “Take what you need. Lemme get you there. Please, please…”

His whines spur you on, one of your hands shooting out to clutch at the back of the couch beside his head while the other anchors itself on his opposing bicep. “Fuck, Eddie, keep talking like that, ‘m so close…”

“Talk to you all day,” he heaves out, “you make me so fucking hard, princess. You feel how hard I am for you? God, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot…”

You should have expected that bravado and charm you’ve seen these last few years to naturally be carried over into his sex life, but god, not in your wettest of dreams could you have imagined the mouth on him. 

The combination of his dirty talk and thigh between your legs is bringing you right up to that edge again, toes curling in anticipation, cunt starting to flutter erratically with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” your head rolls back on its hinge, eyes flickering shut as Eddie fumbles to catch at your clit again, movements becoming sloppy. 

“C’mon, pretty baby, let go.” He’s sucking another mark into your neck between his praises, teeth catching- “Let me see you come, honey, be a good girl for daddy…”

“Jesus FUCKING christ” is all you manage to grit out before you’re tipping over the edge into orgasm, all your muscles bearing down into the bright point of pleasure, high sob winding its way from your throat. 

Eddie keeps kneading at your spasming clit as you ride it out on his thigh, even as he lets out a series of short, keening whimpers, even as his cock jerks against your leg into his own release. 

You sag into his waiting arms, tittering lightly against his neck as you both work on catching your collective breaths. 

“Holy shit, and I was really starting to think you actually didn’t want to fuck me.” You laugh in relief.

His hand pauses mid-stroke up the slope of your back, sounding genuinely aghast when he asks “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You straighten in his arms with an incredulous stare. “Uh, maybe because you acted like a monk that I was corrupting every time I even breathed near you?”

Eddie covers his eyes with his hands, heels to sockets, groaning- “Fuck, honey, I was tryn’a be respectful. You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this sooner?”

You reach to soothe your palms over the length of his forearms, equally fond and serious when you say “I’m telling you I absolutely would have slept with you on the first date.”

He makes a strangled, pained noise before you continue- “You described to me in detail the entire mating cycle of a bat, and then walked directly into a trash can by accident. How did you expect me to wait on jumping your bones?”

He lets you take his hands, enveloping them in your own and bringing them to your chest, pressing your lips affectionately to each ring.

He whispers, “Can I ask you something?” 

When you look up at him again, he says, with sincerity, “Can I see your tits next time?”

You hide your laughter into the crook of his neck. 

________

guys i cannot stress how high I am is this even any good plz perceive me 

[thefreakandthehair]

snowfall.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles & @steddiemas | prompts: snowfall and cold | wc: 989 | rating: teen & up | tags: mutual requited pining, post-canon, eddie pov, getting together, love confessions, first kiss, winter fluff, smoking weed

Eddie used to love the cold. 

He could layer up tee shirts and jackets with his vest comfortably; could disguise the smoke in his mouth as just his breath in the icy air. But then he nearly died shivering on the frigid, unforgiving ground of the Upside Down and the cold lost its luster. 

Now, as he stands outside of his trailer smoking a tightly rolled joint— he’s a professional, thank you very much— he shivers again. Normally, Eddie would just smoke in the trailer, all the way in the back and blow smoke out of the window, but the kids are over and even Eddie understands that that’s probably not the best idea. Dustin is a blabbermouth and if Claudia or Hopper found out… well, now he shivers for a different reason. 

Smoke coils its way down his chest and he looks up at the sky, staring at the flickering stars and crescent moon. The Upside Down had been an empty, angry place devoid of light, but the real world— his world— is peppered with blinking points of light that only disappear temporarily when they’re obscured by fluffy clouds. For a moment, he closes his eyes and lets his shoulders sag, head dropping with his chin to his chest and the joint still smoking between his fingers. 

It’s fine, he reminds himself. It’s not the same. It’s just December in Indiana. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice interrupts the silence, footsteps crunching over frosty grass and dried leaves. “I was wondering where you went.” 

Eddie clears his throat and slaps on a smile before he turns around. 

“Didn’t wanna hear it from Hopper if I exposed the innocents to Satan’s lettuce, y’know?” He wiggles the joint between his fingers and offers it to Steve. “Wanna share?”

Steve rolls his eyes— a fond gesture, Eddie’s come to learn— and accepts, taking a hit and passing it back. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, a mixture of smoke and breath puffing out like the clouds passing above them. 

“Just got a little…” Eddie trails off and waves his hand, gesturing at nothing and everything all at once, dropping the joint to the ground. It was almost done anyways, he sighs to himself as he stomps it out. 

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose and nods knowingly. It’s far from the first time that Steve’s found Eddie hiding somewhere, collecting himself. Steve’s admitted to the same, that he loves when everyone gets together but it can be a lot all the same. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve agrees, stepping closer and leaning up against the tree, just arms’ distance from Eddie. 

Something symbolic there, Eddie thinks to himself. As close as they’ve gotten, as catastrophically in love with Steve as Eddie’s fallen, he always feels like this: just out of reach. 

Under the translucent glow of the night sky, Eddie tries not to stare at the pink flush of Steve’s cheeks, his nose rosy from the cold. It’s hard not to reach out and close the distance. It’d be so easy— just stretch out a hand and rest his equally chilly palm against Steve’s cheek— but he shoves them into his pockets instead and digs his fingernails into his palms as he curls them into a fist. 

Something cold hits Eddie’s nose, and then another, and another. He looks up to find big, fat snowflakes falling from those puffy clouds, a shower of white, frozen flakes. 

“Oh shit, it’s sno—” Eddie starts, but his words die on his tongue when he looks over at Steve. 

The falling snow loves Steve almost as much as Eddie does, sticking to his eyelashes and the tips of his hair, melting against his cheeks and clinging to his bomber jacket, to his lips as he tilts his head up towards the stars. They part just slightly, just enough for Eddie to lose himself in what it might feel like to kiss him, to press his own lips against Steve’s— perfectly pink, welcoming. 

Steve’s never looked so beautiful and Eddie has never been more in love, never been so worried that his heart might crack a rib. He’d done enough physical therapy for one lifetime, but if this is how he breaks another bone, then so be it. 

“You alright?” Steve asks. 

And maybe it’s the weed, or the magic of the moment, or the precarious levee rupturing that was never going to hold anyways, but Eddie doesn't hesitate, doesn’t even blink.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, and I’m so in love with you.”

His lips part and his eyes widen, Eddie freezing in place. Despite the snow, his skin burns with the acknowledgment of what he’s just done.

“Shit, just— y’know what, just ignore me, man. Super strong weed, that’s all. I didn’t, uh—”

Steve steps forward, closing the distance and leaving mere inches between them, just enough for the snow to fall between their jackets. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Yeah, I do. That’s— that’s what you got out of that?” Eddie sputters. 

“Just making sure I heard that right. And the part about being in love with me? You meant that, too?” 

“More than you know.” Eddie swallows and shrugs, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he chews on his bottom lip. 

Steve closes the distance, eyes bright and a smile blooming from one corner of his mouth. He smooths over Eddie’s lip with his thumb and traces his jaw up to his ear, cupping his face like Eddie’s dreamed of for as long as Steve’s existed in his orbit. 

“Well, that’s a relief. Now I finally get to do this,” Steve breathes. 

The snow falls faster over their heads as Steve closes the gap and presses their lips together, soft and warm despite the bone-chilling cold. Steve’s lips slot against Eddie’s, and it doesn’t feel new. It doesn’t feel novel, or unfamiliar. 

With snow beginning to pile up at their feet, Eddie feels like he’s come home. 

[fishtrouts]

I’m sorry if this has been already asked but could we have a bit more lore on Avoryx? I’m sorry if I’m bothering or pressuring you.

Hi anon! This is not a bother at all, in fact I’m delighted to loredump about my favorite menace :D

Many probably already know, but Avoryx is Hopper’s mother! Now although she’s known as a particularly destructive, even for a dragon, she’s actually a pretty alright parent. Before Hopper was born she arrived at wherever my comics take place and just.. wreaked havoc. Slaughtered and ate all the other dragons that lived there and then laid a single egg.

Avoryx is not at all bothered by Hopper’s pinkness. In fact as soon as Hopper was old enough to venture out on her own she stopped caring. Hopper was out there doing her own thing and the sooner her hatchling grows independent the better. If her whelp came running back to her lair with knights giving chase she’d eat them and then she’s usually aggravated enough to slink out of the ruins she made her lair in and rip apart whichever settlement she stumbles on.

Also, instead of the classic dragonfire, Avoryx expels black smoke from her maw, and a scalding tar-like liquid drips from between her blackened teeth. Her presence is announced by a cloud of smog, a telltale sign of impending death. The unknown liquid she leaves behind on her path of destruction can be collected. It’s sticky, corrosive, and smells vile, but dragon slayers and alchemists need to collect whatever samples they can if they hope to one day slay this beast.

Oh and she has an old “pet” raven that acts as an alarm clock and reports activity near her vicinity. It also picks scraps from between her teeth - a personal dentist!

It’s kind of a mystery how the bird has been spared from becoming a morsel.

[swampythesweetsketch]

The dragon sanctuary I'm now part-timing found a new Wind Dragon species! Thought you and Cole would like to see them!

Heyyyyyyyyyyyy Geeenie, I got you something!

And before you ask- it is not more lunch meat.

Hmm.. Okay, whatcha got?

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

perv!mean!Hopper, dom!Steve, soft!dom!Eddie x sub!Reader

Includes: MFM relationship, Hopper is a dirty cop/really sleazy human, oral sex, anal sex, guilt/shame/angst, blood mention, surgery mention, abuse of power, vomit, fingering, praise kink, piss, deepthroating, cockwarming, masturbation, swallowing, unprotected vaginal sex, pregnancy, shame, lies, secrets, squirting, and bubble bath sex… 🫨

PART ONE

@wordynerdygurl @eddiesguitarskills

• Our story begins in Chief Hopper’s Blazer, parked somewhere secluded in the woods of Hawkins •

“You got somethin’ to say kid-,” Hopper sighed, irritated. “Just fuckin’ say it.”

He was in a bad mood today…impatient. And honestly, it was the last thing you needed. “Why’re you so quiet anyway?” he asked, his hand sliding between your thighs. “Usually by now, you’d have this sweet little cunt in my fa-.” Hopper stopped speaking when he realized you were wearing underwear.

“The hell is this?” he asked. “You know my rules. No fuckin’ panties when you’re with me.” Hopper cursed, stamping out his burned-down cigarette. “You on the rag or somethin?” he asked, adding “I told you, it doesn’t fuckin’ bother me. There’s towels in the back, and besides-.” Hopper squeezed your thigh, a wry grin on his lips. “-I like it when you make a mess…”

You met his eyes, his deep blue gaze almost sinister with hunger. It would be difficult to say no to Hopper, even with the information you’d been wrestling with since morning.

“Jim,” you began, and he looked at you strangely, since you rarely ever addressed him by anything other than ‘Chief.’

“Yeah?” he asked flatly.

Your heart was racing a mile a minute, as you recalled the way your morning had started…nausea roiling in your stomach on the way to the bathroom from bed, vomit spraying the toilet bowl, and the piece of plastic you’d held between trembling hands, watching as two bold lines of color bloomed in the result area of the test…

“I’m pregnant,” you murmured softly. Hopper stared at you for a moment, before bursting out laughing. “Christ!” he exclaimed, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “How about that?” You watched Hopper light his cigarette, stunned silent by his reaction. “You told him yet?”

“Have I told who?” you asked. Hopper frowned back at you, confused but still smirking. “Your loser boyfriend,” he clarified, snapping his lighter closed. “You told The Freak he’s about to be somebody’s daddy?” Hopper chuckled again at his own words, finding the idea of Eddie being a father hilarious.

The shock you were feeling began to morph into anger. “What if it’s yours?” you asked, a bitter lump rising in your throat. Hopper’s laughter died quickly, his eyes going dark. “It’s not,” he retorted coldly, shifting in his seat to face the road, and not you.

“How do you know?” you asked, and he quickly (almost defensively) replied “because it’s not.” Hopper blew a cloud of smoke at the dashboard, resting his elbow against the driver’s side door. “Can’t be. I had the surgery-.” Hopper made a snipping motion with his fingers. “-Vasectomy. The kid’s not mine…”

You had no reason to believe him. Hopper could see the doubt in your eyes, so he chose to elaborate. “Had it done years ago. After my daughter, uh…” Hopper paused, his voice wavering. “…after my kid died. I decided I never wanted to go through that kind of…” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “…loss, again. So-.” Hopper shook his head slightly, as if shaking away a bad memory. “-I got fixed. Can’t lose a kid I can’t have in the first place, y’know?”

You wanted to believe Hopper. It would relieve at least some of your anxiety, but not all of it. You still wouldn’t be sure whether the baby was Eddie or Steve’s; but at least the affair you were having with Hopper could remain hidden, if the baby couldn’t be his…

“Besides,” Hopper said, interrupting your thoughts. “Can’t risk knocking up a girl like you, right?”

His question caught you off guard. “Like me?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Hopper replied. “One of my girls.”

Your lips parted, a weight sinking in your chest. Hopper’s smile took on a cruel affect.

“Oh?” he teased. “You thought you were the only girl I screw around with out here?” He waved his hand to the window, indicating the forest around you. “Trust me sweetheart,” Hopper continued, taking another drag of his cigarette. “You aren’t the only pretty girl in Hawkins with a boyfriend she wants to keep out of jail...”

His callous attitude was breaking your heart. You felt like a complete idiot for giving so much of yourself to Hopper, far more than your body alone. You’d felt safe with him, for some ungodly reason you couldn’t identify now. Regardless of how good Hopper was at fucking you, the reality of his monstrous character was finally, truly sinking in.

Hopper noticed the look of sorrow that had washed over you, and it annoyed him. “Now let’s get one thing straight,” he told you, leaning closer. “I still own this-.” Hopper slid his hand further between your thighs till he was cupping your pussy, squeezing it so hard you winced. “I still own you,” he added, his tone harsh. “And unless you want Eddie to miss the birth of his kid ‘cause he’s rotting in a jail cell-.” Hopper ripped the crotch of your panties aside and forced two fingers inside you. “-Nothin’ about our little arrangement changes. Understand?”

You nodded resignedly, a tear trickling down your cheek. Hopper rested his cigarette between his lips, using the fingers that had been holding it to pull down your shirt, and your bra along with it. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and index finger, pinching till you yelped.

In some sense, he felt that you were at fault in all of this…that you’d fucked up by getting pregnant. And the main reason Hopper wanted to punish you, was out of fear. Because he knew there was a very real possibility that you were pregnant with his baby. The vasectomy story was a lie, a well-rehearsed one he’d told many girls before you. Hopper really was just a selfish asshole who came in multiple women every week, and didn’t care about the consequences his reckless behavior might cause.

But this time, Hopper was afraid. He’d managed to escape the consequences of his actions for too long now; the truth would eventually come out. Hopper felt like this time, he might have really fucked things up. His bad mood from earlier was now a simmering rage. And he was going to take out all of his frustration on you.

Hopper pulled his fingers out of you with a loud squelch. “Get your ass in the back,” he ordered.

You obeyed.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Eddie and Steve weren’t stupid. They’d seen you rush to the bathroom that morning, obviously feeling unwell. They’d found it suspicious when you stayed in there for over an hour, blowing them off each time they asked through the door if you were alright.

You’d locked yourself in the bathroom as if guarding a terrible secret inside it. As soon as you’d left to go meet a friend for lunch Hopper for sex, Steve and Eddie had done a bit of investigating. And it didn’t take them long to figure out the reason you’d been hiding in the bathroom, and why you’d looked so upset when you left it.

The positive pregnancy test was thrown into the back of the cabinet under the sink, but Steve managed to find it. Eddie covered his mouth in shock when he saw it, a big smile on his face. Steve was less enthusiastic, but not because he didn’t want you to be pregnant. Steve was uncomfortable with the possibility that Eddie, and not him, could be the baby’s father. If Steve was going to have kids with anyone, he’d want it to be you. The idea of Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson beating him to it…pissed Steve off.

For his part, Eddie was just happy. He was babbling excitedly to Steve about baby names, what the three of you would need to change around the apartment before the baby arrived, etc. He was buzzing with energy, while Steve was taking the news of your pregnancy in stride. He was happy for you, but he wanted to be happy for the two of you...excited for your baby and his. Not your baby and Eddie’s…

While Steve sat on the couch in silent contemplation, Eddie paced back and forth restlessly, chatting away at Steve about all his plans for the baby. “(Y/N)’ll be home soon,” Eddie told Steve. “When she walks in, we should both jump out and be like, hey mama!”

Steve rolled his eyes at Eddie. “Nobody’s jumping out at anybody, okay?” he retorted. “She hid the test, Ed. She didn’t want us to know.”

Eddie’s look of joy faded. He knew Steve was right.

“If she wanted to tell us, she would’ve this morning,” Steve continued. “We have to respect her privacy. God only knows what’s going through her mind right now.” Eddie flopped down on the couch beside Steve, his leg bouncing nervously.

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Eddie asked, even though he knew the man beside him didn’t have an answer. Steve shrugged his shoulders in an attempt at indifference. “I’m sure she has her reasons,” he replied. “And she will tell us, when she’s ready...”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Hopper dropped you off a few streets over from the apartment complex, just as he always did after driving you out into the woods and fucking you. This time was different from the others. You were sore. Hopper had fucked you in the ass today, and not gently. It would take some time to recover, and the most appealing thing in the world to you right now was a warm bath you could lay back and relax in.

Standing outside the door to your apartment, you could hear Steve and Eddie talking inside. Part of you was happy they seemed to be bonding in your absence. Another part of you worried that they somehow knew about the pregnancy…or worse, about your affair with Hopper.

Your worries disappeared as soon as you opened the door. Steve and Eddie were busy in the kitchen making dinner, politely arguing about whether or not the pasta they were boiling was truly al dente. Your keys jingling got their attention. “Hey babe,” Steve called out. “Hope you’re hungry; Eddie and I boiled a shit ton of pasta by accident.”

Eddie held up the empty box the pasta had come from, idly inspecting it. “Yeah,” he commented as his eyes scanned the label. “Turns out one box yields, um…” Eddie pursed his lips, trying to do the math in his head. “…Waaaay more than we need,” he finished with a lighthearted grin in Steve’s direction. “Math was never my strong suit, okay?”

Steve left the stove and approached you, resting his big hands on your shoulders like protective mitts. The gesture was tender, warm, very unlike the affection you were used to getting from Steve. “Thought we’d eat in tonight,” he said, massaging your shoulders softly. “Maybe watch a movie together.” Steve was being so gentle, it took you completely by surprise, in the best way.

Eddie leaned in to your neck, nuzzling you with a soft kiss. “Dinner can wait,” he said, turning your chin to face him. “I think I’m in the mood to have dessert first…”

Steve nodded in agreement- “I second that,” -and let his hands glide down your arms, lingering around your wrists. “What d’you say, (y/n)?”

You realized how lucky you were, in that moment. These two beautiful men were standing there, wanting only to please you. A part of you wanted to reveal your pregnancy, but the possibility of ruining such a tender moment gave you pause. Guilt washed over your heart as you remembered your other secret, the one you were most afraid of confessing: Hopper.

“I think I’d like to have a bath first,” you told them. “And afterwards, I’ll absolutely be ready for dessert…”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bath Steve ran for you was perfect. Big, fluffy piles of cotton candy-scented bubbles floated on top of the water, swallowing you in a warm hug as you sank beneath them. You let your hair fan out on the water’s surface, your eyes drifting closed as you tried to relax. A cassette player on the sink played a tape of ambient music that Eddie had chosen for you. The lights were dimmed, with a few candles flickering beside you on the edge of the tub.

It should have been the perfect atmosphere to relax in, but your mind was running circles. Additionally, the work Hopper had done on your ass earlier that day made sitting uncomfortable, even in a warm tub of bubbles. You tried to avoid thinking of the pregnancy, but it was impossible. Over the course of one day, you’d gone from worrying you were falling in love with Hopper to bitterly resenting the power he held over you. Could you really trust him, that there was no way the baby could be his? As much as you wanted it to be true, based on what you knew of Hopper’s character, you had plenty of reason to doubt him.

How could you have been so naive, to think that Hopper didn’t have similar arrangements with other girls? He’d taken such good care of you sexually, fucking you slowly, unselfishly. Maybe it really had been for him all this time; but Hopper made it seem like he was fucking you for your pleasure more than his own. Like he genuinely cared about you. The way he ate you out for hours on end, licking you till the pleasure turned to pain. Why would a man who had so many girls dedicate that much time to your satisfaction? To making sure you came at least six times in one afternoon? Was there something about you that Hopper couldn’t get from all his other girls?

You hated feeling jealous, especially over someone like him. Here you were, sitting in a beautiful bath prepared by Steve and Eddie, about to be fucked by both of them as soon as you were finished. And yet, you were jealous over a filthy son of a bitch that was twice your age and fucking who knows how many other girls?? You shook your head, bubbles fizzing at your ears. A quiet little sob escaped your lips, but not quiet enough for Eddie’s perceptive ears to miss.

He peeked around the doorframe, a concerned look on his face. “You good, (y/n)?” he asked. With a heavy sigh, you managed a smile, and rested your chin on the side of the tub. “I’d be better if you and Steve joined me,” you said.

Eddie’s lips quirked into a grin. He stuck his head around the corner and called for Steve, “get in here Harrington, she wants us in the tub with her.”

When Steve entered the bathroom, he was met with a view of you sucking Eddie off at the side of the tub. The image made Steve’s brain go a little hazy, and all he wanted was to be naked, too. Your eyes left Eddie’s and locked with Steve’s as you sucked. The look on Steve’s face made you grin around Eddie’s cock, the corners of your lips stinging at the stretch. “Fucking look at her,” Eddie marveled, running his fingers through your damp hair. “Look at how good she sucks it…”

Steve removed his shirt and began to work his belt undone. His cock was hard and leaking by this point, wet and ready for the moist heat of your mouth. He removed his pants and his boxers, kicking them aside as he made his way to the tub.

Eddie’s legs quivered as he stood beside the bath, with you on your knees in the tub taking his cock down your throat. Steve watched while masturbating to the view in front of him, massaging his cock in slow, patient pumps from base to tip. He knew he’d get the same treatment from your lips as Eddie, that all he had to do was enjoy the show till his turn came.

The soft gurgling sounds you made around Eddie’s cock had both men groaning. “Good fuckin’ girl,” Steve praised. “Takin’ such good care of Eddie’s cock…gonna take care of mine too, yeah?”

You nodded, your head bobbing on Eddie’s dick. Pulling your lips off his tip with a loud pop, you shifted in the water and reached for Steve. “Uh-uh,” he scolded, swatting away your touch. “No hands. You want my cock? Then find it with your mouth like a good little girl…”

Greedy, hungry to taste the sweet pearly liquid oozing from Steve’s tip, you did as he instructed. Clasping your hands behind your back, you leaned forward till Steve’s cock was bumping your mouth, smearing precum over your lips and chin. “Open up,” Eddie murmured down at you, patting his hand against your cheek. “Take care of Steve’s cock the way you took care of mine, pretty thing.”

As Steve pressed himself between your lips, his girth caused an even sharper sting than Eddie’s. Usually, this was the order you sucked them in; Eddie was a little longer than Steve but not as thick, so he generally went first and got your throat warmed up for Steve.

A hum of pleasure rolled deep in Steve’s chest as he fucked your mouth, watching his cock disappear between your lips again and again with every thrust. Eddie climbed into the tub, reaching for your hips and tugging them to meet his.

As Steve continued to use your mouth, Eddie pulled you onto his lap beneath the water. He splashed away a hill of bubbles to watch your pussy swallowing his cock under the water. Steve lifted his leg and braced his foot against the edge of the tub. This position gave him even deeper access to your throat, his balls slapping full and heavy against your chin as he took you. Gripping your hair in his fist, Steve used it as leverage to fuck your face as rough as possible, till your gag reflex activated and you smacked his thigh, telling him to pull back. Vomit spilled onto the ceramic bathroom tile. Steve wiped your lips clean with a towel and cradled your face in his hands. “You wanna stop, baby?” he asked, and you shook your head ‘no,’ in response.

Steve complied, burying his cock down your throat again without pause. Eddie’s dick was nestled balls-deep inside your cunt as he let you cockwarm him. The urge to buck up into you was deliriously tempting, but Eddie forced himself still, knowing he’d come too soon if he moved even slightly. The sounds you were making on Steve’s cock were beyond pornographic. Gulping, choking, gagging around the thick outline of his shaft, you forced every inch down your throat till you’d swallowed him completely.

Steve exhaled a flurry of curses, his hands in your hair gripping for dear life as his knees went weak. “Oh my-oh my god baby-how d’you-how d’you do that?” he gasped. “I’m gonna-fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna come honey, shit!”

Steve ejaculated so far down your throat, his cum slid straight to your stomach. Eddie completely lost it, watching Steve’s face contort in pleasure as he relieved himself inside your mouth. Unable to hold back any longer, Eddie bucked his hips upward, punching into you with a few hard, breathless thrusts. As Steve staggered back to lean against the bathroom sink, Eddie groaned into your shoulder and painted your pussy with cum. “Oh my god!” he exhaled, falling against the back of the tub, a big smile on his face. “That was…I’ve never come that hard in my life, (y/n)-.”

“Neither have I,” Steve chuckled, finding his breath again. He returned to the edge of the tub and caressed your cheek, smiling warmly down at you. “Good girl,” he said, and then left for the bedroom, ready to pass out in bed.

Eddie lifted you off of him, resting your ass on the side of the tub, and parted your legs over his shoulders. You held onto his hair as Eddie buried his face against your cunt, his tongue searching out and swallowing every drop of his orgasm. Your thighs were shaking, clamped around Eddie’s face as he ate you, licking your cunt clean, hoping to get you all dirty again.

His wish came true less than a minute later. Biting your bottom lip to keep from screaming, you came all over Eddie’s tongue. A mix of cum and piss squirted inside his mouth and ran down his chin in slippery streams, dripping into the tub. Eddie growled into your cunt, his hand furiously working his dick under the water, a second climax overtaking him as he swallowed your release. Thick ropes of semen expelled under the water, clinging to the hair on Eddie’s legs. He pulled you into the tub with him, soaking your bodies in both your cum and his, kissing you so deeply you’d swear Eddie’s tongue touched your soul.

Eddie gently rocked you in his arms, in the mix of bubbles, water and cum. His body stretched across yours and covered you like a protective shield. You felt safer than you ever had before, looking into the eyes of the man you loved more than anything, the man you would do anything for…

…even if that meant doing Jim Hopper, to keep Eddie safe. There he was, that horrible, cruel bastard, forcing his way into your mind again, even as you lay in Eddie’s arms. The urge to tell, at least one of your secrets, became overwhelming.

You held Eddie’s cheek and gently stroked his hair, your words barely above a whisper as you told him: “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes lit happily, the corners of his lips turning up into a grin. “I love you, (y/n),” Eddie said.

And that, you realized, was all the assurance you needed that no matter what happened from here on, things were going to be alright… 🖤

[munson-blurbs]

Joker!Eddie Munson x Harley Quinn!Reader

Summary: You're a psychologist who has always done the right thing. Enter Eddie Munson, mandated to attend court-ordered counseling sessions, who has a devilish side you can't resist.

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: dark fic, loosely based on Joker and Harley's story, mention of drug dealing, mention of parental abandonment and death, murder, ex!Jason Carver/Harvey Dent, arson, power imbalance, allusions to smut

A/N: Before y'all say anything, I know that Joker and Harley have a toxic relationship. Eddie and Reader bring out the worst in each other, but this is *clears throat* FANFIC! So long live these fake toxic relationships. And big thank you to @corroded-hellfire for her help with the lore. Happy Halloween!

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie Munson didn’t sit down once for the entire duration of his first session. 

Most of your clients opted for the couch. The more nervous ones sitting so close to the worn cushion’s edge that they nearly fell off, while the more experienced ones practically lounged as they recounted whatever horrors had occurred since their last session. 

Eddie paced back and forth, his Reeboks wearing a hole in the mildewed carpet, only pausing when he needed to light a cigarette. 

“I mean, this is bullshit.” He took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Twenty fuckin’ years, I get shoved to the side, and now they think some shrink is gonna fix all my problems?”

‘They’ most likely referred to Chief Hopper, who had been the one to recommend Eddie receive court-mandated therapy instead of serving time in jail for possession with intent to distribute. The police chief had become soft ever since adopting that teenage daughter, which was probably why Eddie was in your dingy office rather than behind bars. 

Your gaze flicked over the tattoos on his arms, visible where he’d cut his shirt sleeves, and looked him in the eyes. “Have you been to therapy before, Eddie?”

He threw his head back and laughed so violently that you dropped your pen. Before you could reach for it, Eddie picked it up and placed it in your lap, his fingertips grazing the hem of your skirt. 

“After my dad got locked up for, oh, I dunno, the tenth time?” Eddie shook his head and laughed again, though this one was quieter. “My uncle took me to talk to some shrink. Turns out that my old man had actually stolen the guy’s car. Small fuckin’ world, huh?” He scratched at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, he told us never to come back. So we didn’t.”

Your heart broke for the child he once was, rejected by a therapist while coping with his father’s incarceration. “Where was your mother?” You asked softly. 

Eddie flicked some ash into the ashtray. “She’d been dead for a while at that point.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” His face lit up, smiling too hard to properly take another drag of his cigarette. “At least she didn’t have to deal with any of this shit. All she had to do was be worm food.”

The visual made your stomach turn, but Eddie was grinning. 

“Aww, c’mon, Sweetheart” he pouted jokingly, snuffing out his cigarette. “You gotta appreciate some dark humor once in a while.”

The nickname would have earned any other man a stern look, maybe even a warning for dismissal, but it felt so right coming from Eddie. 

“Do you use humor to cope?” 

He twisted a skull ring around his finger and walked over to where you sat before crouching down in front of you. 

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.” One hand found your knee, his nail catching on a run in your black tights. Eddie peered up at you, lips twisting into an unsettling smile. “But I’m not dealing because I’m sad or trying to fill a void left behind by my parents. I’m doing it to survive in this shithole.”

He rose then and resumed his pacing while he ranted. “We can sit here all goddamn day and talk about my daddy issues, or my mommy issues, or how the system failed poor Eddie Munson over and over and over. And maybe I’ll leave here feeling slightly less shitty about myself. But you know what that won’t do?” He didn’t wait for your response. “It won’t put food on the table or keep the lights on. It won’t stop the bank from taking my trailer. Greedy bastards.”

Only when you remained silent did Eddie glance over at you with his wide brown eyes, as though he’d just remembered his speech had an audience. “You can put all that in your notes. Show it to Chief Hopper, to the judge; I don’t care.”

You closed the marble notebook perched in your lap and capped your pen. “I’m not trying to fix you, Eddie,” you said. “I just want to know you.”

“No, you don’t.” Eddie huffed out a chuckle. “You wanna get inside my brain. You can’t help it. I’m an interesting guy.”

He was. You’d always been interested in understanding people; how they thought and how it affected their behaviors. It was why you chose a career in psychology. But Eddie had something beyond that—a magnetic pull that drew you in, no matter how many times you silently reminded yourself to maintain those professional boundaries. 

For the remaining twenty minutes of your session, you dug for as much information about Eddie as you could get. He played guitar, took six years to graduate high school because of an algebra teacher who was determined to flunk him, and kept a notebook of his own to plan Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.

If you didn’t have another client immediately after him, you would have let him keep talking. You clung to every word like a lifeline, noting the little mannerisms peppered into his personality. 

Eddie spoke with his hands and ran his fingers through his knotted curls when he was particularly agitated or passionate about a topic. His nose scrunched when he asked questions that required your approval. He’d lick his lips every so often, and his tongue poked out of his mouth when he was concentrating. Every movement was intoxicating.

Your next session was more of the same, though this time, Eddie actually sat down on the couch. He lit a cigarette before speaking, taking a drag and holding it out to you. 

You watched the smoke curl around his fingertips, beckoning you to accept his offer. It was wrong; sure, you could smoke during a session, but to share a cigarette with a client? You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. 

You did. 

“There ya go,” Eddie murmured under his breath, watching your chest rise with the inhale and fall with the exhale. “Sweetheart, ya gotta take the edge off once in a while. Do something that makes you smile.”

You cocked your head teasingly, holding the cigarette hostage for a moment longer. “Aren’t I supposed to be helping you?”

“We can help each other.” He plucked the cigarette from your grasp. “Watch.”

Your gaze stayed on his lips, full and slightly chapped from the bitter winter, as he inhaled deeply. He crooked a finger, and your body moved of its own volition to the spot beside him. 

His thumb pulled at your lower lip, a question he could already answer. His mouth found yours, not in a kiss, but just to transfer the smoke he’d been holding back; tobacco mixed with a subtle hint of spearmint. 

“How do you feel now?” Eddie hadn’t moved back, and you felt every word he spoke. 

All you could do was nod, focusing every ounce of energy on going back to your chair. The distance suddenly seemed too far; any distance from Eddie seemed too far. You wanted to be in his lap, sharing the remainder of that cigarette, drawing you in closer…

Swallowing your steadily building desire, you forced yourself to ask him a question that didn’t pertain to the way he tasted. “W-What was it like moving in with your uncle?”

Eddie laughed darkly, taking in your nervousness like he knew exactly how brainless he’d made you. “My uncle, huh? All right, I’ll bite” He stretched, revealing a thin trail of hair that started at his navel and dipped below the waist of his jeans. There was a sick gleam in his eyes when he caught you staring, but he said nothing about it.

He told you about a police officer dropping him off on Wayne Munson’s doorstep in the middle of the night after his father had been arrested. 

“Just me and a trash bag full of clothes that barely fit me,” he proclaimed. “Oh, and the headlice tagging along. Ended up having to shave these gorgeous locks.” He shook his head to exaggerate his point.

“That must’ve been really traumatic for you.” You tapped your pen on your notebook absently, somewhat aware that you should be writing this information down, but not able to look away from him.

Eddie shrugged. “Not really. It grew back.”

“I meant…never mind.” You tucked your lips into your mouth to stifle a giggle.

He looked as though he wanted to say something, but your actions distracted him.

“Don’t hide your smile.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, letting you feel the gravity saturating his words. “Makes me happy when you smile.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was laughing at you.”

He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy, like he pitied you. It was a gesture you were unused to seeing from your clients. “You wouldn’t be the first, Sweetheart.” Eddie sat forward. “You might have been the first to feel bad about it, though.”

Over the following weeks, your sessions with Eddie followed the same routine. You would ask him questions and he would answer them cryptically. Shared cigarettes became more frequent as you convinced yourself it was good for building rapport.

In the early days of spring, where winter’s chill still peeked in each morning, Eddie opened the door to your office and found you crying in your chair. Most clients waited for you to get them from the waiting room, but he always let himself in.

The moment you heard the hinges creaking, you swiped at the tears dampening your cheeks. Embarrassment flooded your veins and heated you from the inside out at the thought of him seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

He was at your side in a heartbeat, reaching for the tissue box you kept on your bookshelf. “What’s wrong?” There was venom in his tone, ready to bite at a moment’s notice.

“N-Nothing,” you lied clumsily, convincing neither him nor yourself. “Just a bad day.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “Don’t fuckin’ do that, Sweetheart.” He grabbed your chin and brought your full attention with it. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Not when I’ve been honest with you.”

The story spilled out before you could think better of it: You’d woken up that morning to your ex-boyfriend banging on your front door, screaming to let you in, his slurred words informing you that he was drunk. Calling the police would be futile; he was buddies with the whole department and more than likely had them in his back pocket. All you could think to do in that moment was hide under your covers until he eventually gave up and left.

Eddie tensed, never losing his grip on you. “Did he hurt you?” His breathing quickened, fight-or-flight activated. “I swear to God, Sweetheart, if he put his hands on you–”

“No,” you hurriedly assured him. “No, he just scared me. But Jason’s never–” Your eyes widened when you said his name aloud; all at once, you realized your error.

“Jason…Carver?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “The hell were you doing with an asshole like him?” He shook his head before you could answer. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he never bothers you again.” Rage flashed in his eyes. “Just say the word, and I’ll do it.”

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?” There was no way…he wouldn’t…

He crossed his arms over his chest, obscuring the view of the devil on his shirt. “Do you remember a few years ago when Harrington Enterprises was planning to shut down the plant to build those luxury condos?”

You nodded, wondering where he was going with this. Warren Harrington had all but signed on the dotted lines, but he’d been murdered in his own home before he closed the deal. Rumor had it that his own son, Steve, had orchestrated it in order to gain control of the family fortune. An investigation came up without any suspects, and the plant remained open. 

“If they had their way, my uncle and all of his buddies would be out of a job, and then they’d lose their cars, their homes…well, you know how it goes.” Eddie smirked. “So I did what I had to do to stop that from happening.”

“You…” you lowered your voice in case anyone was listening in, “you killed Warren Harrington?”

He bristled preemptively, only relaxing when he didn’t detect any  judgment. “I’d do anything to protect the people I love.” Eddie’s palms cupped your cheeks, the calluses scratching at your skin. “I’ll kill Carver if it’ll keep you safe, Sweetheart. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Everything about this was wrong. He was threatening to commit homicide for you because he loved you. 

You needed to stop this. It had gone too far. And yet you couldn’t, not when he was pleading to let him take care of you. All of your career, all of your life, you had been expected to clean up everyone else’s messes. You were the one who fixed other people’s mistakes, who solved their problems. To lift that burden from your shoulders, to let someone else take it on…

“I love you, too, Eddie.” You reached out and took his steady hands in your trembling ones. “I love you so much.”

“Okay. Good.” Eddie sighed deeply, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. There was a flicker of amusement when he pulled back and saw the concern on your face. “C’mon, baby. You should be happy. Here.” He reached behind your chair and grabbed your bag, rummaged through it. Deft fingers uncapped your ruby red lipstick and drew a Black Dahlia smile on his lips, extending from one clean-shaven cheek to the other. “Now, close your eyes.”

You did as he asked, placing full trust in him. You expected him to draw a similar smile on you; instead, he pressed his mouth to yours, transferring some of the makeup to your face.

The words I love you kept falling from your lips, muffled only by the hungry kisses you eagerly gave and accepted. Zippers were unfastened, buttons undone, clothes strewn across your office floor. For a moment, the only sounds were the soft moans and panting breaths that punctuated the silence. It was love, and it was perfect.

It all happened so fast.

You woke up the next morning to sirens blaring down the street, a never-ending parade of noise and flashing lights. There was no way Eddie had already done something to Jason; you’d just talked about it yesterday. Killing one of Hawkins’ most beloved citizens would certainly take more than twelve hours of deliberation.

If Eddie had struck, he wouldn’t have been able to escape unnoticed. 

Black smoke billowed from one of the Loch Nora mansions, visible even in the less wealthy parts of town. You could hear your neighbors clamoring, and the consensus was that it was the Carver house that was burning to the ground.

You drove straight to the county jail, not even stopping off at work or letting them know you wouldn’t be in. The fear of being reprimanded paled in comparison to Eddie’s fate.

Flashing your government ID, you bolted through the doors and blew past the guards. Sure enough, Eddie Munson sat behind the bars of a cell, head in his beautiful hands. The same hands that had touched you just yesterday, fumbling with the tiny buttons of your blouse. The man who was larger than life during your sessions suddenly seemed so small.

“Puddin’?” 

Eddie glanced up when he heard the nickname you’d given him. “Baby, I…I didn’t kill him. I tried, but he got out. Forgot that rich people have those smoke detector things,” he added with a wry smile. It was then that you saw that his mouth was still stained with remnants of your lipstick. “But when he ran out of the house it looked like half of his face had burned off.”

Of course he’d stuck around to see the aftermath of his destruction.

“We can talk about this later. Okay?” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “We’re getting out of town. And we’re never coming back. I’m gonna tell the guards that I’m taking you out for a therapy session. Just follow my lead.”

Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet, so much so that you worried the guards might apprehend him because he wasn’t talking. Their narrowed eyes followed you and Eddie until you exited the building.

“My girl is a natural-born deceiver.” Eddie laced his fingers with yours. “So proud.”

You laughed. “If they gave us any trouble, I might’ve had to knock them out with their own clubs.” When you started towards your sedan, Eddie tugged you in the opposite direction. “My car is–”

“Forget it. Leave it here.” His eyes scanned the parking lot. “We’ll take that one.” He clocked your confusion and let out a raucous laugh. “Al Munson may have been a deadbeat, but he did teach me one thing.”

You slipped your arm around his waist. “Looks like I have a lot to learn.” 

“It’s gonna be me and you against the world, baby.” Eddie pulled you closer and whispered in your ear. “We’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

--

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter six ⭐︎ Secrets I have held in my heart

Warnings: weed consumption, mentions of death, mentions of sex, allusions to smut. this is mostly written from reader's pov, Steve's pov is only at the ending

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You step into a new territory and test the waters that Steve had already been dragged into.

Word count: 5k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult I know you're sick of me constantly saying this BUT thanks for working on this series with me hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

The lights that hang above the shelves in the living room illuminate the darkened room, casting a soft yellow glow on everything. The TV screen lights up brightly as the killer in the movie shows up dramatically again. The sound is low and no one is paying attention to the horror movie that you have all seen multiple times already. The rain paddles against the windows and the lightning crashes through the sky every few seconds or so, though no thunder has rumbled yet, making you feel relieved. The room smells like takeout and weed, dirty plates litter the coffee table but no one cares about that yet. 

A big cloud of smoke lingers in the room as Eddie and Robin pass the joint back and forth, the latter talking his ear off about the date she had gone on with Vickie the night before, while your eyes are stuck on Michael Myers on the screen, taking the joint from Eddie when he offers it to you, you place it between your lips, squinting your eyes as you take a drag and inhale it deeply. 

You can feel his eyes on you, you can feel them everywhere, on your face, on your upper body, on your bare legs, they’re burning into your skin and you’re now not as blind as you were days back when you thought that you were imagining things, that every slightest glance and touch from his were feeding you lies – that his touches were accidental and his glances meant nothing. But you were wrong, so very wrong. 

For days, your mind has been plaguing you with thoughts about him, and it’s nothing new, really, but it was different than usual. Because before the dinner at Joyce’s and Hopper’s place, he had never given you anything to overthink about, to make yourself feel delusional over. Steve had never touched you before, at least not like that. He had never placed his hand on your waist, he had never brushed his knuckles against yours, he had never looked at you the way he did that night and he certainly never commented on the clothes you wear. 

It drove you crazy, and it made you believe that he somehow figured you out, that he found out about your feelings and decided to torture you by teasing you with touches that he knew you wished had a deeper meaning. But he wouldn’t do that, especially not after your conversation weeks ago, not when he was doing everything to keep the peace. He wouldn’t do that – maybe King Steve would’ve done something like this, but not this Steve – not even when he still holds hatred for you. 

Steve teased you, not accidentally, not unintended. He did it openly, because he wanted to for whatever reason and you only realized it today, when you walked through his front door behind Eddie who held the bags of takeout, you were met with the same teasing look in Steve’s eyes you saw that night. He licked his lips and let his eyes run up and down your body so shamelessly that it almost threw you off because where was this all coming from? 

When did he go from hating your guts, from arguing every chance he got to whatever this is. 

Not only did he look at you like he was ready to flirt, he also placed his hand on your lower back when he led you into the living room earlier – and as though that wasn’t enough to make you crumble, he also leaned in to whisper ‘cute skirt, Blondie.’ 

Cute skirt!? His husky voice and those words kept repeating themselves like a broken record ever since they fell from his lips, they made you think so hard that you dissociated while eating the fries that you’ve been craving all day, missing the conversation between your friends and half of the movie that you watched before Eddie put on Halloween. Only the touch of Steve’s hand pulled you back into reality, you almost jumped from your seat when you felt his hand on your knee when he very obviously pretended to reach over you to grab the bottle of ketchup with a smirk on his face. That was evidence enough for you to realize that all his touches were intended and he did want to tease you, but not for the reason you thought. 

Why? You still don’t know. 

You’re pretty sure that he isn’t attracted to you, at least not in the way you are to him. 

But if he wants to play this game, then you certainly won’t pass up on the opportunity to tease him back a little, though testing the waters first – because you absolutely won’t make a fool of yourself in front of him. 

You have to take it slow until you’re completely sure that he is doing what you think he’s doing. 

You glance at Eddie, his eyes are rimmed with redness, a lazy smile plays on his lips, his eyes are stuck on the screen but he is so far gone in his mind, he is not paying attention to anything anymore, not Robin’s rambling, not the movie and certainly not to you and Steve. 

Robin’s hair is sprawled across the pillow, she looks up at the ceiling, the joint now back between her lips but she’s still rambling. 

They won’t notice anything. 

You take a sip of your drink, eying Steve from the side, and he is already looking at you, he is looking at you in a way that would drive your teenage self up the wall – you’d be a blushing and giddy mess thinking about it for the rest of the day, daydreaming about things that would never even happen. But you’re not a teenager anymore, his glances and touches still make you blush – but you’re not stupid and you certainly don’t daydream about things that aren’t even there. 

You still don’t know why is he looking at you that way but the little sweet voice in your head is telling you that he might have harbored a tiny little crush after seeing you in a stupid dress while the other voice is telling you that Steve Harrington wants to fuck you. These voices might belong to the ghosts of Chrissy and Billy because in no way would you ever think that Steve could ever feel anything more than hatred for you. 

How will he react if you tease him back a little? 

You don’t even have to make it obvious, you can play it off, you can play anything off. 

“Do you guys want something sweet?” Steve asks, “I got ice cream in the freezer.” 

“What else do you have?” Eddie slurs, something that makes Robin giggle.

“Uh, M&M’s, Reese’s, Sour gummies,” Steve mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks up, thinking of what else he got in his cabinet, “I got some chips too.”

Eddie looks at Steve, pointing at him with his ringed finger, “I want it all.” 

Steve snorts at him and at the dazed look on his face, “alright. I’m just gonna clean this up first,” he points to the mess on the table. 

Perfect.

“I’ll help.” 

His eyes meet yours, a slight smirk tugs at his lips, “you sure you wanna get your hands dirty, Blondie?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty,” you smirk and break eye contact, rising up from the seat and swallowing down the nervousness. 

The space between the coffee table and the couch isn’t exactly big, and it gives you the perfect opportunity to make the first little step. With an innocent look on your face, you glance at him one more time, before you turn your back to him, bending over in front of him to pick up the dirty plates. Your heart is pounding and your cheeks are already burning but you pay no mind to that. 

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, you can hear it.

Should you even be surprised? His eyes almost bulged out of his skull when your skirt rode up after you just sat down earlier, his eyes were glued on your bare thighs the whole goddamn time and you saw it and yet your heart skips a beat at his reaction just now. 

You’re aware of how short your skirt is and that all it takes is for you to bend down a slight bit more for him to see more than just your thighs, a little further down and he will be able to see your ass and your panties. 

You bite back the smirk as you stack up the dirty plates, taking your sweet time with it. You can feel his eyes on your body and it takes everything in you not to turn around to look at his face but your little plan backfires when you suddenly feel his hands on your hips and his breath on your shoulder. You freeze. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear, “it’s so tight in here.”

Blood rushes to your face and your stomach fills with butterflies. His touch and his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

This is bad. This is so very bad. 

You heard the mischief in his voice and his touch still lingers, he doesn’t need to take that long to squeeze past you. 

You don’t know what’s gotten into him or you, it might be the weed in your system or just the spur of the moment but as you pick up all the plates, you take a step back and press yourself against him, only for a one… or two seconds but long enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours, long enough to feel his hand squeezing your hip for a single second, long enough to hear him sucking in another sharp breath. 

And then, you step away from him like nothing happened, with innocence in your eyes, you look over your shoulder, “you’re right, it is really tight.” 

You see the way his lips part a little, the way his eyes darken and the way he clenches his jaw. He is angry that you are not falling for his teasing, that you are doing the same to him that he does to you. 

You walk into the kitchen and carrying the dishes over to the sink, you put them down and place your hands on the counter, taking a deep breath as you close your eyes, only now noticing how fast your heart is beating and how clammy your hands are, you give yourself a moment to calm down before you reach for the dish soap and the sponge after you turn on the water.

Flirting is nothing new to you and you’re certainly not shy about it, not anymore. 

Billy was your best friend, and if there’s something he was good at, then it was flirting and taking home girls. He taught you how to be more confident, how to embrace your sensuality and he taught you how to flirt. 

Losing your best friend took a toll on you and you couldn’t stand to be in Hawkins when every place you had gone to, reminded you of him, so you left for a little while. You spent two months in Indianapolis and stayed with your sister. You started going out, parties your sister had dragged you to, clubs and downtown bars and you had fun. For the first time in your life, you were approached by men, they flirted with you and that felt… good. You let your guard down when you were with them, you didn’t feel the need to hide yourself from them, they wouldn’t stay in your life for longer than a night, you didn’t have to fear them leaving or hurting you, there was no attachment, no connection or anything deeper between you than lust, you could be yourself in those few hours you spend with them. 

They made you feel something other than grief, sadness and heartbreak. They were nothing but strangers to you but you felt something in those nights you spent in their beds, their touches brought you back to life… even if only temporarily. 

You are used to flirting, you are used to teasing, it’s an easy game to you… with strangers. But Steve Harrington? He makes you nervous, he makes your heart race like crazy, he burns you with only his glances, and his touches make you feel like you have been kissed by something out of this world. He is different, he is no meaningless man in your life, he is not someone you would kick out of your bed after taking from him what you wanted, he is not someone you could easily leave behind and never look back to again. No, Steve holds your heart in the palm of his hand, he left a tear in your soul, he is the someone you would do anything for and that changes everything. You can’t treat him like you treated them because he is special, every little interaction with him, sets your heart on fire. 

“Jesus, Blondie!” Steve’s voice sounds through the kitchen, making you flinch in surprise, “use less dish soap, one drop is enough!” 

With furrowed brows you look down at all the foam in the sink. It’s not even bad. 

You turn around, glaring at the man and the tone in his voice. 

He shakes his head at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he walks towards you. 

“Are you washing the dishes or me!?” You growl at him, ignoring the tension that still lingers between the two of you. 

Steve chuckles as he stops beside you, raising his hands up in surrender, “you didn’t have to do it, don’t blame it on me.”

You turn back to the plate you were washing, scraping the sponge against it harshly as you try not to look at him, which turns out to be just another challenge – he inches closer to you, breathing down your neck and staring at you. You throw the sponge down and reach for the lever, not noticing the way his eyes widen a little or how he reaches his hand out. 

“Wait careful with t–” he gets cut off by the water that starts streaming from the broken lever. 

“Fuck!” You curse loudly, followed by a gasp when the cold water sprinkles all over your neck and your chest, you throw the plate into the sink and reach for the lever again but Steve grabs your hand, not letting you turn it off the way you want to, he is trying to move to it into a different direction, it only confuses you even more and his touch doesn’t help either.

“Hold still!” Steve snaps at you. 

Your whole chest is already wet from all the water you have been hit with and his angry voice irritates you. 

“Why don’t you get drenched huh!?” 

With a loud sigh, he lets go and you almost start raging. You lean forward, grabbing the lever with both hands when you suddenly feel him behind you, his chest against your back, his whole body pressed against yours as he reaches his arms around you, placing his both hands on top of yours, the water now getting all over the both of you as his now wet fingers handle the broken lever. 

You hear his groan as the water hits him in the face when he leans over your shoulder and he grips your hand tighter. 

And then, the water stops sprinkling and the only sound that continues to fill the room is the rain that still rolls down the windows and your heavy breathing. 

Your chest is rising up and down heavily and so is his, you can feel it against your back, and you can feel his breath on your neck and your shoulder, and you now feel it all by tenfold, thanks to your wet skin, it sends chills all over. You can still feel his hands on top of yours, his much bigger hands that cover yours fully. Your eyes are glued on them and the way their fingers trace your own for a very short moment. 

Your heart is beating so wildly in your chest that you fear that he might hear it. 

You can feel the water dripping down your shoulder, not the one from your hair but the water from his face. 

Despite the nervousness in your chest, you slowly pull your hands away and turn around to face him, only for a gasp threatening to fall from your lips when you notice how close he actually is, how close he had never been before, not even in Joyce’s kitchen, last week. Your chest is almost pressed against his, his face only inches away, lips so close that you can feel his breath on yours. You’re surprised when he doesn’t move his hands away, letting them fall on the counter and your sides. 

His hazel eyes stare into yours so intensely that it almost knocks the breath out of you, the look in them making you feel hot all over your body that you don’t even feel the cold water seeping through your white shirt any longer. 

Strands of his hair hang in front of his eyes, water dripping from them and rolling down his cheek, your eyes follow the drops that lead to his lips, making you gulp when you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him or even just to touch his lips with your fingers – you dig your nails into your wet palms.

You don’t even notice how Steve grips the edges of the counter so tightly to the point that his knuckles turn white, but you notice the way his eyes move down to your chest and to your now see-through shirt, the lacy black bra being on full display now… almost. 

You are both breathing heavily, still, whether it’s because of the shock or something else now – you feel the tension, it’s so heavy, heavier than before and it’s making your insides churn in a way that weakens you. 

Neither of you say anything, you are too busy staring at each other, you are too busy wanting him more and more. 

This is not enough. 

How could this ever be enough? 

You have always wanted this, to be this close, to feel his touch, to find out what it’s like to kiss him, to feel him. 

This isn’t fair… This isn’t fair to you. Because this is only making things so much harder for you.

You know you have to snap out of it, even when he makes no move to pull away, to stop staring, to let go of the counter and step away from your body. 

You have to snap out of it or else you will do something that you will regret for the rest of your life. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, you ignore the beating of your heart, you ignore the shakiness in your hands and you blink as you tilt your head up, looking back into his eyes again.

“Lego head,” you whisper shakily, “the water stopped.”

He snaps out of his stupor, blinking and clearing his throat as he averts his gaze. 

He steps away and you make a move to escape this, to escape him but neither of you have noticed just how messy the situation has actually gotten – the water didn’t just sprinkle all over the both of you, it soaked the ground beneath your feet, making the tiles slippery enough for you to lose control and almost take the fall. Almost. 

A gasp tears from your lips when Steve’s hand grabs at your waist and the other reaches for the counter behind you again. Out of instinct, you lift your hand and grab his arm to hold onto him, steadying him as well as he slipped too. He lets go of your waist, gripping the counter with both hands just like he did seconds ago, caging you in completely. He isn’t only close anymore, he is pressed against you completely – his chest flush against yours, his nose bumping into yours causing you to let out another soft gasp. 

And then, you both freeze again. 

You blink. He blinks. Neither of you make a move. 

He looks down at your lips, causing your heart to skip so strongly that you feel it in your whole chest and even your throat. 

“Shit, Blondie.” 

His voice is so low and deep that it makes you shudder, your blood rushing to more than just your face now. 

“I didn’t know you were such a clutz,” he murmurs, shakily as his eyes get stuck on your chest again. 

He is nervous, just like you are, you can tell by the sound of his voice. 

You stare at him, struggling to find your words.

How can you when he looks at you that way? 

As you stand there, caged in by his strong arms, staring up at the man that is much taller and bigger than you, something that makes him all the more attractive, you feel yourself not only longing for his heart but also his body… on top of yours. His much bigger hands on your bare body, his lips on your skin, him inside of you… You are fucked. You are so utterly and completely fucked. 

Steve Harrington could do anything with you, and he is not even aware of the powers he holds over you. 

Footsteps echo through the hallway, causing yours and his eyes to widen and he quickly pulls away from you, careful not to slip again. You pull your hands back, now holding onto the counter yourself. 

Eddie and Robin come rushing into the room just as Steve steps far enough away from you. 

They both halt in their tracks, gasping at the sight of the two of you all soaked from the water. They stare with wide eyes before they turn to look at each other, holding back only for two seconds before they burst into laughter. 

You’re not sure if the sight is really that funny or if they’re just high enough to laugh about anything. 

Eddie bends over, holding his stomach as he continues laughing while pointing between the two of you, Robin holding onto his shoulder as her giggles sound through the kitchen. 

You press your lips together and clench your jaw as you look over at Steve, who nods at the both of them with an annoyed look on his face. 

“What the hell happened!?” Eddie asks through his laughter. 

His voice snaps you out from the daze you were just in… and thank god. 

With a glare, you keep your eyes on Steve, “this fucker didn’t tell me that his sink was jammed and that a little bit of a force can break the lever.”

Steve groans, though not looking at you, he wipes his face as he steps away, “right, blame it on me for your sudden force.” 

He walks out of the kitchen, brushing past Eddie and Robin who stop laughing when he gives them a deadly glare, the one you’re throwing at his back as he leaves to go upstairs, probably to get changed while you stand there with your soaked shirt. 

You carefully step away from the puddle of water in front of you, making your way over to the kitchen island to grab some of the napkins. You dry your face off first, not even bothering with your shirt. 

Despite their amused faces, your friends walk over to you, wanting to help. 

“Damn,” Eddie mumbles as he grabs a napkin, he gives you a smirk, “who got you this wet, Sweetheart?” 

You raise your head up, glaring at your best friend who starts chuckling again. 

“This is porn material right there,” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at you as he points at your white shirt, but he is not even looking, even though your bra is very visible through the material now – what a gentleman. 

Robin chuckles, “should’ve kept the bra off, babe.” 

Your jaw drops as you stare at them with a stunned expression on your face, “pervs!” 

Robin keeps on chuckling as she walks over the cabinets, searching for clean kitchen towels. Eddie steps closer to you, patting your face dry with the napkins, which only makes you giggle when his brows knit together in concentration. 

Eddie’s eyes flash with amusement as he keeps pressing the napkin against your cheek, shaking his head at your laughter. 

“What’s so funny, smiley?” 

You snort at the nickname, and open your mouth to reply when Steve walks back into the room, his face now dry, hair still wet but no longer dripping. He’s wearing a different shirt now and he holds towels and a sweater in his hands, halting in his tracks, he looks between you and Eddie – his eyes flash with something that you can’t read, his face hardens and he clenches his jaw, you don’t know why but the expression causes your laughter to die down.

“Here,” Steve mumbles, tearing his gaze away from the both of you, he looks at the ground as he makes his way over to you, “those napkins won’t do much.” 

He hands you the towels and then his sweater. 

“And take your shirt off, Blondie,” he orders, “you can wear my sweater.” 

Your chest warms at his words and your heart flutters, and it only makes you feel irritated – this means nothing, this isn’t special, you aren’t special. He’d give his sweater to anyone under these circumstances. 

“Thanks,” you mumble as you put the sweater on the counter, using the soft white towel to dry yourself off first. 

Eddie steps away from you, throwing the napkin into the trash before he makes his way over to Steve’s snack drawer, completely ignoring the puddle of water. 

“Dude, you could clean this up,” Robin mumbles, pointing at the mess on the floor. 

Eddie scrunches his nose up, “why don’t you clean it up?” 

Steve rolls his eyes at them, “I got this, I’ll clean it up.” 

Eddie starts rummaging through the drawer, picking out snacks as Robin turns around to look at you, and at Steve who stares at you with his hands on his hips. 

The shirt sticks to your body uncomfortably, goosebumps litter your skin from the cold water that seeps through the thin material, you want it off immediately. 

You take the sweater, still holding the towel close against your chest, you look up at Steve, “I’m gonna go change…” 

He nods, “yeah, you can uh… use the bathroom downstairs or mine, whatever you want.” 

You ignore the burning in your cheeks, the pounding in your heart as you brush past him and leave the kitchen, making your way into the bathroom. Your friend’s chatter fades away as you close the door behind you, locking it, a shaky sigh falls from your lips as you press your back against it. You close your eyes, giving yourself a moment to just breathe. 

What the hell just happened? 

With shaky legs, you walk towards the sink, dropping the towel and the sweater on the counter before you finally take a look in the mirror, only to gasp when you see just how much you can actually see through your shirt. You grow flustered knowing that Steve could see you like this. 

You groan in embarrassment, reaching for the hem of your shirt, you peel it off your body, replacing it with his sweater – something that fills you with warmth the moment the soft material touches your skin, your heart skips a beat when you look back at your reflection, taking in the sight of his sweater on your body.

You swallow the lump in your throat, distracting yourself by fixing your hair – you won’t let your mind go there, you won’t let yourself think too deeply about anything. This is just a sweater. And yet, your heart won’t stop racing and you can’t deny how such a small thing can make you feel so… comforted. 

When you return into the kitchen, you find it empty, the water puddle on the floor already gone but the dirty plates are still in the sink – you surely won’t risk getting wet again. You turn around and make your way over into the living room, where Eddie and Robin are back in their previous positions, snacking on Doritos. 

Steve is lying on the couch with his arm behind his back, the remote in his hand as he flips through the channels. 

You tug at the sleeves of his sweater, suddenly feeling shy as you walk into the room, wearing something of his. 

You don’t look at him as you walk past him, you also don’t look at him as you sit down on the couch, all that you’re focused on is the pounding in your heart and the nervousness that you still feel after everything that happened minutes ago.

You don’t notice the way he freezes when he takes a look at you, the way he stops flipping through the channels, the way his cheeks flush red when he looks at the sweater on your body – he knows that the only thing underneath the blue sweater of his, is a black, lacy bra and it makes him feel… flustered.

He sees the way you tug at the hem of his sweater when it rides up, pulling your short skirt along, he sees the way you bite down on your lip, he sees the way you glance at him nervously and suddenly Steve feels his blood rushing south. 

He swore to himself that he would never do what he did last week, and he really tried to resist you.

But how can he? 

How can he resist when you so clearly are doing it too now? 

Or is he reading the signs wrong? 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @maroon-cardigan @munson-mjstan @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary: you've just been dragged to the middle of nowhere, aka hawkins, indiana, with your pos father where the cicadas are loud and the neighbors are louder. after moving into your new trailer home that’s seen better days—probably in another lifetime, you somehow end up under chief hopper's care, hawkins' grumpiest cop. oh, and did i mention you found a creepy portal in the woods? how much weirder can this town get?

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: brief mention of an argument between pos father and daughter, brief mention of foster care, cursing, otherwise none

word count: 4k

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𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑

The dusty road stretched ahead, flanked by rows of weather-beaten trailers that seemed to sag under the weight of years gone by. The summer sun beat down mercilessly, casting harsh shadows across the barren landscape. Clothing lines hung in front of trailers, with clothes flopping around in the breeze. A battered pickup truck rumbled to a stop among the trailers, kicking up dust clouds in its wake.

“Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

“Y/N–” 

A gruff muffled voice mumbled as music flowed from a Walkman, and a girl moved her hair out of the way of her headphones. She took them off—flicking her eyes at her father who was trying to speak to her through the noise of her music, with frustration filling his eyes. There was a sign of age and decay on his face, slightly reeking of cigarettes.

“You’ve got to stop with the damn music when I’m talking to you,” The girl’s father spat. She remained silent, looking at the details of her new home; Hawkins very own lovely trailer park. 

“Get out, let’s start unloading.” The man sighed and opened the truck door, harshly shutting it behind him.

The girl sighed, unzipping her backpack in the foot space of the passenger seat, placing her Walkman inside of it. She stepped out of the truck, eyeing her new, run-down home. Y/N watched her father who carried boxes and house keys walk toward their home, a tan and brown trailer with a mini porch leading up to the entrance. The sound of cicadas filled the background in the forest behind them, with the not-so-friendly sight of neighbors arguing on their front porch in the distance.

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

But beneath the anger and resentment, there was also a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope, perhaps, buried deep beneath the layers of disappointment. Maybe Hawkins could be a fresh start after all?

As Y/N finished unloading the last of the boxes from the truck into her room, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping over her. Her first day at Hawkins High in two weeks weighed heavily on her mind, how long would she be in Hawkins? Will she fit in enough? Will making new friends and meeting new people even be worth it?

The girl then glanced up at the trailer park's entrance sign through her room's window, the words "Forest Hills Trailer Park" taunting her with its irony. The park was far-fetched from the suburban neighborhoods she had grown accustomed to in her childhood, thanks to the money her mother had left behind that is now gone due to her father’s irresponsibility after his decline.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Y/N took cautious footsteps to her kitchen, passing the empty halls into the living room filled with moving boxes. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the small white fridge the previous tenants left behind, seeing it empty.

“No dinner tonight, birdie.” Y/N’s father spoke with a trace of alcohol lingering from his breath, calling the girl a familiar nickname—recalling the better days she shared with both her father and mother. 

“I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning,” He declared, and Y/N turned around to see him walking toward his room with a pack of beers in hand, stumbling slightly.

The girl harshly shut the fridge door, a look of resentment growing in her eyes. “You thought to bring yourself a pack of beer but didn’t think to pack any food?” She snapped, watching her father stop in his tracks. 

“You’re a fucking adult, you should think to pack your own shit.” He turned around, eyeing the girl’s frustrated figure standing at the fridge.

“I’m sixteen years old. We both know you won’t be the one going to the store tomorrow,” She hissed, growing more irritated while eyeing the pack of beers in her father’s hands. 

“Then starve, ungrateful brat.” Her father spat back, retreating to his empty and undecorated room.

Y/N sighed, hungry and defeated—treading her way out of the kitchen and back into her room. She opened the door to the dim lighting and walked toward a pile of boxes, then sat on her knees to begin unpacking. 

The first thing she pulled out of the boxes was a sketchbook with a set of colored pencils. She carefully held the sketchbook in her hands, opening it and skimming through the pages of her drawings that hundreds of hours had been spent on.

There were drawings of wildlife, landscapes, and people she would observe. One of her drawings that always stood out to her was Watson Falls from Oregon in 1982 where she previously resided before her move to Indiana.

It was one of her favorite places that her father had relocated to in his search for work, just as he had moved to Hawkins and the dozens of places before. The girl was not one to belong to a big social crowd, not wanting to get attached—knowing she and her father would pick up and move time and time again.

With a sigh, she closed her sketchbook, setting it with her colored pencils on top of other unpacked boxes. She took a deep breath and moved her hair out of her face, crawling over to her mattress in the corner of the small room, arranging the sheets and pillows she had thrown onto it amidst the unpacking. She laid down, staring at the bland ceiling, letting sleep consume her.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Y/N sat crisscrossed on the damp ground with her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she felt a sense of calm wash over her. There was a slight breeze that caressed her cheeks, with her hair flowing in the wind. 

The girl’s face was tinted with a slight pink as sweat began to trickle down her forehead due to the summer heat. The dense woods behind her trailer stretched out before her with the sounds of cicadas and other wildlife filling the thick, hot air.

With each stroke of her pencil, the girl captured the beauty of the landscape—the gnarled branches and twisted roots weaving together in a mesmerizing dance with sunlight peeking through the trees. As she worked, a strange sensation crept over her—an odd prickling at the back of her neck that sent shivers down her spine.

Glancing up from her sketchpad with an odd feeling, the girl's heart skipped a beat as she saw something glowing an orange and red hue in the darkness of the woods as the sun began to set. Overcome with curiosity, the girl hesitated for a moment before standing to investigate. With her sketchbook tucked under her arm, she ventured deeper into the forest, the dense undergrowth rustling beneath her feet with each cautious step.

As she rounded a bend in the woods trail, the girl stumbled upon a clearing bathed in an ethereal glow. In the center stood a gnarled oak tree, its branches reaching skyward like twisted fingers grasping at the heavens. She began to hesitantly reach towards the mysterious glow, her hand becoming damp as she made contact with it, the other side foggy.

With a gasp—she suddenly pulled her hand back, watching as a figure moved toward her through the other side. The figure made its way even nearer to the entrance, and the girl watched with wide eyes as its shadow covered the hue of the portal. 

Its presence was overwhelming and filled the girl with dread, not quite understanding what she was looking at. Before she could even process what was happening, a gnarly hand with long claws suddenly burst through the portal, a thick slime covering the girl’s face from the impact.

With a sudden jolt of fear, she turned and fled, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the woods as she raced back toward the safety of her trailer. She used her sleeve from her flannel to wipe the disgusting slime off of her face with terror overcoming her body. 

Even as she put distance between herself and the mysterious portal, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air—something was not right. Whatever that thing was, it did not belong here. 

No one would believe what she saw.

The girl swiftly opened her trailer door, rushed inside, and slammed the door shut behind her, catching her breath from running, putting her hand on her heart. The familiar voice of her father sent a chill down her spine as she read the clock—9:04 PM.

“Where the hell have you been, Y/N? You were supposed to be back by eight, sharp.”

The air was suddenly thick with tension. The girl stood by the front door as her eyes met her father's unsober ones. The trailer reeked of alcohol as her father's face grew more and more red with anger by the second. 

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” Y/N softly spoke, beginning to trail her way back toward the safety of her room.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Her father stumbled his way over to her, beer in hand, grabbing the girl’s arm.

“Away from you,” She coldly stated, harshly pulling her arm away from the man.

“Yeah, run away from your problems just like your mother did,” Her father spat, and the room was silent for a moment, with tension suffocating the air. Suddenly—the girl grabbed the beer bottle in her father’s hands and smashed it onto the floor, with resentment growing in her expression.

“You little shit—you think you can do that? This is how you treat me? After everything I’ve done for you!” He slurred, his voice rising, looking at the glass shards from the beer bottle that covered the floor.

“Done for me? You’ve done nothing but ruin everything!” Y/N shouted back, her voice cracking as she felt tears forming, her next words hesitating for a moment.

“Mom would be ashamed of what you’ve become.”

Her father staggered closer to her, the scent of alcohol thickening as it entered the girl's nose. “You think you can talk to me like that?” He asked, coldly.

“I’ll teach you—you little brat, some fucking respect.” He then turned around and stumbled toward the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab another beer. 

As the girl turned around to exit the situation and retreat to the safety of her room, she was suddenly met with a beer bottle struck at her from across the kitchen into the living room, barely missing the side of her face and smashing into the empty, undecorated wall in front of her next to the hall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She screamed, turning around, the feeling of betrayal flooding through her system.

“You like that, huh? You like to smash stuff? I’ll show you what it’s like!” Her father screamed back, grabbing the whole beer case from the fridge, smashing it onto the floor. The girl’s body filled up with fear, and she fought tears, helpless, watching as her father found more and more items from the kitchen to destroy.

Abruptly, he stopped everything he was doing and angrily staggered into the hallway toward the girl’s room, kicking the door open with his foot.

“No, no, what are you doing?!” Y/N followed him into her room, tears now streaming down her face, watching as he searched erratically through her messy, unpacked room, throwing things out of his way—smashing her belongings in the process. 

He seemed to have found what he was looking for, reaching for her sketchbook that was under her pillow. “Don’t!” She screamed, throwing herself toward him to try and grab her hard work carefully drawn on all the pages.

“This is what happens when you disrespect me!” He shouted throughout the trailer, opening her sketchbook and tearing it in half. The desperate girl threw a weak fist at her father’s chest, watching as anger boiled over in him. 

In a flash, her father struck her, sending the girl reeling into the wall. She began to sob, feeling the betrayal sting and bruise her face, watching as her father continued to tear up the pages she spent hundreds of hours of her time on.

Y/N and her father constantly fought, but never on this level—this was the first time he’d ever laid hands on her. Her father threw the shredded paper onto the floor and left her room. She looked around, seeing her belongings shattered from the fight. Her body trembled, and she crawled toward her destroyed hard work. 

The girl attempted to piece the pages back together, but hopelessness began to infiltrate her body. Through her tears, she noticed as the room flooded with bright flashes of blue and red lights coming from outside her window, and she squinted, spotting police vehicles.

In the other room, the girl’s father silently cursed at himself and staggered his way to the living room. The flashing red and blue lights of police cars illuminated the front yard, lighting up the darkness from the night outside. 

Y/N’s father looked out the window next to the front door, seeing the chief of police step out of his vehicle. His expression was grim as he made his way up the trailer porch, firmly knocking on the front door.

“Chief of police, Jim Hopper, open the door!” He knocked loudly, his voice commanding as he announced his presence. The door swung open, revealing Y/N’s father—Thomas, who was visibly agitated. The sight of a policeman momentarily sobered him, but the anger in his eyes remained.

“What do you want?” Thomas snarled, alcohol reeking from him, attempting to block the chief's view of the chaotic scene inside.

“There was a noise complaint, step aside,” Hopper ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Pushing past Thomas, the six-foot man entered the living room and took in the scene—the broken lamp, the smashed objects and alcohol, and a girl with tear stains standing in the hall, holding the side of her cheek.

“It’s just a small mess, my daughter over here had a meltdown, she just got a bit clumsy, I—” Thomas started with an excuse, his voice full of hidden guilt as the chief examined the scene.

“You’ve done enough,” The chief stated coldly to Thomas. “Sit down and don’t move.”

The tall-figured man, Hopper, turned his attention to the girl with his demeanor softening slightly. He took light steps toward her, asking quietly, “Can you take your hand off your face for me?” 

The girl looked behind the chief to her father for approval, but the chief intervened. “Don’t look at him, kid, look at me.”

She reluctantly moved her hand to her side, clenching her fist, not making eye contact with the authority figure as he examined the bruise forming on her cheek with tear stains covering her face.

“It’s going to be alright.” Hopper fondly spoke as he put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, before turning around and putting his attention back on the drunk. 

He pulled out his handcuffs, looking at Thomas. “Put your hands up, you’re under arrest for domestic violence. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in court.”

“What?!” Thomas slurred defensively. “Tell him, Y/N! I didn’t do that to you!” He desperately pleaded as his daughter watched him get handcuffed by the chief with tears in her eyes. The police chief took the man outside, shoving him into his partner's vehicle. 

“You didn’t even have a warrant, you can’t arrest me!” Thomas argued inside of the vehicle.

“I’m surprised you’re even sober enough to have that thought,” Hopper shook his head, slamming the door shut. “Well Chief, he technically is right, we should’ve had a warrant.” The other officer with brunette hair and glasses spoke, giving a slight shrug.

“I’ll meet you at the station,” he tells the other officer, brushing him off, beginning to make his way back to the trailer. “I’ll take care of the kid.”

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

“And then that’s when he struck you?” A police officer with dark skin questioned the girl who was in a rather fragile state, holding an ice pack to her cheek. Her eyes were on the clock—10:48 PM. 

“Y/N?” The same voice resurfaced, while another intervened.

“Give her a break," The girl looked up, seeing it was Chief Hopper who spoke.

“Go home, guys, it’s getting late. I can handle this.” The chief commanded his officers, and they agreed, packing their things to get a night's rest at home.

The chief's attention shifted to the girl sitting down. “Look, kid… you can’t stay at your house until you have an adult guardian staying with you,” he started, fondly. 

“Do you have anyone you can call? Any other family?” He gently questioned, watching as the girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She slowly shook her head with a carefully guarded expression. 

The officer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching this girl go through the foster care system—knowing all she needed was a stable environment, especially at the end of her teenage years.

“Alright,” he nodded to himself. “Your father will be going through court for custody over you for domestic violence charges. The system will place you in foster care for the time being. But I have an offer,” The chief raised his eyebrows and watched as the girl shifted her guarded expression to him, listening. 

“I can pull a few strings, and as long as you’re comfortable with it, you can stay with me, kid.”

The girl was silent, observing the chief. He had a soft and unsure expression written on his face, and his mustache covered his lips, while his chief hat hid his brunette hair. The girl's eyes were guarded but vulnerable, the man could see it.

“Thank you,” She started speaking softly, pausing. “I don’t want to go into foster care... I love my dad, but he’s… this fight was different.” She paused again, changing the subject, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t mind staying with you while this is figured out.”

"Alright then, let’s get you settled in tonight," The chief fondly smiled, reassuringly placing a hand on the girl’s tense shoulder as she nodded.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The evening settled over Hawkins, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Y/N found herself nestled comfortably in the chief of police’s trailer that was isolated in the middle of the woods.

The warmth of the crackling fireplace enveloped her as the fall season approached, offering solace and a sense of security that she hadn't felt in a long time. A new sketchbook Hopper had gifted Y/N upon hearing of her interest in art sat in her lap as she sketched the sight of the fireplace. With her pencil in hand, Y/N sat opposite Chief Hopper, the sound of the fireplace filling in the silence. 

“How are you feeling?” The man started up some conversation, glancing over at the girl. 

“Considering the circumstances, I’m alright,” She bluntly stated, observing the beer bottle in Hopper’s hands with pill bottles scattered across the coffee table in front of him, before shifting her focus back on her sketchbook.

“Good. That’s good.” The chief nodded, listening to the fire crackle throughout the trailer until Y/N, sat across from him, broke the silence. 

“You know you should stop with that stuff, being Chief of Police and all,” she suggested, giving a small shrug as her pencil glided across the page she was working on.

“That might be a good idea, huh?” Hopper remarked, giving a soft chuckle as he slowly began to realize that the kid had a point, thinking about how it might even trigger her looking back at the conditions of her father’s home, with beer bottles smashed across the house and pills scattered in the kitchen. Thinking about her father, he remembered the status of Thomas's case.

“Your father’s court date is in December… in the meantime, he legally can’t contact you.” Hopper started the difficult subject, watching as the girl continued sketching in her book. The date in the corner of the drawing read August 3rd, 1983.

“He’s been released from jail, and he has the option to fight for custody against the state in his court hearing," The man added.

“And if he doesn’t?” The girl asked quietly, attention still on her sketchbook. 

“You’ll belong to the state.” Hopper reluctantly finished, silence filling the air once again, with the girl momentarily pausing her sketching.

“Anyway, the first day of school is tomorrow… have you met anyone you’re going to school with yet?” Hopper changed the subject, in hopes to lighten the grim mood.

“I haven’t had the chance to go out and meet anyone,” She stated, quickly ending the conversation, leaving Hopper to wonder what else to talk about with the girl before bed—until he decided to just leave it.

"Alright kiddo, I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll take you to school in the morning.” Hopper stood up, retreating to his bedroom. 

“Sounds good. Thank you,” Y/N softly replied, hearing a gruff “mhm” from the man as he departed to his room. As the night grew later and the fire dwindled to embers, the girl prepared for bed, her mind buzzing with anticipation for the day ahead—her very first day at Hawkins High.

────────────────────────────────────────────

worlds apart navigation next chapter

taglist: @anqelically @cupofjoekeery @steviespookie @hailqueenconquer @just-tiredman @x-theolivia @fuckshitslover

[takahashi-labs]

" eh, don't worry about it, she's friendly! and you may have a point, but you think he'd still look good in one, right? "

".. ."

"I... well, m-maybe, but I still don't see the point—" Jazz no don't say maybe, Jazz no.

[caxde]

unlovable | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary you are Dustin’s older sister, you and Eddie used to be boyfriend and girlfriend, but haven't spoke to each other, until your little brother messes things up. (5.3k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, exes! in love, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn exes to lovers, idiots in love!!!, panic attack tw!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 

“I told you I don’t wanna hear anything more about it!” You whined once again, as he was still babbling away. 

“Oh, get over it!” He finally snapped. “It’s been more than a year!” He screamed at you, not with anger, but with resignation in his voice. 

“Don’t…” 

“I… Look… You only have to drive me there, you can go later, I’ll call you when I need to come back and I’ll make sure you don’t even cross paths with him… Please?” His eyes looked through his eyebrows, begging, needing a yes. 

“Dust…” You try to change his mind once again, knowing damn well that he had won, once again. “Okay…” As your hands rested on your side in full resignation, his went up in celebration, smiling and screaming thank you, thank you. 

How could you say no to him? It wasn’t your fault that he had grown so fond of him while you two were dating, and it’s not his fault that you broke things off… Well, you didn’t actually. How could you?

That thought crossed your mind often, how could you? or, in other words how could he? You had loved him like you never had anyone else, and he still couldn’t fight for you two to stay together. When he decided to stay quiet, and grow distant when you needed him close and by your side, it had been his choice. 

It’s not like it was your fault, or his. It’s just that sometimes, loving someone is not enough. 

And it wasn’t enough, even if it killed you, you needed space to grow, he needed his space anyway. And it was hard, knowing that your brother hung out with him regularly, crossing looks with him when he dropped Dustin off, sadness in his eyes, remorse in yours. It was hard, but it was getting bearable. 

You had agreed to be on good terms for Dustin’s sake, so that’s what you did. 

The sound of the door closing snapped you back into reality, making you sit up once again, back straighter. Your mirror propped up in front of your bed, you looked at yourself, remembering his touch anywhere the sun kissed your skin. 

You took a deep breath, and muttered to yourself okey, let’s do this then. So you did. You stood up, opened your wardrobe and thought what to wear exactly, deciding that if he had to see you, you might as well look good and take yourself out on a date later, perhaps to that new coffee shop that had opened down the street. 

Be as it may, you had dressed yourself comfortably enough to not be cold in autumn weather, and you looked at your face once more. 

Lipstick, that’s what you needed, it always made you feel good on days you were down, and a little boost is what you needed now. 

Dustin was waiting for you downstairs, smile big and bright, with your car keys in his hand. 

“You're not driving.” You said to him, coldly, almost mocking him. 

“Yeah, I know. Soon enough though!” He screamed back cheerfully. You nodded in response as you unlocked the car. 

You didn’t have to ask him where to, you had memorized long ago how to get to his home, even some shortcuts, for when you were a little bit tipsy and didn’t want Hopper to stop you and give you the talk. You smiled at the thought of that, and Dustin seemed to notice, as your right hand left the wheel for just a second to mess with your hair a bit, leaving your face free of cover. 

The sun was setting once you parked your car, and the sky shined bright with a beautiful sunset, soft oranges mixing with pink clouds. You had to step out and take a good look at it. 

Dustin opened your door for you, he always did, with a big smile he waited for your shy thank you, which you gave accompanied by a little ruffle of his hair. He nudged you with his head, making you both smile as you looked up. 

“Hey, thanks for bringing me here.” He said, you could tell that he was being extremely honest. 

“Anything for you, kid.” You replayed back, your hands fidgeting with an unlit cigarette. “When do I pick you up?” You asked him, your head lowering to look at him. 

“I can bring him back.” Eddie’s voice had appeared, and with it, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. 

“Hi” You muttered shyly, as you spun around to look at him. 

His hair was as wild as ever, shade so dark it contrasted with his pale skin. Old Iron Maiden shirt with holes in the neck laid perfectly on top of his chest, hugging him in all the right places. Your eyes looked down, checking him out. His jeans still hugged his thighs just as good as you remember. But what you didn’t notice was that he was doing the exact same thing. 

He had to take a moment to look at you, the whole you. Your legs crossed over one another, accentuating even more your figure, your arms across your chest, making it a center of his attention, worsened by the fact that your breath had sped up, and your breathing made you move your chest up and down fast. Your exposed neck had made him remember how much he enjoyed biting you, so he ended up biting his own lip when his eyes met yours. 

It was the first time you were talking. And so much time had passed. 

“Hi” He said back, softly, a smile forming in his lips. 

Dustin excused himself to get inside, clumsy, and admiring the fact that you two were actually talking again, he was mesmerized and he obviously spied on you two from the crack of Eddie’s entrance door. 

His hand reached in his pocket, lighter coming out, he offered it to you. So you nod as you let your cigarette linger in between your lips, feeling the warmth of the flame as you are at a loss for words. 

Not too sure what to say, or do. 

“You don’t have to bring him back, I can come and get him…” You say, as your eyes leave the floor and look back up at him, nodding at Dustin’s way. He shrugs in response. 

“I don’t mind. And I know you don’t like driving at night.” He answers, with his hands buried in his back pockets. 

And maybe it’s the fact that he remembered such a stupid detail, but a soft smile forms on your lips. 

“Okay then, thanks.” You answer back. Looking at how much you had left to smoke, knowing that once you finish, so did this conversation. He seemed to understand as much. 

“Henderson?” He begged, his eyebrows raised as he looked deep into your eyes. 

“Munson?” You answer back, cooly, calmly. Smoke escaping from your lips. 

“It really is good to see you.” He admits, smug in his face. 

You smile in response, a short nod to him as you inhale again, speaking to him as smoke comes out and he’s lost in you again. 

“Yeah, it is.” You smile in response. “I’m a sight to be seen.” You mock, as you make you both chuckle softly, a distance still visible between both of you. 

“You've been taking care of yourself?” He asks, a bit of worry could be heard. 

“Yeah, I always am, Munson.” You take your final drag as you smile at him, closing your eyes so smoke won’t get inside of them. 

“Continue to do so then. You look good.” He whispers the last part, but you always had a good ear, so you nod as you smile and open the door to your car. 

“Yeah, so do you.” You say as the engine starts to roar. 

-

“So… You just talked?” Steve laid on your couch, Red-vine in his mouth, pulling it to pieces with his teeth. 

“Small talk.” You said, no thoughts behind your eyes, you walked up to him “Move” You told him as you signaled moving your hand side to side. His legs reached the floor. 

“Ouch.” He said in response, giving you some of the candy. “Small talk… That hurt?” He asked, eyebrow raised, eyes meeting your calm gaze. 

“Not as much as I thought it might.” You admit to him. Your head is finally resting on the couch. Eyes closed as you remember him, and his stupid smile. “Fucker told me “it was good to see me” and that “I looked good.” “ You explain to Steve as you air-quote your way through. The sweet taste of the Red-Vines hitting your tongue. 

“Shit.” He said in response. You felt him standing up. “Wanna talk about it?” You opened your eyes, seeing him reach over to the water. 

“Noisy.” You tease as you accept the cup. “Not really” You add as an answer to his question. 

“O-kay” He said, extending the first syllable. Giving you his blanket as he pulled another one from his side. “So, what’s it gonna be today?” 

“Labyrinth?” 

“I’m not feeding into your Bowie obsession.”

“M’kay. Goonies?” 

“Don’t wanna babysit now.”

“Rude. Okay. You choose then, I don’t wanna think.” You finally let out, the heels of your hands covering your eyes in frustration. 

A beat. Steve could be heard messing around the VCR, his jeans ruffling as he moved, until his body laid beside you, his arm cuddling you into his chest, as you finally rested. 

Breakfast Club started, and you muttered a thank you. 

Steve kissed your forehead. 

Steve had always been there for you, thick and thin. Just like you were there when he had a crush on Robin, or even now, when he was falling for Nancy again. Funny enough, you both seemed to be in the same sinking boat. As you usually were. 

Your eyelids were starting to feel heavier by the minute, and you were determined to not fall asleep for once, even if you were really, truely, deeply comfortable under the warm blankets.

The movie was about to end, and your eyelids feel heavy. Still, your eyes opened wide as a noisy van parked outside, with blaring loud music as it screeched. 

“Munson?” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes while still half asleep. 

“Guess so.” You muttered, looking out the window, stretching your arms under the blanket that you were now sharing with Steve. 

Sure enough, the long haired boy popped out, helping your brother to jump out of the passenger’s seat, and for what felt for a moment, looked straight at you, a frown appearing in his face. Your eyes left him, as your mouth closed, and minted, you followed Dustin until you heard the door rattling. 

“Hey Dust.” You said, your voice raspy from falling half asleep. 

“Hey Henderson.” Steve said after you, a hand raised so he could high five. 

“Hey” He said back, tiredness coming from his voice. “Going to bed, is that okay?” He asked as he reached the first step of the stairs. 

“Yeah, of course.” You smiled at him. He nodded and started to go up. “Good night!” You screamed at him. 

“Night!” He yelled back. 

“I should go too. It’s late.” Steve said, looking at his wrist watch, you nodded in response as he tore the blanket away from your body. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You say, your voice is still raspy. Yawning as you lazily stretch. 

He offers you his hand, so he can pull you up, laughing as he does, your feet reach the cold, and you smile. You open the door, and to your surprise, Eddie is still there. 

Though you pay him no mind, your eyes meet before hugging Steve goodbye. 

“You’ll bring the tape back?” He asks, nodding to the living room, and trying to stall as he sees how nervous you are all of a sudden. 

“Yeah, drop it off before work.” You smile. 

He winks at you as he hugs you once again, and you both say goodnight. 

You’re left there, on your porch, arms crossed on your chest, looking at a speechless Eddie, who just shakes his head in shock at the image of you two together. 

“What are you-” He cuts you off, in his voice you notice, he is just as hurt as he is angry.

“You and Harrington?”

“What?” 

“Are you serious?” His face flinched as he looked deeper into your eyes, not mad, that might not be the right word, but hurt didn’t make it justice to the way he felt either. 

“Eddie, what are you doing here?” You mutter, your arms falling to your side in exhaustion, not really following the reason of his outburst. 

“I… Dustin…” 

“Yeah, Dustin. Sure.” You were growing cold now. He was doing what he usually did, burying everything that he actually needed or wanted to say, and you resorted to your all ways, though your voice growing tired, you agreed with what he was saying even if you didn’t, avoiding a major fight.

You locked eyes once again. Your arms wrapped with one another, sitting on top of your chest, looking down at him from your porch, as you bite your lower lip. His hands deep in his pockets, shoulders raised, looking up at you, his eyes glistening as he contemplated you, not really sure what he had to say. 

“Good Night then, Eddie.” You said, your voice coming out thinner than you had wished. 

“Yeah, good night…” He replayed as he stepped back, looking at you as you shutted the door and went back inside. Speechless once again. 

-

Infuriated might be a good word to describe the way you were still feeling weeks later. 

You did doubt yourself, and replayed the moment a million times over and over in your head, but everytime you did, you are left with the same thoughts. 

Why the Hell did Eddie care if you hung out with Steve?

Steve had always been your friend, and he knew that, shit, even when you used to go out with him, Steve would tag along and eventually became friends with him, Eddie even invited him to some D&D sessions he did. Eddie never had had a problem, or had been jealous, but then again, why do you care so much? You two were nothing. You had been friends. You had been lovers. Now you were just somebody you had once loved. 

And if you were honest with yourself, which you tried, you really didn’t feel like it could be spoken out loud, a fear of it being said, making all of this feeling you had materialize into something real, something you weren’t too sure you could be able to live with or act on. 

And again, being in a room getting ready with Nancy and Robin just made it all worse. 

Not because you disliked them, or didn’t enjoy their company, but because a tiny little voice inside your head was screaming to be heard, and you were only getting quieter, and quieter. 

And the fact that Robin was trying to make Nancy speak about her love life in an interest to help Steve was only driving you completely more mad. As if you had no other option but to scream. So ever so subtly you walked over the stereo and made it louder, so some of the noise could be drowned out. 

It seemed to work. 

At least it did long enough to finish getting ready. Hair was teased where it needed to be, your eyes were decorated with eyeliner and eyeshadow, and your lips, as always, were in blood red. 

You were still quiet when you got on the backseat of the car, as you looked through the window, waiting to see which house it was this weekend. Hawkins had little to choose from anyways, and teen parties were an open invitation for everyone. 

Downtown, in god-knows-who’s house, you got lost as you usually did when too many things were going on. Overwhelmed didn’t come close to explaining it. 

The music felt too loud. The people were too close to one another and to you. They were yelling too. Smoke filled the air enough so the colours were dimmed. You could hardly breath without feeling as your chest was closing. And none of your friends seemed to be there with you. 

You needed to get out. As if air was escaping your lungs, your chest felt heavier with every breath you exhaled, a shaking hand grasped your chest, and it took you a while to realize it was your own. You were disoriented, so you ran until you found a safe exit. A backdoor that nobody seemed to be close to. 

The cold air hitted you slowly, as your body collapsed on the floor, sitting down the dirty stairs. Your hands searched for your neck, scratching it as you realized, the one who you heard crying was you. The information seemed to come to you backwards. 

So maybe that’s why you don’t really register it as it happens. 

You do hear a familiar voice, soft and calm, and you feel hands wrapping your wrist, and as your eyes look at them, you see his rings. So when your head travels up to meet his eyes, a soft smiling Eddie is there, whispering something you can’t quite figure out yet. 

In this instance, the only thing that you can actually feel is his touch, the contradiction of his rough hands being so soft, the coldness of his rings tracing a pattern on the back of your hands. As soon as one of them leaves yours to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, your attention is now back at him, a soft smile on his lips as he looks deep into your eyes, you feel his fingers slowly find their way on the back of your neck as he begins to whisper. 

“Five things you can see.” He tells you slowly, softly, with no evident worry in his voice, even if he’s screaming on the inside. 

“Wh- What?” You manage to let out as your breathing is still fast and tears still come out. He just nods and gives you a reassuring smile. You nod in return as you start looking around. “The tree.” 

“That’s one.” 

“Leaf.” 

“That’s two.” 

“Trash” 

“Okay, three.” He says in between a soft chuckle. 

“My…my shoe.” 

“One more?” He begs. 

“You.” You say as you look at him. 

“Four things you can touch.” He says once again, his hand that was on your neck travelling down again to go with his left hand, holding yours tightly and softly at the same time. 

“Uh…” You try to not get stressed as you look around, and can’t seem to find anything, until you look down and see his knee touching your leg, and you begin to feel the pressure it leaves back into your body. “Your knee.” 

“Mmh.” He nods, as he bites his lower lip. “Go on.” 

“My jeans.” 

“That’s two.” 

“Your hands.” He nods as his fingers stroke your skin. “And your rings.” 

“Good.” He says reassuringly. “You’re doing great. Now, three things you can hear.” 

“The music.” You spat out, still feeling like it’s loud. 

“Yeah..”

“My voice.” He nods again as you blink slowly, regaining a sort of control of your own body, and where you were and what was going on. “And your voice.” 

“Two things you can smell? Please?” Your eyes dart back to the ground, an unfinished cigarette still burning. 

“The smoke.” You say as you point it. “And you.” You say as your head moves back to him, realizing again, how close he actually was, close enough to remember the way he always smells of sandalwood because he always burns it. 

He smiles at you. A true smile, one that lets you know he remembers how you always complained about his room being too smoky because of his fixation with incense, and how you always begged him to open the window just three inches. 

“One thing you can taste.” He says now, with his voice sounding as he always did, happy, relaxed, playful. 

“Um..” You could say what you wanted to, you wanted to say you, but didn’t dare to do so, so you just looked around, until you saw Eddie reach down on his front pocket and grab two more cigarettes as he offered it to you with a peace-making smile. “That”

“Good.” He mutters as he lights it for you, before his own. You look down as you accept it, taking in the smoke to slowly release it, your shoulders finally relaxing. You feel his arm behind your back, a familiarity in the way he rests invades you again. 

“Thank you Edds…” You say, as you look back into his maroon eyes. They shine as they look back at you. 

“Anything you need…” He says in response softly. “I didn’t know you still got them.” 

“I don’t… Well, it’s been a while since I had one.” You say as you both look at each other. Your eyes looking down at his lips involuntarily. So does he. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sorry you had to see it.” He shakes his head no. “But I’m glad you were here.” You confess, a soft smile forming in your lips before you can avoid it. A moment of true sincerity and vulnerability shared with him. 

“D’you wanna go home?” He asks, as he nudges your leg with his knee. 

“Nancy’s car so… I’ll just wait out here.” You replay as you nudge his back with your shoulder, his curly hair bouncing as you hit him playfully. 

“Nah, I’ll drive you, come on.” He said as he stood up, offering his hand to you so you could stand up. 

You know that taking it is a promise, a truce, a trip to the past in a way. 

And you don’t care, you don’t care at all. 

-

It was impressive in a way, how it stayed as it always had. It smelt the same, it was in the same neatly organized mess, even the stains seemed to be formed in the same patterns as it did when you came last time. 

It was embarrassing to have to be here, but thank god he told you to come over. And you swear you grabbed your keys, and you tried to climb the windows, but your mom had the brillant idea to actually lock them down today, and she was out of town, and you had no idea where Dustin actually was so… In the end, and as he putted, it was better if you slept in his couch than on your porch.

But it did feel weird, or funny. Seeing Wayne’s mugs again, smelling the sandalwood that came from his room, and the little bit of dust that the sofa let out every time the cushions were used or moved. 

A year had passed yet time seemed to not affect the Munson household.

“I um… I kept some of your things so…” He said as he emerged back from his room. A smile appeared on your face before you could help it. 

“You did?” You asked, looking down at what he was carrying. 

“Um, yeah, couldn’t let…” He didn’t finish the sentence, thought he didn’t have to, you couldn’t seem to let go either. In his hands, the shirt you always borrowed, some of your presumed lost underwear, and your backup toilet bag. 

“Thank you Edds…” You said for what felt like the millionth time this evening. He shook his head as he gave it to you, and headed to the kitchen. 

“You can uh, take a shower or anything you need, I’ll make you some tea yeah?” You nodded, as you saw him smile. “You still like it without milk?” He asked loudly from the kitchen as you passed through. 

“Yeah…” You tell him, and as you close the door behind you, you can’t help but whisper. “You remember.” 

And the memories keep hitting you as you let the hot water run down your body. 

Eddie brushing your hair while he sang under his breath and you followed along. You washing his hair everytime the two of you happen to share the space where you where standing, and how often he would pull you closer when you had to rinse so he would be cold -and how it always ended in moaning and laughter-. You were blushing at the memory, even when you were putting the comfy clothes back on, you remember losing the little thong, and how he threw it away across the room before going down on you. 

Hair still wet and slightly knotted, you stepped out to the living room, comfy and warm clothes on. 

“Hey Moon..” You say before you realized you called him by his old pet name you used to use. He smiles fondly at that, so your only reaction is to blush as you look back at him. “I um… I couldn’t find the hair brush…” 

“Shit yeah, it’s in my room, I’ll get it.” He says as he rushes to find it, you follow him this time, and are shocked to find that he still has a picture of the two of you on his wall. It had always been where your eyes looked first, maybe it was muscle memory at this point. But next to his Corroded Coffin sprayed-old bed sheet, close by his bed, there you were, you were kissing his cheek as he had his arm wrapped around your waist, and he was smiling at the ground. 

When Eddie looked back at you, he looked at it too and gave you a coy smile, you smiled big showing your teeth, pink invading your face, just like he had in his. 

“You still keep it?” You ask, as you point at it and look back at him, noticing how he anxiously plays with the hairbrush now. 

“I yeah… I mean… forget it.” He begins to walk back to the sofa, and he sits down, clearly embarrassed now. 

So you did what you always did, you followed him and sat next to him. And maybe it really was muscle memory for him, or just the fact that it all felt like it did before, the tension, the electricity, the care for one another, but he started brushing your hair before you could say anything else, or before he even realized what he was really was doing, but once he did, since he didn’t hear any complaints from you, he just kept going. 

“Why do you still have it, Edds?” You ask in a whisper of a voice, because honestly, it felt absurd to talk at a normal volume in such an intimate moment. 

“Why do you wanna know that, my love?” my love. It rings in your ears for a second longer. He hasn’t called you that since you left, and hearing his voice say it again, in such a warm tone, only made your skin tingle and fill with soft goosebumps, as wet hair hitted it. You had your back turned to him, and his fingers were cautious to not pull the hair in any way that would hurt you, leaving it softly once that section was brushed. 

“I just… please?” You said as you moved a bit to quickly glance at him, a soft smile appearing in his face, his brown eyes looking black since his pupils were bigger than before. 

“What do you want me to say…” 

You waited in silence, knowing that once he was finished with the last strand of hair you could turn to actually face him, to actually look him in the eyes, to for once, talk things out. 

So when you felt the coldness of your wet hair hit the shirt and the back of your neck, and his fingers playfully shaking it a bit, as he used to do it every time he did this for you, you rotated your body slowly, your leg completely touching his, you were both dangerously close to one another, though it didn’t feel like a problem, much to different, in felt good, in felt like it was natural. 

With just a little move of your head, he knew you wanted an answer, an honest one at that, so he nodded before he opened his mouth again, looking at you before doing so. His eyes stopping for a second too long on your lips, losing themselves in them for more time than it was allowed. 

“I can’t seem to let you go.” He declared, honestly, with his voice shaking. “I regret what I did, I regret not saying anything when I could, I regret not being with you. I regret not loving you as much as you truly deserved to be loved, but I could never, ever regret being with you. You have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, even if you don’t feel the same way about me I…” His eyes were glossy with held-back tears, though he was smiling as he said it all. 

Your hand grabbed his, and both of your eyes looked down for a second. Yours stayed there as you began to talk, while he had only had eyes for you. 

“I never could regret you Eddie.” You say sincerely. Your voice breaks as you feel everything come up again, trying not to actually cry. “You were… You are everything I’ve ever wanted…” You confess looking back up at him, smiling just as much as you do. “You did love me, I know that, but, by the end, I didn’t feel loved, you made me feel like I was unlovable… And that… That hurt so much.” You declare, breaking down, a few tears escaping, as you meet his sight again. 

“I’m sorry, I really am my love. But please, please…” He begged as he squeezed your hand ever so slightly. “Believe me, you are the most lovable person I know, and you deserve everything you want and need, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you… I… I wish I could, I don’t know… I just…” 

“What?” You asked as his left thumb whipped a tear out of your cheek, and you buried your face in his palm. 

“I wish I could prove it to you now.” 

It takes a moment to understand what he is actually saying. And once you do, for once in your life, you take initiative. 

Your hand leaves his touch, and travels up his arm until it reaches the back of his neck, his eyes open a bit at that, and you take that as an invitation. You move your body closer to him, so much so that you sit in his lap, pulling him closer, finally, after what felt like an eternity, you kiss him. And even if your heart is beating so fast it feels like it could escape your body, you feel how he is just has nervous as you actually are, not because he hesitates on kissing you back, but because you can actually hear his rapid heartbeat, and you can feel the way his hand grip your body, a long kiss that says I missed you. His arms wrap your waist tightly, yours grab his neck, while your body pushes his back to the couch, grinding as the kiss deepens. 

You can feel him smiling as he kisses you just as intensely as you are. And you are smiling just as big. 

You need to stop for a second, to actually get your breath back. But you don’t pull back, your forehead touching his, your nails screeching his skin in loving strokes, his fingers rubbing your back in true disbelief. 

“Don’t fuck this up again. Please.” You tell him, with your eyes still closed. 

“I won’t, I’m not losing you again.”

-

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference  <3

-

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Zues x Eury hc's that are actually cute

I'm rather fond of Zeury being a cute relationship and not nonconsensual and abusive so here's some HC's

Zeus knows Eurylochus loves the rain, so it probably rains more than once a week in Ithaca.

Eury wears two lightning strike earrings just as nod to his bf. Zeus' brain short-circuited when he first saw them.

They bicker like an old married couple (Hera is pissed but this ain't about her right now). Small things like talking about which certain theatre play is better than the other and the next thing you know it's an argument. Not too heated but still an argument. Then Eurylochus will make dinner afterwards.

Seriously, arguing is one of their past times.

Other than that, Zues loves taking Eury on magic cloud rides. Like this but with a cloud.

Zeus will usually take Eury to different places in the world just for fun. Makes the dates more exciting, right?

Eurylochus likes sleeping on Zeus chest because 1. It's big as hell and soft like a pillow and 2. he's always warm. Zeus doesn't mind one bit, why would he? He gets to see his cute mortal snoring away and muttering nonsense.

Zeus talks in his sleep and Eury finds it hilarious. Zeusy just spouts weird shit and Eurylochus silently laughs his ass off. Sometimes he likes to have a conversation with him just to see where it goes.

That's all for now but meh

Just to be clear, this is MY version of Zeus. This version isn't an asshole nor a weirdo.

@the-dimension-hopper

@2r4d1k4l I know u love zeury so here ya go

Songs that remind me of them

[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”