#ex-con Eddie Munson

[2jihiir0]

“Hi, Stevie. Missed you …”

[pinkrelish]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

[fairylights-throughthemist]

Eddie Munson as tracks on The Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift

Fortnight

Exhusband!Eddie x Jealous!Reader

The Tortured Poets Department

Friends to Lovers to Strangers with Eddie

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Toxic!Mean!Eddie x Reader

Down Bad

Protective!Mafia!Eddie x Reader

So Long, London

Exboyfriend!Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(Eddie and Reader have spent lots of time in London during their relationship. Now that it’s ended she never wants to return.)

But Daddy I Love Him

Dad’s Best Friend!Eddie / Older!Eddie x Reader

Fresh Out The Slammer

Ex-Con!Eddie x Reader

Florida!!!

Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(Reader’s [now ex]boyfriend cheated on her, she went to Florida on vacation to forget about him. At a local bar she meets a certain rockstar touring the country with his band.)

Guilty As Sin?

Exboyfriend!Eddie x Reader

(Eddie broke up with you, yet you can’t stop thinking about him. Not even with another man in your bed.)

Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me?

Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(Eddie and Reader just made their relationship official and his fans can’t seem to keep their mouths shut. Haters online compare you to other women he’s been seen with, they make comments about your body and they don’t think you deserve Eddie.) (This description also fits for Delicate from Reputation.)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Mafia!Eddie x Catholic / Virgin / Good Girl / Shy! Reader

loml

Exboyfriend!Eddie x Reader

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Situationship!Mean!Toxic!Eddie x Reader

The Alchemy

Hockey player!Eddie x Reader

Clara Bow

Rockstar!Eddie x Actress!Reader

(Reader always getting compared to other actresses, everyone wants her to be bigger and better than anyone before her. Eddie being the only one able to comfort her.)

The Black Dog

Exboyfriend!Eddie x Reader

imgonnagetyouback

Exboyfriend!Rockstar!Eddie x Jealous!Reader

The Albatross

Virgin!Eddie x “Slut”!Reader

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(Eddie becoming addicted to drugs, reader trying to help him but giving up when he cheats on her.)

How Did It End?

Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(No one caring about how you’re doing, only asking about Eddie and asking what happened.)

So High School

Best Friends to Lovers, Eddie x Reader

(Eddie and Reader playing Kiss, Marry, Kill while high, Reader naming people when it’s Eddie’s turn, one of them being herself, leading her to ask “Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me?”)

Read the fic here!

I Hate It Here

Eddie x You

(Yes you. We all know you read to escape reality.)

thanK you aIMee

Eddie x Reader

(Based on the title, not the lyrics)

(Think All Of The Girls You Loved Before, Reader thanking one of Eddie’s exes for contributing to the amazing man he is now.)

I Look In People’s Windows

Exboyfriend!Eddie x Reader

The Prophecy

Eddie x Reader

(Post Vecna…)

Cassandra

Toxic!Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(Reader watching Eddie’s show in the pit and getting sexually harassed / groped by some creep. Not wanting to interrupt the show or cause a scene, she keeps quiet. Anxiety and stress leading up to a breakdown, Eddie being high out of his mind asking if everything’s okay. You snap at him and tell him about the incident at his concert but he doesn’t believe you. The day after your breakdown, Eddie asks you what happened last night, after a quick recap of the events your petty boyfriend chooses not to believe you.)

Peter

Exboyfriend!Rockstar!Eddie x Reader

(Similar to Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me. Eddie being ignorant and giving half assed advice like “Just ignore it”. He doesn’t show how much he cares due to his newfound love for drugs.)

The Bolter

Eddie x Reader

(Reader being afraid of relationships and attachment. Her trying to bolt from Eddie’s love but he doesn’t let her. Steve and Robin being supportive of Reader and Eddie’s relationship, they felt the need to tell him about her attachment style before it was too late.)

Robin

Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader

The Manuscript

Exboyfriend!Eddie x Reader

A/N: This is my first time writing anything so please be nice !!!!

[steddiesmuttyseptember]

WEEK THREE MASTERLIST

FICS

The scariest thing on the other side of Hawkins by @dame-zoom-a-lot | Rated E | no cw | tags: Talon Kink, Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucker Steve Harrington, Monster Eddie Munson, Lingerie, Rough Sex, Insecure Eddie Munson, The Upside Down, Under-negotiated Kink

Copy that by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | no cw | tags: Office AU; Janitor Eddie; Junior Boss Steve; Secret Relationship; Semi-public sex; Steve in lingerie; Groping; Manhandling; Dirty talk; Dry humping; Inappropriate treatment of office equipment

Beautiful Boy by @runninriot | Rated E | no cw | tags: shy eddie munson, lovingly mean steve harrington, dom/sub undertones, sexual content, self confidence issues, body worship

Southern Hospitality by @scoops-aboy86 | Rated M | cw: weight gain, belly kink, stuffing kink, belly play | tags: chubby steve harrington, fat steve harrington, feeder eddie munson, alcohol, referenced spanking, masturbation, food as a love language, hedonism, steve harrington has bad parents, brief nancy being tactless

Lovers Forever, Face to Face by @adverbally | Rated E | no cw | tags: Eddie in lingerie, body insecurity, mirror sex, body worship, dirty talk, buttplug, anal sex

midnight sun by @hawkinsbnbg | Rated E | no cw | tags: mutual pining, fwb to lovers, rockstar Eddie, escort Steve, mean dom Eddie, soft dom Eddie, brat Steve, Steve in lingerie, Steve wears makeup, feminization, stockings, high heels, butt plugs, rough sex, painal, body worship, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, praise kink, pain kink, a bit of foot fetish, anal gaping

Patterns in the Ivy by @griefabyss69 | Rated E | cw: Public sex, implied/referenced drug usage (weed), Eddie is a drug dealer, mentions of Steve's parents being terrible | tags: college au, getting together, masturbation, oral sex, kissing, anal sex, light bondage, outdoor sex, anal plug

Face to Face in Secret Places by @adverbally | Rated E | no cw | tags: set pre-S3, established relationship, in public (school library), fear of getting caught, exhibitionism (but no voyeurism), making out, dry humping, oral sex

Put On Something Sexy by @v3llichor | Rated E | no cw | tags: Panty Kink, Lingerie, Strip Tease, Anal Sex, references to past offscreen partners and stancy

Slutty Little Mouse by @fkinkindagauche | Rated E | no cw | tags: blow jobs, gags

Therapy by @tinytalkingtina | Rated E | no cw | tags: Dom Eddie/Sub Steve, disabled Eddie, sexual roleplay, established relationship, rope bondage, forced nudity/stripping, interrogation/intentional callbacks to S3 Russian torture, cock & ball torture, cock rings, painplay, pwp, aftercare

In Our Defense, There Was Nothing Else to Do by @intermittentmania | Rated E | cw: graphic depictions of violence | tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Eddie Munson as Deadpool, Steve Harrington as Wolverine, Switching, Blood and Violence, Knifeplay, Cutting, Rough Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

So Jealous by @fkinkindagauche | Rated E | cw: BDSM (heavy-ish), jealousy play, third party doesn’t realize jealousy play is happening but they are in it for a very short amount of time and nothing actually happens with them aside from some dancing, consensual slut shaming | tags: deep throating, anal sex, rough sex, BDSM, sub Steve Harrington, mean Dom Eddie Munson, aftercare, coming untouched, come marking, subspace, slapping, hair pulling, jealousy kink, spitting, established relationship

standin' at that alter, or we will run away by @hawkinsbnbg | Rated E | no cw | tags: exes to lovers, bathroom sex, daddy kink, barebacking, creampie, top Eddie, possessive Eddie, bottom Steve, babygirl Steve, steddie in love

Put to use by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation | Rated E | no cw | tags: Roleplay; Consensual non-con; Mean dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Face fucking; Hair pulling; Slapping; Degradation; Humiliation; Coming in pants; Aftercare

No Loose Ends by @thisapplepielife | Rated E | cw: Post S4, Sexual Content, Underage Recreational Alcohol and Weed Use | tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Florida!!!, Hiding Out, Healing, Steve & The Boys of Corroded Coffin Taking Care of Eddie, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson

The String to Strike Within Me by @adverbally | Rated E | no cw | tags: alternate universe - gender changes, female steve harrington, female eddie munson, bdsm, dom steve, sub eddie, rough sex, strap-on, vaginal sex, light degradation, begging, subspace, praise kink

hidden lace by @steddieas-shegoes | Rated E | no cw | tags: established relationship, secret relationship, semi-public sex, car sex, anal fingering, anal sex, anal plug, fluff, unprotected sex

Stiff by Day, Stiffer at Night by @oralmisery | Rated E | no cw | tags: Smut, Humor, Lingerie, Blow jobs, Hand jobs, Brat Steve Harrington, Bathing/Washing, Light Dom/Sub undertones

our bodies are oh so close and tight by @miss-bushido | Rated E | no cw

Only Me by @runninriot | Rated E | no cw | tags: sub Eddie Munson, mean dom Steve Harrington, restraints, nipple clamps, impact play, mild degradation kink, established relationship

Expectations by @steddie-island | Rated E | no cw | tags: Dom Eddie Munson, sub Steve Harrington, rough sex

ART

Rough and Lingerie by @saku-rhyth | Rated M | explicit version on twitter

Lingerie by @alicetallulaafterdark | Rated M | other links available

Lingerie by @arelliann | Rated M

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ only, minors i am ON PATROL

Chapter 011: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Movie night is cut short when Billy and Eddie both show up to your door in search of compromise.

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

somewhat smut = *

smut =**

word count: 4.5k words

disclaimers — eddie’s bruised lil face, billy’s bruised face, no one is beating the living daylights out of the other this time. ��‍💫 just a lot of ✨ fluff ✨ and you guessed it… ANGST , traumatic flashback, max being a mastermind with her plotting & scheming 👀

“My head is saying ‘Fool, forget him!’, my heart is saying ‘Don’t Let Go’…”

♡

Isabelle Munson is a menace and a half.

It’s obvious that Eddie’s ex wife married him for one thing and one thing only: his money. And, when caught in her web of lies, Isabelle quickly threw him under the bus to cover her trail.

“What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”

It’s no wonder why Eddie freaked out on you like that. The clinginess and need for control over your ‘situationship’ probably set off all the necessary alarms in his head. Even though Eddie probably knew your intentions, he didn’t want to risk the possibility of another Isabelle. After all, she too started as an employee.

POP! Snap! Fizz…

Max pours a can of soda into her ice cold tumbler. She stirs it around before taking a few sips.

"Your boss’s ex wife sounds like a bitch," she comments.

"The biggest bitch," you shake your head. "I’m reading up on all the tea right now."

A paramour for control, Isabelle’s calling to make Hellfire all about her started affecting the work-life balance. So, Eddie sent her to NDA Gentlemen’s Club in order to keep their affairs separate. But then a romantic affair began to brew between Isabelle and Terry, the owner and actual culprit behind the scandal. And of course that opened up another can of worms.

“Why would Isabelle wanna put Eddie behind bars instead of the guy who actually tried to sex traffic her?” Max inquires.

“Terry Hobb was already gonna be arrested,” you discover. “If Eddie went under too, Isabelle would likely be entitled to his assets while he’s locked up. Probably what she wanted all along.”

Framing Eddie for a crime. Something that’s so easy to do in Hawkins.

Like Billy said, Eddie coming from a long line of criminals did NOT help his case. Drug dealer, murderer. Con-man and arsonist. Eddie being someone who trafficked the vulnerable would be easy to believe, especially in a town full of conservative women who were tired of their husbands coming home late — and drenched in glitter.

To bear the Munson name is not exactly a blessing. Even the woman Eddie made a Munson managed to do him dirty.

There’s another kind of wolf that Mom never warned you about: the one dressed in white — the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“This is all so awful,” you swallow hard, finally planting your phone face down onto the kitchen table.

And now Eddie’s business is in jeopardy again. All thanks to two volatile Hargroves who have no sense of self control.

"Why do I feel like there's something there?"

Max brings you back to earth. When you turn, she’s smirking at you.

“What do you mean?” you ask her.

“Oh come on,” Max rolls her eyes. “You seem really bothered by this. And Eddie beat THE LIVING SHIT out of Billy. Doesn’t seem like he does it for just any employee.”

You feel yourself blushing. Not only that but Eddie never fights anybody, period. He’s always called on Henry to do all the dirty work for him.

But Eddie knew about Billy and how powerless he made you feel. Seeing your abuser meandering so comfortably around his establishment was probably the last straw.

“There…might be something,” you confirm. “It’s hard though. Eddie doesn’t wanna commit.”

“Well after a marriage that traumatizing I wouldn’t either,” Max shrugs. “I’d be deathly afraid of women for the rest of my life.”

She walks over to grab the two bowls of popcorn that you guys heated up for everybody. You two, along with Vicky and Robin, are having a movie night to wind down from all the chaos. Tonight’s choice is Grease.

"Alright kiddos, camp is almost set up!" Robin dances her way into the kitchen. "We ready for some Grease Lightnin'?"

Max swoons as she adds some more key ingredients to her popcorn. "Hell yeah! Love me some Travolta and showtunes."

“What are you doing?” Robin asks, watching your sister douse your shared popcorn bowl with cayenne pepper and lime.

“A lil California spin on mine and Sissy's popcorn,” Max shrugs. “A squeeze of lime and some tajín. Well — cayenne pepper — since we don’t have any."

“That’s outrageous.”

“Wait till you see what we do with street corn,” you gush, dreaming about elote.

“Oh god…” Robin goes pale white.

“No really, Robin! It’s pretty good,” you insist.

“Not that!” Robin shakes her head. She points out the window. “That…”

You turn in the direction that Robin points in, which is outside towards the street.

Billy.

“Billy,” you gasp silently.

Your brother is parked along the curb, climbing out of his rental car with a little pep in his step. You watch as he checks his, relatively bruised, appearance, tugging at his hair and giving his clothes one last pat-down before making his way over.

Concerned footsteps dart their way into the kitchen. Vicky looks just as mortified as Robin.

"Do y'all see this?" Vicky questions.

Everyone nods to validate.

"How does Billy know where we live?!" you demand turning to the only other person here who has his phone number.

Guilt spreads across Max's face. As mortified as you are, you can't blame her. The fucked up parts of yourself would've done the same thing. You and Billy were in dire need of a heart to heart.

"You guys need to talk," Max explains what you're thinking. "I'm not letting him leave without at least a word or two. He agreed to be civil when I texted him."

"Thanks," you mumble. "I would've done the same."

Anyone who didn't fully understand the dynamic would've thought you and Max were crazy. But there is a part of you that will always love Billy.

Billy’s getting closer now. You can hear him clearing his throat from outside.

“So are we going to need the fire department too?” Robin asks, phone readily in hand.

“Most likely,” Vicky shrugs.

“No one’s calling anybody,” you instruct. “At least not yet. Let’s just see what he wants first.”

Billy's at the door now and you have no choice but to answer. You swing it open before he could even get a knock in, knuckle floating in mid-air but slowly drifting back down when he sees you in front of him.

Your big brother. At least by two minutes.

“Sup,” Billy greets you, almost jokingly. He flashes you a peace sign. Hi. I come in peace.

“You look awful.”

“Yeah, mosh pits aren’t really my scene,” he takes a sly jab at Eddie.

He requests entry into your new humble abode to which you deny. Billy backs down without question. So instead you walk out into the porch and close the door behind you.

“Before you press charges,” you preface. “I just want you to know how hardworking, kind, and empathetic Eddie i-”

Billy stops you with a raised hand. “I’m not…pressing charges.”

You’re almost stunned. “You…you’re not?”

“No,” Billy’s eyes are sullen. “I started it.”

“Eddie threw the first punch,” you point out. “If anything all you did was provoke him, which obviously won’t hold up well for him in court-”

“I…” Billy insists. “…started it.”

You don’t question it anymore because you can sense aggression brewing. And you preferred to talk to Billy when he’s calm like this.

Both of you take a seat right on the porch stairs. You can feel Vicky, Robin, and Max staring from inside.

“I deserved it,” Billy shakes his head. “And everything else coming to me for what I’ve done.”

“You don’t deserve it,” you try to convince him — and even yourself — of what you’re saying.

“YOU don’t even believe that,” Billy says, seeing through the bullshit. “Just fucking save it, okay?”

It's not like you can deny it any longer. Billy is the reason why you and Max are in this situation.

“I could’ve killed Max if I had been any more careless,” Billy grieves. “All because, what, she threw a box at me? And punched a hole in the wall because I said shit that made her do it. What I did made me lose everything I had left. Made me lose you guys."

Accountability, that's the first step. You turn away from him, refusing to believe this new change of heart.

"I didn’t honor your wishes to be left alone or at least given a little space..." he continues. "Showed up to your safe space and overstayed my welcome. And it blew up in front of me. Probably shattered my septum too."

"Do you see now?" you choke. "Do you see why we can't live with each other?"

"I'm sure we can, we just gotta change our ways."

"We've been trying to change our ways since Dad and Sue left!" you hiss. "Since Mom died, since the first crack in the glass. We change, but it just evolves into something worse."

Crickets on Billy's end. You can tell he's sitting with the words, no matter how uncomfortable they feel. But that alone is another big step.

You turn to stroke his face. He closes his eyes in dismay, soaking in all the affection radiating off your delicate, trembling hands.

“Look at what we do to each other, Billy," you plead. "It's not like this when we're apart."

Billy opens his eyes. They’re glistening with tears.

You fill him in on the friends you've made in Hawkins. How much your bank account grew. The payments you’ve caught up on since stripping at Hellfire. How you and Max sleep comfortably through the night. After what seems like forever.

Life is beautiful without Billy. As much as you didn’t want that to be true.

Billy finally speaks again. “What happened to us?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head. “And until we can both get our shit together, we need to stay away from each other.”

And now it’s 1998. You and Billy are four years old, playing tug-o-war over the last chocolate chip cookie in the jar.

CRASH! went the jar when it fell to the floor.

You’re both in trouble now. Or so you thought.

Billy ended up winning this round, scurrying off with the cookie while you attempted to sweep the broken shards of glass away. But knowing Billy had gotten a beating several days prior — it was BAD this time — you decided to take all the blame.

“Say ‘Sorry Daddy’ right now,” your father ordered after three aggressive spanks to your backside.

Bent across his lap, you bite your tongue as he issues two more spanks with his large, calloused hands. It was sure to leave a mark.

“SAY IT,” Dad roared.

But you weren’t sorry. So it came out strained.

“���m sorry Daddy,” you sniff. “And I’m sorry… Billy.”

The last word wasn’t worth it. It was never worth it.

Your buttcheeks were burning, eyes stinging with salty, resentful tears as Dad continued to use you as an outlet for his rage. When you thought it was over, Dad chucked you off his lap, pulling you by the hair to toss you against the wall like it was some dodgeball game at the Y.

Billy’s eyes watched in horror. Your eyes burned into his as he poked his curious head out from the wall he was hiding behind.

“Doing it for you,” you mouthed to him.

Later that night, your bruised behind hobbled side to side to your shared room after your bedtime routine. To your pleasant surprise, there was something waiting for you on a small plate at the foot of your bed.

The last chocolate chip cookie.

You and Billy never apologized to each other back then. So acts of service like saving each other the last sweet treat made for a good alternative.

Billy walked over to you as you fawned over the last cookie. You turned to him in disbelief.

“I thought you ate it,” you smiled.

“No, I was saving it,” Billy lied. “All for you, Sissy.”

“It used to be us against the world,” Billy recalls. “As cheesy as that shit sounds.”

“But now it’s just...not,” you point out. “We just can’t be in each other’s lives. We gotta love each other from afar, Billy. At least until we can figure out how to be civil with each other.”

Billy doesn’t speak for a while. Instead he takes a look around the neighborhood. The tall trees that decorate the telephone poles. The flat land that perfectly accentuates the edge of the horizon. The fresh air, slightly corrupted with the overpowering scent of Marlboro. It’s no quaint beach town, but there was something about it that screamed “home” in no way San Diego can.

“Are you sure this is something you wanna do?” Billy questions you, referring to your job. “It’s not a safe gig, sis.”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “It’s temporary anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this…” he sighs. “But I’m proud of you… ass and tits out and all.”

“Gee thanks,” you joke as you nudge him. “I’m glad I have your approval.”

After a while, you two finally stand up and make your way inside. Max is reluctant to walk towards Billy when he walks in, but that same invisible cord inclines her to do so anyway.

“You still don’t like me, huh?” Billy infers.

Max crosses her arms. “How can I?”

A timid smile forms across Billy’s face. “But you don’t hate me?”

Max repeats her sentiment. “How can I?”

She runs to him and snakes her arms tightly around his waist and he swings her around. Max giggles like a child when he playfully ruffles her hair.

“Seriously, how can I?” she questions. “I’d really like to take an expert class on how to hate you.”

Billy chuckles. “You need money for school books?”

“No, Sis got me on that.”

“Of course she does,” Billy says, peering over at you. “You’re in good hands.”

You formally introduce your brother to Robin and Vicky but it’s an awkward ordeal. Can't expect your good friends to get along with the person whose choked you out on multiple occasions throughout most of your life. Slapped you around as well. Pulled your hair and tainted your body black and blue. Calls you "bitch" and "slut" wherever he sees fit. But still loves you with everything he's got. And you, him.

Trauma is a weird thing.

Billy didn’t intend to stay for long, so he sees himself out shortly after that.

“Alright, I’ll text you when I leave,” Billy announces. “Call me. Please. If you two need anything.”

“Okay,” you smile. “We’ll be sure to answer this time too whenever you call.”

Billy gives you a half-assed salute as he swings the door open. He nearly shifts himself backwards when an unexpected surprise greets him at the door.

Eddie.

Standing 5-foot-10 with a face full of contusions and cat-like scratches is your boss. Eddie cringes when he sees Billy, eliciting a similar reaction from your brother the moment they register each other.

The silence is deafening.

There’s an urge to pick up where they left off, but both men refrain from doing so for your sake. Billy stomps off, shaking his head without meeting Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie turns to you. Waits until Billy is out of earshot to speak.

“You’re right about your brother being a douche."

You laugh. Eddie gives you that puppy dog pout with his chocolate brown eyes. You want to forget about him so bad. You want to let him go. But your heart is yearning for more.

“Do you still hate me?”

“Kinda,” you shrug. “But less so by the minute.”

“I deserved that.”

You can’t help it anymore. Eddie tries his best not to wince when you fall into him, wrapping your arm around his waist and burying your head in his chest.

He rubs your back gently before ruffling your hair. Then he plants a gentle kiss onto your forehead. It launches you into squeezing him tighter.

“You okay?” he mumbles.

You nod into his chest and he strokes your hair, allowing you all the time you need to let you guard down.

“How long is he staying in town?”

“Forgot to ask,” you answer him honestly. “Probably not for long.”

“You should board up your windows just in case,” Eddie says half-jokingly. “Install a few more locks. Probably a few cameras.”

You tsk. “Okay, I don’t think I need to get that carried away.”

“Fine,” Eddie shrugs. “Of course I can always stay the night too.”

His fingers dance up the small of your back, causing you to inhale sharply out of arousal.

“Protect you a lil more…” he continues.

“Yeah I don’t think so, Munson,” Robin clears her throat, knowingly interrupting the sappy moment you’re sharing. “Movie night is for the girls only.”

“You know I can always leave it to you to cock-block, Buckley,” Eddie laughs. It’s a reminiscent one. “Thought your silhouette looked familiar at Hellfire.”

Your eyes dart between them both.

“You guys know each other?!”

“We all went to school together,” Vicky explains, coming back into sight as well. “The three of us were all in the same band class at one point.”

“Until ‘Dungeons’ over here thought he was too cool for us,” Robin adds. “And started his own band.”

“I was always a lil eccentric, wasn’t I?” Eddie winks. “Thanks for remembering. Though Corroded Coffin is all a distant memory now.”

“So that means you guys went to school with Steve too?” you direct your question towards Robin and Vicky.

Vicky raises an eyebrow. “Steve? Like… Steve Steve? Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?”

“You know King Steve?” Robin scoffs, completely baffled. She crosses her arms in amusement.

“Oh she knows King Steve,” Eddie smirks. “Knows him real well.”

“Jealous much?” you quip.

“I plead the fifth,” Eddie mutters.

“And I plead that we all know less and less about each other,” Max sighs. You almost forget that she’s there. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The girlfriends follow Max back into their room to continue with movie night. Now you’re left alone again with Eddie.

You stare up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a couple ruffled feathers, I’ll be fine,” he dismisses your concern.

"You've got a great deal of damage control to do when we go back.”

“Eh,” Eddie shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time my business was in trouble.”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“And for as long as you’re along for the ride? This probably won’t be my last.”

“Swinging at my estranged family members, my hero my hero,” you joke, finding yourself leaning into him further.

And then you kiss him. It's your first advance in a while that Eddie doesn't shy away from. He kisses you back, with an ignited passion that surpasses even the electricity from Saturday in his van. It's an aching, and a longing.

His lips interlace ever so comfortably with yours. He's missed you so. And you missed him too. Even when you were being irrationally jealous over Nina.

“Gettin’ me in so much trouble, Hargrove,” Eddie grazes your back as he slowly pulls away.

And your eyes can’t help but trail down to his hands. Knuckles bloody, fingers absent of any rings for once, tan lines on all but one special finger.

“Did you love Isabelle?”

Eddie stares at you like you’re insane.

"Of course I did,” he insists. “She was my wife. There were some warning signs that she was after my money though, but I was too stubborn to believe it was true.”

You nod.

"But now you know," Eddie grins in exhaustion. “Now you know why I’m guarded. Because like you, even Isabelle looked like a dream”. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he mumbles, “Too good to be true.”

Your heart shatters for him.

“You need to start saying what’s really on your mind,” you say to him. “Speaking up, asking for help. I’m tired of watching you fight battles alone.”

“Then don’t look,” Eddie jokes. One second later and he’s back to being serious. “It’s pretty hard to trust people when they prove to you time and time again why you shouldn’t.”

He steals some popcorn from your bowl, tossing it up into the air. It successfully lands in his mouth.

“Besides. I’ve come this far without anyone, but Wayne’s, help. And I turned out fine.”

You glare at him.

“Couple scrapes and bruises,” he continues, alluding to his scuffle with Billy. “But I’m fine.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Eddie offers you a look.

“What, you think I’m bluffing?”

“No,” the pitch in your voice heightens. “I just think…a healed person would let a little love in.”

Then those sad doe eyes meet you again, the kind of gaze that would cause anyone to go weak in the knees. You swallow hard.

“Please be patient with me,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m really trying.”

“I know you are,” you rub his arm. “We don’t have to rush into anything.”

You both lean into each other again, the need to have and be with each other a palpable energy between your torsos. You beam up at him as you run your fingers down his hair.

“I am ready for something though,” Eddie proposes. “I’d like to keep whatever this is going.”

“I’d like that too,” you heart begins to flutter.

You picture yourself grocery shopping at Meijer with Eddie. He’d push for you to buy desserts, but you’d remind him that he needs veggies in his life. You see yourselves going to the pumpkin patch as autumn approaches and taking goofy Polaroids by the scarecrows. And it’s like he’s already in front of you on Christmas, his tongue poking out slightly — like it always does when he’s deeply focused on something — as he fixates on making his gingerbread house a gingerbread home. And when the ball drops on New Year’s Eve, he is going to be your kiss, dipping you like the one sailor did with the nurse in that one iconic picture of the world war being over. And then you two would recreate that same pose when you take him back home to experience a San Diego summer.

A romance for the books.

“Just…sex and quickies all the time!” Eddie speaks, instantly yanking you out of your daydream. “Smoking together…asking each other about our day…cuddling, in the nude…”

Suddenly, Eddie’s cock-blocked himself with his fantasy that he revealed to you. The familiar tinge in your chest returns again.

“Oh…hooking up is what you meant,” you nod.

“Duh, what else?”

You swallow hard again. So now you know what this is all about. You know now what he really saw when he looked at you.

“So… just purely sex. I gotcha.”

“Whoa, don’t put it like that,” Eddie grimaces. “It sounds bad. We’ll get to the titles eventually, I just gotta dip my toes in first.”

“I don’t want you dipping any of you in anything,” you glare at him with disgust. “Sorry but for a while I thought you liked me for me.”

“I do, Shy Girl,” Eddie insists. “I’m just not ready for titles yet. We literally just got done talking about that.”

“Oh, but you wanna keep me around as a fuck doll, that’s it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t have needs yourself…” he protests.

“Yeah and Steve is meeting those needs,” you hiss. “The reason I’m bouncing between you guys is because Steve is my fuck buddy, but I’m willing to let him go if you want to be exclusive with me. Which I don’t get why you won’t call it exclusive if that’s theoretically the case.”

But should’ve known Eddie only saw you as a booty call. You two hang out at nighttime, flirt, and touch each other too often for that to not be a case. And, of course, when something else catches his eyes, Eddie moves on and simply pays you no mind.

“I thought you saw this going somewhere,” you scoff as you cross your arms. “Beyond a mattress and the back of your van.”

“I thought I saw this going somewhere too,” Eddie shrugs bitterly. “But now that you mention it, someone who is always questioning my intentions without letting me explain myself doesn’t deserve the title anyways.”

Could Eddie stomp on your heart any more?

Did he just expect you to wait around for him? Did he expect you to run around with ‘Reserved For Eddie’ while he decided how much of himself to give you on whatever day? None of it is fair. But Eddie doesn’t play fair. He just calls the shots, as always.

And to think the two of you would come to any sort of compromise tonight.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Hargr-”

“Good…night… Eddie.”

“The power you’re supplying… it’s electrifying.”

Defeated, you end up excusing yourself from the rest of movie night and lugging yourself to your room. Max is in the room too, a huge surprise considering John Travolta was metaphorically a room over.

“Oh she is cuuute,” Max raves.

She’s talking about the red lingerie set from Nocturna, you realize when you drag your feet into your room.

“Thanks,” you shrug sheepishly, taking the set back from jet. “Eddie bought it for me to wear actually.”

You take the set in your hands and smooth it out just a little. It’s such a pretty set. Now it’s just collecting dust, a shame because you loved how amazing you looked and felt in it.

“Why don’t you wear it to Hellfire?” Max suggests. “I’m sure Henry would love it if you did for his dance in a couple days.”

“You want me to wear it for Henry?” you scoff. “That’s a no. Eddie doesn’t wanna see me wearing that specific set for anyone else but him.”

“Hmmm,” Max thinks. “We’re talking about the same Eddie. Right? Eddie ‘Non-Committal’ Munson?”

You smirk. She smirks. Your sister is a genius.

If Eddie truly doesn’t want to commit to you and make you his, then there is no need for you to commit to him either.

And the DEVIL WOMAN set is clearly no exception. There’s no need for a hot outfit like that to go to waste.

“I’m picking up what you’re putting down…” you grin, a rather wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing grin.

Max rubs her evil little fingers together. “Figured you might.”

“TELL ME ABOUT IT!” you two hear Robin and Vicky yell from their room. “STUD!”

And ‘You’re The One That I Want’ starts blaring through the speakers.

Its a shame that you and Max were missing your favorite part of the entire movie. But you two have your own revenge plot in the works.

And you, you’ve got your own dance number to practice. A dance for the One that you want. In this case, it’s Henry.

“You better shape up because I need a man. And my heart is set on you.”

Oh Eddie…

Let the mental gymnastics begin.

—————————

author's note: when eddie goes low, shy girl goes lower…. do you guys think eddie will be mad seeing shy girl dancing for henry in the red set he bought her? 🤔😈

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🏷️ tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxps i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron

[decodedlvr]

the band-aid to my wounds

Older!Eddie Munson x naive!Fem reader - eventual twins Steve Harrington x reader x Kurt Kunckle series| pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 … TBC

Summary: After stumbling into an old barn after being stranded by your freshly new ex boyfriend, you wake up strangely in a room..that isn't yours..

warnings: talks of cheating, abuse, angst, slight stockholm syndrome at a glance, anxiety, childhood trauma, parent problems; daddy issues, eventual smut, cursing, drinking, smoking, perviness, slight dub-con, miscommunications, blood mention

word count: idk? 1k?

June 12th, 1988 the roads were closed off.

I have no idea why im still together with this asshole, why am i so stupid? oh because id do anything for people to love and not leave me. Looking at him now..hands beating the steering wheel, veins popping through his temples..not to mention his breath. Ashton my oh so loving, narcissist, no good boyfriend. We've been together for 6 years, basically high school sweethearts. Went from flirty glaces, to lab partners, to collage students with an alcohol addiction. Mainly his addiction...he got me started on it.

Ashton basically took me in with his fatherly like protectiveness when we first got together. He was walking me to my front door after a bowling date he asked me out to my sophomore year, of course i said yes.; until the front door opened. Uh oh, dads home; Bill. The moment the door opened i watched my father tackle Ashton to the ground without so much as a reason screaming words like "get off my property, boys like you should be dead in a gutter, ill kill you"...

Lets just say that date night was a bit too eventful for my liking.

My dad always had a problem with Ashton because he went to highschool with his father. Ashtons dad was a bully back in the day, made my dads life a living hell.. took everything away from him. the girl, the looks, the job..

Dave, Ashtons father, was caught making out with Shannon, my dads ex lover but also first love. Dave knew he had the upper hand when it came to getting the things he wanted. Hell, Shannon seduced him into it. Shannon was only with my dad for the money. Got knocked up but gave him the baby and ran away to be with his dad. As you can see I am that baby now today.

I made a promise to Ashton after sneaking him to my bedroom window that same night cleaning his wounds; that it was me and him against the world. He knew about me and my parents relationship. How my step-mother only has good things to say about me in a room full of people, but how she degrades me behind closed doors. How my dads drinking problem gave him alcohol poisoning, twice' and about his anger problems. You'd think being in a household that is always loud would help you shape up to loud sounds in the future. Boy was that theory proven wrong.

anytime someone yells or raises their tone, you're immediately in fight or flight response. tense..anxious. You hate going to basketball games just for that reason. Its uncomfortable.. and he knew that, but apparently in this moment, he didn't give a fuck-

"Did you hear me??" Ashton says impatiently. "No im sorry, i cant hear when you mumble.." you reply

you also hated when people uttered things under their breath.

dad does that shit.

"Don't be smart with me y/n, ill leave you right here,right now in the middle of the fucking road

"Yeah whatever Ashton, just stop talking to me and drive" feeling the breaks pull forward and in a flash he was out of the drivers seat, and already pulling you out of the passenger-

"WHAT THE FUCK" i yell- what the fuck are you doing Ashton?”

“Shut up!” he smacks me. Your eyes widen in more shock than fear over anything. “Did you j-just hit me?” i ask with a scratched voice--

“I told you more than once not to back talk me didnt i?”

“i didn’t.. it was once and i stopped ashton”-

-“You’ve done it all goddamn night, accusing me of cheating, clinging onto me when i ran into Tommy, i told you to give me some fucking space --i interrupt him.

“YOU did cheat on me you asshole!! That bitch was fucking bragging about it in the bathroom”—

“Do you really think after what 4 years-“6 actually“ i say pissing him off further. he looks at you angrily

He sighs. “Do you really think after years of being together, i would do that to you?” he say looking down at the ground sadly; making you instatly regret your words

“..no-no of course not i just thou”-

-“You thought wrong! he snaps-I would never do that to you baby..y/n?” he says letting go of the grip on my arms, caressing my cheek-“..I know you get a little confused sometimes, its okay come here” he says pulling you into a deep hug

“..im sorry ash”-

“shh” he coos.

“I really thought—what the fuck is that?” you shove him away

“Y-you piece of shit!!” you pull around back collar piece of his shirt up to his face; showing him the peach colored lipstick stain

“Are you fucking serious Ashton?” his eyes widen and stomach drops when he sees the prominent evidence of his past events—

“B-baby look-“

“No! fuck you were done!”

He grabs me closer, “No we fucking arent- ive gave you everything! he starts shouting making you flinch

P-please stop yelling at me! you plea tears rolling down your face

“Just—here” he opens the car door “just get back in and ill explain on the way”—

“No.” you shove past him running and crying

“Y/N come back here!. its too dark—

“ i dont care leave me alone!”

“Y/n theres crazy people out here..!”

you stop in your tracks, turning back to say- “You’re the crazy person!”

he laughs. “Oh im crazy? Ill show you fuckin crazy”—he says marching over to the drivers side of the car starting it back up—mumbling ill show you a fucking crazy person babe—and he spees off

you cant believe he actually just left you.. standing here.

“ASSHOLE!” you shout regulardess if hes still there or not, turning back around to walk down the cold empty road

are you fuckig kidding me?

wow he fooled me

how didnt i see this before

did he love me?

he says he does

then why did he leave me..

fucking jerk!!

The long 7 mile walk with a head full of shitty thoughts walk you to a sun burnt orange barn.

you're exhausted. your hearts broken. your feet hurt. its too dark to keep walking

"I mean i could crash here right?" you say already walking towards the musky building

hay bells, chickens, tools. looks already owned

you dont care you just need a place to rest you head for a bit.

stinks in here. muttering to yourself, opening and shutting the barn door behind you.

perfect you say spotting an old rocking chair..and yard sale signs?

does somebody live here?

you're too exhausted to think any more tonight

this'll do. taking your jacket off to use as a prop pillow, climbing into the chair almost immediately drifting off.

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

whats that smell? smells like bacon?

bacon? your eyes are still shut but you can sense a different environment around you. Fluttering your eyes open.. a clock? pictures? what?-jumping up at the sound of a shoe

"WHO ARE YOU?" your already in flight or fight mode

"Whoa whoa its okay, im the owner of the barn i found you in”.

is he lying?

"YOU'RE LYING!" you look around in a panic

"Sweetheart if i was lying, how come i specifically found you in my rocking chair, you must of been tired, i got my buddy who also runs the farm to scoop you up and bring you to our guest bedroom, couldn't just leave a woman out in the open like that.. especially at night"

your stomach knots when he calls you sweetheart.

okay maybe he harmless, just very kindly harmless?

"Here" he throws his arm out, "I'm Eddie, Eddie Munson."

- - is this interesting so far? lmk- -

reblogs appreciated:>

[steddieunderdogfics]

The Men We've Become (series) by ohstars

@oh-stars

Rating: Explicit

370,749 words, 5/? works

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings

Tags from First Fic in Series: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Stranger Things 3, Post-Battle of Starcourt (Stranger Things), Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angst, Sexuality Crisis, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington-centric, Fix-It, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Grief/Mourning, Non-Canonical Character Death, but it's not a main character, Everyone Has Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, but not, Break Up, Shotgunning, Recreational Drug Use, Getting Back Together, still figuring out the story so pay attention to the tags, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cigarettes, Alcohol, lots of smoking, light mentions of alcohol, they drink but passively, steve has a nicotine addiction, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Period-Typical Homophobia, Vecna's Curse (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson Lives, Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2 Rewrite, Stranger Things 4 Fix-It, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Eventual Smut, but that could change, Panic Attacks, Disabled Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Sibling Relationship, Secrets, steve has an issue with making everything a secret, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Misunderstandings based on reputations, gets heavier than anticipated, Past Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Underage Rape/Non-con, referenced once in chapter nineteen, not a major theme

Summary from first fic in series:

"Steve Harrington isn't straight. It's been a few weeks since he sat on that bathroom floor at Starcourt with Robin, where she shared her biggest secret with him and unintentionally unlocked an entirely new side of Steve. Since he’s had to come to terms with being open to exploring that side of him, but he's finally acknowledged that he's most likely, definitely, without a doubt into guys." -- After coming to terms that he may be queer, Steve Harrington does a little exploration on his own and meets the one and only Eddie Munson. Just as things are going well and accepted the fact he's falling for Eddie in their own little bubble, Steve's world is shaken by a tragedy he can't quite talk about. And when the dust settles and he's nearly ready to put the pieces back together, his worlds collide when he realizes his Eddie is the same Eddie playing D&D with the kids. The same Eddie who's now wanted for murder thanks to another upside down monster. How will he save the day when he can barely focus watching his ex mingle with his monster fighting team?

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @oh-stars. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

Hooke's Law

by Oonionchiver

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, Chrissy Cunningham, Jason Carver, Robin Buckley Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, non-established omegaverse, or it’s just in the early years of BECOMING established, so people don’t really know too much about it yet and it’s rare, Modern AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pair Bonding, Blood Bond, which would be great except they hate each other, Denial, Late presentation, exploring the emergence of A/B/O in a modern world, past attempted non-con, Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts and Ideation, Tommy Hagan get ready to be a good guy in one of my fics for once, Bitchy Bratty Power Omega Steve, Obsessively Devoted Service Alpha Eddie, Top Eddie, Bottom Steve, but Black Out Days style, Hurt/Comfort, Angst on a 10, Roommates, figuring out life as an Alpha and Omega, Drug Addiction to Suppressants, it’s mild and mostly off-screen, Cuddling, rejection sickness, Rough Sex, Blood Kink, Face Slapping, Bondage, Breeding Kink, Roleplay, happy ending always despite the angst, More warnings inside, prejudice against Alphas and Omegas, Messy exes, imperfect people who mean well but fuck up, past murder suicide, Past Suicide Attempt, Whump, drop, Hospitalisation Words: 96,767 Chapters: 4/4

Summary

‘Nah, I wanna be the Alpha,’ Steve laughs easily, light-hearted and disconnected from reality, god, Eddie’s jealous. ‘You can be my little bitch.’ Eddie’s cock gives a treacherous kick of applause and that is really, truly the last straw. ‘OK,’ he says loudly, firmly freeing himself, even though Steve takes a decent chunk of hair for his trouble. ‘I gotta go now, for real. Like. I cannot be here for this. You’re in heat, Harrington. You’re…’ He closes his eyes, steps back. There are better people to tell Steve this. ‘You’re an Omega.’ Steve, for his part, is watching Eddie with drunken moody eyes, wholeheartedly unimpressed. ‘I don’t wanna play angsty shit, Munson. That’s dull.’

[runninriot]

my AO3

multi-chapter

Unlovable

Steve POV, Sexuality Crisis, Finding Love | 19k | 3/3 | M

Find Me In The Moonlight

Kas!Eddie, Monsterlover!Steve | 16k | 2/2 | E

Take Me Home (I Don't Wanna Stay Here)

Girl Dad!Eddie, finding home, falling in love | 24k | 3/3 | M

Real Love Is Forever

Stranger Things x The Crow (1994) mix-up | 29k | 4/4 | M

Where The Sun Still Shines

a story about loss and finding love | 20k | 3/3 | M

Show Me What It’s Like (To Live On The Other Side)

Vampire!Steve AU | 20k | 2/2 | E

I Just Wanna Be Someone's Disaster

Slutty Steve & Naughty Eddie | 15k | 3/3 | M

series

The Best You Ever Tasted SteddieSmutSeries | E

Cravin' 9k | Horns 11k | Baby 8k | Games 10k | Breathe 10k | Darling 10k | Harder 11k | Heartbeat 5k | Want 10k | Sinner 11k | Liberate 9k | Worship 10k | Touch 9k | Devil 7k | (ongoing)

Forever and Always sub eddie munson | E

Sweet Thing 9k | Safe Space 6k

Bring Me To Life depressed boys finding love | E

Lifeless Stars 13k | Stop the World 18k | Love Letter 18k

The Hardest Place To Be 'rivals' to lovers

The Hardest Place 8k | Can't Get Enough 2k

High & Driving | Dad!Steve AU

High And Driving 16k | Never Knew Love 4 k

oneshots

You're the Symphony, I'll write the Song

Confident Steve/Virgin Eddie | 5k | E

Say My Name (I Need Reminding)

Angst with Happy Ending | 2k | M

Never Too Much (Never Enough)

Dom Eddie/Sub Steve | 2k | E

Loud Like Love

Eddie thinks he's straight, spoiler: he's not | 2k | E

Away From The Sun (Into My Arms)

art inspired, Vampire Eddie/MF Steve | 2k | E

Only Me

Dom Steve/Sub Eddie | 2k | E

Beautiful Boy

Shy Eddie Munson in Lingerie | 4k | E

(Un)Used

Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Lovers | 2k | E

Dirty Wishes On My Mind

Friends to Lovers, Dirty Talk | 4k | E

Feel (I Know What You Need)

Pillow Princess Steve/Service Dom Eddie | 4k | E

Say You're Sorry

Sub Top Eddie/Bossy Bottom Steve | 3k | E

Hurt full of Hope

Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort | 4k | E

Damn You, Capitalism!

Steddie Husbands, Domestic Fluff & Smut | 1k | E

keep your pretty face out of trouble

falling in lover over bruises and a bloody nose | 2k | T

Love Me Til It Hurts

Monster!Eddie & MonsterLover!Steve | 1k | E

Always Meant To Be

Missed Opportunities & Second Chances | 4k | T

Even Heroes Fail Sometimes

post fighting Vecna, Angst with Happy Ending | 4k | M

Lost and Found

Angst and Fluff and Smut | 3k | E

Maybe

Lovers to Exes, Emotional Hurt, Open Ending | 2k | M

To Be Me

Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Self-Discovery | 2k | M

The Last Sunset

Drunk Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending | 3k | T

Worth It

art inspired, pining, co-workers to lovers | 2k | M

fun to be famous

famous Corroded Coffin, model Steve | 1k | M

Mine

Possessive Steve Harrington | 4k | E

Love Drunk

Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers | 2k | T

Until You Come Back And Be Mine

famous Corroded Coffin, Second Chances, Lovers to Strangers to Lovers | 4k | T

One Last Time (And Another)

Lack of Communication, Misunderstandings | 1k | M

Easy

Friends to Lovers | 1k | T

Never Again

emotional hurt/comfort | 4k | M

no reason to hide

Max POV, secret relationship (Steddie) | 4k | T

Hold On For All It's Worth

Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Munson is a Mess | 1k | M

Memories I Have Remind Me Of You

friends to lovers to exes to lovers | 2k | T

Go To Hell, For Heaven's Sake

Demon!Eddie, Monsterlover!Steve | 13k | E

as long as we're together

est. relationship, fluff | 1k | T

Alive

cw: non-con/attempted rape, hopeful ending | 4k | E

Tomorrow

art inspired, friends to lovers | 1k | M

Oh, Thats What Dreams Are Made Of

Idiot Friends To Lovers | 7k | M

Ain't No Sin To Be Glad You're Alive

POV Wayne Munson | 1k | T

Nowhere I'd Rather Be (Cuz You Are Home)

Love Confessions | 4k | M

Monsoon & Harrison

Porn Actors AU | 4k | E

Tonight We Fall From The Stars

Campfire Romance | 2k | M

Someone You Shouldn’t Have Fallen In Love With

Matchmaker Robin, Friends to Lovers | 3k | T

Ain't It Good To Know (That You've Got A Friend)

5+1 Things | 7k | T

Cliffhanging On Your Painted Nails

Rockstar!Eddie, Groupie Steve | 4k | M

You & I (And My Dirty Mind)

Overcoming Insecurities | 8k | M

I Hear The Secrets That You Keep

Friends to Lovers | 8k | M

[wipbigbang]

Round 2 Of Artists Claims For The Regular WIPBB Are Open! Round 2 lasts until July 31st! You may claim 3 fics this round!

This is one of the fics open for claiming...

Stranger Things #110 Title: Put me together again Pairing/Characters: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: Explicit | E Warnings/Tags: Graphic Violence, Non-con/Rape Forced Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Police, Age Difference, Eddie Munson is a journalist, Steve Harrington is a boss's whore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Prostitution, non consensual pet play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Drug Dealing, Medical Examination, Dark Steve Harrington, Dark Tommy Hagan, ExJunkie Eddie Munson, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - 2000s, improper use of a gun (because there is a proper one?!), no underage even if it may seems so, Daddy Issues, Boot Worship, Vomiting, Organized Crime, Crimes & Criminals, Murder, Forced Feminization, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Impact Play, Anal Plug, Homophobic Language, Attempted Murder, Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Suicide Attempt Summary: Three years ago, Steve's life changed for the worse. His father died, and his mother started to use drugs and became one of Tommy "The Butcher" Hagan's whore. Trying to survive and to keep his little brother, Dustin, out of the drug lord's hands, Steve is forced into prostitution. One night, he meets Police Officer Jim Hopper, who is investigating Hagan, and the ex-journalist Eddie Munson, who is seeking revenge against Hagan for personal reasons. Is Steve the key they were looking for?

#111 Title: Sing if You're Glad to be Gay Pairing/Characters: Eddie Munson / Steve Harrington Rating: Explicit | E Warnings/Tags: Graphic Violence dubious consent, period-typical homophobia / homophobic language, explicit relationship between 17 year old and 18 year old, suicidal ideation, bullying Summary: August, 1983:

Steve Harrington -- the man who would be king -- fell from the gentry's grace at the inaugural jock party of Eddie's senior year after Carol Perkins and Melissa Cargill caught him sucking off Tommy Hagan in the senior Harringtons’ suite. The Saturday soiree went from giving head to getting heads rolling as the coup d'etat kicked off. The moral majority had found Harrington on his knees, and they intended to keep him there. There was no forgiveness from his former friends; there was no atonement allowed for knowingly and willingly performing such an evil act. He was expelled post-haste from the sanctimonious sanctum of Hawkins’ high school high society.

Months before Will Byers disappears, Steve Harrington is outed, bullied, and shunned. Eddie would be overjoyed to find another gay kid in Hawkins if it wasn't THAT gay kid.

#112 Title: Pairing/Characters: Scott Clarke/ Wayne Munson Rating: Mature | M Warnings/Tags: Chooses not to use Warnings Graphic description of past injury Summary: After Wayne Munson gets a severe head wound in the war, he's sent home to deal with the aftermath. Between survivors guilt and the never-ending struggle to do day to day tasks, Wayne finds himself falling for the physical therapist making house calls.

Scott Clarke is fresh out of school and eager to prove himself as a resident, but when one truly difficult case comes across his desk, he can't help but try and make things just a little easier for Wayne. Even if that means going to his home for therapy visits rather than forcing him into the office.

The list of remaining fics and the link to sign up are below!

[cowboythighs]

stephanie harrington is a good girl. she goes to church on sundays, cheers at games on friday nights, and keeps her legs shut. like she’s always been told good girls do!

but lucky for her, eddie sees steph for what she is, and is more than willing to lend a hand to get her to loosen up and 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 good.

(general cw: no discussions of consent so dub con warning even though both are willing and enthusiastic participants! any talk about good/right/pure/virginity is from characters perspective based on their religious upbringing!)

stephanie harrington was, quite possibly, too naive. sheltered her whole life by godfearing parents, her biggest desire in life was to be Good. and part of being good meant saving herself for marriage. steph /knew/ her future spouse deserved to be the first to touch her, so she took care to make sure her body wasn’t spoiled. not even by her own touch.

but her naivety created a blind spot—the perfect gap for a proud, self-proclaimed pervert like eddie munson to slip in. he’d watched steph for ages, wondering what it would be like to be the one to show her what she’d been missing. so he knew that after the pep rally that afternoon that she’d be the last to leave the locker room.

he hid under the bleachers while the rest of the school filtered out of the gymnasium. stood there just out of their sight watching as the rest of the cheerleading team left the locker room. counted until he was sure there was just one left.

eddie crept into the steam filled locker room and found steph’s bag easily. he rifled through, removing the single pair of panties and the change of clothes she had inside. satisfied, he hid her clothes in a different locker, but kept the panties for himself. he tucked them into his pocket and slipped back out, back under the bleachers. and waited.

fifteen minutes later when steph finally appeared with wet hair and back in her cheer uniform, eddie was already hard from the anticipation. from the thrill of having the most popular girl in schools panties in his hands. from knowing what could happen next.

he knew a lot from watching steph. he knew she was behind in chemistry, and would stay after school, sitting in the same spot every time while she attempted to finish the homework.

he also knew about her vow of chastity. the promise between her, her parents, and her preacher that she wouldn’t let herself be touched. he’d overheard her ex-boyfriend jason whining about it more than once.

but eddie watched. eddie knew. he could see the way she squeezed her thighs together when tom cruise slid across the big screen at The Hawk in his underwear. could see the way she bit her lip and squirmed when she listened to the other girls talk about their hookups. eddie knew she wanted more.

she just needed someone to break the seal. take off the pressure. show her that she wouldn’t be struck by lightning if she let herself feel good. and eddie was a giver. was willing to help steph out of this silly, unnecessary predicament. show her that her future husbands pleasure wasn’t worth more than her own right now.

so, being a watcher—a giver—eddie knew just where to stand underneath the bleachers so that when all the dominos fell into place, and steph sat down on the bleachers that afternoon, he was in the perfect position to get a glimpse of her pussy.

she sat in her same spot—six rows back—sat the way she normally did—spun around backwards so that she sat on the floorboard, legs dangling underneath the bleachers so that she could use the bench in front of her as a desk.

she hummed quietly as she pulled out her notebooks and textbooks, seemingly oblivious to eddie’s presence. he took advantage of the view she offered him—legs spread enough to show eddie what no one else—not any of the jocks drooling after her—had ever seen.

it was even prettier than he’d imagined. puffy mound covered in thick, brown curls that had never been tamed, with a glimpse of pretty pink where the hair thinned and her swollen lips met. it was too pretty to be ignored. eddie leaned up and softly, quietly, blew a tickling stream of air right at it.

above him steph shivered. looked around, ensuring no one else was near, and cautiously spread her legs wider. eddie’s answering smile nearly hurt his cheeks. he knew his girl so well. he gave her another puff of air as a reward. watched fondly as she scooted closer to the edge of her seat.

eddie reached up between the wide spread of her legs and slowly—gently—let his finger trail over where her puffy pussy lips met. her hand flew up to her mouth as she fought to keep quiet.

eddie couldn’t believe how much pleasure he was able to give her from such a simple touch. it wasn’t his first time playing with steph in this spot under the bleachers. it was something he’d been warming up to over the past few weeks. building up from making soft noises to alert her of a presence, to blowing air against her thighs, to finally—last week—rubbing her through her panties until she soaked them.

but eddie knew she was ready for more. he tapped his other hand softly against her shiny white shoes. obediently she spread her legs even further.

steph was a good girl.

eddie let his finger slide into the wet warmth between her lips—not pushing inside her—not yet. he stroked up and down slowly—letting her get used to the brief contact against her clit. let her get worked up enough to want more.

she couldn’t say it—couldn’t ask for it—but he knew what she wanted when she pushed her hips forward more and whined. he used his free hand to gently pat her leg—saying without words—that he had her. understood her. would take care of her.

eddie could feel it—could sense that steph was getting close. he was torn between wanting to draw it out—really make steph desperate—let her realize how much she needed him—and wanting to make her see stars—feel her come apart in his mouth.

but then someone called steph’s name from the hall outside the gym, and his decision was made for him. despite how badly he wanted to keep going (steph hadn’t even closed her legs! just froze in place like she couldn’t bear to stop, even knowing they could be caught at any second) eddie pulled back with one quick soft kiss to the soft flesh of her thigh and slid back into the shadows under the bleachers.

he watched as steph slid her legs back together just before her friend walked into the gym.

“steph, my car won’t start and tommy says he won’t give me a ride unless i blow him. will you give me a ride home?”

eddie saw carol perkins matching cheer shoes walk up the steps to steph.

“are you alright?” carol asked.

“fine!” steph squeaked out. cleared her throat. “i’m fine,” she repeated. “just trying to get some studying done. and don’t you already… you know… tommy?”

carol laughed. “i love that you’re too pure to even say “blow”. seriously, i love you steph. you’re a riot. and yeah, i might’ve given tommy a few blow jobs, but i don’t want him to think he can just make demands! come on steph, help save me from my sinful ways.”

When steph hesitated, carol added, “please, steph; you can study at my house.”

steph sighed, and eddie listened as she gathered up her things. “Fine,” steph relented. “Just this once, okay? I really do need to study and this is the only place I can really think.”

Eddie watched the girls’ squeaky clean sneakers as the walked down the last few steps of the bleachers. Smiled as he saw steph hesitate by the door, obviously trying to decide if she wanted to look underneath the bleachers. he didn’t make a move to hide.

but carol called her name again, and steph left unsatisfied in more ways than one. but it was okay. eddie knew she’d come back for more. back to him. he could wait.

✨

[cleolafleur]

cleolafleur's masterlist

rafe cameron

love you too much synopsis: months after a bad breakup, your ex wants to show you just how much he's changed. he wants you back...by any means necessary. (warnings: DUB-CON, coercion, drug and alcohol use +)

jj maybank

coming soon!

eddie munson

coming soon!

steve harrington

coming soon!

[bifuriouswaterbender]

Prompt fill for @steveharringtonbingo

Square & Prompt: A2 - Knotting

Title: Time is Luck

Rating: E

Word Count: 7,985

Ship(s): Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Major Tags: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings || Past Non-Con mentioned

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, Hook-Up, Strangers to Lovers, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Explicit Consent, Smut, Plot What Plot / Porn Without Plot, Oral Sex, Anal Sex

Summary:

“Oh my god… That means you’re going to fucking text him, doesn’t it?”

After taking a second to scent the air, Steve’s eyes dilated enough for Eddie to see. If they hadn’t been locked on each other, he probably would have missed it. “Honestly, Rob, I might have another option in the works.” His smirk deepened at the way Eddie flushed. “I can’t promise I’m making good choices, but I’ll try not to make toxic ones, okay?”

Fic: (AO3)

Preview:

Eddie hated public transportation most of the time, but it was always excellent for people-watching.

Maybe the woman sitting on the end kept scooting closer to the man next to her because they were exes and she wanted to try again. Maybe the man passed out in the exact middle of the car had won a bet with how much he’d drank and had a hundred bucks squashed in his front pocket underneath him. Maybe the hot guy seated directly in front of where Eddie stood was playing the stock with the serious way he kept staring at his phone.

That theory fell apart, though, as Eddie realized he was staring at his own phone contacts. Huh. Eddie kept watching to see if he could learn more. He didn’t expect the man to sigh, dig into his pocket, pull out a coin, and flip it.

Eddie knew he was staring now, but he didn’t care. He watched the guy scrutinize the coin sitting on the back of his hand, sigh, then look back at his phone. Eddie bit his lip as he watched him unblock a contact. He couldn’t necessarily see everything on the phone, but it was hard to miss the name in all capital letters: ABSOLUTELY NOT.

[serafae]

𝐁 𝐄 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐄 𝐘 𝐎 𝐔 𝐅 𝐎 𝐋 𝐋 𝐎 𝐖 —

• this blog contains nsfw content intended for mature audiences only. do not read or interact if you are a minor and/or do not have your age somewhere on your blog. for my own safety, ageless blogs and anyone under the age of eighteen will be blocked.

• i mostly write for myself, so my works tend to feature a female reader. that being said, any requests i receive will be written with gender neutral language. the appearance of my reader inserts are never described in an attempt to be as inclusive as possible. everyone should be able to enjoy and see themselves in fanfiction!

• please be sure to read the entirety of this post if you are interested in sending a request. i will cover fandoms, what i do and don't write, and any requirements for sending a request.

𝐅 𝐀 𝐍 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐒 𝐈 𝐖 𝐑 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 —

• harry potter: bill weasley, draco malfoy, luna lovegood, neville longbottom, remus lupin, ron weasley, sirius black.

• the hunger games: finnick odair, haymitch abernathy, johanna mason, peeta mellark.

• john wick: caine, john wick.

• marvel cinematic universe: bucky barnes, kate bishop, loki laufeyson, peter parker, steve rogers, vision, wanda maximoff, yelena belova.

• star wars: ahsoka tano, anakin skywalker, bo-katan kryze, cal kestis, cassian andor, din djarin, fennec shand, finn, obi-wan kenobi, poe dameron, rey.

• stranger things: eddie munson, jim hopper, robin buckley, steve harrington.

• supernatural: dean winchester, sam winchester.

𝐖 𝐇 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐖 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋 𝐖 𝐑 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 —

• headcanons & drabbles: i will write headcanons for up to three characters per request and drabbles for a single character. everyone defines a drabble differently, so for me it's a short fic of somewhere between 400-700 words.

• reader inserts: i only write reader insert/character relationships. as stated previously, in an effort to be as inclusive as possible they will be written as gender neutral and as plus size and poc friendly.

• pairings: i will happily write a request that pairs the reader up with both male and female characters. i am also open to writing poly pairings, though only for certain characters (ex. wanda/reader/vision).

• genres: angst, fluff, and smut.

𝐖 𝐇 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐖 𝐎 𝐍 ' 𝐓 𝐖 𝐑 𝐈 𝐓 𝐄 —

• canon/canon: i do not write ship fics. i just don't enjoy it!

• some reader inserts: at this time i do not write male, trans, or asexual reader inserts as i don't feel confident in my ability to do so.

• blacklisted topics: these include a/b/o, abortion/miscarriages, age play/regression, abuse (mental/physical/sexual), bestiality, eating disorders, incest, non-con, pedophilia, self-harm, suicide, yandere, and any fetishes involving bodily fluids/excretions.

[pinkrelish]

I feel so incredibly disrespected right now. I have never been into Eddie munson in my life. AND I COME ACROSS RANDMLY AND DECIDED TO READ FOR CURIOSITIES SAKE AND IM OBSSESSED. like I’m being fr right now I spent this whole day reading all ykur works. I CANT WAIT FOR THE LINE COOK CONVICT STIRY THAT ONE SHOT UAS ME FEELING THINGS. you’re such a good author and I hope you enjoy only the finest things in life

😂 the way i fear opening my inbox when i can only see the first few words of messages like these in my notifs. ❤️❤️❤️

welcome to being an eddie simp! there are many of us thriving out here, and i hope you find more fanfic to enjoy! ironically, i was just doing some research for the ex-con!linecook!eddie story when you sent this. i'm super excited to start working on it soon. that one shot satiated me, but now i hunger for more enemies to lovers scenarios with grumbly, prickly eddie.

[mungrovebingos]

FAQ & Rules

Check our FAQ and Rules listed under the cut for the Mungrove Kiss Bingo!

FAQ

What is this?

Mungrove Kiss Bingo is a Stranger Things-themed fanwork event focused on the “Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson” pairing. It’s low-pressure and open to all!

Do I have to sign up?

You do not need to sign-up, as there is only one bingo card for everyone, and it was already posted. All you need to participate is create something to match one or several prompts and post it in the AO3 collection, or on tumblr/twitter and @ and tag the mungrovebingos account so we can see and reblog!  

What is the timeline?

The event will be running from February 14th, 2024 to March 1st, 2024.

What kind of content is accepted?

Everything! You can submit any form of creative fanwork you can think of. We welcome all forms of writings (fanfic, headcanons, poetry, song lyrics, etc.), ‘fanarts’ (traditional art, digital art, photography, knitting, cooking, music, etc.) and works in progress! For example, digital art includes drawings, paintings, gifsets, edits, fanmixes… Everything you can think of.

Do you accept late submissions?

We will accept late submissions until March 8th, 2024.

Which platforms are allowed?

You can post anywhere you want; we accept submissions to the AO3 collection and will be reblogging on Tumblr and retweeting on Twitter. If you wish to post something on other platforms such as Instagram or else, you can ask the mungrovebingos tumblr to post a link to your creation on your behalf. We also accept anonymous contributions on AO3 and Tumblr.

Is NSFW/E-rated content allowed?

Yes, adults can create NSFW content—but remember everything must be tagged appropriately! We allow NSFW, E-rated and 18+ content. If you’re wondering about specific warnings (such as non-con, underage, major character death, “dead dove: do not eat”, etc.) please check out the rules below!

What are the specifics concerning the AO3 collection?

The Collection will be open on February 14th, 2024.

Do we have to fit every square in one work?

No, you can use several prompts for one work, or one prompt per work, it’s all up to you!

Rules

1. Any type of content should be mainly focused on the Billy/Eddie pairing.

That said—other pairings are allowed, as long as Mungrove is the focus. For example: you can have Max/Lucas as a secondary pairing. Mentions of past or relationships are obviously allowed, but “Billy/Eddie/[character]” ships such as Harringroveson (Billy/Eddie/Steve) aren’t meant to be a part of this event. We obviously won’t hunt you and take you down with a sniper if the fic you write (for example) mentions this ship, but it has to be focused on Billy and Eddie.

2. No explicit situations of characters under 16 are allowed.

Explicit situations include extremely violent or sexual situations. If you are unsure whether your content is considered explicit or not, you can send an ask to the Mungrove tumblr (you do not need a tumblr account). If the characters are above 16, everything else is allowed (dark themes, smut, etc…) as long as you follow rule #4.

3. No bashing allowed.

“Spite” content must be restricted to spite against Canon or anything considered Stranger Things in-universe. We discourage bashing against characters. Being critical isn’t bashing! Portraying Neil as a bigoted, violent man isn’t bashing considering how he behaves in the show and there is such a thing as an unreliable narrator (Example: Billy thinking Everything Is Max’s Fault) and that is more than fine, but a heavy focus on making a character much worse than he actually is to create spite content against another ship for example is heavily discouraged (Example: turning Steve into some kind of awful evil ex as a fuck you to Steddie, Harringrove or Harringroveson shippers is prohibited, there is no need for such things).

4. Content must always be tagged appropriately.

No matter what platform you post on, tag your content appropriately and follow the platform’s etiquette. For example: if you post NSFW Mungrove art featuring choking on a non-explictly NSFW Twitter account, mark your content as sensitive and add “choking” to your tweet—so that people can be appropriately warned. If you post Mungrove headcanons on Tumblr featuring Child Abuse, either warn about it in your post or by using the tagging system. If you post on AO3, you must use the appropriate rating, the Archive Warnings whenever necessary, and either tag trigger warnings with canonical tags or list them in the author’s notes. If you use the Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings for surprises and/or twists, tag major trigger warnings in the end notes. For example: if you post a Soundcloud song with lyrics containing Major Character Death and Torture; add “torture and mcd” to your end notes as content warning if you decided to pick Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings on AO3.