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jo-harrington · 8 months

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Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Prologue: Crossover

Summary: Everyone wishes that they could have an Eddie Munson in their lives. In a strange turn of events, Eddie wishes that he could meet you, his favorite character from a cult classic 80's TV series. And he's about to get his wish.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Minor Angst, Fluff, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events

Note: Hello and welcome. I'm very excited about getting to expand on this idea; it's going to be a wild ride. Please note as you head in, and as we get into further chapters...this fic is going to be a little mind-fucky and a little bit self aware. This is my love letter to and my criticism of fanfiction, but at the end of the day, we're still gonna get to fall in love with Eddie and get some kind of Happily Ever After. This is my guarantee.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

May 2022. Such a weird time.

A time of uncertainty, a time of change. A time where the world seemed like it had been torn apart and was slowly being knit back together again.

But then a switch was flipped. Something happened. An old season ended and a new one started and with that start came something new. Someone new. And suddenly, countless people began to yearn for this new person in their lives.

A new, old person. Eddie Munson.

Joy ignited. Creativity sparked. Millions of words written and read. Edits made. Art drawn. Merch bought.

So many voices crying “why isn’t he real. WHY ISN'T HE REAL.”

If there was a god, he would let them have their own Eddie Munson. And if there was a Satan, he would let them sell their souls for Eddie Munson.

That’s just not how the universe works.

At least…not this one...

October 1985. A different kind of place and time. Still weird.

But Eddie Munson was real.

Sometimes to his detriment.

And for the most part, it was alright.

He played guitar, laughed with friends, mocked bullies to protect the people like him that were considered less than. He'd overcome hardships of one sort or another for most of his life, he could keep at it for a little while longer.

It would be his day week month year sometime soon.

Wouldn't it?

But until then, he would bide his time. Hopefully, this year, he'd pass all of his classes and finally graduate. Get to flip that douchebag Higgins off and snatch up a long-awaited, and well-deserved diploma.

What made it all easier, what softened the blow...was you.

It was silly. He knew that. Ronnie used to tease him on Wednesday nights when he needed to run home because he had a "standing date with his girl."

"Your girl doesn't even know you're alive," she'd scoff as he bustled her into the van. "She isn't real."

No...no you weren't.

Why couldn't you be real.

See, for the past...however long Eddie had spent his late nights half-assing homework, planning campaigns for Hellfire, working on music, and watching a television show. His guilty pleasure, a show about the ups and downs and upside downs of living in a sleepy suburban town: Port Geneva.

A show where you were his favorite character.

And crush.

You weren't the main character--in fact, you were just the main character's quirky best friend--but you were a fan favorite, as much as he could tell. You'd only been in the background during the first season, but before long you were front and just-left-of-center. And last year, you'd even gotten a two-episode arc in the season finale as you turned the small town on its head by announcing, a month or two before graduation, that you were quitting school to follow your dream and become an artist.

And man...Eddie had been there.

He'd actually missed those episodes airing when...well, when everything happened with his father and the heist...and the house...and Paige.

He'd missed a lot of episodes that season. Missed seeing you come into your own as he tried and failed to come into his.

Thankfully Wayne--and Eddie wasn't a believer but whatever deity in charge needed to bless his Uncle Wayne--had the foresight to tape those episodes for him.

Those tapes would be cherished 'til the day he died, because they had truly gotten him through those tough days after everything.

He wished he had seen them when they aired, maybe...maybe he would have made some different decisions if he had.

Of course, Eddie had already loved you before then.

Since he had first laid eyes on you, actually.

He was sure that if you were real, you would be the one to understand him more than any of his friends. See the real him. In return, he would understand you, be there for you too.

He already had been. He'd seen you cry countless times, he'd laughed with you, celebrated your successes and mourned your failures. He'd been there for you when you crushed on that dickhead Mark, and then had your heart broken by the careless jerk.

And somewhere deep down inside of him, when he was sitting in that jail cell after he wasted his phone call on Paige and he felt the weight of the world bear down on his shoulders…he wished that you were real so he could have called you instead.

If you were real, Eddie's life would just be a little nicer.

He knew…he just knew.

Of course, in the mean time while he wished with every fiber of his being that you would walk into his life, he brought you to life in other ways. During mid-season and summer hiatuses, he would write you into his DND campaigns. His friends knew, they always called him out for it.

"Are you seriously making her an NPC man?" Dougie would scoff and throw a D20 across the table at him.

"No, what are you talking about?" he defended and threw the die right back at his friend. "This is Spiria the Bold."

"Uh huh," Jeff rolled his eyes. "Sure."

By his imagination and his pen, you became a powerful warrior, a sharp-tongued trickster, a seductive mage. You became anything he wanted you to be--most often with a companion and lover that mirrored him--and everything he knew, deep down, that you were.

And then the unthinkable happened.

September ‘84. He and Wayne were in the checkout line at K-mart. Cart stacked with new clothes and school supplies and groceries. When suddenly...there you were. Right in front of him.

Alright, not you. Per se. But your face, smiling alongside Samantha and Patrick and Scotty and Bill on the cover of the TV Guide.

On Set with the Stars of Port Geneva.

Wayne was the one to snatch the magazine from the rack and add it to their bounty, a knowing smile on his lips as he shook his head.

He knew Eddie needed a little pick-me-up.

Or a big one.

How could he have known this would be anything but one...

Eddie scoured over the pages once they got back to the trailer. He was hoping there would be a big enough picture of you that he could cut out and tape to the otherwise barren walls of his new room. And there was; you were leaning against the back of your signature pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle, arms across your chest, head tilted to the side with the signature scrunched smile you gave when you were embarrassed.

He adored you.

Before he took scissors to the page, he read the interview with your actress.

He wasn't too keen on her, even though she had your face.

The illusion that Rosemary Glass was really you had been shattered the first time he'd heard her voice on a radio interview; instead of your perfect and familiar middle-American speech...Rosemary's voice was accented.

Not to mention, she sounded pretentious.

Gross.

Still, he could look past that annoyance if he got some kind of insight to what the next season would bring for you.

Hopefully not a new love interest. His heart could only take so much.

...gives us a tour of the Patterson and Son's set, one that is forever enshrined as the setting of Patrick and Samantha's first kiss. "Oh I'm actually not fond of that scene," Rosemary confesses. "Yeah it's sweet, and the way I bring Sam in so Pat could confess his feelings but the...when I fell down? It was not scripted. And I was honestly shocked they kept that in. But fans seem to think she's clumsy now because of it. That I'm clumsy. When I just tripped over a wire. It's quite awful, really." We ask Rosemary to tell us what she'll miss most, now that the show is coming to an end...

Eddie went rigid as he read those words.

The show...coming to an end?

"What?" he exclaimed into his empty room. "No, no, no."

He carefully examined the article again, then turned back to the beginning of the feature, only to feel his heart stop in his chest.

The title of the feature was like crit hit.

The final killing blow to his already weak constitution.

One Last Summer in Port Geneva - On the Set of the Final Season

The final season was a sham.

Eddie savored every episode, though. Of course he would!

He would enjoy every last moment with you that he could get before he lost you forever. But...he hated it.

It was lazy writing--seriously what were they thinking--and a quick, cheap means to tie up all the loose ends they'd set up over the years. He could tell they tried to deliver as fulfilling a finale for the extensive cast of characters as they could. Still, he was sure he could have done better.

Samantha and Patrick got engaged after graduation. That was lame.

Bonnie finally quit the bakery to open her own cafe the next town over. Didn't anyone remember that she wanted to quit because she wanted to be a vet instead? That was the whole point of her! She didn't want to follow in her family's footsteps and she was doing just that.

And you? You took a backseat.

Instead of leaving town right after graduation--something that you had followed through reluctantly to make your parents happy even though you had just resolved to put your own happiness first for once--you stayed to help Pat plan his proposal.

Your big adventure, your big push for your dreams, were on hold again. You played second fiddle over and over until the final episode.

Eddie was grateful to have you for a little longer, but...once again annoyed that you were looked over--over and over, just like he was--when you had already proved that you were worthy of top billing.

Worthy of being the main character for once.

Still, at the beginning of the series finale, you packed your bags, cashed in your savings account, and drove out of town. The future was yours, just like it was always meant to be.

And Eddie cried.

The whole time tears streamed down his face as you said your own watery goodbyes. He might have even waved as you stuck your hand out the windshield to say goodbye to your friends as your car idled at the last stop sign. You blew a kiss to everything you knew and loved then started on your way into the unknown, car getting smaller in the distance right before the commercial break.

He held his breath for the final scene: a walk through the house where it all started and then Sam smiled her signature hopeful smile as she shut the door on the audience.

The screen faded to black for one final time and he exhaled.

"It's over," he muttered in slight disbelief, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

Port Geneva was over, and you were gone for good.

It was a strange feeling.

Heartbreak, mourning, disappointment? He couldn't really know for sure. Empty was the best way to describe it; the lack of feeling. It was infuriating. Port Geneva was just a television show, he attempted to rationalize for the nth time since he started watching. You were just a character on a tv show; how could you mourn for someone and something that wasn't even real?

You hadn't actually died. He could still see glimpses of you if he wanted, whenever Rosemary Glass' next movie came out or something.

But that wasn't you.

You were gone, for all intents and purposes, and it was a blow that hit Eddie hard.

How could he go on without you?

Devastated, he got high that night after he stewed on his grief. He day-dreamed and monologued to an empty trailer about a universe where the two of you were together, where your travels took you to Hawkins, of all places, and you fell in love with him, just like you were supposed to.

If the walls could talk, they would have a fantastic tale to tell. One with heroes and misunderstandings and love at first sight. One with a horrible, unseen foe and many pitfalls and dangers that exceeded anyone's wildest imaginations. One with a magic door that led to the happily ever that was beyond well-deserved.

Grief did wonderful and terrible things, after all.

He woke up for school the next morning with cotton mouth and a vague outline of a story that did just that: brought you to Hawkins to fall in love with him and all of the other things that seemed like nonsense once he was in a more right-minded state.

The only problem was that it was all in his English notebook. And he didn't need anyone finding that.

"Fuck," he groaned and ripped the page out. He shoved it into his bedside drawer, where it would be doomed to a crumpled and forgotten future.

Or until he needed a condom.

Which, considering how everyone had doubled down on their disgust of him, wouldn't be any time soon.

But there you stayed.

Put away, like old obsessions and childish things, to be ignored and forgotten.

At least for a little while.

Eddie tried.

He did.

He kept you and Port Geneva out of sight and mind as much as humanly possible. It was the most effort he had really put to anything tangible in the past year.

The series ended at a weird time--during the middle of the season--and some investigative journalism show took over its time slot. Barbara Walters couldn't hold a candle to you, so it wasn't difficult for him to keep himself rooted in reality on the nights where he typically indulged in his silly fantasies.

The daydreams that he had were limited to lyrics for Corroded Coffin originals and ideas for Hellfire, and nights were spent alone in the darkness of the living room, with his reflection in the television set to keep him company as he tried his best to do homework that he'd already done before.

Before he realized, though, the school year was coming to a close and he was--big shocker--on the brink of failure. It wasn't until Higgins called him into his office, again, that you made your violent resurgence into his life.

There was a tentative truce between Higgins and Eddie for a while.

Civility was a strange thing for both of them. They actively avoided one another, save for a snide jab here and there, and Eddie tried to stay out of the Principal's Office as much as he could.

That is, until Higgins was forced to tell Eddie that he needed to repeat his repeat senior year.

"Don't act like I want this at all," he sneered at Eddie who tripped over a reaction. "I'd rather have you out of these halls for good. You drop out one year, then you re-enroll and you fail another. Try to make the most of it this time Munson; I don't want to have this talk again."

Eddie grumbled the whole drive back to the trailer, and he fell onto the sofa with his head in his hands once he got in.

"Which one of the fates wrote this stupid plot for me now, as if last year wasn't enough. You can't make this stuff up sometimes."

He laid there, wallowing in his misery for hours, days, years, until it got dark enough for headlights outside to be noticeable as they shined through the window. There was a glint of a reflection that caught his eye and had him turn his head.

"TV," he sighed and reached out as though he could touch the set and stacks of tapes neatly piled below. “The cause-of and solution-to all of life’s problems.”

He contemplated his life for a few more minutes.

He could make the most of the final few weeks of the school year. He could set himself up as a willing and reliable pupil for these last few assignments and tests, even though they wouldn't mean very much.

He could do all of these things so that when he walked into the halls of Hawkins High in the fall, on his absolute last first day of school--whatever deity or powers-that-be willing, because how "getting the hell outta dodge or he would die here" turned into "two extra years in that shit hole" he could only attribute to cosmic intervention--the faculty would already know he would try his best this time.

It would show them he was serious about graduating and that he would succeed despite all odds against him. Finally.

He could do this.

Or...

He could put in one of the tapes from the stack and scrounge for loose bills left over from his last few transactions and order a pizza. Pretend like he didn't exist for a little while.

And given the choice?

Eddie Munson chose the latter.

And he continued to choose the latter throughout the summer and even into the fall.

Nights that he didn't already have plans were spent in front of the television.

They were cherished nights with you.

Aside from his VHS recordings, he found a channel that showed reruns of Port Geneva after 10pm. Two hours of small town shenanigans that might very well be found just outside of his own door--if he only went and looked--with you just there, making your appearance every so often and catching his eye.

Homework was sometimes left halfway done on the coffee table until he needed to switch out a tape, or change the channel, and he spent more time filling his heart than enriching his mind, so to speak; he knew all of this school stuff already anyways.

Third times a charm and all right?

He talked to the screen more often than not, tried to warn you against one disappointment or another. Sometimes, if he was watching one of his tapes, he'd pause right on your face and just talk to you. Mundane things, usually, like Ronnie's last phone call home or some album that got released and a song he thought you might like.

Other nights, like tonight, he got vulnerable. Moments where life seemed a little extra trying, and he'd confess his feelings to your image.

Knelt on the floor in front of the coffee table, warm light bathed his face promising comfort as he spoke, and the din of static emitted from the television set, akin to an angel's voice...beyond understanding of humans.

He'd never been one for church, but this kind of confessional was sacred enough.

An eternal bond, just you and him.

He stopped his ramblings at that thought.

It was a strange moment of clarity.

Where had that come from?

"I..." Eddie looked down at himself, a foot away from the television set, remote clenched in his hand. Then he looked at you, soul-filled eyes just beyond the glass, not looking at him, only...through him, just past him. "What am I doing?"

What was he doing? He was...he wasn't a kid anymore who could hide in his dreams; well, honestly he was always going to do that, but this was different.

One minute he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he told you about his troubles, and the next it was all back, heavier than ever, as he realized how silly this all was.

And here he was, wasting his life knelt at your altar.

It wasn't holy. It was pathetic.

You'd never answer; you weren't real.

"Why?" he asked aloud, jaw clenched. He gripped the remote tightly. "What did I do to not have...someone? Huh? What have I ever done to be alone? That I have to rely on a fucking television character to feel understood. And now I'm losing my mind talking to myself, talking to you, at midnight every night. Why am I here wishing that you're real? Why couldn't you just...be...real?"

If there was a God, he would let Eddie Munson have you. If there was a Satan, he would let Eddie sell his soul for you.

And that's how he knew neither of them existed: you didn't exist either.

Eddie hit the eject button on the VCR and was about to shut everything so he could go to bed, when there was a crash outside.

Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd gotten used to since he came to live with Wayne.

This crash, however, started a ruckus.

Someone was yelling and that stupid dog across the way started barking.

Eddie was a lot of things...but a dramatic gossip was definitely high on the list.

What else was there to do in the Midwest?

He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl full of junk on the coffee table and stepped outside, fully intent on plopping down on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.

A car crashed into the telephone pole; didn't look like there was much damage but it had run through some trashcans and might have clipped the drivers side mirror off of Mrs. Mayfield's car. The same Mrs. Mayfield who was on her own porch being held back by Max as she yelled.

"Are you kidding me? It's fucking midnight!"

"Mom! Stop!"

"The car, Max!"

Maybe there'd be a fight.

He barely got his cigarette lit when he noticed--really noticed--the offending car: a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle.

He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes, thinking it might have just been a trick of the light or something.

Or it was a coincidence.

Or a dream.

Maybe he'd had a heart attack and died in front of his television or something?

Plenty of people drove Volkswagen Beetles. He was pretty sure he'd even heard Nancy Wheeler asking her parents for one as a graduation present.

But with the same license plate number?

The same one from the show, the same one that was in the TV Guide all those months ago. The same one on the makeshift poster he had taped on the wall next to his bed, that he'd run his fingers over to "kiss" you goodbye countless times, just like he did to his guitar.

"It's just dark," he tried to convince himself, "and I'm tired, and...and..."

It was a coincidence. It was a dream.

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head like a lifeline.

It was another fan like him who just used fantasy to make their life a little better. That's all he was trying to do too, right? He could understand; hell, if this was a new neighbor, maybe he'd be able to chat with them about the show. Wouldn't that be something?

Eddie was so distracted making up endless excuses for himself that he didn't notice Mrs. Mayfield as she threw her hands up in the air with an exaggerated "I'm calling the police. He didn't hear Max holler at her mom to calm down, or see the tail lights of the Beetle turn off either.

It wasn't until the driver's side door swung open and a sneaker-covered foot crunched against the gravel that he forgot all the excuses he was conjuring.

And his heart stopped as the driver got out of the car and stood in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Because that driver was you.

Next Chapter: Alternate Universe

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#Eddie munson x reader #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #Eddie munson #stff updates

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 8 months

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The First Time I Saw You

Summary: You and your girlfriend have some fun with Eddie in his van after one of Corroded Coffins shows. (This is the prequel to my fic See You Again, it can be read as a standalone and it doesn’t really matter what order you read them in if you do want to read both.)Wk:6.5k

Warnings: M/F/F threesome, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, hand job, like one use of “sir”, a little spanking, reader is in an established queer relationship with my OC, Dom/sub dynamics, switch!eddie, sub!reader, Dom!OC, choking, spit kink, hair pulling, van sex.18+MNDI!!

A/N: Omg okay, I finally finished this. I’ve had it half done for like 5 months and today I got this random spark to get it done!! Thank you to my beloved @babygorewhore @bimbobaggins69 & @reidsbtch for beta reading this baby for me. Divider is @firefly-graphics. Moodboard.

“I’m just going to go ask him if he wants to.” Chloe has a determined look in her eyes as she looks at the metal head across the bar having an after show drink with his friends.

“Chloe! You can’t just walk up to him and ask him if he wants to fool around with us. What if he thinks we’re creepy?”

“Baby…” She grabs your face in her hands, her blue eyes are filled with soft reassurance but also authority. “He is not going to think that. If two hot babes walked up to you and just straight up asked you if you were down to fuck what would you do?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen as you imagine yourself in that scenario.

“Damn… I guess you’re right, I’d go crazy if that happened to me…” You bit your lip, your eyes glazing over as you imagined yourself and Chloe with another woman. Or even two.

“I’m always right.” Her voice snapped you out of your slight trance. “I’m going to talk to him, do you want to stay here or do you want to come with me?”

She gave you the option, knowing how nervous you can be sometimes, letting you know without saying it that she understands if you want to wait here for her.

“I feel like it would look kinda weird if I just sat over here… I’ll go with you.” You shrugged, letting her pull you up by your hand and guide you across the bar to the table where he and his friends sat.

When you approached they all stopped talking at once, surprise evident on their faces.

“Hello boys. Eddie, may we have a word?” She barely even spared his bandmates a glance as she stared directly at him.

“Uh- Yeah, totally.” His voice shook a little as he spoke, like he was nervous.

“Cool.” She smiled at him before turning on her heel and walking towards the back door of the bar where they had a small smoking area. Her hand is still in yours, pulling you behind her.

Eddie stares after you in shock for a moment, shaking his head to make sure he isn’t dreaming. He takes a deep breath before getting up from the table to follow you outside.

Chloe leans against the wall, pulling her packs of cigarettes out of her purse and lighting one. Seconds later Eddie comes walking out the door, looking a little flustered.

“Want one?” Chloe shook her pack at him with a smirk.

“Yeah, thanks.” He went to grab one but she pulled it back before he could. Taking one from the pack herself and holding it up to his lips expectantly. He obliges, taking the stick between his lips, shivering at the feeling of her soft fingers against his skin.

She pulls the lighter from her back pocket, holding it up to his cigarette to light it. When he inhales his cheeks hallow a bit and you could just barely make out a dust of pink across them. You wanted to lick his face, if you were being honest with yourself. You couldn’t stop thinking about how good he might taste, probably salty from sweating on stage, the thought made your thighs clench.

Chloe throws her arm around your shoulder, drawing you close to her side with Eddie less than a foot in front of you.

“How did you know my name?” He asked curiously, not necessarily addressing either one of you but looking between you both.

“You only yell it every time you play a show.” Chloe chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes.

“Damn. I guess you’re right. I don’t know your names though…”

“I’m Chloe… and this is my Angel of a girlfriend.” She says your name so sweetly, like you’re her grandest prize.

“I’ve uh- seen you guys around at a few shows, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself and thank you guys for always coming out. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course Eddie, I really do like your guys’ music, I remember the first show I came to a few months back I was blown away by your covers but when you played that first original song? The one with all the D&D references? I was shocked that you weren’t already famous. It was almost like it was a whole campaign worth of story packed into a few minutes.”

You spoke for the first time and Eddie almost pinched himself. You, the girl he’s been trying to find the courage to talk to for weeks are not only talking to him but you’re talking about music. His music and how you understood it. He didn’t even feel bad in that moment for trying to think of any possible way he could steal you from your girlfriend. He was pretty sure he was in love with you now.

“Wow. You really noticed that? I don’t think anyone outside of my friend group has really picked up on that, and if they have, they didn’t say anything. That’s awesome, thank you…” He was fully blushing now and he tried to hide it with a drag off his cigarette.

“She’s very observant, aren’t you baby? Especially if there’s a hot boy involved.”

Eddie stood there trying to formulate a response with eyes the size of saucers.

He looks between you and Chloe, her with a Cheshire Cat grin and you with a giggly nervous one. He was trying to wrap his mind around why you were talking to him, where you fucking with him?

“Don’t look so surprised honey, you’re hot, beautiful even.” Chloe’s voice is saccharine and dripping with lust. The compliment isn’t even directed at you and she still manages to make you feel flustered.

“Me?” He points both pointer fingers towards himself, as if there’s anyone else out there besides the three of you.

“Yeah, you. Who else?” You look at him, biting your lip to hold in a laugh.

“Oh! Well thank you… You’re uh - you’re really beautiful too, both of you.” He takes the final drag of his cigarette with shaky hands, stomping it out with his boot.

“You’re really cute when you’re nervous, did you know that?” Your girlfriend’s icy blue eyes drink Eddie in hungrily, her tongue running along her plush bottom lip.

“I have a question, well, we have a question for you.” Chloe’s boldness has always been a turn on for you, the way she sees something she wants and always gets it, drives you crazy. If it were up to you, you’d both be staring at Eddie from across the bar still. She really does complete you, in every way.

“Yeah you can uh, you can ask me anything.” His voice sounded breathless already and all you’ve done is give him a few base level compliments. You couldn’t believe you built him up to be this untouchable sex god and here he is adorably fumbling over his words.

“You wanna fool around with us? In your van maybe?” She said it like it was the most casual question in the world.

“Wha-? Do I wanna - What? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, sweetie.”

She smirked at him as she approached him, closing the distance between them.

Eddie’s eyes went wide and his breathing picked up. His heart was beating so fast he was scared you could hear it from a few feet away. Chloe brings her hand up to cup his cheek, running her thumb along his bottom lip, spreading the spit around that had collected there from him nervously licking it.

She was pleasantly surprised when he took the digit into his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and swirling his tongue.

“Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.”

•

That’s how you found yourself giggling with your girlfriend and Eddie Munson as you climbed into the back of his 1971 Chevrolet Beauville. It was surprisingly clean, which you assumed was partly due to the fact that all the gear he must normally store back here was all still inside. There were a few pillows and blankets stacked in one corner and he hastily spread them out for you.

As soon as he sat down next to you Chloe was crawling into his lap, straddling him.

“You gonna be a good boy for me? I’ll only let you play with my girl if you’re good.” She snakes both of her hands into his hair and tugs, causing him to let out a groan that went straight between your legs.

“Yeah I’ll uh - I’ll be good, promise.” He nodded the best he could with your girlfriend's hands still tangled in his hair and you felt the wetness in your panties grow as you watched him submit to her so easily.

“Good. Kiss her.” Chloe uses her grip on his hair to turn his head toward you before releasing it.

You turn your head to meet his and eagerly smash your lips together. His lips are soft and he tastes like the cigarette he just smoked and the beer he was drinking earlier but there was something else there that was just him and you wanted more. You turn your body towards him so you can throw your leg over Chloe’s and press your pussy against his thigh. Your hand comes up between them to rest on his chest and you subconsciously start to grind against him. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you immediately grant him access, the taste of him enhancing tenfold.

“Baby.” Your girlfriend’s voice causes you to break the kiss and look at her immediately, always eager to please her, always her girl good. “Why don’t you take your panties off and sit on Eddie’s lap?”

Eddie’s eyes roll back and he nearly chokes at the thought of you in his lap. You nod eagerly and Chloe slides off of him so you can switch places with her. You crawl into his lap, your wet pussy pressing directly against his hard cock causing you to let out a breathy moan.

“Hi Eddie.” You look at him almost innocently but your hips grind down on him sinfully and he wants to fucking eat you alive. But he also wants to be respectful of the dynamic you have with your girl. He wanted to be good for her, wanted to hear her say those two words again… good boy. He never thought he would be into something like that but the way Chloe looks at him and talks to him makes him want to do whatever she says.

“Hey princess, you’re so pretty.” He brings his hands up to cup your face, running his thumbs along your cheeks as he looks at you almost lovingly and it makes your head spin.

Before you have time to process his gentleness you feel Chloe’s hand wrap around your throat from behind, pulling your head back towards her.

“Now, I didn’t give you permission to kiss him, did I baby?” Her voice is almost a growl and makes you subconsciously grind down on Eddie again, causing him to throw his head back and moan.

“No - no - you didn’t. I’m sorry.” You whimpered, feeling your head starting to go fuzzy for her already.

“That’s okay, I’ll let it slide just this once, because I know you're excited. Now be a good girl for me and bend over.” She releases your neck, pushing you by your back so your chest is flush against Eddie and your ass is in the air. She lands a harsh smack on your left cheek causing you to jerk forward and yelp.

Her fingers easily sliding through your slick lips and over your already sensitive clit.

“Mmm baby girl, you’re so wet for us already, you’re practically dripping and we’ve barely even started. This slutty little pussy is just so desperate huh?” Without warning she shoves two fingers knuckle deep inside you, they slip in and she hooks her fingers, finding that spot inside you that makes you go crazy with ease.

You push back against her fingers, your bare clit rubbing against the rough material of Eddie’s jeans causing you to let out a moan that makes him feel like he’s going to bust before he even has his cock out.

“Can I kiss Eddie now, please please? I promise I’ll be sooo mmmm - so good. FUCK!” Chloe’s fingers pick up speed, your hips meeting every thrust and your clit dragging deliciously against the metal head underneath you. You feel yourself getting close already, your hips subconsciously grind back, fucking yourself harder against her fingers. You're about to tip over the edge when she pulls her fingers from you, causing you to whine at the loss.

“Don’t be greedy, baby. I’m gonna let you cum. Eventually.” Her hand comes down on your ass again and you full on moan this time, desperate for anything. “Why don’t you scoot down and suck Eddie off while I eat this pretty pussy? Bet you’d like that huh?”

“Uh huh - yes please…” you lift your head from Eddie’s chest so you can look into his big brown eyes. He’s giving you this look like he wants to eat you alive but there’s a hint of nervousness underlying there and you want to wash it away. “Would you like that Eddie? Want me to suck you off?”

“You have no fucking idea how badly I want that, sweetheart…” He bites his lip, his eyes roaming your face, tits, neck. He wants to mark you all over. He wants to bend you over and rail you into the floor of his van but he also wants to be respectful of the dynamic you have with your girlfriend. He’s never done this with two girls before and he really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the van behind you. Eddie’s eyes look like they’re literally going to pop out of his head when he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra, your bare tits now on display. He just wants to latch onto a nipple and never stop sucking.

“Take this stuff off, I wanna see you…” You tug on his jacket and battle vest, then pull on the front of his band tee. A pout set on your lips. You don’t have time to enjoy the show though because you’re being pulled by your ankles down Eddie’s body. Your bare nipples rub against the rough denim of his jeans and you moan at the feeling.Chloe tugs on you until your face level with the metal heads crotch, and then she grabs you by the hips, hiking your ass in the air. You barely have time to process her movements before she licks from your clit and up your slit, slipping her tongue between your wet folds.

“Oh fuuuuck.” You moan as you look up Eddie, his top half is now bare. He has tattoos on his chest, black ink against alabaster skin, his hair is already a slight mess, and he’s panting as he watches your girlfriend devour you from behind. Your fingers reach for his belt buckle, undoing it with ease, then you make quick work of his button and zipper. You tug on his waistband and he helps you pull his pants over his ass by lifting his hips. When his cock springs free it hits his bare stomach and you can’t hold in your gasp at the sight of him.

He’s huge. Thick and long. There’s a bead of precum dripping from his tip and he’s so hard it almost looks painful. You hold eye contact with him while you spit on your hand before taking his shaft in your now slick palm. You stroke him gently a few times before taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The moan that leaves him is one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard and you want to hear him do it again and again so you take more of him in your mouth, still using your hand to stroke what isn’t being devoured by your lips and tongue.

Chloe takes your clit in her mouth and sucks hard, her tongue flicking against the bud. You feel two of her fingers circle your entrance before she’s inserting them back inside you, pulling a loud moan from you. Eddie throws his head back at the feeling of your mouth vibrating around him. You take the rest of him in your mouth, your nose nestled against the patch of coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Oh fuck - fuck - sweetheart, oh god.” He throws his head back against the back of the driver's seat, exposing the long expanse of his neck. You want to cover him in bruises so he won’t be able to forget about you for weeks.

He glances down at you. Drool is dripping from the sides of your mouth and onto his balls and you’re looking up at him through your lashes. You aren’t moving your head but you’re swirling your tongue around his shaft and he swears If you don’t let him breathe in a second he’s going to bust down your throat. You pull off of him with a pop, much to his relief.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna - fucking cum.” Eddie watches as your eyes roll in the back of your head before your face falls forward onto his bare stomach. Your hands grab onto his sides, your nails digging into his skin deliciously. He looks up at Chloe and she’s already staring at him with a glint in her eyes. Her face is still buried in between your legs and she’s sucking on your clit like her life depends on it. She curls her fingers just right and that’s all it takes. She feels your walls tighten around her digits and a loud moan leaves your lips. You shove your hips against her face as hard as you can, chasing every last second of your high. He’s pretty sure he could cum just fucking watching this.

“Good fucking girl, that’s my good girl.” She sits up, rubbing her hand over the globes of your ass, soothing you as you come back down to earth. She leans over you and brings the fingers that were inside you to Eddie’s lips. “Open up, pretty boy.”

You raise your head just in time to watch him take her fingers into her mouth, his plush pink lips wrapping around her slender slick covered digits. He moans at the taste of you and it causes you to whimper. God they’re both so hot.

You feel her weight lift off of you and raise your head from Eddie’s stomach, looking over your shoulder at her. You watch her crawl forward and snake her fingers into Eddie’s curly mane, pulling his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. You watch the way his thick ringed fingers wrap around her plush hips through her ripped jean shorts and it makes you clench your thighs. She’s wearing too many clothes for your liking. Chloe is always first and foremost a giver, to the point that she often forgets about herself. But you never forget.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can come up behind her and rest your hands on top of Eddie’s. You push her cherry red hair to the side and place sloppy wet kisses along the column of her throat. You hear gaspy little muffled moans leaving her lips as Eddie continues to devour her mouth with his own. You snake your hands around her waist, reaching for her studded belt, you unbuckle it as your kisses start to travel down her tank top strap covered shoulder. You undo her shorts the rest of the way so you can shove your hand down the front of them, your fingers easily finding her slick lips. You gather her wetness before bringing the tips of your digits to her clit, circling it.

“Oh my god, baby girl, yes.” She throws her head back against your shoulder as you insert two fingers inside her, your palm grinding down on her clit as you thrust them inside her.

Eddie pushes her cut up band tee over her chest, revealing her also braless tits. God, you guys were going to fucking kill him. They were so nice it took him a second to do more than stare. You couldn’t blame him, your girlfriend's tits were one of your favorite parts of her. Chloe has big tits, there’s no other way to say it. They’re supple and she has great nipples and you could suck on them for hours. After a second he breaks from his trance, roughly taking them in his large hands. He pinches her already hard nipples between his fingers and it causes her to whine. One of your favorite sounds.

“Spit.” She holds her hand in front of your mouth and you oblige, letting a string of spit fall into her palm. She brings it to Eddie’s cock, immediately jerking him off hard and fast. A loud groan rips through him as he leans forward and takes one of her nipples in his mouth.

You shove her shorts down her hips and she helps you kick them off her boot covered feet. Your hand finds her center again, plunging two fingers deep inside her while your palm continues its assault on her clit. She’s still jerking Eddie off and he’s mouthing all over her tits, leaving them covered in his spit. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. You curl your fingers against her g-spot and bring your lips to suck on that spot on her neck you know drives her crazy.

“Fuck- oh my fucking goddd! Yeah, you guys are so good for me, you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” Chloe pants and her hips start to move in tandem with your hand, the hand she’s jerking Eddie off with is merely holding onto his shaft now and you can feel her walls clench around you.

“Please cum for me, I’ll be so so good for you, I just want you to cum. You’re so pretty when you cum.” You’re pathetically begging for her to fall apart for you but you don’t even care, you just want to make her feel good.

“Ohmyfuckinggod - I’m cumming!!” Her hips pick up speed and her arm shoots out behind her to grab onto your hair, pulling it while her walls spasm around your fingers. You fuck them into her until she grabs your wrist and uses it to pull your fingers from her core. Eddie reaches over to grab your hand, greedily sucking her juices from you. “I think I wanna ride you now, pretty boy. What do you say?”

“Oh god, fucking yes please.” His voice is needy and desperate and you want to bottle it up and listen to it on repeat on a rainy day.

You watch as Chloe throws her leg over his thighs so she can straddle his lap, her bare cunt making contact with his shaft. They both moan in unison at the feeling, her hips move back and forth to glide her slick lips along his cock. You watch as she raises up to her knees, she takes him in her hand and lines him up with her entrance. Chloe isn’t one to be slow, with anything really, so she immediately slams all the way down on his cock. Grinding her hips flush against him.

“Holy fucking shit, oh my god - fuck - you feel so good.” He grabs handfuls of her thick ass as she grinds down on him, her tits swaying deliciously in his face. Then she starts bouncing, hard and fast. You watch the way her pussy sucks him in over and over again, and whimper at the sight. You can see a milky ring of your girlfriend’s arousal around the base of Eddie’s cock and you find yourself wanting to lick it. But his jeans are in the way, so you make quick work of his boots, pulling them off along with his jeans.

“Shit - thank you sweetheart - ohmyfuck!” Eddie lets out a loud moan when you lean forward and lick across his balls. You take one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before repeating the action on the other side. You swirl your tongue along his sack before licking up to where him and Chloe are connected. Both their moans increase when they feel your tongue wrap around the back of Eddie’s shaft, licking at your girlfriend’s milky cum.

“Oh baby girl, fuck that feels so good.” Chloe moans when you slip your tongue inside her along Eddie’s cock, fucking it into her a few times. “Come up here though, wanna see your pretty face when I cum.”

You crawl over to her, sitting on your knees beside her. She takes your face in her hands, kissing you roughly, moaning at the taste of herself on your tongue.

“Give Eddie a kiss too baby.” She grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, using her grip to turn your face toward Eddie. He grabs your face in his hands, slamming his lips against yours. He immediately swipes his tongue against your bottom lip and you intertwine it with yours. Chloe is still riding him like her life depends on it, causing him to moan into your mouth. “You should choke her Eddie, you can be rough with her if you want, that’s okay with me.”

If that wasn’t music to his fucking ears. He’s wanted to just grab you and fucking take you this entire time, your submissive demeanor was driving him insane. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but now that he didn’t have to? Fuck. He was going to wreck you.

“You want that baby? Want me to be rough with you?” He grabs your jaw in his hand, pinching your cheeks together. The look in his eyes was different now, more feral.

“God, yes.” He takes the chance immediately, the hand on your jaw coming down to squeeze your throat just right. “I want you to use me Eddie.”

“That’s so fucking hot.” Chloe moans, picking up the pace of her thrusts on Eddie’s cock.

“I still haven’t gotten my hands on this pussy, take your skirt off for me, princess.” He groans when he feels Chloe’s pussy clench around him, releasing your throat so you can throw off your skirt and shoes. When you return to his side his fingers glide down your body, between your tits, over your mound. He slides them between your legs, gathering your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for us. I wanna make you cum.” He cups your pussy, thrusting his palm against your clit. The tips of his fingers dip into your dripping hole every few thrusts but never go fully inside you. You're so wet his hand is practically gliding against you and it’s making noises you’d be embarrassed of if you weren’t so turned on. “You want my fingers baby?”

“Uh huh - yeah please, sir.” Your eyes are wide and glassy, the name slipping out of you almost subconsciously. Eddie nearly cums at the sound. Chloe is still riding him like it’s her job, one of her hands in his hair, tugging it deliciously. Her other hand reaches out to replace Eddie’s around your throat and your eyes roll back.

“I think you can cum like this though, don’t you? I think I want the next thing inside you to be my cock.” His palm speeds up against your pussy, determined to pull an orgasm from you and Chloe both. He hopes he isn’t talking out of his ass though, because he’s honestly trying so hard not to bust his load right now.

“I think he’s right baby, I think you’re such a desperate little slut you can get off just from grinding on Eddie’s palm.” Chloe uses her grip on your throat to pull your face close to hers, her signature Cheshire grin painted across her lips.

Eddie plants his feet on the floor of the van, using his free hand to grip onto Chloe’s ass as he starts to meet her erratic thrusts. You can tell she’s getting close when her mouth falls open and her eyes roll back. Her grip on her throat tightens and she’s letting out those whiny moans that she only lets slip when she’s about to cum. You bring your hand between their bodies so you can rub circles on her clit. It only takes a few seconds before she’s tipping over the edge. Her walls clench around Eddie’s cock, her hand on your throat still cutting off your air supply in the most perfectly delicious way. Eddie’s using every ounce of strength he has not to cum right now, his hand still thrusting in tandem with your hips. He leans forward and bites into your shoulder and the feeling sends you over the edge. Your whole body tenses, your legs clamping shut on his hand and you reach out to grab onto his forearm so you don’t fall over.

“Oh fuck - I’m gonna-“ Eddie can’t hold it anymore, everything feels so good, you’re both so fucking hot he’s felt like he was going to bust since you first walked up to him in the bar. But then suddenly Chloe is pulling off of him. His cock slips from her warm walls and his release is taken with it.

“Not yet, pretty boy. Don’t you wanna fuck my girls pretty little pussy too? She’s so desperate for it. Look at her.” Chloe grabs your jaw roughly and you whimper, you still have Eddie’s hand clamped between your legs and there’s drool dripping from the side of your mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly and your lips are kiss swollen, your mascara running lightly. Eddie wanted to fucking ruin you.

“Fuck, you know I do. You want that, angel face? Want me to fuck you?” He teases your entrance with his fingers again, dipping his fingertips just barely inside before pulling his hand away entirely.

“Please.” You whimper.

“Be a good girl for us and get on your hands and knees.” Chloe squishes your cheeks together, shaking your head from side to side before releasing you from her grip. Eddie grabs one of the pillows and drops in in front of you, the sweet gesture despite the fact that you know he’s about to fucking rail the shit out of you warms your insides in a different way. You place your knees on the pillow, resting your hands on the blanket underneath you. You arch your back so your ass is in the air and you hear two seperate groans behind you.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.” Eddie growls, coming up behind you on his knees and roughly grabbing your hips in his big hands.

“Baby, come lay in front of me, I wanna taste you.” You whine, patting the space in front of you on the ground. Chloe chuckles at your neediness, coming around to lay on her back in front of you. She spreads her legs and it’s your turn to groan. She’s so wet, the moonlight shining through the dusty van windows makes it glisten. Eddie runs his cock through your folds as you lean down to place wet kisses on her inner thighs. You lay your lower half down flat so you can hook your arms around her legs. You look into her blue eyes as you spit on her pussy, sticking your tongue out to lick a stripe up her slit before swirling it around her clit.

“Fuck yes baby.” She groans, her fingers lace through your hair and tug your face closer to her so she can grind against your outstretched tongue.

Eddie pushes the head of his cock inside of you and pulls it out a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back against him and are met with a harsh smack on your ass. The metal of his rings stings in the best way and you moan into Chloe’s pussy, the vibrations sending her eyes to the back of her head.

“I was trying to take my time a little, but since you wanna be greedy about it…” He shoves his cock all the way inside you in one rough thrust. He grabs onto your ass, grinding his hips against your own while he is nestled deep inside you. The stretch felt so good, you’re so wet and needy it almost felt like your pussy was sucking him in. He pulls out slowly before slamming back into you roughly, and then he does it again, and again, and again. Each thrust nearly knocks the wind out of you, you whimper and moan against your girlfriend’s wet cunt, driving her insane.

“Oh fuuuuuck, your pussy is sucking me in baby girl. You feel so fucking good.” He picks up speed then, his hips smack against yours and your pussy is so wet you can hear his cock slipping in and out of you. It feels so fucking good you can hardly focus on eating Chloe out anymore. Your tongue is hanging from your mouth while she uses your hair as leverage to thrust against it.

“Yeah baby, keep your tongue out for me. Let us use you.” She pulls your hair harder, her hips eagerly rutting against your mouth.

One of Eddie’s hands snakes between your legs to find your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. He’s fucking you so fast and deep, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

“I’m gonna fucking - shit - I’m gonna fucking cum ohmygod.” Chloe’s thrusts against your face become erratic and you know what she needs, even in your fucked our state. You wrap your lips around her clit and suck as she continues to grind against you, it only takes a few seconds for her back to be arching off the ground, her legs clamping shut around your head. She whines as she humps against your face, riding out her high. She pushes your head off of her when it becomes too much. “Okay, fuck sensitive.”

You release her clit from your lips, pushing up on your hands again while Eddie continues to fuck you like a man possessed. He gathers your hair in his hand, turning it into a makeshift ponytail and using it to pull your back flush against his chest.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck, oh god, Eddie! You’re so deep, feels so - so good.” Eddie can tell you’re getting close by the way you’re babbling and your pussy is clenching around him. “Choke me Eddie.”

He releases the grip on your hair to grab onto your throat instead, applying the perfect amount of pressure that has your vision just the right amount of hazy. He’s still fucking you so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if the slapping of your hips was echoing through the entire parking lot.

“You guys look so fucking sexy, damn.” Chloe is propped up on her elbows now, watching as Eddie pushes you closer to the edge on his cock. She comes over to you, taking your face in her hands and kissing you passionately. She kisses down your jaw, stopping to run her tongue along Eddie’s fingers that are around your throat, she kisses all over your tits, licking and sucking your nipples. She continues her descent down your body, before leaning down to take your clit into her mouth. She swirls her tongue at the exact time that Eddie hits that perfect spot inside you and it has you seeing stars.

“I’m cumming! I’m fucking cumming!” Your body shakes in Eddie’s hold and your pussy is gripping him so tight he can’t take it anymore, cumming right along with you. He pumps into you while you both ride out your highs, filling you with his cum.

He pulls out of you slowly, holding onto your hips so you don’t fall forward.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out a deep breath, letting yourself fall onto the blanket on your back.

“Yeah. Holy shit.” Eddie chuckles as he lowers himself down beside you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, holy shit, is right. That was amazing.” Chloe beams, laying down on her side facing you. She cups your jaw in her hand, leaning down to kiss you gently. “You did so good baby, you were such a good girl for us. Was it all you dreamed of?”

“Wait!” Eddie’s head whips towards you, his eyes wide. “You dreamed about this?”

“Oh pretty boy, you have no idea how long we’ve been fantasizing about you. Her longer than me. She’s been rubbing it out to the thought of you since the first time she saw you.” Chloe chuckles and you playfully smack her arm.

“Chloe! Shut up!!!” You feel your insides warm with embarrassment.

“Honestly? That’s so fucking hot, angel face, and pretty funny too. Considering I’ve been jerking off to the thought of you too.” He gives you this goofiest lopsided smile that calms your nerves. “I honestly felt like a little bit of a creep. Especially once you started bringing Chloe around, I felt like a perverted douche thinking about you guys together.”

“Psh!! If you’re a perv then so are we! We’ve literally talked about you while we were fucking, you’re good.” You giggle.

“Yeah, well I guess we are just a bunch of pervs then.” Eddie giggles along with you and Chloe smiles. She thinks you guys are cute, really cute. She kind of wants to keep Eddie around.

“Hey pretty boy, do you think we could see you again sometime?” She smirks at him, hopeful.

“Fuck. You know I’d say yes in an instant… but I’m actually leaving next week, this was our last show before our first tour. We got signed!” Eddie never thought he would be sad about that fact, until this moment.

“Oh Eddie!! That’s so awesome!! I’m so proud of you guys! I knew you could do it!” You give him that sweet smile that melts his heart, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss you. You return it happily.

“That’s fucking dope dude, you guys deserve that shit!” Chloe raises her hand to high five him, he returns it happily before grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.

“Thanks, pretty girl.” He smirks at her, and she blushes. She tries to cover it up with a scoff and a roll of her eyes, but you saw it.

“Wanna get a celebratory breakfast with us at least? There’s a 24 hour diner around the corner.” You smile at him hopefully.

“I’d love to, my lady.” He smiles at you sweetly, and your heart melts.

The three of you spend hours at the diner, laughing and talking, getting to know each other. It’s almost bittersweet how well you all get along. It makes you wish you had spoken to him sooner. But who knows, maybe one day when Eddie Munson is rich and famous, you’ll see him again.

Tag list: @taintedcigs @nailbatanddungeon @melodymunson @sunnythespookyghost @keeksandgigz @tlclick73 @eddiesxangel @imyourdaninow @gravedigginbbydoll @take-everything-you-can

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!oc #Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie Munson one shot #eddie munson fanfic #Dolly writes

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solarmorrigan · 9 months

Note

For the angst prompt if you’re still doing it:

“Don’t listen to them. Don’t you EVER listen to them.”

Please

Hello! I'm afraid this one might not have come out quite as seriously as the others (might be channeling all my Serious Angst Energy into my ongoing fic at the moment), but hopefully it's enjoyable, anyway??

[No warnings except maybe some unkind self-directed internal dialogue from Steve]

“Y’know,” Eddie drawls, looking Steve up and down where he’s standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of the front hall, “correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look especially busy.”

Steve, caught out in a lie, clearly having been sitting around at home in his sweats when he’d specifically told Eddie that he couldn’t come over tonight because he was busy, does the only thing he can think of: he keeps lying.

“I am,” he says.

“Uh huh.” The way Eddie draws the hum of his agreement out says that he doesn’t believe Steve in the slightest. “And what, if I may ask, are you busy with, dressed in loungewear and sitting at home?”

Scrambling, Steve reaches for the first excuse that comes to mind, something he’d heard his mother say to someone over the phone years ago, when he was still a kid and she’d still made excuses to get out of social engagements and stay home with him.

“I’m washing my hair.”

Eddie bites down on a laugh so quickly and so visibly, Steve is surprised his teeth don’t go right through his lip.

“Are you?” Eddie asks, voice gone high and tight with mirth.

“Yep,” Steve answers.

“Well, damn, I don’t know why you didn’t invite me along to help,” Eddie says, grinning at Steve. “I feel like I’ve proven my skill in that arena before.”

Steve stares at Eddie, mouth working, feeling slow and useless and out of ideas. “Uh…”

With a sigh, Eddie lets his smile drop. “Look, can I come inside?”

The jig is up, so Steve just nods and steps aside to let Eddie in.

“What are you even doing here?” Steve asks as he leads the way back to the living room, where he’d been sitting on the couch and moping.

“Steve, I knew you weren’t busy tonight. You’re kind of a terrible liar,” Eddie says.

And that isn’t strictly true; Steve is a great liar – as long as he doesn’t feel guilty about it. He’s never been good at lying to people he loves.

They sit down; Steve shoves the magazines he’d been pretending he would actually be able to focus on out of the way (more proof of his pathetic attempt at a lie), and Eddie—ever blunt, ever direct—jumps right in.

“So I kind of feel like you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

Steve winces. “Not avoiding you, I’ve just been… limiting my time with you.”

Eddie looks stricken, and Steve would like to die, actually. Why did he phrase it that way?

“Did… I do something, or say something, or, like–”

“No!” Steve rushes to reassure him. “No, no, not at all, it’s nothing you did, you’re amazing, it’s not you, it’s…”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “It’s not me, it’s you?”

“I mean…” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Kind of, yeah.”

For a long moment, Eddie sits, brows furrowed, staring at Steve. Steve fights the urge to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m trying super hard to figure out what’s going on right now, but I’m kind of coming up blank,” Eddie finally admits. “Are we… Are we breaking up?”

“No!” Steve blurts again, reaching this time for Eddie’s hands, as if he can keep Eddie from realizing what a goddamn idiot he is and leaving if he just holds on tightly enough. “Shit, no, that’s – I’m completely fucking this up, that’s the opposite of what I want to happen, that’s why I’ve been limiting my time with you.”

Though Eddie’s hands have turned in Steve’s grip, automatically holding onto him, he stares at Steve as though he’s lost his mind, which is fair. “Okay,” Eddie says slowly, “I admit you have a little more experience with relationships than I do, but isn’t the point to spend as much time as possible with the person you’re dating? Because you like them?”

“It’s… Usually, I guess, yeah.” Steve shrugs, suddenly wishing maybe that he hadn’t taken Eddie’s hands, because now he can’t get away, can’t duck out from under those dark, searching eyes. He settles for staring down at their joined hands as he speaks. “It’s just – I can be… kind of a lot? I like someone and I just kind of slam my foot on the gas and don’t look back and that’s too much, I know, so I’ve been trying not to, like, overwhelm you, because I really, really don’t want you to get sick of me, and–”

“Who the hell told you that?” Eddie cuts in sharply.

Steve’s eyes snap back up, finding Eddie looking so thoroughly offended that he’s not sure what to make of it. “Told me what?”

“That you’re too much,” Eddie presses, his hands going tighter around Steve’s.

“Uh,” Steve says, uncertain of what kind of answer Eddie’s looking for. The fact that Steve goes all-in too quickly is just common knowledge; the fact that it overwhelms and annoys people is kind of a general consensus.

Eddie shakes his head. “Never mind, it doesn’t even matter. Don’t listen to them. Don’t you ever listen to them,” he says, low and intense. “You’re not going to overwhelm me, Steve. I can’t get enough of you. I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you, but the only way I’m gonna know for sure is if I get to have you around as often as possible for as long as you can stand me.”

The words, for a moment, don’t make any sense. No one has ever wanted Steve around that much; no one’s ever met him where he is in terms of hunger for companionship.

“You… want me around that often?” he asks, eyes flicking from Eddie’s face to their hands and back again.

“I want you around all the goddamn time. I want you when I wake up and when I go to sleep and when I’m having breakfast and when I’m doing shit around the house and when I’m playing a show and when I’m watching TV,” Eddie rattles off. “I’m not even exaggerating, it’s honestly kind of a problem.”

“A problem?” Steve asks, brows coming together in concern.

“It’s a problem because you’ve been limiting your time, thinking that I’m going to get tired of you.” Eddie disentangles their hands and reaches up to cup Steve’s jaw, palms soft and a little sweaty from their combined grip, but gentle—almost reverent—against his skin. “Sweetheart, I am never going to get tired of you.”

From anyone else, that would be hard to believe, but the way Eddie looks at him, dead-on and so fucking sincere, Steve can’t help but take the promise in with a hopeful flutter in his chest. He leans forward, pressing his mouth to Eddie’s, keeping the kiss chaste and slow before he pulls back to murmur, “Promise?”

“Promise,” Eddie answers immediately. “I promise, I promise, I promise.”

He tugs Steve forward after that, pushing and pulling him until he’s managed to lay out across the length of the couch and has situated Steve over him, lying on his chest like a weighted blanket. He sighs and wraps his arms around Steve, like he still wants to pull him closer.

“Perfect,” he says.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, balancing his chin Eddie’s sternum so he can smile up at him.

“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “Now I just have to figure out how to keep you this close all the time.”

“Might be kinda tough,” Steve says, fighting to keep his smile from growing to ridiculous proportions.

“Eh.” Eddie shrugs, ducking down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I’m willing to take the time to figure it out.”

And somehow, Steve thinks that might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiesteve #eddie is perfectly content to be smothered actually please and thank you #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous

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myfictionaldreams · 2 years

Text

😈Kinktober Masterlist 2022

Better late than never, am I right? Hello my dears, welcome to my first ever Kinktober and only a month late!

I hope you enjoy them as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. Warnings will be included in each fic, so please read these before proceeding.

main masterlists // AO3

Day 1: Hair pulling ~ Eddie Munson x f!reader

Day 2: Mommy kink ~ Steven Grant x f!reader

Day 3: Double penetration ~ Steve / Bucky x f!reader

Day 4: Begging ~ Frank Castle x f!reader

Day 5: Clothed sex ~ Loki x f!reader

Day 6: Menstruation ~ Bucky x f!reader

Day 7: Milking ~ James Potter x f!reader

Day 8: Fucking Machines ~ Helmut Zemo x f!reader

Day 9: Anal Sex ~ Tony Stark x f!reader

Day 10: Overstimulation ~ Lee Bodecker x f!reader

Day 11: Sensory Deprivation ~ Jake Lockley x f!reader

Day 12: Ruined Orgasm ~ Mafia! Steve Rogers x f!reader

Day 13: Fisting ~ Sirius Black x f!reader

Day 14: Orgasm Denial/Delay ~ Remus Lupin x f!reader

Day 15: Begging ~ Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Day 16: First Time ~ Steven Grant x f!reader

Day 17: Magic ~ Draco Malfoy x f!reader

Day 18: Cockwarming ~ Professor Remus Lupin x f!reader

Day 19: Dacryphilia ~ Eddie Munson x f!reader

Day 20: Breeding ~ Frank Castle x f!reader

Day 21: Praise Kink ~ Marc Spector x f!reader

Day 22: Size Difference ~ James / Sirius x f!reader

Day 23: Hate Fucking ~ Helmut Zemo x f!reader

Day 24: Choking ~ Steve / Bucky x f!reader

Day 25: Face Sitting ~ Eddie Munson x f!reader

Day 26: Somnophilia ~ Lee Bodecker x f!reader

Day 27: Keeping Quiet ~ Draco Malfoy x f!reader

Day 28: Car Sex ~ Jake Lockley x f!reader

Day 29: Aftercare ~ The marauders x f!reader

Day 30: Squirting ~ Steve Rogers x f!reader

Day 31: Voyeurism/Exhibitionist~ Remus + Sirius/James x f!reader

#kinktober #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #marauders smut #poly!marauders #james potter smut #sirius black smut #remus lupin smut #lee bodecker smut #helmut smut #hp smut #marvel smut #stranger things smut #steven grant smut #jake lockley smut #marc spector smut #draco malfoy smut #loki smut #frank castle smut

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edsbug · 3 months

Note

I just realized I don’t think I've ever requested a fic from you and I'm???? appalled???? Please forgib 🥺🖤 I'd love to see how Eddie x reader deal with a big storm coming into Hawkins; currently holed up bc of Hurricane Beryl at the moment. 🌀🌩

hii steph!! i hope you made it through the hurricane alright. thank you so much for requesting this, it was so fun to write! i hope you like it<3

thunderstruck

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader.

summary: eddie and reader prepares for a storm. (wc. 1.1k)

contains: horror films, uncle wayne makes a cameo, pure fluff.

The first rumbles of thunder rolled through Hawkins as the sky darkened, heavy clouds gathering in an ominous, bruised mass. You looked out the window of Eddie's trailer, watching the branches of the old oak tree sway in the rising wind. Eddie sat at the small kitchen table, fiddling with a string on his acoustic guitar, his usual energetic demeanor subdued by the approaching storm.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping away from the window. “Need any help with that?”

Eddie looked up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nah, just trying to get this thing to stay in tune. But thanks baby.” He set the guitar aside and reached for your hand, pulling you gently into his lap.

As you settled against him, the first drops of rain began pounding the roof of the trailer. “Looks like we're in for a big one,” you remarked.

Eddie glanced up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Perfect night for a horror movie, don't you think?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You're impossible. But yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you spent the next hour fortifying the trailer for the incoming storm. Eddie found a stack of old towels and you helped him roll them up, pressing them against the bottoms of the doors to prevent any water from seeping in. You checked the windows, making sure they were securely latched, while Eddie double-checked the flashlights and gathered some candles and matches, just in case the power went out.

As you worked, the wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the metal siding of the trailer. The sky was almost black now, flashes of lightning illuminating the landscape in brief, eerie bursts.

You and Eddie settled on the worn-out couch, a stack of VHS tapes and snacks spread out on the coffee table in front of you. The opening credits of Nightmare on Elm Street had just started when the phone rang. Eddie jumped up, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his haste to answer it.

“Hello?” he said softly. “Oh, hey, Wayne.”

You could hear Wayne's voice faintly on the other end, his tone filled with concern. Eddie glanced at you, his expression softening.

“Yeah, we're okay. Just getting ready for the storm,” he said, his voice reassuring. “I've got everything under control. Don't worry about us.”

Wayne's voice rose slightly, and you could make out the words “stay safe” and “call me if you need anything.” Eddie nodded, even though his uncle couldn't see him.

“Thanks, Wayne. We'll be fine. You stay safe at work, okay? Yeah, talk to you later.”

Eddie hung up the phone and turned back to you, a sheepish smile on his face. “My uncle wanted to make sure we were alright. He's stuck at work until the storm passes.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at the concern in Wayne's voice. “That's sweet of him.”

“Yeah, he's a good guy,” Eddie said, plopping back down beside you. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Freddy Krueger.”

As the movie played, the storm raged outside, the sound of rain pounding against the thin roof and thunder cracking in the distance creating an eerie soundtrack. You and Eddie huddled together under a thick blanket, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. The flickering light from the TV cast strange shadows on the walls, adding to the spooky atmosphere.

Every now and then, the power would flicker, the screen going black for a few seconds before the backup generator kicked in. Each time, Eddie would squeeze your hand, his touch reassuring.

“I've got you, sweetheart” he'd whisper, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

As the last credits of Nightmare on Elm Street rolled off the screen, the exhaustion from the night caught up with both of you. Eddie's arm around your shoulders felt warm and comforting, and the rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a peaceful state. The flickering TV screen provided a gentle glow as you and Eddie drifted off to sleep on the couch, wrapped in the warm, thick blanket.

Outside, the storm continued to rumble, but it was a distant sound now, more soothing than threatening. The rain had lessened to a gentle drizzle, and the occasional flash of lightning was just a dim flicker on the horizon.

The first light of dawn seeped through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the drenched landscape. Wayne pulled his truck up by the trailer, the engine’s low rumble mixing with the distant sounds of birds starting their morning calls. He stepped out, stretching his tired limbs after a long shift, and glanced at the trailer. The sight of it standing unharmed brought a sense of relief.

Wayne quietly let himself in, careful not to make too much noise. He walked into the living room, a smile creeping onto his face as he saw the two of you on the couch.

Eddie's head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, one arm draped protectively around you. You were curled into his side, your head resting on his chest, the blanket cocooning you both. The TV was still on, a static-filled screen casting a dim light over the room.

Wayne shook his head fondly, moving to switch off the TV. The sudden silence was almost jarring, but neither of you stirred. He then picked up the empty snack bowls and soda cans, placing them quietly on the kitchen counter.

He stood for a moment, just watching the two of you sleep, a sense of pride and affection filling his chest. Eddie had always been a handful, but seeing him like this, so caring and protective, made Wayne’s heart swell.

When you woke up, it was to the smell of coffee and bacon. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing you were still on the couch, nestled against Eddie.

Eddie stirred next to you, his eyes fluttering open. He gave you a sleepy smile, his hair a wild mess. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, stretching. “I think your uncle's home.”

As if on cue, Wayne appeared, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “Morning, kids,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Hope you two slept well.”

Eddie sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yeah, we did. Thanks, Wayne.”

Wayne nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “Good. There's breakfast in the kitchen. Figured you'd be hungry after a night like that.”

You and Eddie exchanged a grateful look before getting up and heading to the kitchen.

“Think it's safe to say we survived?” you asked, a teasing note in your voice.

Eddie chuckled, pulling you closer. “Survived Freddy Krueger and a thunderstorm. Not bad for a night in Hawkins.”

#bug writes #my dear steph<3 #request #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #wayne munson #fic #fanfic #fluff #stranger things

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eddiesxangel · 9 months

Note

Could you do a smutty Eddie Munson fic where he’s your older brother’s bsf?

maybe reader has had a crush on Eddie for a while and when she finally decides to move on and date someone Eddie gets jealous?

What Eddie Doesn’t Know | Eddie x f!reader

AN: I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it took a while to complete. Thank you for the request; I haven’t been inspired by anything non-Christmas-themed in a while. I was literally barking at the trope.

wc: 7.1k oops

Cw: f!reader, reader is 19 and in collage and Eddie is 22 and a full time mechanic, reader goes by a nickname, jealous Eddie, jealous reader, angst, cheating (on the reader but not by Eddie), smut (pet names, oral, dirty talk, p in v), the fluffy ending!

Pathetic. That was how you felt at this moment in time. Here you were at your college homecoming party, and all you could do was be a wallflower, watching in self-pity as the love of your life. ( who doesn’t know is the love of your life) is pressed up on some girl in the back of the room.

"What are you doin' here, Tink?" you pop out of your daze to see your older brother, Adam, addressing you.

Did your parents name you Tink? No. Were you so obsessed with Peter Pan as a child you demanded to go by Tinkerbell? Yes. The nickname kinds just stuck.

"I go here?" You sass him back.

"This party is for upperclassmen only. How did you get in?" Adam was only three years older.

"Eddie's here, and he doesn't even attend school..." You gave him a pointed look.

"Yeah, cuz he is my best friend... like I said, how did you get in?"

"It's a house party, not Studio 54... I walked in."

"I'm going to kill Cory," He mumbled under his breath. Cory was supposed to be manning the door.

"Yeah, you should definitely get better security, all I had to do was let him feel up my tits, and we walked right on in..."

The Neanderthal didn't actually touch you, but the look on Adam's face when you let Adam believe he did? Priceless. You only lied so Adam would leave you alone.

What actually happened was you, Nancy, and Robin scaled the fence and got in through the back door.

"Cory!" Before you knew it, Adam was out of your hair, and you were back to being a wallflower….

"Tink there you are! You wanna continue to mope in the corner, or do you wanna get out of here?" your two best friends/roomies, Robin and her girlfriend Nancy, approach you.

"I guess let's just go." you sigh.

You can no longer bear the sight of Eddie, the boy you've been crushing on since the sixth grade, and your older brother’s best friend, leading the random girl up the stairs hand in hand.

Your stomach lurched at the thought of her hands running all over his body, how he would be on her, kissing her... inside of her. He didn't even know you were here... You should have gone up to him, maybe said hello. Perhaps he would have seen the ridiculous amount of effort you put into your ensemble just to catch his eye. But your efforts were lacking because, to him, you're always going to be Adam's annoying little sister.

You knew you had to get over this, but how could you? He has been in your life for fifteen years and always will be. Adam and Eddie have been friends for as long as you can remember. Your brother stuck by him throughout Eddie's family struggles. Your parents even took him in for a few weeks before CPS found his uncle took over full custody. He was basically your big brother, too, until your pesky teenage hormones started to kick in, and boom! You've been head over heels ever since.

''Good, let's get some greasy burgers and fries to end the night, ok?" Robin smiled.

In the 24-hour diner on campus, you were sitting at your regular booth with the girls across from you, eating your feelings, trying not to think about what Eddie was doing with that girl.

"So that party was a bust, huh?" Nancy spoke first.

"Yeah, totally... probably because Adam's house hosted." You giggled.

"Not to mention Eddie still didn't see you -OUCH." Robin looked over at Nancy, who was giving her a look of distaste. "Sorry, I meant he is an idiot, and you need to get over him! There are plenty of eligible guys on campus who you could date!"

"Even though my girlfriend is being is harsh, she is right, Tink. It's been so long, and you'll kill yourself over this if you keep this up."

"Ugh, I know! Do you think I'm a masochist or something? I hate to break it to you, but I do not enjoy this. I hate it. I hate that he is the one I think about every day when I wake up. I hate it when I go to sleep; he is the last person on my mind. He takes over my thoughts, and I don't know how to stop it!" You shove a fry into your mouth so you can take a breather.

"What if we found you a new guy? Someone to take your mind off Eddie?" Nancy perked up at her idea.

You heard the diner doorbells chime from behind you.

"I don't know..." Putting all your time and energy into someone new seemed like a lot of emotional work you wanted to avoid going through.

"Yes! Oh my god, Tink, you have to. It's the only way you'll get over him!"

"Get over who?" The silky, sweet voice of a male came from behind you.

You and the girls froze as Eddie, your brother, and a few other guys approached the table.

"No one." You mumbled, trying to fight off the blood rushing across your chest and cheeks.

"You can tell us, Tink! Who are we fighting?" Eddie laughed.

"Tink? What kind of stupid name is that?" one of Adam's jerk friends spoke.

"Excuse me?" you turn to see the guy you've never met.

You heard Adam burst out laughing with the rest of them, but not Eddie.

"Hey man, not cool!" Eddie stood up for you.

And there went the butterflies in your stomach. Eddie was always your protector. Even as kids, when Adam picked on you, he always stood up for you. Even if you weren't around, Eddie always put Adam in his place when it came to you.

You saw, out of the corner of your eye, Eddie shifted his weight down so he could sit beside you. Then, you felt a protective arm wrap around your shoulder.

Fuck. This shit right here is why you can never get over Eddie Munson.

You dared to look up; there he was in all his glory. The way the fluorescent light from above had cast down on him made him look like an angel. He smiled at you, but not before you noticed the dishevelled sex hair he tried to fix and the small amount of pink lipstick that stained the skin on his neck that he didn't quite get off. And the smell… sickly sweet perfume that was definitely not his signature musk.

You quickly turn your head back to your plate because you think you're about to puke up everything you just ingested…

"You, if you don't leave us alone." Robin piped up. She saw the look of pure disappointment in your eyes. You didn't need Eddie to rub in the fact that he hooked up with someone, especially since now he is smelling like a cheap hooker.

Robin and Nancy thought it was incredibly rude of your brother to flaunt Eddie in front of you like this. Of course, he knew your mega super infinity crush on his best friend. Yet here he is with his drunk-ass buddies, antagonizing you about the guy you needed to get over.

"Woah, Birdie, take it easy; we are just saying hello," Adam chimed in.

“You said hello at the party. Now leave!” You gritted through your teeth.

“You were at the party?” Eddie asked. His voice hitched high. High enough, it was embarrassingly so. Thankfully, his friends were too drunk and hungry to realize. A deep blush crossed his face when he saw you noticed the tone in his voice change. You just have a slight nod and continue to play with the food on your plate.

That’s why you were so dressed up. Eddie thought you looked so pretty, too pretty to be sad about some looser in a diner at one in the morning.

"Do we have a problem here?" A voice none of you recognized came from the booth beside you.

You all look over and see a cute guy with blonde hair and blue eyes wearing your school's rugby jersey. He was so not your type, but you can still admire beauty for what it is. He was a jock; that was clear as he stood up. He was big, more significant than your brother and Eddie, that's for sure.

"Nah, man, it's cool. This is my little sister and her friends." Adam slurs. Clearly, he had more shots since he left you to find Cory.

"I don't care who you are. You're clearly bothering them."

"It's okay, they were just leaving," Nancy said confidently.

"Whatever, let's go, guys," Adam commanded the pac, but Eddie lingered. He didn't like this blondie guy. He didn't like the way he was looking at you.

"Ed, come on!'

Eddie got up and slowly made his way to his friends.

"I'm Jesse," Eddie heard the musclehead speak, and he cringed internally. Something wasn't right. The feelings of anger and protectiveness were filling his mind.

Eddie looked back again and saw you smelling at the stranger as he reached out to shake your hand before sitting beside you.

What kind of freak is alone in a diner at 1:15 am? Eddie thought.

But it didn't seem to phase you or the girls; you were all blinded by his shiny hair and pearly white smile.

Eddie walked out and felt like he wanted to punch something. He needed to get away. He needed to know what the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he feeling this way? Why were you the one causing him distress? You were just Tink? Or so Eddie thought.

Jesse turned out to be really cool. You exchanged numbers, and he asked you to go to the movies next Friday. You hadn’t been on a date in forever; you had been so hung up on Eddie that any other guy seemed uninteresting. But this time, you were determined that Jesse would be the one to break the cycle. He was much different than you’re generally into, but you have some of the same interests, like movies and music, so you thought you’d go for it.

Jesse picked you up, bought the tickets, and insisted on buying the snacks and drinks. He held your hand and then slowly made his way to wrap his arm around your shoulder. It gave you butterflies you hadn’t felt from anyone else. Before you knew it, you willingly leaned in to make out with him in the back of the theatre.

You were so focused on Jesse that you didn’t notice Eddie was also on a date in the same theatre. But Eddie noticed you. He was seething the whole time. He didn’t pay any attention to his date or the movie. He hogged the popcorn and munched away as he watched you giggle and flirt with the blockhead jock. Eddie didn’t care that he had pissed off his date. He hardly said two words to her when they parted ways, not even offering to drive her home.

He didn’t want to go out with her but had hooked up with her at the party and felt terrible about it then. Now, he can’t even remember her name or why he went upstairs with her in the first place.

You were there, at the party, but he didn’t see you. Now he sees you everywhere, and it’s pissing him off. Why were you on his mind all of the time? For the past week, why have his dreams been consumed by you and you alone? Why did he want to hold you, be with you, talk to you, dare he say… kiss you? You were Adam’s little sister. Well, not so little anymore. You were a late bloomer, but boy, did you bloom.

Eddie hated how the blonde meathead’s hand rested too low on your back. His hands grazed your skirt a little too closely. Eddie wanted to jump the guy, but he couldn’t. He was twice his size. He would be pulverized, and that would be mortifying in front of you. You wouldn’t want him like that anyway, even if he did win in a fight over you!

What the fuck was Eddie thinking? He wasn't… that's the problem. He's now thinking about getting into a physical altercation over you. He isn't able to sleep now without thinking about you. He needed to get his head on straight and quit fucking around. He hoped that if he just focused on the cars at work, this little thing would go away on its own. Maybe he can't remember that he had slipped and hit his head? Yeah, that's it. He hit his head, and now his brain is just confused. He didn't like you like that! This will all go away by tomorrow.

Wrong.

Eddie was plagued with thoughts of you. He caught himself in numerous daydreams about you while doing mindless tuneups and tire changes at the shop. It was getting out of hand; it’s been another week, and he still can’t get you off his mind… Eddie needed to be proactive. The guys were starting to give him shit about it too. They knew he was focused on a girl. They could sense it.

There was another party tonight that Adam mentioned. He will go home and get cleaned up. Then he will go to the party, he will find a nice pretty girl who will let him bury himself inside her, to forget about his thoughts of splitting your open with his cock, and this will all be over.

You walked into the party hand in hand with Jesse. He was starting to make waves in your life, being only two weeks, but still. He would walk you to your classes and help you study in the library. He would walk you home and kiss you goodbye like the perfect gentleman. He hadn't tried making any advances as of yet. The two of you had only made it to first base. Maybe tonight you would get lucky? You felt ready.

“You want something to drink?” Jesse guided you to the kitchen.

The house was hot and sticky; you were worried about your hair getting frizzy. You worked so hard on it to look good for Jesse. He even complimented it when he picked you up. Forever the gentleman.

“Whatever they have is good.” You smiled up at him.

As the two of you walked into the packed kitchen, you tried to squeeze your way around but got stuck in the crowd. It was much easier for Jesse to get by just with his size alone.

“Excuse me,” you repeated three times, but no one was budging.

“You should be a little bit more assertive,” the voice behind you said. It sent a shiver down your spine.

As you turned, you saw Eddie smirking down at you. He was drunk. You could see that and smell it.

“Hi, Eddie.” You smiled meekly before you felt the weight of Jesse’s arm wrap around you, passing you your drink.

“There you are,” Jesse smiled. "Who's this?"

"That's just Eddie...Eddie, Jesse. Jesse, Eddie." You introduced awkwardly.

Just Eddie. The words stung.

"How do the two of you know each other?" Jesse gestures between the two of you.

"Brothers best friend." You smile.

"That's all I am to you? You wound me, Tink."

The fuck was that supposed to mean?

"Eddie, man! I got us two hotties over by the pool. Let's go!" In comes your obnoxious brother with perfect timing, as always.

"I guess I'll see you around." Eddie sighed.

"Nice meeting you, man." Jesse stuck out his hand.

"Whatever." Eddie brushed him off and left with Adam.

"I'm sorry about him. That was very rude. I don't?- He's usually not like that?"

"It's okay; I can tell a jealous guy when I see one." Jesse shrugged.

You almost spat out your drink. "Jealous?!"

"Oh, it's clear as day, honey."

"No... there is no way. He's never and will never like me... like that." It broke your heart to say that out loud. Your chest felt so heavy as the words came out of your mouth.

As the rest of the night went on, you and Eddie tried avoiding one another like the plague. Those words about him being jealous were swimming around in your head for most of the night, and Eddie was trying to avoid his feelings by being with another girl, but not one stood out to him.

Adam tried getting lucky but struck out when Eddie refused to go with the friend.

"What the fuck is your problem, man? She was like a solid eight out of ten."

"I wasn't into it..." Eddie's eyes found you, and he couldn't break his gaze. You were curled up in the blockhead's lap, sitting by the fire pit, all cozy and giggly. What he would give to have you in his arms like that.

"Oh fuck, not you now." Adam groaned in frustration, seeing where Eddie's googly eyes were directed.

"Huh?" Eddie said absentmindedly, not really paying attention.

"You can't be serious?! That's my little sister, dude; come on!" Adam was always one for the dramatics; that's why he and Edie got on so well.

"Woah, man, I never said anything about your sister."

"Well, it sure is clear by the way you're making heart eyes at her."

"Yeah, right," Eddie scoffed.

"Trust me, dude, it's that same way she looks at you." Adman shook his head. He thought he would be clear of this. That this would never happen, and yet here it is, happening.

"Wait, what? What do you mean?-"

"She's been in love with you since she was twelve... come one like you didn't know?"

"No way, you smoked too much tonight, so something? Maybe my stuff is off?"

"She likes you, dude. Never fucking shuts up about you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't think it was relevant... I was never going to allow her to be with you! You serious? It's Tink, she's so...ew. You're so above that."

"She's not new," Eddie snapped. He hated how hard Adam had always been on you.

"Whatever, man, too late now. About time she has moved on."

Eddie stood up and walked out of the party without a word. He heard Adam call out, but he ignored him completely. He needed to process what Adam told him. He needed to sober up so he could think clearly. He needed to either make you his or find a way to get over you... and fast.

That night of the party, you didn't end up getting lucky. You tried making advances, but you inevitably were shot down. He said he didn't want your first time to be when you both had been drinking and in some random bathroom. So you accepted it, even though your horny gremlin was starting to come back to life. But what did happen was he asked you to make it official with him, and you said yes!

Tonight, you had to leave the apartment for your roommate's sake. It was their anniversary, and you told them you could have the place to themselves for a romantic evening. When you told Jesse, your new boyfriend, you needed a place to crash, he offered you his bed. You would go to your classes and then return to his for your first sleeepover as a couple. You were so excited!

Jesse ended class at one in the afternoon that day, and you ended at five, so it worked out perfectly. Luckily enough for you, your professor for your last lecture was ill, so they cancelled class that day. You thought it would be fun to surprise him by showing up early.

When you got to his house, his roommate let you in and said he was in his room with his friend Connor. So when you knocked on the door and walked in a few seconds later, you did not expect to see the two men in bed, naked...

You screamed and covered your eyes, absolutely mortified that you had walked in on them. You were so unbelievably hurt that you had been deceived. Why would he ask you to be exclusive if he was sleeping around?! And on the night when you thought you would get to have sex with your new boyfriend.

You did not give Jesse any time to explain himself as he tried to get out of the tangled sheets and arms of the other man. You heard your name being called out, but you ran out of there like a bat out of hell.

Tears stung your cheeks as the cold autumn air began to settle in. The rumble of the dark clouds was also looking quite ominous.

Just your luck. Of course, you would find your boyfriend in the arms of another man, and of course, the universe would make you walk him in the rain. How poetic.

A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, and that's when the rain came down in buckets. At least it could cover up your tears. You continued walking, but you couldn't think of a place to go? You could not ruin your roommate's night. There is no way Adam would let you stay in his frat house, not that you would want to anyway, and your friends from the class went home for the weekend. Shit... maybe you could spend the majority of the night in the diner and then just walk home really late once they were defiantly sleeping. But your clothes were soaked and---

“Tink, what’s wrong?” you were snapped out of your thoughts by none other than the man who was the cause of this whole mess.

Eddie rolled down the work van window. He was covered in motor oil and dirty from working all day. His muscles ached, and he badly needed a hot shower, but now all he could focus on was you and why you were upset.

“Leave me alone, Eddie.” He hadn’t ever heard you speak to him like this?

“Tink, come on, it’s a literal thunder storm. Let me take you home.”

“Can’t, girls are having date night… told them to have the place to themselves.” You continued to walk as the chill from the rain was beginning to seep through to your bones. Your teeth betray you as the chatter starts.

“Where were you supposed to be right now?”

“None of your business!”

“Tink, don’t make me pull over!”

“Screw you, Eddie!”

“That’s it.” Eddie parked the car and got out. “You’re coming with me.” Eddie picked you up over his shoulder, and you let out a screech.

“Eddie! Put me down, you caveman!” You screamed. If anyone saw you, it looked like you were being kidnapped and taken into a murder van.

“No, can do Tink. I’m taking you home to warm you up. Then you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.” He commanded. And if you weren’t so mad, you’d say you were a little turned on by his voice.

You hear the car door open before he plops you into the passenger seat.

“Get in” he points to your legs hanging out of the car.

“Make me.” you shiver.

“You’re being such a child! Let me help you.”

“Fine!” You swing your legs into the van, and Eddie slams the door closed, making you wince.

The car ride was quiet besides the radio and your chattering teeth. You tried to wrap your arms around yourself, but it was of no help. Your t-shirt and jeans clung to you like a second skin, and the car heater was only blowing cool air. You swore you thought your nipples could cut glass.

Eddie said nothing as he tugged you over on the bench seat and wrapped a warm arm around you. You broke out into another chill, but this time, you weren't sure if it was from the rain or from Eddie.

Even though Eddie was self-conscious of smelling like motor oil and body odour, he was more worried about you catching hypothermia.

Once you were inside Eddie's warm apartment, he noticed how your body was on display. You would be the clear winner if you were in a wet t-shirt contest, that's for sure. Eddi's eyes were wide with desire, but he returned to reality when you asked if you could use his shower to warm up.

Eddie nodded absentmindedly as he thought about you being naked in his shower.

"Uh, you mind if I borrow a towel and some dry clothes? I have mine, but they got soaked through my overnight bag..."

"Yeah! Uh- I mean, sure, yeah, whatever..."

You blushed slightly at Eddie, trying to play it cool. He ran to his bedroom and returned with a handful of different fabrics. You took them and then headed into the bathroom.

The hot water defrosted your bones, and when you stepped into Eddie's clothes, his sent hit you like a tidal wave. You brought the old black corroded coffin band tee that he had from high school up to your nose and inhaled deeply. You felt immediate comfort being here, with Eddie, wearing his clothes.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in the towel, Eddie couldn't help but smile at the sight of you.

"Not a word," you warn.

Eddie mock zipped his lips, then gestured to the couch for you to sit beside him.

"Sorry about being a pain earlier; you caught me at a really, really bad time."

"It's okay, Tink, you're here with me now; that's all that matters." Eddie let the towel around your head fall back so he could see your natural hair. "You wanna tell me what happened? I've never seen you so upset."

"You shook your head no, "It's too embarrassing."

"Come on, it's me we are talking about here."

You paused for a deep breath and decided to just lay it all out on the table... how much worse could it get, right?

“You remember Jesse, right?” Eddie could feel his fist tightening, but he said nothing while nodding his head with a tight lip. What the fuck did he do to you? “Well, he asked me to be his girlfriends no less than a week ago, and I was supposed to spend the night at his place… but I went over early and found him in bed with… someone.” Eddie went to say something but realized you weren’t finished and let you continue.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?! I finally get a boyfriend, and the moment I want to actually sleep with someone who isn’t you, they are in the arms of someone else! Am I really that undesirable?! I was practically throwing myself at him, and it turns out he was fucking his “friend” the whole time.”

You had missed your slip-up, but Eddie hadn't. Eddie didn’t hear anything after “I want to sleep with someone who isn’t you,”

So Adam was right…

“Eddie? Eddddiiieee?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face to try and get back his attention.

Great, so now you’re undesirable AND boring.

“Sorry what?”

“Forget it… you don’t wanna hear about my pitty party. I’ll call a cab and head back to… oh shit, I can’t even go home!”

“Stay here.”

“Eddie, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Yes. Stay. Take my bed; I’ll take the couch.”

“Eddie, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not, Tink?” He brushed a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, and those pesky butterflies erupted within your core.

“Because…” because I’m in love with you and don’t know if I can hold back my feelings any longer.

“Exactly, you can’t come up with one. Let me take care of you.” Eddie’s voice dropped an octave.

A chill travelled down your spine. His touch is electric. Any time you’re with Eddie, your body feels like it’s been recharged.

As you gaze into Eddie’s eyes, this undeniable magnetic pull connects you. Was he leaning in? Or were you? Maybe it was the both of you? There was little to no space between you. Never in a million years did you think you would be sitting here, alone with Eddie in his apartment.

“I should get cleaned up,” Eddie whispered. He was so close you could taste the spearmint Nicorette gum he had been chewing. It took everything in his power to pull away. He wanted to kiss you so very badly, but he got a whiff of himself, and he needed to wash up. I would be unfair to you.

“Oh, okay,” you breathed in, and Eddie slid back.

“You can make yourself at home, okay? Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’ll be 10 minutes.”

Eddie was freaking out in the shower, and you were freaking out in the kitchen. While Eddie scrubbed his skin so hard he thought he would scrub it off completely, you went to the fridge to find anything to help calm your nerves.

There wasn’t anything in the fridge, but the freezer, on the other hand... Bingo. You poured yourself a shot of vodka and almost threw up, but you held it together with a chaser of orange juice. You took one more for good measure and then made your way back to the couch. As you waited for your liquid courage to kick in, you flicked around on the TV but didn’t really pay much attention. Your thoughts were swimming with questions and possible scenarios that could play out this evening.

You were taken away from your inner thoughts when Eddie exited the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. You tried not to make it obvious, but the alcohol clouded your awareness of your face.

“Sorry, I left my clothes in the bedroom” he saw you eye fucking him and gave a little smirk.

“It’s okay. Totally okay.” you sighed.

The sight of his wet, bare torso makes your heart race, his flesh covered in goosebumps, his nipples perked, and his hair soaked yet still so sexy. Your stomach simultaneously flip-flopped. And as for your pussy… well, she got a little excited at the heavenly sight in front of you.

“Yeah,” You wanna see more, Tink? Eddie thought to himself.

“Yeah.” You sighed before he disappeared into his bedroom.

Minutes later, Eddie returned, and the two of you acted as if nothing happened. Neither of you willing to break the tension first. So you both sat silently, watching some random TV movie while you prayed to come up with something to discuss. You wanted to talk so badly with him.

“This couch is pretty lumpy; it wouldn’t be fair to make you sleep on it.” You felt terrible that he offered his bed. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Nope. No way.” Eddie shook his head.

“Eddie.” You huffed.

“Tink,” he mocked back.

“You need a good sleep! You work a strenuous job…And my back can take it.”

I bet your back could take it, Eddie thought.

“You calling me old, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart, your stomach did a flip-flop again.

“No.” You snicker at his accusation.

“I don’t think I believe you” Eddie’s tone dropped again.

“Well, I’m not letting up”

“Neither am I; you’re sleeping in my bed whether I’m on it or not.

“Oh...”

“Yeah, oh.” Eddie sat back and the both of you finished the movie in silence.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but Eddie shook your shoulder awake.

“Come on Tinkerbell we are going to bed.” You think you hear Eddie whisper.

Were you dreaming? Did Eddie just tell you the two of you were going to bed?

“Mmm?”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, remember? Don’t think you’re getting out of this so easily.”

“Okay, Eddie, “ you agreed in your sleepy haze.

You feel his arm wrap under yours as he helps you off the couch.

“There you go.” Eddie coos as he places you down gently.

The moment your head hits the pillow, you’re suddenly wide awake. You’re in Eddie’s bed. Eddie is getting in next to you.

“Figured we would compromise.” He slid next to you but over the covers with a throw blanket.

“Thanks for letting me stay… and giving me a shoulder to cry on.” You cringed with embarrassment at the last part.

“Thanks for letting me stay… and giving me a shoulder to cry on.” You cringed with embarrassment at the last part. “You seem to always be there for me…” you turn to your side to face Eddie.

“I’ll always be there for you, Tink, whether you like it or not…” Eddie also turns so he is facing you.

“Eddie.” Your breath hitched.

“Yes Tink.”

Fuck are you really going to spill your guts to him here and now?

“I… I wanna-need to tell you something.” You close your eyes, not daring to look at him.

“I think I might have an idea.”

“You-what?” Eyes still closed

You feel the bed shift and feel Eddie's warm breath fan your lips.

“Do you trust me?” Eddie whispered.

You aren’t brave enough to speak. So you tentatively nod your head yes.

“Do you trust me, Tink? I need you to say it.” He asked once more.

You slowly opened your eyes and bravely opened your mouth. “Yes, Ed’s, I trust you.”

A slight smile graces Eddie’s before you watch him lean in with a pucker.

Your heart skipped a beat the moment his lips touched yours.

Holy shit.

Eddie Munson was kissing you. Eddie Munson, your older brother's best friend, who you’ve been in love with for seven years, is now kissing you… in his bed… late at night… with no one else around. It was like fireworks were going off. It was everything you ever wanted and more.

It was all you had ever dreamed of, and now he was blowing your expectations out of the water. You had to have more. You needed this to last forever.

Your hands moved up to cup his face. His cheeks were rough with stubble, contrasting his soft plush lips. Eddie shifted closer to you. You could feel his body through the thick blankets that separated the two of you, but you wanted to be closer to him. You threw the blankets and all caution to the wind when you shifted to wrap your legs around him.

Eddie rolled so he was on top of you. To your surprise, you felt his firm cock pressed to your thigh, which made you moan softly.

“Fucking hell, Tink”

“Eddie, please, I need you.”

“Didn’t take you long to beg,” he chuckled darkly.

“Well, it took you long enough to see me.”

Eddie gazed into your eyes like he was looking at you for the first time. Like really seeing you. He muttered your name, your real name, for the first time, and you couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your face before you strained your neck to take his lips once more.

Eddie’s strong hands grazed your waist and settled on your hips, pinning you down to the mattress. His weight is entirely on you now. Your knees hitched up, and you opened your hips more to give him more room.

“Eddie,” you gasped into his mouth. Eddie ground his hips into yours, and you let out another soft moan.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You, it’s always been you.” You confessed.

Eddie didn’t say anything in reply but instead worked his fingers to the waistband of his sweatpants that you dawned.

“This okay?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you rushed. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

“Don’t be mean,” You shove the pants off your ankles and go for your shirt.

“Wait… let me.” Eddie sat up so you could as well. His hands brushed the hem and slowly pulled the shirt he let you borrow off of you.

He took in your naked frame in front of him.

Shit, you weren’t wearing your panties this whole time? They must have been soaked as well from the rain. Eddie thought.

Eddie saw you shy away as you sat there naked in front of the boy you loved as he took you all in.

It didn’t take long before Eddie’s hands roamed your skin, finding your breasts.

“You’re so soft.” Eddie moaned into your neck as he took in the fact that you now smelled like him. He sent all over you; he was feral. He needed to claim you as his own. How could he be so blind all these years? You were perfect; you were everything he ever wanted.

“Do you like soft?”

“Very much so.”

Eddie melted into you once more as he travelled down your body, kissing and nipping at every inch. You softly moaned when he flicked your nipples with his tongue, and you really moaned when he reached your wet pussy.

How Eddie loved the noises he was pulling from you. He would do anything to make you sing for him.

“You like that baby? You want me to touch you… here?” His index finger grazed your wet slit.

“Yes” you replied quickly, a little too quickly.

“Good, I don’t know what I would have done if you said no.”

You giggled, but it was cut off by the feeling of Eddie’s fingertips grazing your clit.

You’d daydreamed countless times about how his fingers would feel while you watched him while he and your brother jammed in your garage.

He circled your clit before dipping his head down to kiss your lower lips. Reality hit you once again. Eddie was eating you out. Eddie was eating you out like a man starved, in fact. How was he so good at this? Scratch that you didn’t want to know. Your thoughts slowed down as Eddie’s thick fingers entered your wet hole.

“Eddie!” You yelled with pleasure.

“Oh yes, sweetheart, say my name.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you replayed like a mantra.

As his fingers grazed that spot that only you managed to find when you were alone in your bed, exploring your body. You fell apart in his hands.

“Your pussy grips me so good, god I can’t wait to fuck you.”

“Please, Eddie,” you begged in your blissed-out daze.

“Let me hear it again,” he smirked.

“I need you, please. I want your cock so badly."

“Mmmmmm, as you wish.” he pulled back so he could strip. You watched as his tight muscles flexed as he pulled off his shirt, then scrunched as he bent over to take off his bottoms.

His cock sprung out of their confines, and your breath hitched for what you thought was at least the fourth time that night.

You’ve imagined what it would look like, but none of the times ever did you imagine he was this hung. No wonder he was so confident and cocky around women. It was long, thick, and straight. No curvatures, just pure rod.

“I don’t think that’s going to fit,” you blurt out, not thinking.

“Don’t worry, Baby. It’ll fit.” he slunk back down on you, peppering your lips with more sensual kisses. His fingers travelled down to your pussy, stretching you out again, only this time, he used 3 fingers to make sure you were nice and ready.

“Please, I’m ready” You ground your pussy into Eddie’s hand.

Eddie reached over into his drawer, pulled out a condom, and slipped it over his shaft as quickly as possible. Seemed that he was just as eager as you.

Eddie kissed you hard as his cock slipped past your wet folds and inside, splitting you open. The wonderful burn of his cock burying itself inside of you. What could you say? It had been a while, and Eddie was the biggest you’ve ever had.

“Slowly,” you guided Eddie as he rocked his hips, giving you time to adjust.

“God, you’re so tight”

“Mmmphmm”

“Your noises are so pretty.” Eddie tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.

Eddie took your breath away as he looked into your eyes. He was being so soft and gentle with you as if you could break.

“Eddie, please.”

“I got you, Princess”

Eddie rocked his hips with more emphasis; his body was moulding into yours. As his cock grazed your tight walls, you felt your body was brought to life.

“Oh fuck” your words slipped, not even realizing you were speaking.

“Come’on baby, let me hear you”

“You’re making me feel so good, Eddie!”

“More, tell me who you belong to.”

“ You! always been you, Eddie, please, I wanna come. Please make me cum on your cock.”

“Good girl. You’re being so good, f’me” Eddie's hips slapped into the backs of your thighs, and he plummeted into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

Eddie grabbed the backs of your knees and pushed them back to your shoulders, only making the angle more delicious as he fucked you. He watched as his cock disappeared into your wanton pussy. He watched as you clenched down on his cock, and he almost lost it as he tried not to cum right then and there.

“Fuck me, Tink! Your pussy is too good,” he gritted through his teeth, trying to keep the pace without blowing his load.

“Eddie!” Your body was on fire as his cock continuously hit your g spot. Your lower belly tingled as the feeling of your orgasm built up again.

“You close, baby?”

“Yes”

“Cum for me.”

“More, I need more.”

Eddie slipped his hand between you and gently circled your clit once again.

You moan, cockdrunk as your body begins to spasm around Eddie’s cock.

“Yes, that’s it, come on baby. Keep cuming. That’s my girl.”

Your eyes roll back into your head, and you clamp your jaw. Every muscle tightens and clenches as your second orgasm rips through you.

“Good girl. Good fuckin girl.” Eddie praises as he empties himself into the condom.

After a few moments of the two of you catching your breath and Eddie discarding the used condom, you break the silence.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you chuckled in disbelief.

“Adam is going to kill me,” Eddie laughed.

“Good, I’ve been meaning to get him back. You roll over to snuggle in his arms.

“And to think you were supposed to be in another man’s bed tonight.” Eddie hated that idea.

“At least I ended up in the right man’s bed.”

Part 2

Tagging those who seemed interested: @lofaewrites @lavendermunson @imyourdaninow @itsfreakingbats @allthingsjoeq

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson angst #older brothers best friend x reader #request #TJ’s mailbox #jealous!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munons x angst #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x f!reader

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spookykoolkat · 1 year

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introducing...

🩸♰ 𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ♰🩸

hello! welcome to my very first kinktober EVER! i will be writing for various people during this season, and have a few already done! currently this list consists of writing for three people — jim hopper, joel miller, eddie munson.

♱ these shorts can run from 500 - 10K words so be aware! i will put the word count with every post :) ♱

♱ these may also be posted late, or twice in a day depending if i can't keep up with my schedule :p sorry in advance! ♱

all dates that say TBA are up for request for any person of your choosing *preferably ones i write for* ^^

send in your request with the date you want, and you can be as detailed or as vague as you want. remember!!!* all my writing is written for plus sized women! so if you're bothered by that then i am very sorry but never in my life have i seen an all plus sized kinktober! so i will be here to represent for my girls 🖤🩷 i don't use many descriptions other than describing the character as fat, so my writing is SPECIFICALLY for fat black and brown women, women of color, and fat women in general 🩷

most of these fics are centered around halloween time, or just the season of fall! very few are just regular spicy stories :p

reblogs, comments and likes are very appreciated 🖤

but without further ado, here we go!

【 oct 1. exhibitionism 】

▹ joel miller is a stranger who fucks you on a nude beach.

【 oct 2. facefucking/choking 】

▹ eddie munson is your toxic on and off 'boyfriend'.

【 oct 3. dumbification 】

▹ joel miller is your grumpy old neighbor.

【 oct 4. taped 】

▹ eddie munson likes to record you during sex.

【 oct 5. caught 】

▹ joel miller is your dad's coworker, and tommy miller is his brother.

【 oct 6. glory hole 】

▹ eddie munson goes to a brothel for the very first time.

【 oct 7. sex work 】

▹ jim hopper gets bored and finds a cam girl site.

【 oct 8. size kink 】

▹ eddie munson is your skinny, lanky boyfriend.

【 oct 9. cockwarming 】

▹ joel miller just loves to be buried inside of you 24/7.

【 oct 10. phone sex 】

▹ eddie munson can't help himself when he gets on the phone to talk to his best friend at night.

【 oct 11. breeding 】

▹ joel miller aches to see you swollen and round with his baby.

【 oct 12. somnophilia 】

▹ eddie munson uses you while you sleep in his bed.

【 oct 13. orgy 】

▹ joel miller gets an invite to a sex party, only to find you and keep you to himself.

【 oct 14. high sex 】

▹ eddie munson gets you high for the first time.

【 oct 15. mutual masturbation 】

▹ joel miller finds a loop hole in his efforts of not ruining you.

【 oct 16. sexting 】

▹ jim hopper spends a late night at the precinct when his phone starts buzzing away.

【 oct 17. objectification 】

▹ joel miller loves to turn you into his personal sex doll.

【 oct 18. switch 】

▹ eddie munson lets you, a stranger, dom him.

【 oct 19. praise kink 】

▹ eddie munson finds that his new girlfriend loves to be good for him.

【 oct 20. edging 】

▹ joel miller loves to make you work for it.

【 oct 21. corruption 】

▹ eddie munson has always been a bad influence for you.

【 oct 22. thigh riding 】

▹ joel miller like to watch you ride his thigh.

【 oct 23. virgin 】

▹ eddie munson takes your pretty little flower.

【 oct 24. dacrysphilia 】

▹ joel miller loves to make you cry while he's inside of you.

【 oct 25. titty fucking 】

▹ jim hopper loves your double Ds a little too much.

【 oct 26. stigmatophilia 】

▹ eddie munson can't help but get hard every time he looks at your pierced body.

【 oct 27. obsession 】

▹ joel miller refuses to lose you, no matter what it takes.

【 oct 28. anal 】

▹ jim hopper has an insatiable urge to stretch out both holes.

【 oct 29. quirofilia 】

▹ eddie munson's hands never fail to get you embarrassingly wet.

【 oct 30. touch starved 】

▹ joel miller hasn't met anyone as needy as you.

【 halloween: surprise 】

▹ i shake shit up and write something i've never written b4 lol

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strawberryspence · 2 years

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listen i love all the wayne gives steve a shovel talk fics. but i would love a fic where wayne knows eddie likes steve so he makes it his life mission to tease eddie.

steve and eddie aren’t dating. YET.

eddie comes home and steve’s just having dinner with his uncle. wayne personally invited steve. steve doesn’t know what the hell is happening but eddie’s glaring at wayne as wayne gives him another bowl of his famous chili, urging him to eat more.

one sunday, eddie’s super excited because he thought steve’s here to hang out but steve tells him, “oh. me and your uncle are going to throw ball.” and eddie’s like WHAT. what do you mean!? so eddie goes with them against his will (not really) and watches them play with a ball. they explain how the game works, but eddie’s too busy staring at steve to understand.

eddie comes home from a group hang out and wayne’s first question is, “where’s steve? why didn’t you invite him to come? i haven’t seen him since yesterday.” eddie glares at him. what happened to hello? how are you?

when eddie FINALLY asks steve out (which leads to some intense making out), wayne makes them a big grand breakfast. he even brings out the waffle maker and busts out the brandname bacon he had reserved for this event specifically.

when the boys finally emerge from eddie’s room, with flushed faces and gentle smiles.

wayne’s sitting on the couch with the biggest, cheekiest, smuggest smile, “well, well, well. ya finally got your acts together. breakfast, my boys?”

#when i say uncle wayne you say supremacy #uncle wayne #supremacy!#uncle wayne supremacy #!!!!!#uncle wayne ily #steddie #daeheadcanons #steddie rants #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie headcanon #steddie hcs

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chaosandwolves · 5 months

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Hello lovelies

I was lucky enough to snatch a commission from @bucksketch

This is something that has been on my mind for so long and I could finally ask one of my fav artists to bring this to life

Everyone,

The Stucky Buddie AU

There is no fic (yet)

But I think they fit them so well

Buck with his trying to save everyone, trying to always do the right thing, burning down the world for his loved ones

Eddie with all the trauma that hardened him on the outside at first glance but he'll do everything for the ones he loves

Buck with the whole transformation he goes through while the core of his heart never changes

Eddie with all that grief but slowly making his way through healing

The friends to lovers

The always having each other's backs

The saving each other

Yeah I love them all

#Buddie #Stucky #Buddie fanart #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #If anyone wants to write a fic #Please do so #I also asked specifically for these two suits #But now I'm like #Why didn't I chose the CATWS suit and arm for Bucky #I had a reasoning for it #I can't remember it anymore though #Thanks air brain #Anyway I hope you all love it as much as I do

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munsonsmixtapes · 4 months

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Hi again! 🩷

Can I request Eddie x anxious reader when they went to Metallica concert? And he's so comforting about everything

It's so personal for me because I bought tickets, planning to go alone and now I'm so anxious about it. 😭 Thinking about selling the ticket

Also I love your fics so much. I'm reading something from you every day 😅

Hello again, my lovely! Oh my gosh, first of all, knowing that you’re reading my fics everyday made my day! And also, that makes me so sad that you’re thinking of selling your ticket, but as someone who also has anxiety, I totally understand what you’re feeling.

Eddie x gender neutral!anxious!reader

cw: mention of anxiety

The venue was packed when you and Eddie got inside. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your hands were shaking, but you knew Eddie had you. He always did, especially when you got anxious, which seemed to be always. Crowds always seemed to make it worse, but you had insisted on going to the concert since it was your favorite band.

Eddie had asked you if you were sure the entire day and you assured him that you were every single time. Your excitement outweighed your anxiety as you headed into the venue, pulling Eddie along with you as you got to the merch table. He insisted on buying you a t-shirt and you let him even though they were expensive.

After you got your shirts, you headed inside to the floor, wanting to get over your fear of being in that spot. You stood towards the back where there was a little more space and squeezed Eddie’s hand. He pulled you close as the lights when down and you both cheered as loud as you could.

The entire show, you sang and dance and laughed, your anxiety completely slipping away as you did so. Eddie had been so kind the entire time and even insisted on getting the both of you drinks because you didn’t want to miss a thing and you were okay. You didn’t panic, you just focused on the show happening in front of you and that seemed to help.

Eddie has been nothing but proud of you that night. You had finally faced your fears and had a good time doing it. He was so happy that he was there to witness your growth and couldn’t have been more excited for you that you had fought through your anxiety that always seemed to win. This time, you were the champion.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson fluff

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carolmunson · 2 years

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you would write the “hold me in their lap with a vibrator and ask questions” post as an eddie fic soooooooo well

thanks bestie 🥺 infact, here ya go. ft. switch!eddie. tw: small small small daddy kink.

he really hadn’t meant to turn it into a game. but you were soooo grumpy when you got home and you couldn’t find the words to explain it. slamming things, throwing your coat on the desk when you got in. you didn't even give him a kiss hello at first and when you did it was barely a peck.

‘i’m tired, ed, it’s fine — just, i wanna relax,’ you huff, ‘get off my back.’

he just wanted to make you feel better. cozied up on the bed with the tv on, he pulls you into his lap, letting you fall between his legs while he presses his thumbs to your shoulder blades. you immediately sink into the feeling of his strong hands kneading your shoulders and his heart swells — eddie ‘eager to please’ munson.

‘that feels really nice, baby,’ you mumble. his swollen heart thumps in his chest, flushing at the praise.

‘thank you,’ he replies softly, ‘c-can i um..’

‘hm?’ you ask, rolling your shoulders into his hands. the questioning hum was slightly clipped.

‘can i touch you somewhere else, miss? i promise you’ll feel nice when i do it there, too,’ he stammers out. you chuckle, low in your belly.

‘sure baby,’ you nod, still looking at the tv, ‘you can touch me there.’ 'you're so good, asking for permission,' you coo. eddie's boxer briefs tighten against his skin, filthy girl he thinks to himself. he'd been under you for the past two weeks, wrists bound to the bed with cuffs, tied up to the kitchen chair with his own bandana. edged and over stimulated, sucked and fucked, 'yes ma'am, yes ma'am, yes ma'am' for days on end.

his hand trails down slow between your thighs, you aren't wet yet which is discouraging. he brings his fingers back up with his mouth, coating them with spit while he free hand cups under the flesh of your thigh to spread your legs further and pull your panties to the side.

at the second touch, he feels the soft bounce of your hips in front of him, your quiet little gasp. 'that's good, miss?' he asks, your back pressing up against his chest. you let out a shaky breath.

'yeah...um, yes. yes baby,' you correct your voices posture quickly. but he caught it, that soft whine to start. he smirks.

'you don't gotta be so tough tonight, y'know,' he reminds you, ' pads of his fingers swirling deftly over your clit. a quiet 'mmm!' leaves your lips and he chuckles. 'why don't you tell me about your bad day, miss?' he asks, voice light and still laced with subservience. a soft 'schlick' starts to sound from under the threadbare blanket while you get wetter for him under his touch.

'well i um...' you start, voice lilting slightly. 'yeah?' he encourages, voice dipping slightly lower. 'everything when...unh, wrong,' you continue, one of his fingers dipping down to your entrance, circling it slowly. 'what went wrong, miss?' he asked again, voice dropping even lower, his register vibrating against your back. 'at work i...oh,' you sigh, hips circling in time with him while one of his fingers pulses knuckle deep inside of you. it's his turn to chuckle now, deep in his belly. he takes his fingers away and you try your hardest not to whine at the loss. he reaches into your side table for your wand, always kind to the both of you, setting it to a medium setting before running it along your inner thigh.

'maybe this will get you talking, hm?' he asks softly, chin hooking over your shoulder in the crook of your neck. you can smell his aftershave and feel the smooth slide of his chin against you, lips brushing your cheek when he speaks. you don't stop him, eyes already heavy lidded while his voice takes you over and the steady thrum of the vibrator on your thigh holds you hostage.

'take your panties off for me, miss,' he instructs gently, still calling you miss to not pull you all the way out of your control just yet. you needed to hold onto it until he knew you felt safe to let it go. your panties come off slowly, dropped off the side of the bed without care. he opens your legs again, fingers skimming your slit before settling the head of the wand over your lips.

'oh, oh my god,' you whine, hips shimmying away a little, but you only end up pressed closer between eddie with the toy closing in on you.

'what happened at work, angel?' he asks, free hand tucking the hair closer to him behind your back. the veins on his forearm raise as he presses the toy up a level. angel was one step down.

'assistant answered a...oh shit, oh my god...phishing sc-scam," you pant out, your hand finding his wrist. 'oh, that's awful honey. then what happened?' honey, middle of the road. he clicks the toy up another level, the buzz starting to fill the room. 'lunch g-got sto-stole...stolennnnnnmmmmm,' you groan back, orgasm starting to creep up on you, your grip on eddie's wrist tightening. 'poor thing,' he tutts, gliding the toy up and down your slick folds before rubbing it slow circles against your clit. your breath quickens and you spread your legs wider for him, whimpers pouring from your mouth. 'and then what, baby?' he asks, faux concern drenching his words. baby. he's slowly taking it from you, fire burns in his chest while you let him. '...and then what?' he bites.

'i...unh, mmm, i -- fuck -- i..." you babble out, unable to concentrate on the happenings of the day. maybe it wasn't so bad if you couldn't remember it. if getting this close to cumming would make you forget. maybe it wasn't such an awful day. maybe you were just doing too much and your boyfriend knows better, so you do this instead. he knows so much better than you, that's why he makes you feel so good.

you sigh, 'fuck, please more.' 'what a filthy mouth, princess,' he murmurs as a warning, a stern smack to your inner thigh making you jolt. princess. you're all his now, sunk completely against his chest, hips writhing below him. 'sorry, sir,' you cry out. 'that's not how you ask for more, baby,' he warns again, 'how do you ask me for more?'

white starts to build behind your eyes and you can't answer, thighs quaking while your orgasm overtakes you. it's silent but powerful, your grip on eddie's wrist tightening, only making him turn up the wand while your legs snap shut around him.

'how do you ask me for more?' he repeats.

'd-daddy, please,' you whine, 'please more.'

'that's a good girl,' he coos, voice deep and demanding, 'look at you, knowing your place so quickly. daddy's so impressed.'

he's more impressed with you, if he's being honest. but you didn't get to tell him all about your bad day until this next morning.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut

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lovebugism · 1 year

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hi hello "love you on purpose" absolutely devasted me with it's cuteness and i cannot wait for part two!!!! 💗

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)

part one | part two

summary: steve can't seem to stay away from the local freaks. he's more surprised to find himself falling for one of them. you have trouble believing that someone like him could want you in the first place. he wants to prove to you that he's not king steve anymore. (18k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, slight angst, hurt to comfort (sorta), fem!reader TW smut 18+, lots of intimacy and affection and awkwardness, p in v sex, talks of insecurities, reader has an allison reynolds-esque transformation but with a better ending (outfit inspo x, x), probable typos

a/n: welp. here it is. the final part of this 30k+ word fic. it was very fun and very painful to write and i'm very glad it's finally done and out in the world! thanks for all the love on the first part btw reading all the feedback has easily been my favorite part of writing this <3 with that being said, get comfy, get a snack, and enjoy! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Falling over you is the news of the day.

If yearning had a shape, you’re pretty sure it’d look an awful lot like you.

The clumsiest of humans, fresh into her adulthood but still feeling like a child most days. Soaking wet, born yesterday. A caterpillar weaving her cocoon and trying to figure out where she fits in the world. The girl who decides she belongs right next to this big, boisterous, multi-colored butterfly she couldn’t stand a year or more ago.

And Steve Harrington, he was… Well, he was the kind of poem people spend their entire lives trying to write.

He was the perfect mixture of beauty and warmth, of mystery and obscurity — the line where the pink of a sunset meets the purple of a starry night. He was all of this rolled up into a twenty-something-year-old boy. A fumbling butterfly that’s getting used to his new wings.

Maybe if you were talented enough, you could write the thing yourself. There’s something powerful in knowing that you could compose some dainty requiem so much bigger than yourself. A beautiful thing that would stand the test of time because there would never be anything else like it.

It wouldn’t be because of you, though. You passed Ms. O’Donnell’s English class by the skin of your teeth, so your writing leaves much to be desired. It would be your muse that would enamor the masses come the next several centuries, because there will never, ever be another Steve Harrington.

At the very core of this poem would read a universal truth: I have fallen in love with his enigmatic being, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.

Well, you’re trying to deal with them, at least. You’re not having a very easy go at it.

Most of the time, you feel like a thousand bricks have piled on top of you. The jagged edges scrape up your arms and press varying shades of purple into your skin. They crush you underneath their weight, but you don’t try too hard to climb out from under them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

You feel a little stuck underneath all the feelings you have for Steve.

You’re not quite sure what to do with them all. They’re too heavy to lift; there’s too much of them to crawl out. It all leaves you feeling a bit trapped.

It’s a good kind of trapped, though.

Once the hurt passes, the weight starts to feel like you’re being swaddled in a blanket. Or a cocoon.

As scared as it makes you, as overwhelmed as you feel, you don’t want this puppy-like adoration to end.

But sometimes, the scrapes sting more than they usually do. The scabs split and start to weep. The faded bruises turn purple again, then to blue and black, and they ache all over. They remind you that girls like you don’t end up with guys like Steve, and the harsh realization turns the comforting weight of being in love into feeling like you’re being buried alive.

Steve is a pretty boy. He’s a rich, prettyboy who wears vintage jeans and drives a new Beemer and has never wanted for anything in his life.

And you’re… whatever the total opposite of that is.

You wear whatever’s cheapest at the thrift store or what Eddie lets you steal from his closet. You drive a rust bucket that belonged to your dad until he lost his license, so the thing practically rotted in the backyard until you got yours. And all you’ve ever done is want for things because you’ve never had anything.

And the one thing you want the most is something you’ve never been able to admit to anyone. Not even Eddie. Not even yourself.

Screw new clothes or a car fresh off the lot. You don’t want popularity — you don’t even want money (though it certainly wouldn’t hurt). You want so desperately to be loved that it makes your bones ache.

All you want is someone to hold your wrists and kiss your palms, to cradle you when the thunder is too loud and the cracks of lightning make you shake, to be a hiding place where you can keep every secret and be certain it stays safe.

You want someone to smile at you the way Steve smiles at you. You want to feel held the way he makes you feel held — without ever touching you. You want to feel wanted the way he makes you feel wanted.

You want Steve.

And you’re not sure how long silly love songs will substitute your yearning.

“What do you think about Steve?” you ask Eddie out of the blue.

He was in the middle of a rant about his latest campaign, but you hadn’t heard a single word of it if you’re honest. The butterflies in your stomach were too loud.

The boy sits across the room at his desk, back hunched, while he scribbles ideas into his tattered Dungeons and Dragons composition journal. You’re sprawled out in the middle of his bed like you have been for the past hour, making constellations of Steve’s face from the marks on his ceiling.

“I think he’s an asshole,” Eddie answers without missing a beat.

It makes you roll your eyes. You shouldn’t have expected anything less out of him, really. You toy with the frayed hem of your crop top and rephrase. “Okay, but do you think he likes me?”

“I know he likes you,” he scoffs. “That’s the problem.”

You smile widely to yourself, then purse your lips to the side to keep it hidden. There’s no one looking to see you grinning like an idiot, but it doesn’t make you feel any less like one.

“He wants to take me on a date tonight,” you confess out loud for the first time.

It wasn’t like you to keep something like that from Eddie. Or anything. At all. But you found yourself hiding it like some kind of dark secret. A distant part of you was terrified that it was all in your head, but it’s been three days since Steve asked you now. Which means you’ve spent three days pinching yourself.

You haven’t woken up yet.

“Like, a date date,” you clarify and rise on your elbows to study the boy across the room.

You feel the need to explain yourself because movie nights and rides around town and hanging out in the break room after closing don’t feel nearly as serious as Steve wining and dining you. It feels much more official now, as though the line between liking someone and like-liking them has been drawn.

“And I’ve never been on a date date before—”

“What about the one time you went out with, uh…” Eddie trails off as he aggressively erases something on his paper. He stills and squints over his shoulder at you. “What was his name? Matt? Marcus?”

“Mason,” you correct and try not to shudder at the memory. “And I left him at the restaurant because he asked me how big my boobs were within the first ten minutes, so he doesn’t count.”

A grin pulls at the boy’s face. He chuckles to himself. “Oh, yeah.”

“And I know I shouldn’t be so nervous about it ‘cause it’s just a dumb date, like… We’ve been alone together a billion times now, you know? It’s just…” you ramble in one breath, then trail off with a huff. You flop back onto the mattress rather dramatically. “Steve Harrington doesn’t date girls like me. He dates girls like Nancy Wheeler. And, as far as I’m concerned, they were a matching made in fucking heaven— I mean, I didn’t know them back then or anything—”

“Obviously,” Eddie murmurs. “That was a train wreck.”

“—But they looked fucking perfect together, Eds!”

The image of them walking the hallways of Hawkins High isn’t hard to picture. You can still see Nancy in her pretty pleated skirt and pink manicured nails and Steve with his stupid hair and brand new Ray-Bans. They owned the school like their parents owned Hawkins — it was practically kismet.

You try to picture him and you together, and it doesn’t come as effortlessly.

It’s like trying to wedge pieces from opposites puzzles together; it just doesn’t work.

And it’s different from anyone Steve’s ever dated. It’s different from anyone you’ve ever dated. People look at him and his pretty girlfriend and gush, “oh, wow, they look good together.” People look at you and a guy with smudged eyeliner and heeled boots and whisper in disgust, “oh god, they deserve each other.”

You won’t get any of the kindness that Steve is used to, only stares from strangers as they try hopelessly to figure out whether or not you’re dating — because surely, he wouldn’t stoop low enough to date someone like you.

“And I don’t wanna…” you waver, trying and failing to put your fears into words. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just scared.”

Eddie shakes his head to himself. “You don’t need to be scared, okay?” he mumbles, his attention still turned down to his notebook.

“Oh, thanks, Eds. I’m cured,” you monotone.

“I just mean that—” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh and swivels in his chair to face you completely. “Steve’s a douchebag, alright? But he’s a good douchebag.”

Your brows furrow. “…What?”

“He used to be an asshole and everything, but… I don’t know, I guess he turned out to be a pretty good guy— and if you tell him I told you that, I will kill you,” Eddie explains in one breath. The half-hearted threat spills from his mouth,and he goes suddenly soft. “He’s not gonna hurt you, okay? I promise. I mean, the guy’s practically a fucking teddy bear.”

A smile pulls slow at your lips.

It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard him say about Steve, despite having been friends with him for nearly a year now. The foreign kindness comforts you well enough. If Eddie didn’t think Steve was every bit the good douchebag he says he is, there’s no way he’d let you go anywhere near him.

“Yeah?” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he echoes with a huff, obviously upset about having to admit such a truth. Then he shrugs. “And if he does hurt you, I’ll beat him up. Which, with his track record, I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. “Thanks for looking out, Eds.”

He only grumbles in response.

And even though he complains the entire time, he drops you back off at your place and helps you agonize over what to wear. He sits on your bathroom counter to keep you company while you shower, then holds your makeup bag in his lap while you get ready. He only comments once about how differently you’re doing it.

Then the boy lounges on your bed, legs crossed and back propped on the headboard while you rifle through your closet. In true Eddie Munson fashion, he’s got something to say about everything you pick out.

Your white sweater is too tight, he tells you, and the fuzzy texture feels too weird. The plaid skirt you pull from the depths of your closet is too “christmas-y” and “totally not your color.” He tells you he likes your boots better as he helps you with the finicky buckle of your Mary Janes, then snaps the band of your knee-highs when he stands again.

Eddie tells you all of this because it’s easier to tease you than to say what he really thinks — that it feels like you’re in high school again and trying out styles that don’t suit you.

He loved you the way you were, in black and leather and silver chains and fishnets, because he knew that’s what you felt good in. You found your identity in your unconventional style and you sparkled in it.

And you were still pretty like this, dressed in brighter colors and looking like the girls that used to bully you in high school, but it’s so obviously not you. More than anything, it irks him that you’re doing all of this for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

But Eddie knows that you’re nervous — he can tell by the way you’re talking a thousand miles a minute and checking your appearance in the mirror every couple seconds like something might’ve changed. He also knows that you’re still skeptical about this whole thing. Because you have no idea that Steve looks at you like the whole world could crumble around him, and he wouldn’t even blink.

You don’t know that you have nothing to worry about.

So Eddie figures he’ll wait to make fun of you. Save all his teasing remarks for when you’re gushing about the date the next day.

But you’re already aware of all this — how different you look. You hardly recognize yourself when you look in the mirror. You’ve traded in your shades of black for something brighter. Your blowsy hair is clipped back out of your face. Your makeup is more conventional and modest than you’re used to.

You look less like the freak you usually are and more like a wild thing that’s been tamed.

You feel pretty.

Or, at the very least, the idea that Steve will think you’re pretty makes you feel pretty.

It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it.

You stand in front of the full-length mirror and tug the scratchy socks up and over your knee when they start to slip down. You rise once more, giving yourself another once over, then nod in approval — pleased with the costume you’ve put on.

A fleeting through with a mean, green, bleeding heart and a mind of its own scratches bitterly at the confines of your skull.

Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The ghost in you, she don't fade.

Steve, riddled with chronic feelings of inadequacy, overcooks the chicken and spritzes too much cologne on himself.

He had always been the kind of boy that loved things a little harder than he should’ve.

Ask any plant he’s ever owned that he accidentally killed with every leaf he overwatered, frightened that anything less would be neglectful. He was always so scared of them dying that he suffocated them until they wilted anyway.

He thought he might’ve grown out of all that until he realized he did the same thing with Nancy.

He squeezed her too tight and she squirmed at his smothering, called him bullshit and pushed him away so she could breathe again, then stomped on his heart until she was certain it stopped beating for her.

And therein lies the state of limbo Steve Harrington has lived in all his life — between loving something too much and not enough. He hasn’t yet found that balance that stops plants from dying and people from running away.

He isn’t quite sure how to be anything other than the man he is now.

His conscious clings to your every move. He thinks about when he’s awake, and when he isn’t, he hopes he’ll be lucky enough to dream about you. He bothers you at work all day, then asks if you want to go for a ride when you’re off because he hates being away from you. The nights get too cold when you stray too far. And even though he’s never been much of a chef, he offers to cook for you because he wants to show you he cares enough to try.

Steve’s the kind of guy that overcooks his chicken because he’s terrified that you’ll get sick if it’s not done enough. He’s the kind of guy that douses himself in cologne, then breaks the bottle because he’s terrified of not smelling good enough. He wants everything to be enough for you.

Steve Harrington, for once in his life, wants to be enough for somebody.

But now all he is, is a stupid boy that never learns, who smells like he’s trying to overcompensate for being a terrible, terrible chef.

When Nancy broke his heart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to be this person again. Steve was scared he’d become someone he didn’t recognize — someone who didn’t care enough to water plants because, hey, they’re gonna die anyway, right? Because he gave and gave and gave, and had nothing to show for it but a stupid wilting flower.

Steve made a dark room of his broken heart. A boogeyman lived there, too. It made him scared that he’d never be able to love someone like he loved Nancy.

But then you came out of nowhere — this beautiful, loud, and mysterious thing that exudes every color of the rainbow when she laughs, despite her blacker-than-black wardrobe. You smile at him like you’ve never been hurt, like a sun that’s never known the night. It makes him feel like he can be that too.

The two of you seek a similar solace in one another. You fill each other’s voids without effort and without trying, like puzzle pieces or halves of an orange.

Steve met you and he realized that he didn’t get his ability to love from Nancy. He had always been a lover, a boy who could love something deeply, and that didn’t go away when she broke his heart.

And sometimes it was awful. It was painful and frightening more than it was anything else — love. It was doubtful and envious and distant.

Love makes you selfish and creepy and uncharacteristically overbearing. Love makes you worry about your hair and overcook your chicken and drench yourself in cologne. Love takes a hell of a lot of hope, and that’s what he feels like when he’s with you — hopeful. Like he’s never been hurt before.

A surge of optimism and apprehension hits him like a bolt of purple lightning just behind his ribcage when the doorbell rings. Mostly because he knows you’re waiting on the other side of it. His hands shake when he opens the door, but not because he’s scared. He’s just full of hope and buzzing with its foreign intensity.

Steve finds the rest of his life standing on his front porch, dressed in all the trappings of his past.

You’re smiling wide when you see him, the same whizzing ball of hope that he is now, and clutching a bottle of wine. You’ve traded your usual grocery store alcohol for something bottom shelf from an actual liquor store. The sunshine grin you’re wearing is about the only thing familiar about you now.

With your hair pulled back, brows combed neatly to match the pretty makeup you’ve spotted gingerly on your features, dressed in foreign colors with knee-high socks and kitten heels — you look nothing like yourself. It’s a costume you’ve got on, still so pretty but pretending in some way.

It has Steve startled for a moment, thinking Halloween came a whole six months earlier and he never got the memo. Then he realizes you must’ve gotten all dressed up for him, even though you never had to. Just like he didn’t have to try and play chef to impress you.

Both of you are just stupid idiots who care too much, making it painfully obvious despite your best efforts to keep it hidden.

“Hi,” you grin sheepishly through a foreign, pale pink, and glossy mouth.

Steve’s too busy gaping at you to respond in a timely fashion.

The wind billows through your hair and sends strands of it flying in your face. And even though he can’t remember a time when you’ve ever worried about the wild halo on your head, you’re quick to tuck them back into place again.

With most of it pulled back and combed with obvious intent, your face is left unhidden. Your neck and shoulders and collarbones are too. And you’ve got on this tight sweater and pretty skirt and tall socks that make your legs look longer. All of your usually concealed features are heightened.

The dainty swipes of mascara, eyeshadow, and blush only accentuate them further, though your spots are attentively covered with foundation that isn’t exactly your shade. It’s a bit lighter than your skin tone, like you’d gotten it some time ago when you were still a bit paler.

You look less like the loud, plucky girl he’s come to know and someone more timid, delicate, and polished.

You’re so pretty he damn near forgets how to speak. His tongue swells and every word he could use loses meaning at the sight of you. But it isn’t you, and that only confounds him further.

It’s like you’ve covered yourself in body paint. The real version of you is hidden somewhere underneath it all, glimmering somehow more golden than the flaxen you’re playing pretend in.

When Steve realizes he hasn’t yet answered you, it feels like it’s been ten minutes or more. In reality, no longer than five seconds have gone by.

“Hey,” he greets finally, in an exhale that gets caught in his throat halfway through. He clears it and smiles shakily. “Hi.”

He steps to the side of the doorway and ushers you inside. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you catch him in the act when you turn to face him again. Your grin widens and you trap it between your teeth.

“Smells good in here,” you compliment, walking slowly backward with your hands clasped behind your back.

“Thanks,” he accepts your flattery with an awkward hand on his neck. “Yeah, uh— I kinda burnt the chicken a little bit, but everything else should be good. At least, I hope it’s good. It’s kinda hard to mess up a salad, right?”

He laughs under his breath, then starts to ramble without realizing it.

“I’m not the best cook, as it turns out. I mean, I thought I could at least fake it, you know? Fake it ’til you make it, or whatever that bullshit saying is — but there is no faking the tornado I just had in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve made a bigger mess in my life. But, uh, yeah… And don’t worry! I didn’t put tomatoes in the pasta. Or the salad. Or the sauce. I know you don’t think them, so…”

You’re in the middle of beaming and trying very hard not to laugh when he hits you with that one.

Steve, like you, is having a very hard time shutting up just now. He’s in the same web of nervousness that you’re spun up in too. He’s all tangled and trying to weave words that make sense, though everything things his mouth in half-thoughts.

But then he says something so strangely profound out of nowhere, and it makes your pounding heart stop without warning. He’s just talking about fucking tomatoes, but you understand that — in some weird, roundabout way — that it’s much deeper than that.

You’d told him the mundane little detail in passing some time ago. At the diner, when you picked the fruit from your burger with a grimace on your face. You said it tasted like battery acid and tainted everything it touched. He took it back to the counter when you weren’t brave enough to.

“Here you go, Punchy. Your battery-acid-free burger,” he’d joked when he set the fresh plate in front of you.

And he remembered all that. He tucked that tiny piece of information about you into the very back of his mind so that he could use it to make you happy later on.

That’s adoration at its core, you figure. Somewhere in all those minuscule remember-ings.

“You remembered that?” you wonder aloud in a bemused sort of whisper.

Steve has already moved on. He’s rambling about the broken spout of his cologne bottle but stops the second he realizes he’s doing it.

Of course, I did, scoffs the little voice in his head. I’m sorta obsessed with you, as it turns out.

He doesn’t tell you that, though, for reasons he finds are quite obvious — the most significant of which would be running you off entirely. So instead, he just shrugs and tries to be cool, despite having already established how terribly uncool he is.

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

When the two of you settle at the dining table, Steve realizes he’s eaten most of his dinners alone until now.

His parents stopped caring sometime around middle school. His dad got too busy with work, started staying after-hours to catch up on paperwork or screw his secretary. And his mom didn’t care because she was too busy getting wine-drunk on the phone with whatever book club friend that was just as miserable as she was.

Steve would fork at his cold pad thai while he listened to his mother’s muffled rant about who went where and who wore a hat.

He couldn’t find it in himself to eat in his room. The empty dinner table was the only sort of stable routine he had in the swirling uncertainty of being a teenage boy.

But now he’s got you.

He hopes he never stops having you. He doesn’t want to go back to being alone like that again, not after he’s found someone that can fill an entire room with their laugh.

The cackle you let out at Steve’s terrible, terrible cheese pun — “yeah, I guess you could say I cooked this all on my provol-own — echoes through the dining room. Even though he knows you’re laughing at him and not exactly with him, he figures it’s a small price to pay to keep hearing such a heavenly sound.

It reminds him of the real you, the one underneath all the foreign regalia.

The rays of your usual sunshine peek from the clouds you hide behind. You’re way too bright to stay hidden.

Steve can tell you’re watching his every move. You eye him from across the table with the intent of doing everything he’s doing, lest you might do something wrong. He puts his napkin in his lap, so you put your napkin your lap. He cuts his chicken with his fork and knife, so you cut your chicken with a fork and knife — though you quickly realize you’re not quite as dexterous as he is for all that.

It’s endearing. The kind of cute that makes his heart hurt just a little bit. He hides his smile and happily abandons the conventional things he’d been taught to do. He eats with his fingers and then licks the pads of them, grinning when you giggle and do the same.

It’s not something he’s used to — grabbing pieces of cut chicken with bare fingers and slurping noodles without having cut them first — especially not when he’s trying to impress a girl. But he can tell the lack of etiquette makes you more comfortable, and that’s all he really cares about.

He offers you another serving once you’ve finished your first. You decline politely with the mutters of “oh, no, I couldn’t,” but he’s seen your appetite. You could down five burgers at the diner and not break a sweat if you’re feeling hungry enough.

It’s one of those little heart-wrenchingly adorable things you do that both shock and enamor him. But, for a reason he can’t name, you’ve decided that part of yourself was too deplorable to add to your costume.

Steve only scoffs at you in response. He scoops more chicken and pasta onto your scrapped-clean plate despite your refusal.

You’re grateful he doesn’t let you get away with your stubbornness. Truth be told, you were still sort of starving.

He’s just grateful you don’t think his mediocre cooking skills total a complete dealbreaker.

Steve tries to fight you when you offer to help him clean up the kitchen. He tells you to make yourself at home on the couch while he tidies up, ushers you to pour yourself a glass of wine and pick out a record while you wait for him.

But you have issues with authority and take little fondness in being told what to do. So, in true Punchy fashion, you do the exact opposite of what he tells you to do.

You roll up the sleeves of your pretty sweater and stand next to him at the deeply set sink in his kitchen island. “You wash, I’ll dry?” you offer.

He doesn’t argue, only nods.

He’ll let you take the blame for not wanting to be too far away from him. It’s easier than admitting his own guilt in the matter. ‘Cause sometimes his heart breaks when he blinks and he has to miss you for the faintest fraction of a second.

“You seriously don’t have to, you know—”

“Stop saying that,” you scold and snatch the dripping plate from his hands. You swipe a towel over the ceramic with a meticulous ease. “I actually like doing dishes, okay? I do them at all time. I’m practically a professional at this point.”

“Yeah?” Steve laughs, shooting you a grin as he dunks his hand into the warm, sudsy water.

You love that stupid smile so much you’ve started to hate it.

It’s soft and so sincere, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. The gentle grin drips with so much honey you can practically taste it. It’s so tender it makes you feel unworthy, so full of love it fills you with a distant rage that he might’ve looked at someone else with it.

You have to duck away from his gaze before he can catch you blushing.

“Yeah. That’s, like, my one chore when I’m over at Eddie’s,” you respond with a shrug. “Because, you know, Wayne’s always working and Eddie’s… Eddie, and he really shouldn’t be trusted with anything remotely sharp or breakable, so…”

“What about when you’re home?” he wonders, simply for the sake of keeping the conversation going, but noting how the mention of home makes you tense.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, considering every time I go back, it looks like there’s been a tornado, doing dishes is just one part of the shit pile that I need to clean up, you know? My parents are usually on some bender — or still passed out from said bender — to take care of the place while I’m gone.”

Steve sees how distracted you’ve gotten as you keep wiping down a bone-dry plate.

“But, uh, anyway. Point is, I think I’m destined to have a career as a professional dishwasher.”

When your gaze flits back to Steve’s, he forces a smile at you.

He’s noticed how you always seem to talk about your best friend and his uncle without ever mentioning your parents. He understands now that it’s because they weren’t your family, not like Eddie and Wayne were. The small Munson clan was your home, it seems, and he fights to steer you back that way.

“So, you stay with them most of the time, then?” he redirects innocently as he hands you a freshly washed wine glass.

“Yeah. I think I’m pretty much Eddie’s personal caretaker these days.”

“Wow,” he marvels playfully, wide-eyed and grinning. “On top of being a professional dishwasher? You’re really doin’ it all, aren’t ya, Punchy?”

“Mm-hmm. I am a real jack of all trades, Harrington,” you joke back with a commendable finesse and flash a teasing smile up at him. The pastel-colored lipstick has mostly disappeared from your mouth now. You look more like yourself.

“And Eddie— he’s got this crazy scar on his hand from when he was a kid, and he was helping Wayne wash the dishes. He, like, blindly reached into the water or something and stabbed himself. Knife went straight through his palm.”

Steve winces.

“Yep. Now he says he’s too traumatized to help do the chores,” you reminisce with a distant laugh and set the glass upside down on the drying rack. “I don’t mind, though. I like doing them on my own. Gives me time to think, you know?”

“I’m standing right here,” the boy beside you scoffs, feigning offense.

“You can be the exception, Stevie,” you assure with a grin.

Maybe it’s the look you give him. Maybe it’s the nickname he used to hate, but now makes his heart skip a beat or two — or three. Maybe it’s all those things and the way your fingers brush his wrist when you move to take the pot from his hands. Either way, something shifts and he forgets how to use his fine motor skills.

The pan slips from his fumbling hands and yours and plops back into the water. The metal bangs loudly when it hits the bottom of the sink. Both of you jump back to avoid the splash.

“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes scanning your form to make sure he didn’t make a total mess of you.

“It’s okay,” you promise with a gentle laugh and swipe the towel in your hand over your sweater to remove the droplets clinging there.

Steve scrunches his nose. “I feel like I might’ve just ruined my co-dishwashing privileges.”

“Just a little,” you quip.

You give him no warning before bringing the waffle-patterned nettle up to his cheek to dry him off, too. He flinches at the suddenness of the action but melts into your touch without thinking twice.

“You know, you have a pretty cool scar, too,” you tell him, mostly out of the blue, while you dab at the stubble on his jaw.

Steve’s gotten used to all your abrupt mannerisms and the way you flip-flop between topics with an expertise only you seem to possess. He likes that about you, though. There’s never a quiet or still moment when he’s with you.

“Yeah?” he hums back.

You nod and move down to his neck. “I felt it a while ago, during our Night of the Living Dead marathon—” of which Steve has no recollection. He can’t remember a damn thing from those movies, but can still feel the tingle of your mouth against his own.

“—On the back of your head. Felt pretty gnarly.”

You switch the towel to your other hand and use your free one to swipe through his hair. Your fingers muss at his hour or more of hard work, but your touch is a far better reward than nearly quaffed hair. You weave through the chocolate strands until you reach a marred, barren line.

“Right… there.”

Steve, still buzzing with your touch, manages a breathy chuckle. “Uh, yeah. It’s a… It’s a really long, really stupid story.”

“Wanna give me the short version?”

The grin you give him is impossible to say no to.

“I’m a super klutz,” he summarizes with a shrug and a sloppy grin.

He mourns the loss of your touch when your hand slips from his hair. “Well, now I have to hear the story.”

“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”

“I like dumb,” you assure quickly to stop whatever self-loathing he was about to spew. “I’m best friends with Eddie Munson. I think I can take it.”

“Touché,” he chuckles under his breath. The remaining dishes are left forgotten in the depths of the soapy water when he turns his back to him. He leans his weight on the countertop and grips the edges of it in his hands. “You see, I did this really smart thing when I was a baby where I’d, you know, crawl backwards—”

“Crawl backwards?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah. I’d push with my hands — beep, beep, beep,” he flattens his palms and presses them against thin air to demonstrate it for you. “Always in reverse. I mean, it makes sense, right? You gotta push to move.”

“Sure,” you shrug. A laugh tumbles from your mouth shortly after.

“Did that until I reversed my way down a flight of stairs and hit my head pretty damn good,” he concludes with a wince. It’s like he can still feel the pain sometimes.

“Wow,” you marvel. “So, like… When people ask if you were dropped on your head as a kid, the answer would be—”

“Yep…” he sighs, then laughs when it makes you laugh. He looks over at you with sparkling cinnamon eyes. “It explains a lot, doesn’t it? I think, like, right out of the gate, I’m super confident, you know? But I’m also a total idiot, which is just a brutal combination.”

“I have noticed that, actually,” you confess with a gentle sort of smile.

“Yeah?” he winces.

“Yeah. You do this thing sometimes where you get all… suave and cool,” you tell him, squinting and lowering your voice a few octaves for effect. “Like you’re trying to be King Steve all over again. And then you, like, trip over a stack of DVDs or something because the universe is trying to humble you.”

“That is a… really good way of putting it, actually,” Steve confesses with a laugh.

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Well, the good thing is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. So, I guess I’m pretty glad somebody bumped my head before we met. ‘Cause things probably would’ve turned out… a whole lot differently.”

Steve watches your face contort from understanding to confusion. Your manicured brows pinch together and your doe eyes squint over at him. He watches you break down his words in real time.

“Somebody…” you murmur under your breath. “You mean… Are you talking about Nancy?”

“Yeah, uh… She gave me a— a pretty big thump, you know? Worse than the one I got falling down those stupid stairs,” he tells you with a reminiscent smile.

It makes you feel like a total idiot, standing in front of him like this — a carbon copy of the girl that tore his heart to shreds.

“I deserved it, though. I mean, you knew me back then, I was a… a total asshole. And sometimes, I think I still would be if she didn’t, you know… if she didn’t… totally rip my fucking heart out,” he concludes with a sad sort of laugh. “Now I’m kinda grateful she did. As bad as it hurt — as angry as it made me — I think, in a lotta ways, it made me better.”

“Better?” you echo quietly.

“Yeah… If she didn’t break up with me when she did — if I didn’t get that dumb thump on my head — I wouldn’t have changed. I wouldn’t be… here right now. With you,” he confesses, revealing more of himself than he ever has before, to a girl he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a couple of years ago.

He looks beside him at this costumed girl — at you — and he sees someone he probably would’ve given the time of day back in high school. The lack of dark, baggy clothing makes you look approachable — like you won’t actually bite him for coming near you like the rumors always said.

And Steve’s self-aware enough to know he probably would’ve treated you like shit back then. He would’ve fucked you just to fuck you, then only talk to you when he needed you to do his homework for him. And you wouldn’t have been the first girl he did that to either, and the thought makes him want to puke.

He’s glad he’s found you when he did. He’s even happier you met him where he was at, in that awkward in-between stage of growing up where you’re trying to be someone different while still finding comfort in staying the same. You never complained even once when he reverted back to his old ways.

And even though you’re standing right next to him, your chest nearly brushing his arm with every heavy breath you take, he finds himself missing you.

You’re not you — not without the fun outfits and the crazy hair and all your rings that clink together every time you move. He misses how the metal felt against his skin and the way they’d get caught in his hair.

You’re still beautiful like this, but it’s a strange type of beauty. One that both of you know doesn’t belong to you. You fit into it like baggy jeans or a too tight shirt. You’ve squeezed yourself into a ball to try to fit into a world far too small for you, because you thought that’s what Steve wanted.

“I’d still be that King Steve douchebag… Partying every night, getting drunk out of my mind, never settling down like I…” The words get trapped in his throat. He clears it to force them out. “Like I always wanted to, you know?”

“Right,” you murmur, voice not strong enough to be any louder than that.

“So, yeah, I don’t know. I guess, in some weird, roundabout way, I’m just to tell you that I’m not that guy anymore. King Steve,” he admits and presses his hip into the counter to face you fully.

When you gather the strength to look up at him, you find his gaze already dripping with honey and staring down at you. He’s all soft and mushy and twinkling with the adoration he’s got for you. And when he smiles, it’s so terribly sincere and coated with a distant sadness that’s been playing on the edge of his voice this whole time.

“And I know you might still see me as that guy. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t really deserve to be looked at any differently, not after how I acted towards you—”

“Steve,” you breathe out in a tender sigh. “It’s okay—”

He shakes his head to himself. His eyes squeeze shut when his chin falls to his chest.

“It’s not. It’s… It’s really not. I just—” he inhales sharply, chest deflating on the exhale when his gaze turns back to you. He looks sterner now, but still so tender. “I just want you to know that I’ve changed, okay? I am changing. And I don’t want you to think I’m the kinda guy you have to change yourself for.”

When the weight of his words finally hits you, it feels a bit like being punched in the stomach.

It knocks all the wind out of you and makes it hard to think about anything other than the sudden loss of breath. Like a kid who’s fallen off the monkey bars and flat onto their back, you can’t do anything but writhe through the ache and hope you’ll be back to normal soon.

You got dressed that evening thinking you were the master of deception. You perfected your subterfuge and awaited Steve’s inevitable swooning because you looked like all the other girls he’d fallen in love with.

But he sees through every inch of your pretending with his secret x-ray powers, and now you’re just a stupid girl standing in front of him, soaking wet with embarrassment.

It’s a little like when he and Tommy and all his basketball goons would make fun of you. They’d talk about you like you weren’t there while they tossed tiny crumbled up pieces of paper into your hair so they could watch you struggle to get them out. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because now he’s apologizing, and telling you that he likes you, and that you never had to change a single damn thing for him at all.

You’re equally as self-conscious, though, and feeling like a total idiot for thinking you could even pretend to be halfway normal.

“Oh…” is the only thing that leaves your mouth in that moment. Your mind is still going a million miles a minute. You want to blurt out an apology and an explanation all at once, while simultaneously turning into a puddle at his feet and disappearing entirely.

But rather than break down, you stay standing. Too stuck in your head to feel all there.

Steve seems to notice your trepidation almost immediately. His eyes widen and his brows raise and his pretty mouth falls open to let all of his reassurances spill out.

“And it’s not that I don’t think you’re pretty! You’re— You’re perfect like this too, but I just…” he inhales and takes the tiniest step closer to you, putting an unsure hand on your waist. “I like you the way you were before. And this isn’t… This isn’t you.”

You blink back stinging tears and turn your gaze to where you toe your Mary Jane’s into the kitchen tile. You go to twist your rings like you always did when you were nervous before realizing you’d left them all at home.

“I just wanted to be like the girls you like,” you confess quietly.

“You are like the girls I like,” Steve corrects with a gentle laugh. “‘Cause I like you.”

Your eyes are all glassy when they flit back up to his.

Even though you don’t look quite like yourself, the way you look at him hasn’t changed. You still gaze at him like you can see right through the nice hair and the dumb smirks and the stupid persona he puts on when he doesn’t feel good enough the way he is. You look at him like you’re in love with the boy he tries like hell to keep hidden.

The exact same way he looks at you.

“I think I just got a little spooked. Girls like me aren’t supposed to end up with guys like you.”

“I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago,” he admits with the shake of his head. “The whole soulmates-love-at-first-sight thing, it’s all… bullshit. If I’m gonna love someone, I’m gonna do it on purpose.”

Steve watches the lingering sadness in your eyes ebb to something sunnier. Your gaze sparkles and suddenly you’re beaming at him, not bothering to conceal the effect his words have on you. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

“I like that,” you murmur in approval, then more loudly proclaim: “Screw soulmates! Let’s start loving people on purpose!”

The two of you laugh about this promise you’ve just made to each other without really saying it to each other. It sort of goes unsaid — if I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna do it on purpose and let’s love each other on purpose. That’s what you mean, and neither of you has to say it out loud because you get it.

It’s that exact realization that makes Steve’s heart flutter something fierce. Suddenly, the urge to touch you becomes too great to bear. He wants to feel you like he did on the couch of his theater room, when a film he could barely recall crackled in the background because the feel of you was too loud for him to hear anything else.

He needs you like that again, on him and all over him. The ache is a palpable one.

The boy squeezes your waist again, as though to remind you he was still there. Or, perhaps, to remind himself that you were still there —the real thing and not something his brain conjured up.

“It’s not totally insane how bad I want to kiss you right now, is it?” he wonders quietly to you. The low, sultry nature of his voice is not at all forced like it usually is when he’s trying most desperately to flirt with you. His words are just naturally weighed down by his desire for you.

You shake your head in a silent promise, then command through a grin, “Kiss me stupid, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t waste a second.

He’s been anxiously awaiting his chance to touch you all night. He does so now with a vigor that makes you feel all of that anticipation. With one hand on your waist and the other cupping your jaw, you can feel his buzzing skin as it presses against your own — like the static of a television screen. His fingers settle between the strands of your hair while his thumb absentmindedly rubs along your cheekbone.

The softness of his touch makes you hum against his mouth.

His lips are familiar like home — more than, because sometimes you think you’ve never really had one.

There’s never been a cozy, warm, and tender place where you could rest your tired bones. Eddie’s trailer, maybe, but it wasn’t yours. No matter how often you slept within the four walls of his bedroom, no matter how hard you pretended like you’d lived there all your life, it would never belong to you.

But Steve could.

Steve could be yours.

And you wouldn’t even have to pretend either. It would be for real this time.

His mouth was welcoming and pleasant and gentle, far more than you’ve ever gotten out of four walls and a roof. The plush pink of his lips — the cushion of his bottom one you like to dig your teeth into and the rough pad of his tongue that explores your mouth like undiscovered territory — is perhaps the softest thing you’ve ever known.

Even when he kisses you harder and guides you until your back is pressed against the edge of the countertop, it’s still so, so tender.

Steve’s hands migrate to your hips. His fingers clutch the fabric of your skirt as he cages you against his weight and the counter, as though out of fear you might slip away.

Your touch mirrors his desperate one. You cling to him with a similar intensity, balling the fabric of his navy blue Henley in one hand while you waltz through the pretty strands of his neatly styled hair with the other. You let him kiss you the way he wants to kiss you, keeping your obedient mouth plaint for him while he opens your mouth wider with his tongue.

His touches turn bruising, and yours go soft like summer rain.

Steve holds desperately onto you, like any moment he could wake up and none of this could be real. He kisses you like he won’t ever get to kiss you again, having no idea that you’ve already started to build a home in him.

Meanwhile, your fingers tips trail like drops of water down his chest and stomach. They settle at his waist, on the top of his belt, and linger along the leather edge of it. You’re not quite sure what to do next — if you should wait for Steve to say something or if you should go ahead and take the lead.

Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.

Steve’s lips click wetly as they part from yours. He peers down at you through heavy lids, amber eyes swimming with honeyed desire. His lips are pinker now, and swollen from being kissed so ardently. His brows pinch in concern. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t w—”

You barely let him get the words out before you press your mouth to his again. Your hands twist at the collar of his shirt to bring him back down to you. You stand on the tips of your toes to meet him halfway.

“I want to,” you mumble, practically slurring from being so drunk on his touch.

“I wanna treat you right—” he tries to tell you. Some of his words are muffled against your mouth because you find yourself totally unable to stop kissing him now. “—Take things slow with you.”

You smack a final kiss to his lips. When his honey eyes flutter open again, he finds you wearing a mischievous sort of smirk. There’s an accompanying teasing glint in your glazed over eyes.

“You can do all that when you’re inside of me,” you promise lowly, bold in a way neither of you are used to. The brazen nature of your dirty words is foreign but no less exciting.

They make Steve’s head get all swimmy and his cock tightens as it stiffens in his slacks. His spine tingles with his borderline overwhelming desire for you.

“Have mercy…” he murmurs within a heavy breath, more to himself than to you.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

And love, is only heaven away...

Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.

It’s a questionable blue and gray plaid that you doubt he picked out himself. The framed pictures of sports cars only add to the boyish flair of his bedroom. It doesn’t look like him, though. None of it does.

The only real trace of Steve The Hair Harrington is the poster of Christie Brinkley hanging beside his window, diligently placed right next to his bed. It’s a blown-up Sports Illustrated cover — a beautiful, soaking wet woman posing less than effortlessly against a palm tree in all her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfected-bodied glory. It’s the most King Steve you’ve ever seen.

All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.

“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”

He grumbles in annoyance at your teasing as he clicks his door shut behind you.

“Well, you can thank my mom for my great taste, okay? She decorated the place when we moved in, like, forever ago. I just haven’t, you know, gotten around to changing it yet.”

“I can tell,” you laugh and turn to him with a smirk. “Really cool bedsheets, by the way. I mean, seriously. This is state-of-the-art design here, Stevie.”

It isn’t until he’s being pelted with your relentless teasing that he remembers he’s got dinosaur-patterned linens spread out on his mattress.

Steve typically likes to alternate bedsheets in between washing them. His plain gray ones would’ve perhaps been more appropriate for times like this, but they were in his hamper along with another set of plaid ones. His dino sheets may be immature, but they’re no less comfortable. It’s not his fault they just happened to fall on the week you were coming over.

“Alright, Punchy—” The boy rolls his eyes and splays two wide hands on your sides, pressing himself into you rather shamelessly. You wonder if the clothed stiffness against your lower stomach is just your imagination. Any other teasing remarks dissipate from the tip of your tongue as your eyes widen.

Steve notices your silence and smiles. “—You wanna keep making fun of me, or do you wanna make out some more?”

“I think we can do both,” you answer with a shrug, resting your hands along his waist. “I’m quite the multitasker, Harrington.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Wanna show me?”

You nod again, smiling wider now.

He smashes his lips into yours again. You meet him halfway. It’s all too easy to fall back into the swings of things — the desperate mouths and longing touches. Maybe because you’re always desperate and longing for him. And, with the way he’s clinging to you now, you figure he must always be those things for you, too.

You relish in all of his little touches, in the duality of them. He cups your jaw so tenderly yet clutches your hip like he’s still trying to discern whether you’re real or not. Then his palms slide around your waist and up your back until he’s all but hugging you. It’s too sweet a gesture for how he’s prying your lips open with his mouth to slip his tongue inside.

His hands settle, finally, at the very bottom of your sweater. They linger at them hem, not pressuring you to do anything, just waiting for you to make a move.

You part from him to abide by his unspoken want. Your trembling hands work together to free you from your top. You’re more than grateful to pry the itchy thing off of you.

Steve doesn’t get the chance to admire the bra you wear. He catches a glimpse of frilly lace, but there’s little time to praise your topless form before you’re pulling him into another searing kiss. It’s full of tongue and teeth now, far more hungry that just moments ago. Your fingers slither through his hair and curl in the strands. You keep him firmly locked against you as his lips trail down your neck.

He finds your most sensitive spot in record time — the one just under your jaw, right beside your racing pulse. Your legs nearly give out when his tongue runs over it. A breathy moan exhales from your mouth before you can stop it and you feel him smile against your neck. He doesn’t comment on it, just keeps kissing you there in the hopes that you’ll do it for him again.

You do.

Steve sucks and nips at your delicate skin, and you revel in the feeling of his mouth. Head thrown back, you let him paint your neck in varying shades of red. Some will disappear come morning; others will darken into souvenirs for you to admire for the next few days.

The thought of him marking you drives you nearly as crazy as the feeling of his lips against you.

You stopped trying to hold back your whines somewhere around ten of them ago. It was easier, you found, for him to kiss you and to let yourself enjoy it than be hyperaware of all the sounds you were or weren’t making. Steve seems to like it when you moan for him, anyway. Every time you do, he kisses you harder, holds you tighter, and hums out his own subtle moans against you.

He digs his teeth into your skin. It makes you whimper. The desperate, high-pitched noise fades into a lower moan when the rough pad of his tongue rushes out to soothe the bite. He moves on to kiss you elsewhere. You shiver when your spit-slicked skin meets the cool air.

You don’t notice that you’ve hitched your leg up his hip until you feel his warm hand on your thigh to hold it up for you. His fingers inch up until the tips of them rest beneath the hem of your skirt.

You don’t bother to hide how much you want him.

He doesn’t bother to hide how badly he needs you close.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles into your neck, smiling when his words make you whine. “Can I make you feel good?”

You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.

He parts from you for the first time in several minutes. His heavy gaze meets your own. “Can you say it for me?” he asks, not teasing you, just wanting to make sure you want this. Him.

“Want you to…” you start, then swallow when your voice is tighter than expected. You manage the rest through bated breaths. “…to make me feel good.”

Steve kisses you again, a long and thorough stamp on your lips, followed by several tinier pecks. Then his mouth starts its journey down, down, down your body, stopping only to admire your exposed chest. He’s more than pleased to find that what you’re wearing is hardly a bra at all.

It’s a sheer thing with dainty lace detailing. He figures it’s more for decoration than to push up your breasts. There’s no padding at all. Just a pretty tulle number that leaves very little to the imagination.

You watch him intently with a smile, enamored by how enamored he seems to be by a pair of boobs. You never thought yours were much to ogle over, but Steve presses tender, wet kisses to them anyway. He takes the plush between his teeth, sucking on the delicate skin to leave a blossoming bruise there. He only trails further down when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s branded you with.

Steve falls to his knees with a soft thud upon the carpeted floor. The faint sound is much more obvious in the quiet of his bedroom. He looks somehow prettier below you — soft and delicate and sweet like chocolate syrup or marshmallow fluff. But he’s still got this air about him, something stern and domineering, that tells you he’s still got all the power.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, just above the top of your sock, then several more further up. His fingers raise the fabric of your skirt the higher his lips travel. And, strangely, you’re not all that nervous about being half-naked in front of him. It’s hard to be when he’s kissing you like you’re a beautiful thing that deserves to be touched so tenderly.

Steve keeps pushing up your skirt and stills when he reaches the apex of your thigh, right where the top of it meets the joint of your hip.

Your underwear doesn’t match the bra you’re wearing, he finds. It’s orange all over and spotted with bats — the color has faded slightly, like you’d bought them some number of Halloweens ago.

It’s endearing. Everything about you is endearing. Even when you aren’t trying.

“Hold it up for me, yeah?” he asks you with your skirt in his hands.

It shouldn’t surprise him when you do the exact opposite. You step back from him to shove the thing down your legs, then leave it in a pool of forgotten fabric on his bedroom floor when you gravitate towards him all over again.

His hands rise to your outer thigh and rub soothingly along the warmed skin. You wonder if he can feel the goosebumps pebbling there. The smirk he flashes up at you tells you that he does.

He’s got a twinkle in his eye when he teases you. “Really cute underwear, by the way.”

“I was obviously very prepared for this,” you retort with ease, making fun of yourself just as effortlessly as you can make fun of him.

“I like them,” the boy assures. “I really like them. Very on brand, Punchy.”

“Would you like me better out of them?”

Your arched brow and knowing smirk, kept caged between your teeth, is met with a bemused gaze. Steve’s eyes go wide at your forwardness.

“Uh, yeah— I mean… yeah,” he nods with a breathless chuckle. Then, more sincerely says, “Only if you still want to.”

You scoff at his timidity, though it’s more at yourself than him. “Look at me, Steve,” you answer plainly, motioning to your half-naked form and the damp spot forming in your underwear. “If I didn’t want this, you’d know by now.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, just before pressing a chaste kiss to the black bow of your panties. He noses at the softness of your stomach while his fingers curl around the hem. He tugs them slowly downward, giving you ample time to stop him if you wanted.

A part of him is still convinced that none of this is real — you, namely. Truth be told, he’s waiting for a smack to the face and a rant about how all of this was just bullshit.

It never comes, though.

Instead, he gets a sheepish grin and a sparkling gaze as you hold onto his shoulder to step out of your underwear. The giggle that spills from your mouth when he tosses them over his shoulder makes him smile.

Your pussy is as pretty as the rest of you. It’s more manicured than he imagined for a girl as wild as you. There’s a tuft of hair on your pubic bone, cut down and shaved around the edges. It leaves your lips bare and glistening with your accumulating slick.

Steve’s all but salivating at the sight of you.

“You wanna put that mouth to work, Harrington, or do you wanna ogle some m— oh,” you try to tease him, all amused at how he looks like he’s never seen a naked girl before, knowing full well he’s seen plenty. But your taunts evaporate from your tongue when he finally puts his mouth on you. They ebb into a breathy, high-pitched moan.

The tip of his chiseled nose smushes against you while he licks at the rest of your pussy with a practiced tongue.

It’s more than obvious he’s done this before. Enough to have become a borderline professional at it. He finds your sensitive button within seconds and with minimal effort. Your legs are already buckling, practically turning to jelly, and he’s only just started.

He latches onto your lips with a swollen pink mouth. His warm, wide hands wrap around the backs of your thighs to keep you steady and anchored against him.

Steve kisses your cunt like he’s making out with you. He opens and closes his mouth in slow, rhythmic motions, rutting his tongue along your glistening skin all the while. He’s sloppy with intention. Every touch is meticulous. He’s trying to figure you out, trying to learn what you like the most and what makes you moan the loudest for him.

Steve’s attentive. He’s ambitious and ardent. It’s like he enjoys kissing you down there, and not like he’s doing you a favor so he can get something in return. He moans against you like it’s every bit as pleasurable for him, as it is for you.

He alternates his efforts while he discovers you like unexplored territory.

You giggled like it tickled you when he stuck his tongue into your cunt the first time, then moaned when his nose nudged your clit. “Your mouth is so good,” you’d praised through bated breaths, but your whines had gotten too quiet for his liking. He opted to give his tongue a break and latch his slick lips to your swelling clit.

You liked it most when he sucked you there. At least, he figures you must, with the way your mouth parts in a silent cry and your hands dart to his hair to push him further into you.

“You like that?” Steve asks you, just to be sure. He pulls enough away so the words are intelligible, but still close for you to feel the vibrations of them against your skin.

“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.

Steve barely lets you answer before he’s licking a flat stripe up the length of your pussy. He slows methodically when the tip of his tongue catches your puffy clit, just so he can see your legs tremble. They do, rather intensely so, and he revels in the way your thighs quiver at his temples.

He wishes he’d laid you down before putting his mouth on you. He regrets not getting to spread you open, to part your soft folds with his thumbs, and admire you the way you deserve to be admired.

But to be under you this way is a reward in itself. To get on his knees for you, to let you grind your hips against his face, it’s heaven. He never wants to stop feeling you this way.

“Please, Steve…” you moan breathlessly. “Please, please, please.”

You plea like it’s a mantra. Your voice grows tighter and tighter the closer you get to your peak.

Steve’s not entirely what you’re begging for. You’re not either, really. You just know that the pleasure is swelling. The wringing knot in your stomach is close to snapping. The thought alone is borderline overwhelming. You want to run away from the crescendoing feeling and keep it locked against your pussy all at once.

“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”

“You can take it,” he promises, speaking the words into your cunt. His lips smack when he pulls away from you, just for a moment to catch his breath. His chest heaves and his tongue darts to graze his bottom lip. “It’s yours, baby. Just take it—”

You’re a goner the second he wraps his lips around your clit again. He suckles there like his life depends on it. Your hips twitch and you tug at his hair when you come, perhaps a bit rougher than you realize. Steve delights in the burn at his scalp. He groans shamelessly into you, a hearty grumble that rolls over every inch of your body.

You make the mistake of looking down at him in the midst of your undoing. You bring your chin down to your chest and open your fluttering eyes to peer down at the boy below you. He’s already looking up at you, you find, with his own bleary gaze. His cinnamon eyes glitter up at you and you melt for him.

Something about the sight of Steve on his knees for you, face snug against your cunt, and gaze lidded with desire makes you keen. Your hips flex, then still against his mouth while you gush for him.

“There you go,” he murmurs against your cunt. “There you go, baby.”

A high moan gets hung in your throat at his praise. It escapes in a delicate cry when your orgasm pummels into you full throttle. You’re whining and terribly sensitive when the buzzing feeling starts to ebb.

Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe.

He knows to leave your throbbing clit alone now, but seeks to prolong your pleasure in other ways. He gathers the honey you leak from your pulsating hole with an eager tongue and doesn’t relent until you’re twitching away from him. Only when you’re tugging him off by his hair is he satisfied.

Then he goes effortlessly soft again.

He presses little kisses to the burning flesh of your thighs and runs his palms along the backs of them to coax you back to the earth again.

When your cries fade to more contented sighs and your eyes find his again, he smiles sweetly up at you. Too sweetly. He shouldn’t be grinning so tenderly, not when his lips and chin and nose glisten with your slick.

Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hands as he rises to his full height in front of you.

“Was that… Was that good for you?” he wonders, suddenly sheepish like he wasn’t lapping at your pussy a minute or more ago.

“Are you kidding?” you retort, trying to laugh at him. All that comes out is a fatigued scoff. Your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt and you lean heavily against him when his arms wrap around you again. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

That nearly does him in right then.

He leans to press a languid kiss to your mouth. There’s a foreign musk to his tongue now that wasn’t there before. You hum a moan against him when you realize it’s you that you’re tasting.

“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.

Steve freezes.

There’s hardly a thing he wants more than to feel your warm mouth on his cock. He’s been hard and aching since the second he got you into his bedroom. And that’s exactly why he knows he won’t last.

He usually jerks off before dates for that exact reason. At least, King Steve did because King Steve knew wherever he was going, he was getting laid. He wouldn’t have the reputation he did if he only lasted eight seconds.

He would’ve gotten himself off before you came around, made sure he was able to last as long as you needed him to if he’d expected you to need him at all. But he wasn’t expecting any of this to happen — especially not for you to come against his mouth and ask to give him a blowjob minutes later.

He didn’t invite you to dinner in the hopes you’d put out after. Call him old-fashioned, but he enjoys spending innocent time with you. He would’ve been more than happy to cook you dinner and kiss you on the cheek before you left.

But here you are, wanting more.

You never stop surprising him.

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” you shrug at his silence. “You deserve to get off too.”

“You don’t have to. Not just because I did it for you—”

“I’ve been hearing about your dick since the tenth grade. I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl in the class of ’85 that hasn’t seen it. The least you can do is let me give you a measly blowjob,” you confess lowly.

Steve, knocked senseless at your words, starts working his belt off without a second thought. His hands fumble with the buckle while he smirks at you. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” you answer vaguely and saunter the short distance to his bed. You plop down on the edge of it and lean your weight on your palms. “Just that you have a monster-sized dick and that Marianne from Soc nearly broke it when you took her virginity.”

“That was a rumor!” he defends as he steps out of his jeans. His shirt goes next. He pulls the thing up and over his head with an admirable sort of finesse, leaving his toned torso and hairy chest on display for you.

“The monster-sized dick or the Marianne from Soc thing?”

He doesn’t entertain with an answer, just drops his boxers and lets you figure it out for yourself.

His cock is already hard and glowing a faint strawberry color at the tip with neglect. It curves to his right hip and hangs there, weighed down by its own size. The hair upon his pubic bone rises to meet the happy trail on his lean stomach, trimmed slightly but still a bit wild. Tanned skin, heavy balls, and a singular vein that trails like a river from the base to the head — Steve Harrington’s got the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.

You don’t even realize you’re gawking at him because you’re too busy trying to figure out how either could be rumors. You’re looking at beast right now, a wild thing that tiny, little Marianne from Soc certainly couldn’t handle. You’re not even entirely sure if you can.

Steve blanches at your hesitation. He sees you retreat into your head and rushes to bring you back. “Hey, we don’t have to… We don’t have to do this if you do want to. We don’t have to do any of this if—”

“I want to,” you assure quickly, eyes widening when you realize how quiet you’d gone. You can imagine how mortifying it must’ve been, for him to get naked in front of you and be met with total silence. “You just… have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

His concern ebbs to a relieved smile. “Well, thanks for stroking my ego, princess.”

“I would love to stroke something else,” you quip with a playful grin that’s far too proud of such a dumb joke.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile.

He wants it on record, though, that he’s not grinning at your mindless innuendo. It wreaks too much of Eddie. You both seem to possess a similar sort of humor in that way, in how you can make anything into a joke — particularly a dirty one.

“Thanks for stroking my ego,” Steve would say and Munson would joke, “Well, we both know nothing else of yours is getting stroked, Harrington, so it’s the least I can do.” And Eddie would’ve been right. But Steve would never let him know that.

The boy settles in the middle of his bed and watches with a glittering gaze as Eddie’s best friend climbs between his legs. She spits into her palm and starts tugging at his hard cock with it. Steve isn’t sure of what to do — if he should rub it in this boy’s face or keep this piece of heaven to himself. He decides on that latter when your lips wrap around his leaking tip.

You’ll tell Eddie about all this tomorrow. He’s your best friend, after all — Steve will be doing the same with Robin, no doubt. And that alone is a reward in and of itself.

Getting him into your mouth was easy in theory, but you quickly find that it’s a harder feat than you realized. Steve’s not just long, he’s wide, and the combination makes it nearly impossible to take him fully.

You pay extra attention to his strawberry pink tip to make up for what you can’t reach. He seems to like that more than anything else. Pearly pre-come leaks from there and you happily lap up his dribbling honey. Steve shudders every time your tongue meets his mushroom tip. His cock keeps drooling for you, so you keep doing it.

You work the rest of him with your palm, made slippery with your spit. Your free hand anchors around his thigh.

The combined effort isn’t something Steve’s particularly used to.

Most girls choose one or the other. They either try to swallow him whole or opt to use their hands when they know that they can’t. That is, if they even want to suck him off at all. The foreign attention you give him drives him to the edge embarrassingly quickly.

“Hey, we should, uh— we should maybe stop,” he cautions tightly.

You detach from the head of his dick with a soft pop, but keep working him slowly with your palm. Your brows pinch together with concern. “You okay? Is it not… Is it not good?”

“What? No! It’s not— It’s not that. It’s great. That’s the… That’s sorta the problem,” Steve assures with an awkward laugh. “I’m not gonna… I probably won’t last much longer. And if you wanna… you know…”

“Fuck?” you finish for him with a teasing grin.

“Yeah. Then we should, you know, maybe stop now.”

Your hand stills at the base of his cock. Steve can finally breathe without the worry of bursting entirely.

“I mean, we can stop if you want to. You know, no pressure or anything, but… I don’t mind. I was sorta looking forward to you coming in my mouth.”

And how the hell was Steve ever going to say no to that — to you? He’s never denied you of anything before, and with that godawful track record, he wasn’t exactly equipped to start now.

Your mouth wraps around him again. You kitten lick at his tip and moan at the musky taste before sucking at his blushing head.

It feels good — it feels great — but he’s plagued with a lingering worry.

He wants so desperately to fuck you, more than he needs to breathe, it feels like. But your mouth is too perfect a thing to deprive himself of. He’s scared it’ll take him too long to get hard again, or worse, that he won’t be able to at all.

The thought of embarrassing himself in front of you, of not making you feel as good as he wants to make you feel, is an unbearable one.

There’s no way he’s stopping you, though. How can he when you’re sucking him off like your life depends on it? Your hand tugs and squeezes at the base of his cock while your tongue laps at his drooling tip. And on top of all that, you moan against him like making him feel good is making you feel good, too.

“Holy shit,” Steve forces through a tightening throat when your tongue dips just below his head to lick where the pale blue vein fades. His neck stretches as he digs the crown of his head into the pillow, revealing all of the pretty tendons you want to sink your teeth into.

“Your mouth is— fuck… Your mouth is fucking perfect, babe, shit.”

All of his little reactions spur you forward.

You want him to keep praising you. You want to keep making his legs shudder and his hips twitch and his cock jerk in your mouth. So you double your efforts, just to hear more of his pretty whines that get stuck in his throat.

When you duck your head to pay the same amount of attention to his balls, Steve’s a total fucking goner.

His hands, both of which were obediently fisting the bedsheets, immediately dart to your hair when you suck his sack into your mouth. One warm palm cradles your jaw while the other clings to the back of your hand. He doesn’t push you or force you to take him further — he just holds you.

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts before a groan climbs out from his throat. His head falls back again, but he forces it upright a moment later so he can keep on watching you.

His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” he manages through heavy pants. “You want my come?”

You nod with his balls still in your mouth, then pull off of them with a pop to put his cock back in your mouth.

Steve gives you exactly what you want no more than ten seconds later, spitting several loads of his come onto your tongue. It tastes like what had been leaking from his tip, just a bit saltier and far more potent with so much of it in your mouth at one time.

Steve’s thighs tremble around you and hips buck wildly despite himself until he’s given you everything he can possibly give to you.

He allows himself only a few moments to relish in the aftermath of his swirling pleasure before reaching for the box of tissues on his bedside table. He rises to his elbows to hand you the napkin when his dick slips from your mouth.

“Here, you can—” he says, trying to offer you something to spit into. It’s a habit he’d developed after the tenth or so girl refused to swallow.

You’ve already wolfed down his come, though, and wiped the excess at the corners of your mouth with the tips of your fingers. You don’t let a single drop of him go to waste.

All this time, Steve assumed he just tasted bad. He figured that must’ve been why no girl ever swallowed for him — not even Nancy, the only other girl he was ever really serious about. And they were together for two years. On the off chance she ever actually wanted to give him a blowjob, he knew her swallowing his come was totally out of the question.

Steve never minded, though. He was a giver more than he was anything else and he preferred most to finish inside. But now, with you, he sees just how much he’d missed out on. It feels a bit strange and unearthly levels of gratifying.

The boy breathes out a laugh and falls back against the mattress. The tissue falls from his limp hand onto the carpeted floor as he revels in his post-orgasmic haze. With his head still swimming and his legs still tingling, his glassy eyes find the speckled ceiling above him but don’t focus on anything in particular.

“Was that—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he interjects softly.

There’s no use in asking if you were good or not. Surely, you could answer the question just by looking at him. He’s a puddle of a man in the middle of his bed, pliant and at your mercy.

You giggle and slither in beside him, pressing your mostly bare body into his side. One leg wraps over his own. The warmth of your slick pussy lingers at his hip. You prop your head up with your fist while your other settles along his chest, busying itself with the tufts of hair there.

“That was, like, really good,” you praise with a sheepish beam. You wish you knew bigger words that might be able to describe it better. Really good doesn’t come close to explaining how heavenly it felt to come in his mouth, for him to come in yours. “You certainly lived up to all the rumors, Harrington.”

“You say that like we’re done,” he chuckles at your conclusive tone.

Your eyes flit from his face to his softening cock lying limb on his thigh, then back to his face again. You arch a skeptical brow. “No?”

“Not even close,” he shakes his head defiantly. His honey eyes flit between the both of yours. “I need to fuck you, babe, I just… I need a few minutes. If that, you know— If that’s okay with you…”

“You just give me life-changing head. So, yeah, I think I can give you a couple minutes,” you promise with a playful, but not insincere smile.

Even after having his mouth on you, and your mouth on him, you still like kissing him the most.

No amount of pleasure can sate the feeling of having him so close in this way. There’s nothing equally gratifying as sucking his bottom lip into your mouth or feeling the wet muscle of his tongue running itself over your own. You’d be more than happy to kiss him like this until sunrise.

Steve’s hands stay locked on either side of your head while he pries your mouth open with his own. He’ll occasionally pull back to admire your spit-slick, kiss-bitten lips for a moment or two. Then he’ll flash you a smile, like you’re a piece of finished artwork he’s happy with, before pulling you back down again.

You lean just over him, elbow digging into the pillow beside his head as you rest your weight on your arm. That hand twists itself within the strands of his hair, fingers lazing in the chestnut halo on his head. Your other migrates down his body, touching him with feather-light grazes to coax him hard again.

His stomach tightens when your nails sweep over the thin trail of hair there. His stiffening cock twitches where it lazes along his inner thigh.

“Top or bottom?” the boy mumbles between languid kisses. His eyes flutter open long enough to catch the brief flash of confusion on your face. You don’t stop pressing your lips to his, even amid your uncertainty.

“Like bunks?”

Steve sputters a laugh against your mouth. He pulls away so he can look at you. “No, like— I meant, do you wanna ride me? Or would you rather lay down?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer quickly. You figure the question must’ve puzzled you because no guy has ever asked before. This kindness is still a tad bit foreign. “I just— I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. It was cute,” Steve assures with a smile so soft it has to be sincere.

“Um… I don’t— I mean, I don’t know. Is that, like, something you want me to do?”

His right hand leaves your face to find his cock. He wraps his fist around himself, pumping slowly to keep himself hard for you. “It’s whatever you want, okay? Promise. I just thought it might be easier for you if you were on top. So you can take things at your own pace and everything.”

“Yeah,” you affirm within a heavy exhale. You feel yourself growing wetter at the mere thought of being on top of him like that. You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yeah. Okay.”

It isn’t your first time being in this position, but something about straddling Steve’s hips feels foreign. You’re starting to notice that most things you do with him feels that way — new and strange and alarming. Even the most innocent things, the mundane shit you’ve done a thousand times before, it’s all brand new with him.

You twist your hand behind your back to unclip your bra. Steve watches you with wide eyes like you’re doing some sort of magic trick. When you toss the piece of fabric somewhere on his bedroom floor, he spits into his palm to wet his cock.

His eyes flit from his hand, to your glistening pussy hovering just above his lap, to your face. “You can, uh— You can rub yourself on me, if you want. You know, to get it wetter. I don’t have lube or anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m…” you trail off. I’m more than wet, you’d almost said. That felt a little too overzealous, though, so you settle on telling him: “I’m okay.”

“You’re still on the, um, the pill, right?” he wonders, feeling a bit lame for remembering something you’d said in passing so long ago.

You complained once that birth control made you feel crazy. You said it affected your mood so drastically sometimes that it didn’t feel worth it to take. That was weeks ago. A brief conversation you’d left in the Family Video parking lot.

You nod wordlessly in reply.

Steve holds the base of his cock to keep it steady for you as you pierce yourself with it.

Taking his blushing head was the easiest part. The sensitive tip slips so effortlessly into you, just bulbous enough for you to feel it but not enough to stretch you out. It’s a Goldilocks just right sort of feeling that has low moans crawling from the depths of your throats.

Down, down, down a couple more inches and that’s when the ache starts to set in.

His girth stretches you in an unfamiliar, but no less satisfying way. As good as it feels, the burning sensation is a hard one to ignore. It’s like a fire, a distant one. It’s sort of like reaching your hand toward a flame while your brain screams at you to not get any closer.

It’s a lot like that, actually.

Your brain cautions you about taking him any deeper than you have now lest he might totally split you in half.

“Sorry— Sorry. I’m sorry,” you sputter suddenly, a little embarrassed that he’s only a couple of inches within you and you’re already having so much trouble. With your chin tilted towards your chest and your eyes squeezed shut, you refuse to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “It’s just… It’s kind of a lot.”

“It’s okay,” he assures quickly. He rubs two soothing hands along your hips and fights back the urge to thrust further into you. You don’t see the gentle smile he looks at you with your eyes closed. “Take your time.”

A little over a minute and a pep talk later, you finally build up the courage to sit on him fully. Come, you can do it, your inner voice spits at you. Stop being a baby. It’s just a penis, don’t be such a bitch.

Your face scrunches when you slide slowly down upon him. Steve expects you to stop and take a break for anothera moment like you’d done just before. He’s more than surprised when you try to take him completely.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t have to— holy shit, babe— don’t hurt yourself— fuuuck.”

You breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when he’s finally sheathed within your pulsating pussy. A lazy, lopsided smile makes its way to your lips, delirious with pleasure and pride.

Both of you exhale faraway moans at the new feeling, heads falling back on their own accord. You’re already more than gratified and you haven’t even moved yet. He’s reaching parts of you that most guys don’t on their best day, making you feel full without trying. Even without his thrusting, the minuscule twitches of his cock are already driving you toward an orgasm.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask him suddenly, smiling lazily at the ceiling.

Steve’s adams apple bobs as he swallows. Then he nods.

“I’m already really fucking close,” you confess with a breathless laugh, face crumbling under the weight of your pleasure halfway through.

Steve chuckles, then groans quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am, too.”

You laugh together and your coinciding embarrassment fades like an ebbing tide. The intimate confessions affirm what you were already more than aware of — that the both of you are just a couple of lovesick idiots who are head over heels for each other and in so far over your heads that you can barely breathe.

You’re spurred on by the sight below you. Steve’s wild hair and amber eyes and swollen pink mouth make you ravenous. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking like the sight of you makes him hungry too, as you start to grind your hips over his lap.

He guides your rhythm with two wide hands on your hips. Your pace is slow, every roll of your hips is experimental, and he revels in every second of it.

You start by rocking back and forth over his lap, then by moving in small circles to add stimulation. When get more confident, you lift yourself up and down over his cock. He’s able to hit your most sensitive spot that way. Steve seems to like it too, because you feel the subtle jerks of his responsive cock.

He accommodates your every move — thrusting his hips in time with your bouncing, then flexing them to reach as deep as he can within you.

“That’s it…” Steve murmurs, mostly to himself. He’s not exactly trying to praise you, but his words send lightning strikes of pleasure to your pussy anyway. He keeps babbling to himself. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Just like that…”

You support yourself with your palms on his hairy chest when you double your efforts on top of him. Steve groans at the lewd sound of your slick thighs clapping over his lap every time you move down on his cock. Your cunt quickly drenches his lower stomach and the small thatch of pubic hair just below it.

You too easily forget that fucking is a marathon and not a sprint.

You overexert yourself quickly in your attempt to rush toward an orgasm and the effects of your sudden fatigue make your legs feel numb.

“Sorry,” you apologize breathlessly when you’re bouncing slows to a stop. You collapse to your elbows, nose nearly grazing Steve’s, as you swivel your hips slowly over his lap. You try to laugh at yourself. “My legs are just getting a little tired… I haven’t done this in a while if you couldn’t tell.”

Steve smiles sympathetically up at you. His hands leave the plush of your hips to cradle your jaw. He gazes at you with a stern sort of gentleness. “Stop apologizing. You’re good,” he promises, then pulls you softly down to peck your mouth.

He rolls his hips up into you and grunts when it makes you whine. “So fucking good…”

Steve tells you to tuck your knees further up his torso and you obey without thinking. You tuck your face into his shoulder and let him cradle the back of your head with one hand while the other settles on your ass.

He grips you there rather shamelessly, fingers digging into your plump skin, while he bends his knees behind you. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up into you without warning.

His pace is already a relentless one, having no need to work himself up to a rapid pass as you had. Being basketball team captain has done wonders for his stamina, it seems. He drills up into you and keeps drilling into you without tiring.

He keeps you securely pressed against him all the while and you relax into his embrace, happily letting him fuck you in his own delicious rhythm as he’d done for you.

The new position stimulates you from all angles. Steve’s hard cock pounds into your weeping pussy. Your swollen clit catches the coarse hair on his taut stomach with each of his thrusts. Your pebbled nipples drag along his furry chest.

It leaves you a whining, writhing mess on top of him.

“You like this?” he murmurs in your ear through broken pants.

He’s partly teasing you. He knows you mustlike what he’s doing to some degree because you’re moaning something fierce into his neck, peppering too sweet kisses in between your pretty whines. But he also wants to know that you like it. He wants to hear you say the words.

He feels you nod against his shoulder. “Yes...” You sigh, then whimper. “Yes, yes yes—”

“I knew you did,” he affirms. You can hear the smile on his face. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you or not. You’re not sure if you particularly care either.

His stubbly jaw grazes your cheek when he turns his head to press a kiss to the burning skin. “Knew you’d like it… Takin’ my dick like a fuckin’ champ, babe.”

“Wanna be good for you,” you confess against his sweat-slicked skin, your voice high and wet like you’re close to crying.

Steve tugs at your hair, not enough to hurt you, just enough to pull you from the refuge you’d sought in the nook of his neck. He finds that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, brows pinching and swollen lips softly agape. His amber eyes are just as wild, heavy with hunger.

“You are good for me, baby,” he promises and seals it with a searing kiss to your wet mouth. He means it in more ways than one and prays you understand. “You’re so good for me… Fucking perfect, babe— shit—”

His cock twitches in your snug slick when you clench around him. He tightens the grip he’s got on your ass and spreads you wider to pound harder into you. You hope his scorching touch will leave bruises come morning. You want to remember how it felt to have him touching you this way.

“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna…” you start, then whimper when you feel the familiar pleasure start to crescendo once more. It takes a moment for the words to return to you. “I’m about to come.”

“Touch yourself,” he blurts.

Your lidded gaze widens. You peer down at him, bemused by his sudden request. “Huh?”

“Touch yourself for me,” he repeats, groaning when the request makes you tighten around him. “Want this to be good for you, too.”

He says this like you’re not already in heaven. You listen to him anyway, though, and squeeze your hand between your slick bodies to find your sensitive button. You rub at your clit until your thighs tremble around his waist. You try your best to ride through every bolt of lightning the pleasure shoots down your spine, despite the distant fear that you won’t be able to weather them.

“Yeah, there you go,” he praises lowly. “Keep rubbing your clit for me…”

Your free hand stays locked in his hair. Your grip tightens within the chocolate strands as you near your peak. Steve revels in the ache, groaning into your shoulder when the burn at his scalp spreads.

You’re already gut-wrenchingly close. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, a struck chord crescendoing — and then Steve changes the angle of his hips. He flexes them suddenly and his thick cock probes something much deeper inside of you. Something that’s never been touched before — not by another guy or a toy or you.

It’s tender, and much more sensitive than your clit. Your vision strays for a brief moment as a white-hot flame of pleasure makes you jerk against him. You gasp sharply, then forget how to breathe when a moan gets caught in your throat. Your hand stills between your slick bodies as you freeze on top of him.

The wet cry finally spills from your mouth after several long seconds. It’s as long and delicate and wet as the orgasm you gush around Steve’s cock.

The flame burns red hot just before you come, then turns to simmering embers when your cunt numbs from the intense pleasure. You blink, and suddenly the fire is burning blue. The rest of your body becomes a casualty to the inferno.

“Yeah? Is that the spot, baby?” you hear Steve wonder. He murmurs the words in your ear, but you don’t hear them. They sound muffled and far away.

You hope he doesn’t expect you to answer. You’re not entirely sure if you can form words anymore, or any actual conceivable thoughts. All you can do is suffer through every overwhelming wave of your orgasm that leaves you a crying and convulsing mess on Steve’s lap.

“Holy fuck—”

The boy slams his hips against you with a final, dense clap that sounds deafening in the quiet of his bedroom. Your gushing and fluttering cunt milks his cock. The feeling of your weeping pussy and the sound of your pretty whines throw him headfirst into his own orgasm. His thrusts still as he twitches within you. A moment later, you feel the subtle tingle at the base of your spine when he spits his come inside of you.

His come paints your welcoming, rippling walls. It’s warm, like the first sip of coffee in the morning or fuzzy socks on cold feet. It blankets you in a sinful comfort.

Steve noses at your cheek while he rides the high of his climax. He rolls his hips slowly into you, much softer now that his cock has grown so sensitive. He clamps his mouth shut between his teeth to stifle his too loud moans and desperate whines. They’re forced to crawl from his throat as suffocated grunts.

You mourn the loss of not seeing his face while you’re tucked so securely into the nape of his neck. It’s a work of art you can imagine so clearly — his pinched brows and scrunched nose and parted lips. But you relish in the searing hold he has on you now, happy to hold and to be held.

The shuddering is slow to subside, especially from you. The aftershocks of your orgasm keep your hips spasming over his lap. Steve groans into your shoulder every time your pussy quivers around his softening cock.

And then the two of you just lay there. You hold onto each other and try to catch your breaths. With the both of you covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your skin sticks together with every tiny movement. The feeling of it makes you smile. You feel like the two of you really are melting together.

Steve’s fingers part from your wild strands of hair and take to tracing the expanse of your damp back. You hum in contentment at the feeling, nuzzling your nose up and down the right side of his neck.

The moment is melted ice cream and early morning rain and marshmallow fluff. It’s spring mornings on the porch and warm breezes in the fall. It’s a soft and familiar thing that’s still so, so new.

You think you could spend forever here, if you had to. In Steve’s bed and in Steve’s lap and with all of Steve’s languid touches.

But sex is different when you’re an adult.

When you’re a teenager, you get to be irresponsible. Carelessness sort of comes with the territory. You have sex in a dirty bathroom of a bar you snuck into and don’t think twice about the implications of any it. But as an adult with bills and a nine-to-five and groceries you’ve got to get once a week, all you can think about is how inconvenient a UTI would be.

“I should probably use the bathroom,” you murmur, already grieving the loss of his touch before you’ve even parted from him.

You leave the safety of his neck to peer down at him. His heavy lids mirror your own.

“I have this thing where if I don’t piss after sex, I feel like I’m gonna be, like, cursed or something. Kinda like when you break a mirror and you’re stuck with shit luck for seven year— or however that dumb superstition goes,” you ramble, voice heavy with fatigue and lingering pleasure. “Anyway. Yeah. Plus, I should probably clean up, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh at your sudden prattling but humors you nonetheless.

Somehow you manage to pry yourselves off of each other — you, feeling significantly emptier without him inside you and Steve, already shivering with the lack of your warmth all over him.

You separate just long enough for him to wet a washcloth in the sink while you piss just a couple feet away from him. The bathroom connected to his bedroom seems to be a foreign sight for you — a least, that’s what he assumes because you rave so enthusiastically about it the entire time.

It’s all Steve’s ever known, though, so he finds it difficult to do anything but nod along with your rambling. More than anything, he’s glad you’re not as weighed down by the domesticity of the moment as he is. Because he, for one, feels a little like he’s been hit by a freight train.

Perhaps spending so many years all alone has made him sensitive to closeness.

You sit on the marble countertop and rest your forehead on his shoulder while he cleans you up. He runs the warm cloth along your delicate folds and wipes away traces of your slick and his come that glisten on your thighs. He pleats the rag and does the same to his softening cock and surrounding skin.

It feels so strangely intimate, more than the sex somehow.

Steve tugs on a fresh pair of boxers and gives you a faded Hawkins Phys. Ed tee to change into. The loose fabric and baggy fit feels much more familiar than the costume you’d initially arrived in. He might be happier than you are, though, to finally get to see you in your most natural state — makeup sufficiently smudged away and ill-suited clothes forgotten on his floor.

You crawl beneath the mussed navy comforter of his bed and smush your face into his pillow. “See? The dino sheets aren’t so bad, are they?” the boy teases when you hum in contentment.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles in beside you.

You smile but don’t open your eyes. “I’m just sleepy… Sue me.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”

“It’s your fault,” you argue, voice dripping with exhaustion. Your skin purrs as he reaches blindly beneath the covers to rub his palm along your forearm.

He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning, ‘kay?” he promises, then laughs when you smirk and raise your brows — eyes still shut. “Not like that, you perv. I was talking about breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

You tell him you’re looking forward to it, to breakfast in bed and breakfast in bed. He falls further for you somehow, despite his lingering disdain for your silly little innuendos. It’s the price you have to pay when you love someone, he figures, like when your crush gets a bad haircut or has shit music taste.

It’s a quirk he welcomes along with your many others — your rambling and forgetfulness and social unawareness and inability to sit still. All your little idiosyncrasies weren’t obstacles he had to get over to love you, just more reasons for him to.

And it isn’t this one-sided thing, either. Most people would look at the two of you — at the dowager king and local freak — and they’d think he was doing charity work to love you. But Steve’s got peculiarities of his own.

His best friends are a fourteen-year-old nerd and a closeted lesbian because they were the first two people in his life that didn’t judge him. He chews on the ends of pens and pencils, and his handwriting is shit because he never cared about school. He buys things without ever looking the price tag, then leaves them to collect dust in his room because he never really needed them anyway. He still feels the need to be the center of attention sometimes because the faintest hint of disregard makes him feel neglected.

These are all things you’re aware of. Most of them came with being the wealthy, popular kid from the right side of the tracks. And you liked him anyway — no, you liked him because of them. You adored him through all the heavy shit, and here he was, doing a shit job at pretending to like metal music and horror movies.

“Are you asleep?” Steve wonders after a few moments of velvet silence. He’s still looking at you, one arm propped beneath his hand and the other toying with your fingers splayed on the mattress between you. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.

“Almost,” you mumble in response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Your heart stops at the innocent question, tired eyes flying immediately open and knocking you out of your fatigued stupor.

All of a sudden, it’s 1984 again. You’re the weirdo who bites people and Steve’s royalty who’ll fuck anything that walks — and here you are, in bed with the asshole. For a moment, you expect Tommy Hagan to bust out of the closet with a tape recorder and for Steve to tell you this was all just some stupid bet.

It’s a pang of blue lightning, an ice pick to your abdomen, that lasts no more than a couple of seconds.

Internally, you curse yourself for getting so worked up. You make a promise to yourself to work on all that — the regressing and the disbelief that comes with the not-feeling-good-enough bullshit.

“Yeah?” you finally answer.

“I don’t actually like Dio. Or Def Leppard,” he confesses, finding it hard to meet your gaze like a child who’s been caught in a lie. He focuses on running his thumb over the irregular pattern of your chipped nailpolish. “And I don’t collect vinyls either, not really. I just… I kinda just said those things so you’d like me.”

And, compared to the web you were just spinning in your head, that’s nothing.

“Ooh,” you wince playfully. “Def Leppard I could take, but Dio? I don’t know… That might be a dealbreaker, Harrington.”

He only smiles because he can tell you’re making fun. “I could learn to like them, you know? If it means that much to you. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Loving things on purpose?”

You capture your smile with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes sparkle at him when you nod. “Yeah… We are.”

“Which means you could learn to like football and Bruce Springsteen,” Steve jokes and shifts on the mattress so he’s closer to you.

Your feet bump together, then entwine effortlessly. He plops his head on the same pillow you’re using. The proximity leaves your faces no more than a couple inches apart.

You scrunch your nose, wondering if you should hide your disgust in his playful request or make a joke out of it. You don’t do either. “I could… If it means I get to keep you.”

“Keep me?” he scoffs. “Good luck, getting rid of me, Punchy.”

“Who said I wanted to, huh?”

“You will. When you get sick of me.”

He’s smiling like he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s an edge of self-loathing to his tone.

Your hand crawls from beneath his own and settles on his stubbly jaw. You run your thumb over the cheek, effectively sealing your promise into the blushing apple of it. “I’m never gonna get sick of you, Steve Harrington.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head against the pillow, then shove the side of your face further into it when you get nervous. There’s a timid quirk to the corners of your lips and a more sheepish glint in your eye. “You don’t get sick of people you love,” you tell him.

Steve opens his mouth to retort. He wants to tell you that he gets sick of Dustin all the time, but that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the little shit. He gets sick of milkshakes and pizza and Cheers re-runs when he consumes too much of them in a single setting, but he loves all those things too.

You get sick of things because you love them, he reasons, because you love them too hard and you hate how much you need them.

He doesn’t get the chance to argue any of this, though.

“Not when you love them on purpose,” you clarify with a sunshine-coated grin.

That shuts him up real quick.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie oneshot #st oneshots #punchy x steve

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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Hi, lovely! Just wanted to drop by and say that I miss you and your amazing writing 🥹🧡 I understand if you're taking a break or stepping away from the app, but if you're up for it, I was wondering if I could drop in a request? No pressure at all! I REALLY love the way you write fluffy and angsty fics so I was wondering if you could write about a besties-to-lovers with Eddie where he asks the reader for help with asking a different girl out, without knowing about reader's feelings for him...and then along the way he realizes his feelings for the reader hehe and maybe a lil sprinkle of jealous!Eddie too 😎 Ily and I hope you're doing okay! 🩷🩷🩷

hi my love! this is the sweetest message thank you - not taking an intentional break, just busy as anything. work’s been my whole life the past couple weeks (today is actually my first day off in like a month) and what with that and trying to eat/sleep/speak to other human beings I am …… deceased

it’s so kind of you to say hello! I loved writing your request, it was a nice break for my brain and it felt good to get back into it. ♡ love you!

contains hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. tried to get some jealous!eddie in there for you :-)

3.4k

Eddie looks pretty like this.

He’s sitting at your desk in the library. You’re not sure why he’s here, though that wasn’t your first thought when you spotted him on your way over. He’s hunched over slightly, unruly hair keeping his face hidden, but it’s catching the light of the afternoon sun just right and it’s glowing a blushing golden and the flutters in your gut are relentless.

“Hey,” you murmur, wary of both startling him, and the strict Hawkins Library warden who likes to shush people like it’s a sport. Regardless he starts, shoulders jumping and face whipping up and around to look at you with wide, surprised eyes that soften when he realises who you are.

“Hi, sugar,” he says, voice ebbing as he notices how loud he’s being. He looks around quickly, just in case he’s about to get scolded, before looking back up at you and beaming. It doesn’t fool you, though; his presence here coupled with the sheen of anxiety behind his eyes gives him away.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, setting your backpack down on the table and taking the seat opposite him.

He begins fiddling with his ring again and diverts his eye. He’s nervous and you want to know how to fix it more than you wish to let on.

You hum an encouraging noise when he says nothing, sliding textbooks out of your bag along with your pens.

“I, uh… I need your help,” he says warily.

“Oh? With what?”

“I want to, uh… I wanna ask Tara out,” he says, and the words come out in one quick breath, his eyes still on his hands. “But I dunno how.”

You’re quiet, busy hands halting with a book halfway open. You look at him, mouth agape, for a second too long - he looks up after a beat and catches you before you have the sense to close it.

“Please?” he begs, those eyes like a puppy dog, wide and brown and far too lovable. “I’d take her to the Hawk but she’s- Man, she’s way too cool, it’s intimidating, and I really wanna impress her, you know? And I think the Hawk’ll be too busy on Friday ‘cause I know that new movie’s out that all the kids wanna see, so what if-”

“Okay,” you say. You’re sharp, voice like a whip, cutting him off before he derails.

He looks at you blankly for a second before saying, “Really? Shit, thank you.”

You look down at the books in front of you, eyes on the printed pages but taking nothing in. “Take her to the Garage,” you tell him quietly.

“What?”

“The Garage,” you repeat, closing the textbook and piling it on top of the others to return them to your bag. “It’s on the east side, on the road out.”

“Yeah, I know where the Garage is, but- Wait, are you headin’ out already? You just got here.”

“Don’t feel like studying,” you say flatly. “The Garage is cool. Rob took me there once. Tara’d love it.”

“Hey, hey-” His restless hands reach over to grip your wrist, to stop you moving, but you’re slippery and quick and far too determined on leaving. “You don’t have to leave, I’ll leave you alone. Your exam’s next week, I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine, Eddie, I’ll study tomorrow.”

“But-”

“See you around,” you say quickly, tugging on the zipper on your bag and standing so fast it makes your head spin. You can hear him protesting behind you but it’s no use - the only place you want to be right now is home.

Eddie doesn’t call that evening. He doesn’t call the next day either, or the two following that. You float between your bed, the fridge and various shifts at work without so much as daring to call him yourself, though you lie awake at night and worry you’ve done something terrible, something earth-shatteringly cruel by leaving him like you did. Something so bad that twelve years of friendship is lost forever.

“Maybe it’s better like this,” you tell Nancy over the phone. It’s Thursday night, four days until your exam, and you haven’t spoken to Eddie since Sunday. “I was gonna spend forever like that. Maybe now I can move on or somethin’.”

“We both know you’re not going to move on,” she tells you. You groan, turning over onto your back to stare at your bedroom ceiling. Your bed is like a rotten pit, unmade for nearly a week and the past five days’ dirty (and clean) laundry is littered all over the top of the comforter. “And you shouldn’t. You’d just be hiding from your feelings.”

“I hate you,” you tell her, though the way your voice comes out through your smile deceives you. “You always sound so wise, how is that?”

“I am wise,” she says, smiling too. “And I’m wise enough to know that Eddie feels the same, even if he doesn’t realise it yet. Apparently I’ve got the brains for both of us, ‘cause he’s a bit dumb like that sometimes.”

“I wish he wasn’t,” you whine, “I can’t get the image of him and Tara outta my head.”

“I can go, if you want,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I can take Rob to the Garage on Friday, keep an eye on stuff.”

“Shit, would you?”

“Yeah, why not? What’re you doing that night anyway?”

“Dunno,” you say, morose, “Probably heading to the library again.”

“Okay,” she says sympathetically. “You’re gonna smash this exam, you know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you grumble.”

“Well I know you will. And then Indiana State’ll have the best biologist known to man on their campus.”

“Funny,” you say.

“I’m wise and funny? You’re kind tonight.”

“I’m gonna go, Nance.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “I’ll call on Saturday, okay? And please eat some dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply, hanging up. You balance the receiver back on its stand and roll back over, willing the tears back when you feel them roll down your temples.

Friday nights are your favourite nights at the library.

Who else spends the one designated social evening of the week in a room designed for quiet? You, apparently, alongside two old ladies knitting in the comfy corner, and a kid who looks like he might be home from college for the holidays. You’re settled at your usual desk with textbooks and papers scattered everywhere - the tabletop, the chair next to you, the floor. You’ve been here for hours, pouring over all of your work, oblivious to most of the minimal movement and chatter happening in the room.

You’ve got a tape in your Walkman - classical, one your dad found at the record store downtown - so you feel Eddie before you see him. He startles you, his wide hand on your shoulder, and you jump, pulling your headphones down.

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, your heart beating a mile a minute. You twist in your seat and put your pen down, looking up at him. You couldn't worry about the warden if you tried, far too enamoured by him despite everything. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He’s hovering over you, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed pink. You notice he has his nice shirt on - a deep blue, so dark it’s almost black - and his lips are rosy.

“Tara needed the bathroom on the way home, this was the closest place. How’s it going?”

There’s a lilt to his voice that churns your stomach. It’s the one he gets at parties, or that night just before your birthday when the two of you drank wine in his living room and didn’t sleep until six in the morning.

He’s been drinking and, judging by the smell lingering on his clothes, smoking, too, and his smile and the pink blooming over his cheeks only makes the churning worse.

“Fine,” you tell him. “Was in the zone, sorry.”

“No,” he breathes, finally backing away. You fill your lungs and watch him as he rounds the table. His eyes keep moving from you to the door across the room, presumably watching for her. “I interrupted you, ‘m’sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Gotta run,” he says, face brightening in a way that makes you want to vomit. You turn back around and see Tara in the doorway, waving, beaming. “Don’t work too hard, please? Get some sleep. And eat something- Have you eaten at all today?”

He’s standing a foot or two from the table now, but he stops as he asks you this.

“Uh,” you look down at your watch. 12:07am. “I had lunch.”

“Shit, you need’ta eat something. Please.”

“Okay, Eds. I’ll have some toast when I get home. Have a nice night.”

“You’ve got this,” he says, and it’s here that the silly smile on his face falters. He still hasn’t moved, and you can see Tara looking over, watching. He’s looking at you and something breaks - his smile drops completely and his eyes go all sad and weird.

“What?” you ask, unamused.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. Get some sleep okay? See you later.”

He turns and walks across to the exit, and you watch him leave. He’s slow and slumped, like someone’s just delivered bad news.

You head out fifteen minutes later, and chew unhappily on three slices of toast before you get to bed.

Studying until late is never a good idea.

You’re hopping around your bedroom, pulling stockings up your legs and praying to anything holy that the traffic on your way into work isn’t too bad.

“I know this isn’t really what you wanted to hear,” Nancy’s saying sadly. You’ve got the receiver propped between your cheek and your shoulder as you stumble around and stretch the cord within an inch of its life. “They just… It really did look like they were having fun.”

“He came to see me at the library,” you tell her breathlessly, desperate to think of anything but Eddie and Tara playing pool and laughing like lovedrunk teenagers

“What? When? Last night?”

“Yeah, said she needed a piss on the way home.” You stop hopping, both stockings finally in place, and take the phone in your hand. “He was really weird, actually.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno. He seemed happy, but then he got all sad.”

“Did you tell him off?” she asks, faux-stern.

“No,” you tell her, “just told him I’d have dinner, and to have a good night.”

She hums, and you look at the clock.

“Shit, Nance, I’m sorry, I really gotta go, I’m gonna be so late-”

“No, no, you go, I’ll see you soon. And good luck on Monday, yeah? I know you’ll ace it.” -

Your body takes you to the library like it’s on auto-pilot or something. You finished the entrance exam three hours ago, and though it seemed to go okay, you daren’t be too optimistic. You’d hovered around town for a while, eating ice cream and watching birds, before your feet walked you right here: your desk on the first floor of Hawkins Library.

It’s here that you’ve been sitting for an hour or so, flicking through novels but finding no interest in the words on the page. Your brain is melted from a near-fatal combination overworking and overthinking, and without an exam to worry about, the latter is now the one clocking overtime.

You can’t get the picture of Eddie’s face out of your head. His eyes had been so sad, his face drooping like the dawning of some cruel realisation. The way he’d walked out of the room had matched it, sorrowful and curled over.

Worst of all, he hasn’t called.

There’s only two reasons you can think of. Firstly, he’s busy calling Tara instead of you. He’s telling her about his day, spinning new inside jokes and letting her hear his pretty laugh.

Or second: he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re too cold, flat, uninteresting. Tara is cool.

There is a third possibility that you daren’t think about for the sake of your own heart: that both are true.

You slam the hardback in your hands shut and place it roughly on the table.

“Woah, was it that bad?”

You look up and find Eddie standing across from you, precisely where he’d been that moment something had changed on Friday. He’s far less put together now, dressed in his usual bedraggled jacket and jeans.

He laughs as you stare at him. After a minute, he takes the seat opposite and pulls the book towards himself.

“Weird choice for you, sugar.”

“Quiet,” you tell him in a whisper, nodding to your right where the warden is circling.

“Sorry,” he whispers back with a smile. “What’re you still doing here? Wasn’t the exam this morning?”

“I like it here,” you tell him. A half-truth - you do, but you’d really rather be anywhere else right now.

“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “And how’d it go?”

You shrug. “Okay, I think. I hope.”

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll do great.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” you say, looking out of the window to your left.

“What? That you’re smart?”

“That I’ll ace it. I have no idea.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you’ve definitely got a better idea than me.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, turning back to look at him.

“I just… You’ve got more brains than me, that’s all.”

He’s fiddling with his rings again, eyes trained on the tentative movements of his fingers rather than you. It gives you a chance to take in his face properly: tired, sallow, unhappy.

“How was Friday?” you chance. He shrugs. “Just okay?”

“Fine, yeah,” he says, voice flat and unfeeling. “Had fun, ‘til we came here.”

Your instinct is to be offended. You didn’t say anything cruel or unwarranted; in fact you barely said a thing at all. How could you have ruined the evening?

“What?”

“Tara, she, uh… She said bye when we left. I was walkin’ her home, only stopped here for the can, I mean- You know we’re miles from the park, took me forever to get back to mine. Thought, y’know…” You hum so he doesn’t have to utter the inevitable and break your heart.

“What happened?” you ask softly, hands on the table in front of you like an offering.

He looks troubled, truly, and it hurts - you may have gone a week without contact, the longest since he went on a fishing trip with Wayne when you were both 18, but he’s your best friend, and his pain is your pain.

He closes his eyes tight and sucks in a breath.

“When we left, she said… She told me I need to ‘really think about things’, which made no sense to me at the time, I guess ‘cause I was, like, 4 whiskey sours in and we’d smoked on the way over, and then she used the payphone outside to call a cab so I waited with her and walked home, and the next morning I realised what she meant.”

You look at him with nothing to say. He takes another deep breath.

“She probably saw me over here with you, y’know, and I’m sure to other people we seem pretty… Comfortable. And then you said you hadn’t eaten, and you looked so tired, I- All I wanted to do was take you home and make you dinner. And then the next morning, and, like, all weekend, all I could think was that one day some other guy’d be doin’ that for you, some college guy or somethin’, and I’d have to watch, ‘cause you’re my friend.”

“Eddie, I don’t understand.”

You’re genuinely bewildered. He’s still whispering, or at least talking in a low voice, and at multiple points during the past five minutes you thought you’d completely misheard him. It’s definitely your Eddie sitting opposite you - he has a tendency to be a little dramatic, and this is certainly that - but he’s never been so brashly honest like this with you before.

“I had fun with Tara, really, but… I realised I’d spent all night thinking about how much better it’d have been if you’d been there.”

You can feel the flush like fire up your neck and across your cheeks. Your palms are clammy so you pull them inwards, back towards yourself, to save yourself the embarrassment.

“I think I need to get some air,” you say, standing and leaving without waiting for him.

You hear him behind you as you descend the stairs and push the clunky glass door open. You’re met with a wall of cold air and you breathe a heaving sigh as you stand in its frost.

The door opens again only a few seconds later, and you turn to face your friend.

“Eddie,” you begin, “I need to know that you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me.”

“You left your coat,” is all he says, handing you the jacket. You don’t move, too stunned, so he steps behind you and you let him manipulate your arms into the sleeves like a sullen child.

“Eddie,” you bite, impatient and frustrated.

“Yeah,” he breathes behind you. When the coat’s on, he squeezes your shoulders, and you round on him.

“Please just tell me what the fuck is going-”

“I think I love you,” he says, louder than you. It’s a declaration, said without hesitation or subtlety. It’s so confidently loud that a couple of people leaving the library turn to look.

“It shouldn’t have taken me taking someone else out to realise it, but fuck, once I did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess ‘cause we see each other all the time I never really questioned why I think about you so often, or whatever, but… I wanted to take you home and make you dinner on Friday, make sure you got some sleep, fuckin’ look after you. Made me feel dumb as hell because you’re not a kid or anythin’, but I just want you to be okay.”

You’re not sure when you started crying. Maybe it was as early as the declaration itself, but you know that by the time he told you he wants to take care of you, tears were rolling over your cheeks, unstoppable and filled with elation.

“Shit,” Eddie whispers, stepping toward you without thinking, reaching out to hold you somehow. He settles for a hand on your upper arm, almost at your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I-”

“It’s fine, I’m okay, I’m, uh- I’m happy,” you say, giggling, your tears making it wetter, thicker. “They’re happy tears.”

“Oh, good,” he breathes, shoulders sloping. You spot the beginning of a grin through cloudy vision. “Thank god.”

While you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jumper, Eddie’s hand moves from your shoulder and to your neck. You feel the heavy weight of him pressing there, not threatening but a comfort. It forces you closer, until you’re both looking at each other and laughing.

“The exam went really well,” you tell him. “Honest.”

“I knew it would,” he says, curling a finger behind your ear to move a piece of hair from your face. “You’re gonna kill it at college.”

“I’ll miss you. And everyone else.”

“We’re not going anywhere any time soon,” he says softly, fingers dancing until he’s cradling your face. His other hand is stuffed in his pocket, and you’re close enough that you can reach in and grasp it, pulling it out so you can wind your fingers between his. He looks down and smiles.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It’s almost a whisper and you almost miss it - almost. “For the exam, I mean. You did well, y’deserve a kiss.”

“Sure,” you say, laughing again. “For the exam, yeah.”

He chuckles before dipping his head just enough. You lift up to meet him halfway and he presses his lips to yours, firm but quick.

“Again,” you breathe, and he doesn’t ask questions. He bows again and kisses you, his force solid and homely. You kiss him back, breathless and keening.He’s warm and you want to take, take, take. You only stop when the door opens behind you again, creaking and followed by quick footsteps as someone else leaves.

Eddie kisses your nose and says, “Shit, you’re cold.”

“Can we go home?”

“No,” he says, and before you can finish protesting, he adds, “We have to celebrate. You’re done with studying! Let’s go get milkshakes or something.”

You wrinkle your nose, determined that you won’t be going to the diner you work in. “How about pizza?”

“Whatever you want, smartie pants.”

You physically bristle at the petname, cheeks flushing again despite the chill. Eddie’s arm settles around your shoulders and squeezes as he kisses your temple.

You stop walking once you reach the end of the block. He stops with you and turns to look at you without dropping your hand.

"I think I love you too, by the way," you tell him. "I didn't say- Back there, I should've said it. I- Well, I know I love you."

He smiles - beams - at your return of his declaration. He squeezes your hand in his and tugs.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go."

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